They say in Alabama No neutrals do you 'mark. You either are a freedom fighter Or a "tom" for Sheriff Clark. Which side are you on, boy? Which side are you on?

In Alabama today, nearly every person, white black, has been converted into a combattant, soldier with lines to protect or fortresses to form. For the Negroes, the conversion process is been a blessing. It has infused purpose and implexity into lives that would otherwise be said and hopeless. For whites, the conversion has been a tragedy, compressing three-dimensional into flat stereotypes.

No one is allowed to remain detached. At a freedom rally, an old Negro woman pulls you , presses your hand in hers, and implores you "stay so they won't beat us again." Young boys their arms through yours and begin singing We Shall Overcome." At a white rally, a young attendant circles around you and hisses, one of 'em, ain't ya?"

A curtain of suspicion separates the white from the Negro community; but walking streets of Selma and Montgomery is not like in Harlem or Chicago's South Side. You no sullen or threatening stares. Centuries open oppression have implanted a different ; black faces either turn down and search sidewalk as you pass or probe your own face, for clues.

Mistrust Melts

But the distrust is easily pierced. Last Friday I visited Walker's Cafe, where the Rev. James J. had eaten right before he was murdered. As left the restaurant, several white gangs stared me from across the street. On my side of the groups of Negroes leaning against store- eyed me hostilely. Finally the loneliness new unbearable. I raised my eyes to a young man. "How are you, brother?" I whispered. A broad smile instantly spread across his face. , and his friends strolled up to shake hand. The whites across the street looked and then sauntered off. No doubt they too that sides had finally been taken.

Often no words are even needed. In Montgom- my CRIMSON copy from the bar of the Moore Hotel. The mere act of enter-the bar was proof of allegiance to the cause. at least three Negros approached me shook hands and offered to buy me a food.

You all is gettin' straightened out, ain't ya?" man asked. The question carried no hint of or sarcasm. I nodded. "Well, that's fine, ," he said, clapping me on the shoulder. in Montgomery, we ate most of our the College Inn, a Negro cafe owned by young couple who work a 16-hour day. They worship Dr. King and befriended us immediately. One evening we were drinking beer there and discussing the prospective Selma-to-Montgomery freedom march. A middle-aged Negro, who had occupied another table, rose to leave. As he passed our table, he leaned into the conversation and muttered, "Go ahead and march, but look out. That's all, just look out."

What did he mean? we asked. He sat down with us, the owners closed the restaurant, and we all spent two hours debating the ethics of non-violence. The middle-aged man said it was unnatural to stand still while troopers flailed at you with their billy sticks. "No one can do that to me," he insisted, "No one." But he considered it equally unnatural to marhh defiantly from Selma to Montgomery "without first reasoning with the white folks along the way. Those folks is mean, sure, but no one ever told them not to be."

The owner of the cafe defended the Movement, maintaining that it was immoral to fight back and impractical to reason with poor whites. A highly sophisticated debate followed--but it was more than words. Both men knew that the next day SNCC would once again summon the Negro community to march nonviolently on the state capitol. Similar discussions were going on throughout the ghetto; for the Movement is the central fact in the life and thought of every Montgomery Negro, whether or not he considers himself in the Movement.

If the Revolution has added ferment and complexity to the lives of most Negroes, it has had the opposite effect-on whites. It is fashionable to talk about the "many Souths," and perhaps they exist. But in Alabama I met only two types of white men: those who mix reason with prejudice and those who make no pretense of rationality.

White "Moderates"

The former inhabit the relatively wealthy Selma suburb where Mayor Joseph Smitherson lives. His neighbors lined the curbs last Friday as 300 silent demonstrators were arrested for picketing Smitherson's home. The onlookers were well-dressed. They didn't taunt the demonstrators and, knowing I was a reporter, tried to reason with me.

"How would you feel if hundreds of bearded beatniks walked all over your lawn?" they asked earnestly.

"We don't care if these people vote, but all this marching is just silly," one man declared. "They're acting like the whole thing is a circus. Those northern kids just want something to write home about." One man who wore a Rotary pin had once lived in Cambridge, and we exchanged reminiscences.

But the moderation and rationality had limits, and these were quickly exhausted. "These niggers were happy before the agitators came in. Why, most of our niggers are richer than white folks; they just stash it away in banks, never improve themselves. And they don't care about each other. When the floods come, it's the white fire department people who save the niggers from drowning. After all this mess, I don't know how many's gonna be saved when the floods come again."

The extremists often ask the same questions as the "moderates," but they aren't interested in answers. I was in Sheriff Jim Clark's office when a police radio reported that the 300 pickets had reached the mayor's home. Clark glared at me and snapped, "You northern folks would just love havin' your houses crapped up by a lot of filthy beatniks, wouldn't you? Just love it."

Last Thursday, several hundred extremists marched to the capitol in Montgomery. A young white mother in the group pointed to some civil rights demonstrators nearby and said to her three-year old daughter, "There, honey, see the northern nigger-lovers--see 'em! Don't they look like monkeys?"

A big unshaven man leaned over a police barricade. "Bust up the goddamn Commies," he shouted to the troopers. "C'mon, use your clubs. Let's see some real BRUTALITY."

As the "Confederate" parade moved up the mall, hundreds of white-collar workers crowded the capitol windows. For a moment they watched silently. Then, as the marchers began chanting. "Go home, niggers," a huge shout of approval roared from the building.