Not in that area. I don't know about any other part of the South, but in New Orleans, it wasn't. The first sense of segregation, or that there was some form of segregation, came to me through my godfather, who was a French Creole, but very light skinned. He passed for white. He would take me into town to shop for me, for a birthday or for whatever holidays. I don't recall the exact holidays, but I do recall the incident of getting on the streetcar and him going all the way up to the front where the motorman was. There was a motorman and a conductor. They had these signs where you put up in between each section - you could move - for example, if there were more white people on the streetcar at the time, then this sign would be moved back. Each seat had a little hole in [it] where you could stick this sign in. I had to stay behind that sign, and he would go up front. Then he'd come back and make a joke out of it, but I realized then there was a difference, that me being black, I couldn't go past that sign. Whites sat in the front end of it and blacks sat in the back end of it.