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Wilson came by train from Birmingham and looked the city over ; ;

the rather pleasant white city was on the hill where the chief stores were.

Beyond were industries and factories.

Then they went down to Black Bottom.

In the midst of this crowded region was the Allen African Methodist Episcopal Church.

It was an old and dirty wooden structure, sadly in need of repair.

But it was a landmark.

It had been there 50 years or more and everybody in town, black and white, knew of it.

It had just suffered a calamity, the final crisis in a long series of calamities.

For the old preacher who had been there twenty-five years was dead, and the city mourned him.