Chapter 29 - Another day

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Disclaimer
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This next chapter will address racism, traced back to the 1950s.
In particular, it will speak of the inhumane segregation laws regarding housing and events. It will also reference happenings in the previous chapter of the book.

Enforced racial segregation laws were a systematic separation of people. The color of your skin could deny you access to restaurants, busses, schools, jobs, park benches, restrooms etc. There were often separate facilities and institutions based on how you looked, race, or alleged race.

Though this is written with the perspective of the 1950s, racism is still highly present today, and there is a long way to go to better our understanding of the matter and gain equality for all. Due to the mention of this in a comment on the last chapter, I want to add that this type of systematic segregation are still found in schools in the U.S.

I speak on the matter of racism, intending to handle it with great care. I would greatly appreciate it if any reader feels like I'm at all handling this the wrong way; either comment or send me a PM on Wattpad to educate me on how I could better my understanding and represent the vital awareness of racism.

Thank you for taking the time to read through this introduction.

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Rosalie POV (Sal)

Early March of 1957

It was a Saturday evening in the early days of March when my dad had turned on the news. With my mom resting her knitting hands and my dad lowering his glasses to read the headline written on a banner underneath the suited-up reporter, I watched with my legs up on the burgundy couch.

«There's a lot of people who want to see this man in jail.» The stern news reporter reported, with the banner reading 'Elvis Presley is risking jail time for his vulgar moves and encouragement of juvenile delinquency by performing Rock'N Roll, and when asked to stop with his actions, he didn't.' «Tomorrow at his performance at The Russwood Park, we shall see if he changes his ways.»


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Narrator POV

Anger and rage were two very familiar states in Elvis's mind. Stone-faced and sharp, he let these very emotions take over his mind, body, and soul driving away from his yard, always overflown with fans.

«ELVIS!» Red, George, and Lamar yelled, running after him out his front door, together with the rest of his friends and employees, through the overcrowded yard with fans chasing after his speedy, accelerated car. His Mama and Daddy were left inside, as Elvis just couldn't take it anymore. He had no control of his life; the Colonel didn't give him no break and wanted him to turn into that man dressed in a cape and tail singing in front of a dog last summer. The most embarrassing moment of his life. He didn't do no wrong, and he knew his country was sick to its core, hurting and discriminating against their very own people. For a young boy from Tupelo growing up with little to nothing, the world of being known and pressured became too much. In what world did his movin' legs have anything to do with juvenile delinquency or breaking the inhuman segregation laws?

Breaking another law, he put pressure on the gas peddle and sped through street after street in the beginning dark of an evening in early March, when day turned into night. Streetlights hit him like a staccato melody as he drove past the many spaced-out light sources reflecting in his purple Cadillac—heading for his beloved Beale street.

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