By Jackie Taggart-Boyd
During the recent 60th Bloody Sunday anniversary events, my mother, Dorothy Kennedy Taggart; my sister, Cheryl Taggart Wilson; my son, Spencer Craig Boyd II; and I journeyed to Selma, Alabama, joining tens of thousands in honoring the sacrifices made for Civil Rights, voting rights and equality.
This trip was deeply personal for me, as my family was active in this movement and made a significant impact. I traveled in honor of my father, W. Jack Taggart, a man who marched with Dr. King and devoted himself to the cause of justice.
While my father was not on the Edmund Pettus Bridge on Bloody Sunday — my mother, grandmother, and great-grandmother forbade him from going because he had been taking me, an infant at the time, to marches and campgrounds — his role in the Movement was undeniable.
My mother was finishing her undergraduate degree at Alabama A&M, and my father was deeply engaged in voter education, tutoring Black citizens so they could pass the literacy exams required to register to vote.
He was strong, proud and unwavering in his mission. Years later, when I met Congressman John Lewis, [and] he helped me piece together the truth: teachers were the catalysts of the Movement in Selma.
As the only college-educated Black professionals widely respected at the time, they took a massive risk by stepping to the front and marching.
In 1995, NBC ran a special on Bloody Sunday, and there, at the top of the courthouse steps, stood my father —e ye to eye with the sheriff. He carried the memory of his voter registration number with him until the day he died: he was one of the early Black citizens to register to vote in Dallas County, Alabama.
In 1966, my father was selected by the National Science Foundation to earn a master’s degree in physics from the University of Michigan in Ann Arbor, a pivotal moment in his career.
Upon returning to Selma, he resumed teaching at R.B. Hudson High School, an all-Black institution where my mother also taught.
In 1968, Selma City Schools faced a dilemma: they needed a physics teacher at the all-White Parrish High School. My father was the only qualified teacher in Selma, making him the first Black educator at an all-White school in the city.
The National Guard escorted him to work for the first few days, as no one knew how the community would react. My mother feared the Klan would be waiting. By the third day, my father turned the Guard away — he didn’t trust them and saw how their presence made his grandmother too anxious.
While in Selma, we visited our former family home at 1924 Eugene Avenue, across the street from activist attorney J.L. Chestnut and a block away from the Rev. F.D. Reese, who was not just a leader, but also the pastor of our family’s church, Ebenezer Baptist.
We walked the streets where history was made, from Broad Street, where marchers lined up to cross the bridge, and the site of Kress’s 5&10 store, where my grandmother, Blanche, became the first Black cashier.
We dined at the legendary Lannie’s BBQ, where we connected with ET’s Kevin Frazier and his family. Later, we gathered at the future site of the Foot Soldiers Park and met with my cousin, Ora Mann Hunter, a Foot Soldier herself.
She shared her memories of marching as a high school student, running away from home with her brother to join the Movement and feeling the weight of history on her shoulders.
“When I was a teenager, I was so excited. I didn’t know what to do,” she recalled. “We come back every year to let the world know that we are still fighting and to show young people what they are up against.”
I am extremely grateful that my son, Spencer, age 22, was able to travel with us, because I feel that it’s critically important for GenZ to understand that this is not ancient history.
The struggle for voting rights and equality is ongoing. I wanted him to see our cousin Ora, looking amazing and standing strong, to know that she was there. I wanted him to see me and understand that I was there in Selma when these events unfolded. This is not distant history — it is a living legacy that we carry forward.
We also visited Coach Willie Maxey, my father’s close friend and fellow educator. He recalled how my father integrated Parrish High School. Initially, my father was scheduled for half-day teaching assignments between R.B. Hudson and Parrish. The White principal, James Street, was skeptical of him, but my father made it clear he knew his job and did not need supervision. Over time, the students came to respect and admire him. By the following year, he became a full-time instructor at Parrish High School.
We attended the Martin & Coretta Scott King Unity Breakfast, where leaders such as Governor Andy Beshear, Martin Luther King III, National Urban League President Marc Morial and Congresswoman Terri Sewell spoke. This event, along with the massive gathering of people from across the nation, was a testament to the ongoing struggle for justice and the importance of honoring those who paved the way.
Our journey to Selma was not just a tribute to history but a call to action. As my cousin Ora said, we must continue to tell these stories, educate our youth, and ensure that the sacrifices of our ancestors were not in vain. My father, W. Jack Taggart, stood on the front lines of this Movement, and it is now our responsibility to carry his legacy forward.