Dear Ms. Lunelle,
As I stood on the overpass of Interstate 240 West with the Southern Cross in hand, a Black Rolls Royce would pull in behind where my car was parked, and a middle-aged man would pull a wheelchair from the trunk and aided an elderly man to make his way to where I stood on the bridge overpass.
With an outstretched hand he would squeeze out a very strong handshake, and said in a uniquely eloquent voice. "Mr. Edgerton, I am Jediah, and this is my grandson Benjamin." Unfortunately, I cannot remember or pronounce their last name.
Jedia went on to say...
“I have heard and read many things about you and your exploits. And I saw you a couple of weeks ago at the street entrance of Crowes Funeral Home in Rutherfordton. However, by the time we could get turned around, you were gone.
I want you to know that our family fought on the side of the Southern Confederacy and that General Robert E. Lee was not only my great grandfather's Commanding Officer, but also his friend.”
He went on to say that he was told that there was not a single man who would not have taken a shot for the General, and that he truly believed that applied for many of the soldiers from the North. “Can you believe?"
“I do,” was my reply. I just happened to have on my Dixie Outfitter shirt with General Lee splashed all over the front of my chest.
And as we stood there talking, a host of cars driving by were Black people shouting
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