This is the sixth and final posting in commemoration of the 60th anniversary of my participation in the Mississippi Freedom Summer Project, highlighting Parts 14, 15, & 16 of the Journal I kept during the two weeks I was at Shaw, Mississippi, a small town about 125 miles north of Jackson in the northwestern section called the Delta. As you will see, it was a full and rich experience.
I begin with recounting our sending out a mailing containing the report we had all been contributing to–Report on Violence & Intimidation. This was going to the chairpersons of all the non-Southern delegations to the upcoming Democratic National Committe in the hope of winning their support for the Freedom Democratic Party. We didn’t trust the local P.O., so we drove up to the all-Black town of Winstonville, where we knew that we would not be overcharged, nor would the envelopes be opened. Then we stopped at Cleveland, the county seat, in order to talk with the pastor of the Presbyterian Church–Shaw is just 10 miles south of Cleveland. He welcomed us into his office:
“We explained to him who we were and our purpose of establishing contact in order to carry on a dialogue between both sides. He explained his position and we ours.
His was that of the typical moderate. He didn’t really want complete integration, but felt that more must be done to help the Negro, both politically & economically. He believes that all – black and white – are children of God and therefore brothers. No one should be prohibited from worshiping in God’s house because of his color.
He felt that from 50-75% of his people believe as he did but the minority was more vocal and would stir up too much trouble to allow for Negro attendance now. He said he was talking this over with one of his deacons the other day, and she agreed. However, they thought that nothing could be done at the present. He stated that he had done nothing, nor would do anything now, to bring this about. This was a Mississippi problem that would have to be solved by the people here and not by outsiders. (At the time none of us pointed out the absurdity of this latter statement, following right his admission of inaction!)
There is much more, such as the pastor’s telling us that the SNCC volunteers needed better grooming, and an account of some local citizens who failed to pass ther voting test at the county courthouse, but I must press on to Part 15 of my Journal on Tuesdat, Aug. 18, 1964.
Most of this journal entry deals with the Shaw high school students integrating the Shaw library, a small storefront affair. They had wanted to do so several days ago, but were persuaded to wait until they could get better organized and receive some training in non-violence. A lawyer had come down and suggested they wait another week, which they rejected, so today three boys in white shirts & ties (it was judged too dangerous for girls, much to their disgust) met in the library for last instructions. I wrote:
I had hoped to witness the integration, but had to take someone up to the Courthouse in Cleveland. By the time we returned the students had already left for the library. Roger and I drove downtown and saw quite a scene. A crowd of displeased looking whites lined the sidewalk across the street from the little storefront library.
“We couldn’t see much of what was going on inside, but outside were sheriff’s deputies and quite a number of white-helmeted state troopers. We would loved to have stopped and taken pictures but didn’t believe this was safe, so I continued to drive very slowly down the street. As we came to the railroad tracks we spotted the large black bus that had transported the state troopers to the scene. Most of them, with big black riot guns pointing skyward, stood by the bus. They were ready to move in if necessary. (We later learned that the FBI had called both the Sheriff’s office and the State Police.) Again, I would have loved to stop to take pictures but didn’t want to risk arrest. I did snap one picture of the bus & troopers with my box camera – unfortunately it turned out blurry due to the car motion. We drove back down through the center of town, but when it became apparent that we wouldn’t be allowed to park close by the library, we drove back to the Freedom Center.
Shortly thereafter the three students returned and told the crowd of admiring adults and youth what had transpired. They had gone into the library and found the sheriff and some deputies and troopers there, along with the librarian. All of the chairs had mysteriously disappeared, no doubt to discourage their staying around. They asked for their books by title, as they had rehearsed. The librarian treated them courteously, giving them the books they wanted. The students left and returned to the Center. They posed for pictures, holding the books that they had taken out. Everyone felt very proud. Though the library was supported by the taxes of Black residents, as well as whites, no black person had taken out a book before this day.
The last part of this entry includes a description of my relationship with Joe, an Italian who owned the better of the two grocery stores in Shaw’s Balck district. This turned out to en interesting one, which you can read about in the Journal itself. Must press on to Part 16 of the Journal (did you think we’d never get there?) I named this entry “Some observations of incidents that occurred on various dates.”
