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Growing up in a racist family, John Miller only knew about blacks from the pictures on television and what his parents told him. In his entire sixteen years of life, he had only seen one black person in downtown Butte, Montana; and that was when he was eight.

One morning, John woke up and found himself in a strange bed and in a strange room. Getting up, John roamed through a house that was run down and very old. Passing by a mirror, he saw the same tanned face; but something was different - he had a 1950's style haircut. It didn't bother him, but he normally had his hair hanging over his face and a bowl haircut.

Going into the kitchen, John went to the cupboard and found some cornflakes. On his way back to the table, John found a calendar that had the date: September 10, 1957. John said out loud, "What on earth am I doing here?"

After eating breakfast, John went outside to get to his car and head for school. He noticed the house was on the edge of a cotton field. In the field, John saw his parents with some other people picking cotton; but what was really unusual to John was that a tall, black man was watching over them with a shotgun. He found his car, a 1957 blue Chevrolet Bel-Air, climbed in, and left. The black man yelled, "That boy has stolen my Chevy! When he gets back, he'll get the whippin' of his life!"

Arriving in town, John saw hundreds of black people, but hardly a single white person. His parents had told him how to talk to blacks, so he yelled racial slurs at them; they yelled the same taunts back at him, and threatened to call the police. John stopped his car at an ice cream shop. On the way, he was stared at by many black people; he felt so self-conscious that he didn't notice a sign that said, "NO WHITES ALLOWED."

Sitting down at a table, people got up and left the vicinity he was in. A man came up to him and said, "Boy, didn't you see a sign that said your kind ain't allowed? Get out of here before I call the police."

"What gives you the right to tell me what to do? I've been told blacks don't deserve to be here, so why don't you leave?" John sarcastically said.

Angry, the man slapped John in the face with the back of his hand and said, "Now, are you gonna' get out of here, or do you want more?"

"No, sir." John hurriedly left the ice cream shop.

Outside, a black and white Butte police car stopped behind John's Chevrolet as John was getting in. The two black police officers came around the car on opposite sides. The one next to the driver's side, Lieutenant

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