Denver Desegregation

I sat quietly, expectantly. I regarded my grandfather, A. Edgar Benton, across the room, his face illuminated by the sunlight piercing through the oscillating dust. I was drawn to his hands, noting that the skin was mottled, wracked by a bout of mild arthritis and eight decades of exposure to the high desert sun. His fingers were scarred; vestiges of a lifetime spent working with his hands. With a sharp inhalation of breath, he began to speak. 

Read More