We were closely watched by police all day. The paddy wagon must have passed us 15 times. They stopped three times to remind us to keep off the road, even though we had not been walking on the road. As we crossed the bridge into the next county, there were more police cars and detectives waiting to greet us. After questioning us for a while, they gave us permission to continue. We would have continued anyway.

Lunch was a surprise. Instead of the almost daily peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and potato chips, we had two gigantic pizzas, while the Japanese had Japanese food. The pizza was donated by the manager of a local pizza restaurant who had seen Neils on TV and liked what he said. The Japanese food was donated by the monks' host, who was Japanese herself. We ate this luxury fare under the shelter of an abandoned service station.

When our day's walk was over, we still had a 20-minute ride in the back of a truck. We covered ourselves with plastic as well as we could for protection against the cold rain, had a big group hug, and sang songs to stay warm until we got to the church with its warm space, dry clothes, and pots of hot soup and vegetables. Then there were teenagers to talk with about the arms race.

   January 8, Walker to Albany
This was such a day of contrasts that it is hard to believe that it all happened in just fourteen hours. We left Walker with a send-off from the church members and with a group photo and interviews by the local weekly. The small daily and weekly newspapers often gave us the best coverage and wrote the best in-depth articles on disarmament, whereas big city newspapers almost ignored us. For example, the Atlanta Journal gave us brief coverage in the comic section; the Charlotte Observer ignored us completely. So much for help from the liberal big-city press!

The walk was fairly uneventful in the morning and mid-afternoon. Shortly after the afternoon break, however, we heard a shot fired. Or was it just another firecracker? Several had been thrown at us, so none of us thought much of it. But during the break, Sakamaki went to the door of a nearby house to ask to use the toilet. We saw the man motion toward the woods across a field and Sakamaki start in that direction. Then one of the children, who had gone ahead, ran back saying that the man had a rifle. When we all hurried toward the house, the man went back inside and Sakamaki shouted, "Don't come! Don't come!" We cut the break short and got out of there as quickly as possible, with Mary Jane and me carrying the banner in front.

Within five minutes, a county sheriff's deputy pulled up to investigate. I explained to him that we were walking to the UN, that we were staying at a Baptist Church in Albany, and that we were leaving town in the morning. I gave him some of our literature, which he glanced at and then said, "I guess it's all right."

It was about 4:30 and near dusk when we reached the town limit of Albany. People were leaving their jobs at the factory. Soon a caravan of a half-dozen pickup trucks and cars filled with young white men was driving up and down the road. Another shot was fired in the air as we entered town. The deputy was parked at the first Baptist church which we came to. This was evidently the "white" Baptist church. We had not told the deputy that we were staying at the "black" Baptist church. When we walked past the church, one of the passengers in the caravan got out of the pickup and into the deputy's car, which then joined the caravan. Some people were heckling us and driving through the walk, trying to hit people. In fact, one car brushed against one of the Danish reporters. The fact that the deputy had joined the caravan made the threat of violence much more real. Mary Jane was close to tears with worry about her children.

An old Oldsmobile with New York plates skidded across the gravel parking lot to the front of the walk. One of the passengers shouted, "What are you, Iranians or what?" I gave them one of our pamphlets and responded, "No. I'm from North Carolina. Where are you all from?" Later we would find it humorous that they misunderstood the Buddhist peace prayer. They thought we were saying "Long live Khomeini!"

Afterwards we learned that a major faction of the KKK was centered in Albany. The last walk to go through Albany was a civil rights march in the late 60's. It took two hundred National Guardsmen to get them through safely. Now we came through Albany with no advance knowledge of the situation, with no police protection, and with the Klan thinking we were Iranians.

While I was waiting my turn for a shower at Hammond Vocational Rehabilitation for the Mentally Retarded, I talked with some of the residents in the TV room. Soon many people were gathered around my table. They could not believe that we were actually walking to New York. Then we began to talk some about war and peace. They talked more sensibly than many college students we met. Most of them wanted to walk with us the next day, which was Saturday. They were adults in their twenties and thirties who, the state said, were responsible adults and employable; yet they were not allowed to walk with us because the center had no liability insurance in case they were injured. All of us knew that they could not walk with us, and why. For a brief period our eyes could not make contact.

A festive mood returned as we entered the dining area to eat a gigantic cake which the staff and residents had baked and decorated with "Peace" in large letters. After the cake was eaten, we all joined hands and sang many peace songs, ending with "So Long, It's been Good to Know You." Hammond was a happy contrast to the ordeal of the Albany Klan.

But the day was still far from over. We returned to the Baptist church for a potluck supper and meeting with the congregation. We learned that members of the black Baptist church and the Catholic community had fasted and prayed for our safety today. Sister Dorothy discussed the problem we had had with the Klan today with the director of the Hammond School. He called the state highway patrol for a guarantee of our safety. Members of the black community had also heard of the incident. They told us not to worry because they would keep watch. "No Ku Kluxers will come here tonight. They know better."

After everyone had gone home, we decided it was best if we had a meeting among ourselves to discuss the day's events. At this meeting it became evident that although we were all pacifists, our ideology and methods were different. This was the first time that we met as an entire group to discuss problems and strategy. It set the precedent of any member being able to call a meeting to discuss matters which concerned the Peace March. We were a small group and decisions could be made in open discussion. Of all thebranches of the Peace March that converged on New York this year, ours had the most democratic decision making. On the other walks decisions were made with little or no input from the non-Japanese walkers.

For our meeting we sat on the floor in a circle. Mercury began by producing a feather, evidently a tradition of such meetings in British Columbia, where he and Carole had been living. Only the person with the feather could speak. If interrupted, you said, "I have the feather." When you finished speaking you gave the feather to whomever you wished. This served to keep order without the need of a chairperson and set the pattern of equality among all members.
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