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"I was on those buses as a little boy in Selma, Ala.," says Southfield resident Billy Bob Norris, 72, at the Charles H. Wright museum. Behind him is the bus many believe Parks was in when she changed history.Crowd finds unity in respect, awe
Patty Minehart, left, and her daughter Bobbi, 13, came from Battle Creek. They are with their friend Tony Correll.
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DETROIT -- Thousands of people stood in the cold for an hour or more to thank a woman most had never met. After the long wait, they had only a few seconds by her side.
For most, it was enough.
They came from the city, the suburbs, from Ohio, Pennsylvania and beyond, to view history and pay final respects to Rosa Parks as she lay in repose at the Charles H. Wright Museum of African American History.
In the lines Tuesday, with little to do but keep warm, many -- black and white -- did something they wouldn't normally do. They talked, listened and shared stories about Parks, race, where the nation has come from and where it needs to go.
"Rosa Parks spent more time in jail than we did in line, so this is the least we could do," said Lyn Trulu, 49, of Keego Harbor.
"She wasn't a just a black treasure. She was a treasure to all of us and taught that we're all created equal and should be able to get along."
The white suburbanite then exchanged her phone number with Audra Shaw, a 37-year-old African-American she had met in line. They talked about race and promised to continue the discussions sometime over lunch.
It was one connection. There were many more.
'I could feel her presence'
Parks lay in a mahogany casket, dressed in a white deaconess gown of the African Methodist Episcopal Church, with bows and a black cap with white stripe.
She was surrounded by bouquets and easels with photographs.
Parks was lovely, said Vernon Griffin, even though he couldn't see her.
The visually impaired 41-year-old clutched the harness of his black Labrador guide dog, Nero, as he strolled past the casket. Stepping on the floor in the museum's expansive rotunda, Griffin said he felt a physical sensation.
"It was a sense of awe. You can't see what's there, but I could feel her presence, and that was an almost more profound experience," said Griffin, who works at Detroit Receiving Hospital.
"It was a warm, peaceful feeling of serenity. What I couldn't see, I sensed and smelled. That's a moment that will stay with me for a long time."
Griffin said even his dog felt the moment's importance, slowing his gait and looking around.
Griffin made the trip with two others clutching canes for the blind and Alice Landino, 30, a mobility instructor at Detroit Receiving. She organized the trip so they could be "part of something so huge and powerful with so many emotions and sounds."
Hugs, phone numbers
Shirley Brown needed to get home to Farmington Hills. A two-hour drive back to Battle Creek awaited Patty Minehart and her two daughters, Bobbi and Mary.
But they couldn't pull themselves away. They shared hugs, phone numbers and talked long after viewing Parks.
Brown and her grandson, Marc, are black. Minehart and her family are white. Why can't more people discover how much they have in common? Brown asked.
"Is God wrong because flowers are different colors?" asked Brown, 59, a retired political consultant.
"There are lots of differences, but all you have to do is get down to the simple level," Brown said. "Every time I hear a baby cry, I believe. Every time I hear a symphony or see the stars, I believe. Why can't Michigan put aside its racial politics?"
Wearing a black sweat shirt decorated with skulls, dyed black hair and tennis shoes, 13-year-old Bobbi insisted to her mother that they make the trip to Detroit for Parks.
'Just so beautiful'
The trip from Cincinnati was organized Monday. By 6 a.m., when the chartered bus left for Detroit, 34 people were on board.
They watched "The Rosa Parks Story" and films about the Rev. Martin Luther King Jr. They listened to gospel music by Yolanda Adams and Donnie McClurkin. They prayed, sang and slept, but didn't really know what to expect in Detroit.
"When we walked up here it just blew my mind," said Cheryl Lynne Piper, 49, a radio personality at a gospel station, WCVG, that organized the trip.
"They were four rows deep waiting to see Rosa. It was awesome. To see so many people coming together, it's just overwhelming."
Mary Chenault, 69, left the museum dabbing a tissue on her eye. Like many, she had trouble putting the experience into words.
"Oh, God. It was like a cold chill went all over me," Chenault said. "She was just so beautiful. It was only a few seconds, but it brought so many memories back. To see all these people turning out and how happy everyone is, you can't be saddened."
Lesson for children
Janette Rodriguez decided to use Parks' death as an opportunity to teach her three children about the civil rights movement and Parks' role in it.
She brought her three children, 12-year-old Lance, 10-year-old Tatiana and 7-year-old Nathan, to the museum on Tuesday afternoon to the public viewing of Parks' body.
"I kept them out of school today because I thought it was very important to stay out of school today and to experience this," said the 39-year-old Rodriguez, of Livonia.
As part of their trip to pay final respects to Parks, the children were given a quick talk about her.
"We talked about Mrs. Rosa Parks and what she represented," Rodriguez said. "Rosa Parks helped sparked a whole change in the country."
An aspiring writer, Tatiana said she will use Tuesday's experience in a part of a book she plans to write about Parks when she gets older.
"I'm going to write about what Rosa Parks did, and then I'm going to write about me getting here and what everything looked like and what people were talking about," she said.
'We owe Rosa a lot'
Billy Bob Norris was hard to miss.
He wore a mustard-yellow double-breasted suit, matching alligator shoes, a polka-dot tie and foppish derby.
Only the best for Parks, said Norris, a 72-year-old dancer.
"I was on those buses as a little boy in Selma, Ala.," said the Southfield resident.
"They had a board. The more whites got on the bus, the farther back they moved the board that separated us. I was always such a cute little boy I thought I was white. They told me, 'Get in the back of the bus, boy!'"
As strangers snapped his photo, Norris recalled a recent trip to Selma.
"If segregation is really over, how come all the white people jumped out of the swimming pool when blacks took a dip? he asked.
"All this has taken me back a ways," he said. "We owe Rosa a lot, but basically, a lot of things are still the same."
You can reach Joel Kurth at (313) 222-2610 or jkurth@detnews.com.
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