1960's

During the civil rights era in the United States I lived in Norfolk, Virginia.  Vickie and I attended Willard Junior High School.  There was so much tension between races at that time and our school was no exception.
Being white I could never go to the bathroom at our school.  The black students "owned" the restrooms.  If you were white and went into a bathroom you literally took your life in your hands.  Many white students were injured just for entering the bathroom.  No one ever tattled on who it was that attacked them because that meant a really heavy serious beating.  The school tried to control the violence but it was so prevalent that they just didn't have a chance.
At my school it was common for the black students to push the white students down the stairs, hard cement stairs.  Students would end up with injuries ranging from bruises to broken bones.  The black boys would stand at the bottom of the stairs and look up the dresses of the white girls and whistle and comment.  You would think well, just wear pants but at that time girls were not allowed to wear pants to school.
One of my least favorite experiences that actually happened to me was while walking by the busses the black boys hanging out of the windows spitting large, gross, spit wads into the hair of white students passing by.  I have a very lively gag reflex and when this happened to me I vomited repeatedly with those boys laughing their heads off until my Uncle whose turn it was to pick up us children came and found me.
My sisters, Sharon and Kathy, were in elementary school at the time and they were no strangers to the violence either. Once in Sharon's class a student took a pair of scissors, reached around her to stab the  student in front of her.  This same school's principal was the victim of a mortal stab wound from a black student whom he was reprimanding for his behavior in class.
This was the last straw for my parents.  My father sought and received a transfer to Texas, away from the violence connected with Civil Rights. 
One thing I will say is that my sister, Vickie, had a black male friend whose nickname was "Peaches".  I never knew his real name.  He was the nicest fellow.  He, like we, believed in the principles of Civil Rights, just not in the violence.  He protected Vickie and me at school.  He would also attend all the schools activities and keep us safe while we attended.  To me Peaches was like a protective big brother.  He put out the word that nobody touched Vickie or me.  I must say, I still could not bring myself to use the school restrooms.