In case you are new to this blog, I need to explain that this is Part 5 of my looking back on the MS Freedom Summer Project’s 60th Annversary. During my two-week participation in that life-changing event I kept a journal, which is what I am recounting and reflecting upon here. Ten years ago I posted the entire Journal on this site, dividing it into 16 parts. In this series of postings the “Parts” refererred to are to that Journal. For those who want to se the entire texts, there are links to the three covered this time–Parts 11, 12, & 13–at the bottom of this article. (Just 3 more to go.)
Part 11 of my journal covers a variety of activities, beginning on Moday, Aug. 10, 1964, with a craft activity for the children at Shaw;s Freedom Center and then my driving Mr. & Mrs. Joe Carter up to the Cleveland Couty Court House some 10 miles to the north”
The Carters are an interesting couple. He has little formal education, bring barely able to write his name. His wife has a little over a 6th grade education. He is out of work with 8 children to feed. They live just north of Shaw and like most Negroes, had heard of us as being the people to come to for help. Sunday night Joe Carter’s old car had a flat tire in Shaw. A car from Colorado stopped to offer him some light to see. Officer Jenkins came over and demanded what they were doing. He spoke very sarcastically to Joe, telling him to get out of town or he would lock him up. This wasn’t the first run-in that Joe had had with dear kind Officer Jenkins (sounds like the cop in West Side Story!) Not long ago the policeman had come out and arrested Joe for disturbing the peace. It was claimed that he & Mrs. Carter were fighting. Both denied this, but Jenkins ordered him to “shut up.” He threw him into jail without benefit of a lawyer. The judge came the next day, but refused to listen to Joe’s defense. He too told him to “shut up.” Joe was fined $30; rather than have him stay in jail and face a hopeless situation, his wife paid it. Like so many Negroes here, Joe seems like a victim of a system that assumes all Negroes are guilty regardless of arguments to the contrary. Many of the Negroes with whom I’ve spoken speak with great contempt of the white man’s law and justice.
After lunch Mr. & Mrs. Carter drove up to the Center, and we headed for Cleveland in our two cars. North of town a mile Joe had another flat tire. We helped him fix it, but then the engine wouldn’t start. He’s had a broken water pump which forced him to carry extra water in two-gallon cans that he kept under the hood in front of the radiator.
The Carters, leaving theirs beside the highway, got into our car, and we were soon at the Cleveland Freedom Center. Cleveland, being the county seat, this Center for voter registration information and processing. The Carters were given additional advice and instructions and forms to fill out requesting that the results of their tests be sent to them by mail.
We then went to the Courthouse and accompanied the Carters as far as the registrar’s office. Going down the hall to get a drink, we could see her come out of her office to peer at us. I’m sure this didn’t help an already hostile disposition toward Negroes who dared to get so uppity as to attempt to register.
Roger & I did some shopping while we waited for the Carters to come out. We had been told that it often took a couple of hours for a Negro to finish the process, a usual Miss. tactic to discourage Negro registration, or at least to slow them down. The registrar refused to accept their written requests for copies of their tests so we returned to the Cleve1and Center to report this. To round off the afternoon we did the project laundry. When we returned we found that the spare on Joe’s car was now flat. Joe seems to be one of those fellows who just can’t win!
There follows an explanation of why COFO (sponsors of the Freedom Project) decided to form a political party to rival the segregated Democratic Party, the Freedom Democatic Party (FDP). Thus the last week of my stay was devoted to getting people to register for the FDP.
Hence the attempt to form a new party, the F.D.P., to challenge the old, corrupt one. Since the Negro has had little chance to register in the regular election, the FDP has been collecting forms from as many adults as possible to show to the national party, as well as to the nation, that the regular party does not represent a majority of the people of the state but only a minority determined to use every means, including violence, to stay in its privileged position.
Part of the program of the FDP has been of an educational nature. Literature has been distributed concerning politics & government, mock elections held, and county & state conventions held. Every COFO Center has been involved in canvassing in order to get people to fill out the Freedom Registration forms. So far a little over 51,000 have been gathered, not really enough to make the strongest case for the FDP.
I then wrote of the fear that prevents most people whom we encountered from signing the form. For most of them it would cost their jobs or loss of welfare payments were their signing to be discovered by whites. I the write about our experience driving out to the shacks. Here is an account of one visit:
One lady told us that her boss had told her, “Don’t you have anything to do with those C-R workers or you’ll be thrown out into the river!” She signed anyway. We pulled away to leave but she came out to ask us something else. It seems that her son a few nights before had gone out hunting with his 22 cal. rifle. The sheriff came & accused him of shooting another boy. The wounds in the boy’s body, according to the mother, were far too large to be caused by a 22, but the sheriff disregarded this and arrested her son anyway. She has not been able to see him since. She asked if we could do anything, but when we found out that she was going to see a lawyer the next day I told her that we had better wait before becoming involved – that we might make things even worse if we entered the picture since we had not exactly captured the heart of Sheriff Capp. We asked her to call us to keep us informed – though we will probably have to check back on this ourselves. Her home was quite poor, but better kept up inside than the average. Some well done paintings by another son hung on the walls as did a certificate of graduation from grade school – all proclaiming the fond pride of a parent for her children who had gone further than she’d been able to.
