On November 16, 2016, Congressman John Lewis practically ran up onto the stage in excitement. He had just won a National Book Award for his co-authored graphic novel about the civil rights movement, March: Book Three. The awards benefit and ceremony were held at Cipriani Wall Street, in New York City. I watched the civil rights icon ascend the stage in front of a capacity crowd of hundreds of people. 

Lewis’s speech won the night. “This is unreal,” he bellowed, holding up his award and holding off tears. “This is unbelievable.” Lewis recalled growing up in rural Alabama, near the small city of Troy, “very, very poor” with “very few books in our home.” He told us how, in 1956, when he and his Black relatives went to the local library to get library cards, they were turned away and told the library was for “whites only.”

“And to come here and receive this award,” Lewis said, choking up. Perhaps Lewis was reflecting on how, sixty years after being denied a library card, he was carded into the library of celebrated writers. Perhaps he was reflecting on the marches against racism—and through the heart of racism—that he helped lead for six decades. Tears fell—a waterfall of reflection.