The tension had been building for weeks. It culminated one afternoon on the sidewalk, two against one.

We had moved to Durham from northern Virginia by July of 1973 and into Palm Park Apartments on Leon Street, near Northgate Mall. The complex was across the street from Brogden Junior High, where I registered as a ninth grader.

The front of the school was packed the first day. It had been two months since I had seen this many kids. There was one slight problem: I did not know a single soul.

Worse, I had moved from an ethnically diverse school outside of Washington, D.C., to a rather narrow one. The students here were predominantly whites, some blacks and me. I approached the school ground with some trepidation realizing this was going to be an interesting chapter in my new, Southern life.

It was not long before the harassment began, your typical ethnic name calling. Typically, both black and white kids hassled me, but their style was noticeably different. The former was limited to verbal nuisance in passing (they had buses to catch) while the latter was focused on threats of physical assault.

After weeks of tension, it came down to three students who felt a divine mandate to give me a "whipping you'll never forget, Chink! Kung-fu or no Kung-fu!!" Koreans, like Englishmen, never turn down a good fight so ...

I spent my afternoon classes reflecting on how to take them on. Two were feasible but three was ... problematic. Upholding their Southern code of teenage honor, they waited on the sidewalk.

Lucky me, only two showed. We put down our backpacks, preparing for some international relations -- Durham style. We were seconds away from the point-of-no-return when a being appeared, out of nowhere.

We were astonished as a young, attractive woman, standing 5 feet 7 inches tall, wearing a pair of shorts and a short-sleeve top, with her shoulder-length blond hair in a ponytail, stood in our midst.

The mystery lady took immediate control. With practiced authority in her voice, she shot out one question after another -- what were we doing there? where did we live? etc. essentially discombobulating us. She stated that no fight was taking place.

The three of us looked at each other, shell-shocked. I thought, "Wow ... who is this angel saving me from an unsalvageable situation?"

Three things impressed me.

Foremost was seeing a young woman intervening in a sticky situation. She was in her early twenties. An older person jumping in would have made more sociological sense. Second, she was a pretty lady -- defying my expectation that such individuals could care enough about a (Asian) kid getting jumped, two against one. She could have easily been a college sorority girl without any problem.

The final observation came after she told me to start walking home. I looked back after about 50 feet anticipating that the two were closing in. Instead, to my surprise, she was still standing with them, watching me turn the corner into the apartment complex! In her astuteness, she already knew their intentions.

The encounter was brief; less than five minutes. I looked for her at the school from then on to thank her but never saw her again.

Life's capricious journeys took me to other parts of the United States and eventually across the world. I returned to North Carolina (Chapel Hill) in 2005. In 2007, I was elected chairman of Orange County Republican Party. Since we were in the same Congressional district, I got to meet the Durham County GOP chairwoman, Melodie Parrish, a retired Durham Public Schools teacher and administrator.

I mentioned that I had attended Brogden for a year. Surmising I was the only Asian there, she asked if I'd ever gotten into confrontational situations.

"There were unpleasant moments," I responded. Looking intently, she asked if a woman ever got involved in one of those. Mentally peeling back 35 years, I remembered the time the young lady angel broke up a potentially nasty fight.

"Why do you a...?" I began when the realization sank in.

Lost for words, our eyes met. Instantly, we were transported back to that fateful day on the sidewalk, October, 1973.