Rabbi Secher’s activism in the social justice began with the Civil Rights Movement. He talks about his experiences in his upcoming book:

Albany, Georgia

“In 1962, I accepted my first pulpit in Long Island. Just before assuming that position, I received a call from a civil rights group asking me to go on a Freedom ride to Albany, Georgia to take part in a demonstration to desegregate public facilities. I met a group of clergy at Metropolitan Baptist Church in Harlem. Thirty ministers and about fifty from other northern cities were en route to the Georgia community in private cars. I rode in a car with three other rabbis driving south in the caravan.

“Many Freedom Ride buses had recently been fire bombed all eyes were on growing discontent with segregation. The ride was long—over twenty-six hours—and in those days there were few major thruways, especially in the South where two-lane roads passed through back country banked with spooky Spanish moss hanging from trees like prickly arms of oversized spiders. The closer we got to central Georgia, the more nervous we became.

“A racially mixed group of seventy-five Northerners met at a church in Albany where we were briefed by Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., Dr. Ralph Abernathy and Andrew Young.  The essence of their instruction was what to expect the next day, what it means to react with passive resistance and how to respond to arrest. Then we were assigned to homes in the neighborhood where our hosts fed us and bedded us down for the night. It was a troubled sleep.

“The next morning we met again at the church, lined up and proceeded to walk downtown to the Albany City Hall to hold a prayer service. We were promptly jailed. But after a day of integrating the jails that put both black and white ministers and laymen together, they realized their mistake and we were separated. White clergy were taken to a different jail in nearby Baker County. They left the blacks in the Albany jail. Thirty-five of us were crammed into a cell meant for eight people twenty-two miles from Albany—no showers and one toilet that emptied right onto the cell block floor.

“We were never lonely.  The guards brought their friends into the jail to view us behind bars as though we were animals on display. We did manage to integrate that jail as well when the guards tossed two drunken Negroes into our cell as a sort of punishment.”

“Kiss this black man,” yelled the guard. ‘Don’t you want to kiss this black man? Don’t you love this black man?”

“It didn’t work. As soon as the Negroes realized we were all clergy, they sobered up and we all wound up praying together.

"It took about a week to get out, and when I arrived back in New York, there was wide press coverage—The Long Island Newsday, New York Times and the New York Post."

St. Augustine, Florida

Three years later, he was jailed again in St. Augustine, Florida for similar charges, again under the leadership of Dr. King. Again from his book:

“Dr. King asked us to support a demonstration in the old Slave Market in St. Augustine, Florida, that was to take place in the next several days. I volunteered immediately as did ten others. The experience redirected my path once more.

“The night before we were scheduled to march to the Slave Market, there was a sniper shooting from the trees along the route we were to take. With tension high, we met the next night in the church in the black section of St. Augustine to receive instructions from Dr. King and Rev. Abernathy. Following our orientation, we formed a long line to walk in pairs. I was at the head of the line walking with a young black woman. Hand in hand we marched toward the Slave Market singing protest songs under the same trees where the sniper shootings took place. I was never so scared in all my life.

“When we reached the market, we continued the freedom songs, did a brief prayer service and reversed our route back to the church. The following day we divided, as per instructions from Dr. King, into three groups. One group was to sit-in at a lunch counter at a local Five-&-Ten.  Another group was to sit-in at a restaurant of a motel that was part of a national chain. By that time, segregation by any company that engaged in interstate commerce was prohibited, though not enforced. The third group was to conduct a prayer service in the motel parking lot.

“I was assigned to the prayer service. It was during that service that I witnessed the most courageous act I’ve ever seen. Two black teenagers ran from the group toward the swimming pool. As they ran they stripped down to their bathing suits and leaped into the water. Two dozen or so white patrons immediately exited the pool and one of them raced to the phone to call the manager. Beside himself with fury, the manager raced to a storeroom and grabbed a bottle of acid, ran back to the pool and proceeded to pour it into the water.  The teenagers never moved—never panicked.  What the manager and the boys didn’t know was that that particular acid dilutes instantaneously in water losing its power. What incredible bravery on the part of the kids to remain in the pool and not move a muscle.  The scene is still indelible for me.

“All three groups of demonstrators were arrested. In groups of five we were driven in squad cars to the jail. When we got out of the cars, each driver with his charges were photographed so they could each show off their prisoners to the locals.

“Meanwhile, an officer nearby decided that a young white woman was not obeying his commands. He turned on his electric cattle prod and shoved it into her rear end. I can still hear her screams.

“Whites were singled out and placed in a separate cellblock. The conditions were better this time. The toilet worked, there was water and even a shower—and they gave us towels—paper ones.  Ever try drying yourself after a shower with a paper towel?

“We were released three days later and headed home more determined than ever to create a color-blind America.”