It was an ordinary day for me in 1960. I went to school got home to my apartment 1031 C in Tupelo Apartments. I did my homework and helped my siblings with their work, ate dinner of my moms world famous meatloaf, then the chores. Today we didn't have many chores, my siblings and I so we went outside to play. Suddenly there was chaos everywhere and all I could hear were the screams and cries of people in the neighborhood. A man ran through the front where all the kids played and began yelling that King was shot and killed. That's when my parents swept me and my siblings up and ran into the house. When we got inside our parents sat is down and told us how Martin Luther King Jr. had come to help out the sanitation workers and while standing was shot. Tears blurred my vision and I can't hold back my sobs. Outside gunshots and screams can be heard from miles away. It seems as if everyone feels like they can do what ever they wanted to justify what has just happened. Crime seems to have gone miles up. My parents call my granddad and he blows up on the phone yelling about how his death was planned and was a conspiracy that the mayor participated in. No one is allowed outside after the new curfew. The national guard was even rumored to have been called in to help control rowdy crowds. When we finally all go to sleep we lock our doors. This is the first time we have ever locked out front doors in fear of someone breaking in and robbing us. For the first time in forever, my family and I didn't feel safe in the projects. The next day everyone is in disbelief that something like this could happen. Such a peaceful is dead now and all he wanted was equality among everyone. Maybe one day in the future, skin color won't matter at all.