A year after expecting to open a new center for disengaged and homeless youth, city officials offered explanations for a series of mishaps and delays — and asked for another $200,000 to complete the job.
When Diane Petaway visited her grandmother in the 1950s in the Dixwell neighborhood, she never knew about Curry’s Confectionery, a sweet shop whose chocolates were so delicious local white merchants sold them as their own. They carried the subterfuge as far as to require James and Ethel Curry to deliver their candies at night so customers would not know the original candy makers were African-American.
Shakespearian actress Valerie Johnson was on a gurney, blood trickling from a gash on her face onto her corset. After sustaining a backstage injury, she’d waited three hours for a medical professional.
When Dr. Jackson Moore showed up, Johnson assumed he was a nurse — because he was black. Moore, in return, assumed she’d been Johnson had been beaten — because she was black, too.
Honking his horn once, Lynwood Dorsey came to a stop on Frances Hunter Drive and rolled down his truck window. On the other side, a woman with a snow shovel, long skirt, boots and hat took a break and put a hand on her hip.
“Please don’t shovel snow into the street,” Dorsey implored, the slightest edge to his voice. He’s been up since 4 a.m. and on the roads since 5. He needed to clear the street.