American autobiographical literature is filled with numerous accounts of remarkable jordan heels men who pulledthemselves to the summit by their bootstraps. Few are as poignant as Malcolm's memoirs. Astestimony to the power of redemption and the force of human personality, the autobiography ofMalcolm X is a revelation.
     　　New York, June 1965
     Chapter 1 Nightmare
     When my mother was pregnant with me, she told me later, a party of hooded Ku Klux Klan ridersgalloped up to our home in Omaha, Nebraska, one night. Surrounding the house, brandishing theirshotguns and rifles, they shouted for my father to come out. My mother went to the front door andopened it. Standing where they could see her pregnant cheap Chanel bags condition, she told them that she was alonewith her three small children, and that my father was away, preaching, in Milwaukee. The Klansmenshouted threats and warnings at her that we had better get out of town because "the good Christianwhite people"' were not going to stand for my father's "spreading trouble" among the "good" Negroesof Omaha with the "back to Africa" preachings of Marcus Garvey.
     　　My father, the Reverend Earl Little, was a Baptist minister, a dedicated organizer for Marcus AureliusGarvey's U.N.I.A. (Universal Negro Improvement Association). With the help of such disciples as myfather, Garvey, from his headquarters in Cheap Louis Vuitton Bags New York City's Harlem, was raising the banner of black-racepurity and exhorting the Negro masses to return to their ancestral African homeland-a cause whichhad made Garvey the most controversial black man on earth.
     　　Still shouting threats, the Klansmen finally spurred their horses and galloped around the house,shattering every window pane with their gun butts. Then they rode off into the night, their torchesflaring, as suddenly as they had come.
     　　My father was enraged when he returned. He decided to wait until I was born-which would be soon-and then the family would move. I am not sure why he made this cheap chanel bags decision, for he was not a frightened Negro, as most then were, and many still are today. My father was a big, six-foot-four, very blackman. He had only one eye. How he had lost the other one I have never known. He was from Reynolds,Georgia, where he had left school after the third or maybe fourth grade. He believed, as did MarcusGarvey, that freedom, independence and self-respect could never be achieved by the Negro inAmerica, and that therefore the Negro should leave America to the white man and return to hisAfrican land of origin. Among the reasons my Jordan high heels father had decided to risk and dedicate his life to helpdisseminate this philosophy among his people was that he had seen four of his six brothers die byviolence, three of them killed by white men, including one by lynching. What my father could notknow then was that of the remaining three, including himself, only one, my Uncle Jim, would die inbed, of natural causes. Northern white police were later to shoot my Uncle Oscar. And my father wasfinally himself to die by the white man's hands.