“One night while I was on duty at the Center an old man came in and asked to see “My freedoms.” Uncertain as to what he meant, I tried to draw him out. He kept saying, “My freedoms. You know – they’re written down, and I want to see them.” It dawned on me finally that he meant the Constitution and the Bill of Rights. When I showed this to him he said that this was it. He was past 70 years of age and yet he had never seen a copy of the U.S. Constitution!”
This next incident makes me think of Lawrence Dunbar’s poem “The Mask:”
“I may have already included this in the diary, but in case I didn’t: I picked up an elderly hitchhiker one hot day. He was very reserved and polite with a “Yes sir” or “No sir” with each statement. He was old enough to be my grandfather, yet he was addressing me with “sirs” To one question it was, “No sir, things aren’t too bad here.” Then, as I talked more and revealed that I was a C-R worker, his whole demeanor changed. The “sirs” ceased, and he spoke of some of the hardships he had endured. I learned first hand what some of the blacks at the Center had told us of the pretense, of the mask that blacks had to wear around any whites that they did not know – or whom they knew to be prejudiced.”
And I wrote again of the fear we all lived under and how we came to admire the Blacks who dared to try to register to vote:
“At times we felt that we were living a modern version of the Book of Acts. The local movement was definitely church centered, all the meetings including fervent prayer and powerful singing. And when the people would recite from the Psalms such lines as “the sun will not smite thee by day, nor the moon by night”, we knew that this was not just Old Testament rhetoric – for outside the church a white policeman always stood taking down the names of all whom he saw entering and leaving. (Ps. 27 was also popular, as well as Ps. 121.) Roger and I felt that we were among the bravest people alive. We knew that many were afraid – for their jobs if not their safety – yet they dared to come out to such meetings. The singing, prayers, and speeches fueled their courage, helping them to realize that, as the anthem put it, “We are not alone, we are not alone, Oh, deep in my heart, I know, we shall overcome someday.”
Admitedly the majority of Blacks were too fearful to join the Movement–they had so much to lose. We learned that a county welfare worker called on those we had talked with, warning them that their checks would be ended if they tried to register.
I also wrote about some of the friction between the Northern white volunteers and the veteran SNCC workers–this would lead to the banning of whites the next year. Also when we returned North and started sending clothing and such down, we were told of the bickering over who should receive the better clothes, Thus, I don’t want to romatisize the people there–they were as susceptable to human foilbles as any one.
Below is a photo of about half of us staff members, reading from left: George Robbins, Grace Morton, me, Judy York, & my N.D. colleague, Rev. Roger Smith.
As far as enabling people to vote, Roger and I completely failed–the county registrar was determined to prevent Blacks from voting. Our reward came in other ways, such as the elderly lady who thanked us on our last night in Shaw, saying, “You opened our eyes, and we saw that things do not have to stay the same.”
“Roger and I both went to Miss. with the knowledge that we would receive more than we would give, learn more than we could teach. Events confirmed this. The two weeks and a few days are among the most memorable of my life. For the next year I spoke more than 50 times around North Dakota in an attempt to interpret what was taking place in Miss. and enlisting help. A number of items, such as our church’s mimeograph machine we had planned to trade in on a newer model, money, and clothing were shipped south. I was very careful not to turn every sermon into a C-R tirade, but many of the insights I had learned entered into my preaching and teaching. I will be always grateful for the way we were received by the black people of Mississippi and for what they taught me about living the Christian Gospel.”
As I mentioned near the beginning of this six-part sries, after serving his N.D. church until the following June, Roger persuaded his bishop to allow him to return South, where he worked at the Delta Ministry unil his retirement many years later.
I almost forgot, I received a fascinating letter in response to a Christian Century article I wrote for the 20th Anniversary of the Project. It was sent by the pastor of the Shaw Baptist Church where Roger & I had tested the waters by worshipping there one of our Sundays that we were in town. It was a very positive letter describing his own attempts at getting his church to reach out to Black churches. Wow!
Here are links to the full entries of my Journal. Each contains far more details of the above and other happenings:
https://readthespirit.com/visual-parables/miss-freedom-summer-project-part-14/
https://readthespirit.com/visual-parables/miss-summer-freedom-project-part-15/
https://readthespirit.com/visual-parables/miss-freedom-summer-project-part-16/
There have been a lot of good books written about the MFSP, the most comprehensive being Bruce Watson’s FREEDOM SUMMER (New York: Penguin Group, 2010.)
