So, to try to keep them safe, I kept them on one side of the street, and I went across the street, as was my custom, trying to reason with the Klan. And I was doing pretty good, I thought, until somebody hit me on the back of the head with a blackjack, and then somebody — I was knocked out. And then, I didn’t know what happened, but somebody picked me up and I went back, and I said, “We can’t turn around now. We have to go down to the next corner.” And this time, when they kicked at me and swung at me, I was able to move. And finally a policeman showed up and said, “No, let them go through.” Now, 45 years later, I met that policeman. And it turned out he was a young Greek who had just come to Florida, and he was a big guy, six-six, 250, 300 pounds. And when he told the crowd to step back — and later on his wife became the mayor — and when I went down to make a movie about 1964, I met him. I had never seen the films of what happened to me until one of the students from Flagler College, in a project on Southern history — turned out that her father was the police chief and she got this file footage of me getting beat up, and Martin Luther King’s fingerprints where they arrested him, because later he came down and joined the march. Because there was no way of stopping it. We just had to make sure that it stayed nonviolent, which we did.