'Wanna lay?'

I was working at the local A&P on a Thursday evening in April when my manager Don walked by and said, "Martin Luther King was shot and killed in Memphis."

The next day, after a class, a friend and I were taking the 5-block long walk thru the row house neighborhood between the Annex, an old RCA building, and the campus of Rutgers University - Camden. I was carrying Larry's books because he was on crutches from a recent ankle injury. At first we were in the mass of students making the same class-change walk, but soon we were alone because Larry moved slowly on his sticks.

As we passed one porch, I saw a black man, my age (18) or older, not as tall, and slightly built. He was taking off his jacket, but not looking at us. Soon I was aware of the sound of footsteps coming up behind me, and just as I turned to check out the situation, I was hit a glancing blow on the temple by the fist of the guy from the porch. The timing of my turn was such that he did not get in a good first shot. He was now squared up to me with his fists raised, an angry look on his face. His narrowed eyes looked up at me as he said, "Wanna lay?"

I had never heard that expression before, but, in the circumstances, I was able to figure out what he meant.

I said, "No thanks," and began walking away quickly. Larry yelled for me, but I saw he was not the target of the puncher's anger, so I kept walking and eventually I let Larry catch up to me.

I went to my next class, a bio lab in a big lecture hall, and told another friend, Justin, what had happened. Justin wanted us to go find the guy and pay him back for the punch. I said that if we just leave it be, maybe it will end right there, and no one will get hurt. Reluctantly, Justin went along with that. The next day, he told me his father agreed that was the right thing to do.