Imagine being a 13-year-old boy on your own in Washington, D. C. in 1944. You are black, from a poor farming community in South Carolina, and ran away to find a better life, heeding a comment from a white Southern Senator who passed through your town: “If you ever get up to Washington, D. C., drop by and see me.” That simple sentence was the invitation Bertie Bowman took to heart when he slipped out of the bed he shared with three brothers, put a change of clothes in a flour sack, pinned some meager savings to his shirt, and began his adventure.