In Part 12 I write of a potentially dangerous situation when my partner Roger Smith took a picture of a segregated laundromat and the owner came out to lambast us. Later my wife joked about this–“You don’t understand, Ed. The “Colored” and the White” signs refer to clothes, not people–you never wash the two kinds together.”
I next wrote about our joining the celebration in Ruleville, Fanny Lou Hamer’s hometown. (See a previous blog for a decsription of our earlier encounter with this fiery CR acivist.)
Friday afternoon, Judy, Roger & I went to Ruleville at the invitation of Mrs. Hamer to a celebration of the 2nd Anniversary of the Freedom Movement there. A large crowd had gathered & the meeting soon began with the singing of freedom songs: again we were led by Mrs. Hamer. What a marvelous voice.
The day was dedicated to Charles McClauren, the Project Director in Ruleville, who as a SNCC staff man had come there two years before all alone to organize the Movement. Mrs. Hamer and another lady gave brief talks, and then the food was taken out. There were no tables to place it on; the Negro churches are so inadequately equipped in comparison to ours up North. There was a lot of confusion, but everyone was fed. Our plates were heaped with chicken, meat loaf, potatoes, salad, & cake & pie. The ladies of Ruleville had lived up to their reputations.
During the festivities the Sheriff drove up & asked for Fannie Lou. She came out & was served an injunction, (We had heard that morning that a court at the request of the states at tourney general had issued an injunction against the FDP. When we asked her if this were the injunction, she replied, “Yes. It’s just a scrap of paper. It don’t mean anything. I’ll be in Atlantic City even if I have to go by myself!”
Several of us had an interesting conversation with Charles McClauren. He said that the sheriff was one of the better ones of Miss., that he could go in & talk with him. He was a politician first & a segregationist 2nd. He discussed the situation with him, & Charles told him that he should think about hiring Negro deputies & prepare for the time when Negroes would gain their rights. Surprisingly, the sheriff claimed that he had thought about it & discussed it – that one day he would.
This part ends with another meeting with the impoverished couple, Mr. & Mrs. Joe Carter.
Part 13 begins with an account of our supper on a Friday night and our attending a Freedom meeting, a Saturday session with the parents of the students boycotting the Shaw high school, and then our driving out to look at the site of the local KKK . On our way back to Shaw we had the following tense encounter:
On our way back Wally suggested we stop at a Gulf station in Shaw & he would buy gas with his credit card. We pulled in but no one came up at first. Finally a Negro attendant came out. I could just hear a voice call after him, “You don’t have to serve them! We don’t need their money that bad.” Charles & Aaron (both black) were with us, branding us as Communist agitators.
The Negro attendant waited on us anyhow. The whites looked us over with hostile eyes. One of them, a young t-shirted tough who seemed to think he was quite handsome & tough, strode over to a doughnut shop next to the station. Soon several faces were staring out at us. The attendant asked if we wanted the water & oil checked. Not wanting to stay there any longer, we said no. When Wally gave him his credit card the white owner came over & demanded identification. He seemed to be looking for some excuse not to honor it, but Wally flashed his wallet & the man was satisfied.
The Negro spoke the customary farewell, “you all come back.” “Oh no, don’t do that!” the white man hastily added. The young tough, who’d come out of the doughnut shop to look us over more closely, cheerfully chimed in, “I hope you don’t make it through the night.” With a loud cry of “Freedom, Oh Freedom…” we drove away. What sick minds such people are burdened with! Even money, first in so many men’s lives, is second to their hatred & prejudice.
There is a lot more to Part 12, including reports of a service at which Roger and I spoke, plus a brief profile of the Cleveland businessman Amzie Moore, President of the local NAACP who had helped SNCC activist Robert Moses organize the Freedom Summer Project:
Mr. Amzie Moore, owner of a Standard Oil Station in Cleveland, expressed the feelings of all of us when he spoke next. Quoting liberally from Scriptures he spoke of the fellowship that we were sharing together, black and white. The barriers erected by man had been torn down by Christ as we worshiped together today. He thanked us and the volunteers – far more generously than we’d deserved – & wished that we were staying. I wish some of my laymen could have heard him – here was a man who had apparently lived with his Bible for a long time.
Next week we will conclude with excerpts from the last 3 parts of the journal and some remarks on what happend at the end of the momentous summer.
Links to the Journal:
