Freedom's Children (20 page)

As a result of the Selma demonstrations, President Johnson urged passage of a law to protect voting rights, which Congress passed later that year. Under the law, federal, not state or local, officials conducted registration. The law suspended literacy tests and other discriminatory voting rules, and provided for federal government oversight of election procedures to prevent discrimination.

Some people believe that the Voting Rights Act of 1965 has had the most far-reaching effect of any civil rights legislation in promoting equality for blacks in America. In Selma the effect was clear. The year after the act was passed, over nine thousand blacks registered and then voted Sheriff Jim Clark out of office.

I am the seventh child of eight, and I'm the baby girl. We were very poor, living in the George Washington Carver homes.

My house was right behind the Brown Chapel AME Church. The civil rights movement in Selma really began at this church. I had to pass it to go to school, and this is where I played most of the time. I remember this particular morning, on my way to school, seeing something that was different. A lot of blacks and whites mingling together. That was unusual to me. I used to see black people sitting together, and whites where they were supposed to be. I had never seen them in a friendly or social environment where they were actually communicating.

As I began to cross the street, I was still watching and wondering what was going on. I looked back and saw them as they began to go into the church. I was so wondering about that, I decided I'd cross back over and follow behind them. I didn't think about what might happen if I was late to school. It didn't even cross my mind. I went into church and sat in the last pew in the back. I began to listen to what the people were saying on the pulpit. I remember Hosea Williams being the presiding officer that day. He began to talk about blacks in Selma not being registered voters. He talked about the numbers, how many blacks weren't registered. He talked about Dr. Martin Luther King. I didn't know anything about any of these things, but it was something that seemed exciting. It was like something was about to happen.

Finally I left and went on to school. When I got there, I realized I might be punished. I was very afraid to go into my classroom. I stood outside, and my teacher saw me peeking in. She told me to come in and she asked me in front of the classroom where I had been. I began to try to whisper to her and explain. The more I talked to her about what I saw and what I had heard, it became more interesting to her. I realized later on why. It was because at that time teachers weren't even registered. It was a time when nothing was happening in Selma in terms of the struggle.

As I talked she began to ask me question after question. Most questions I couldn't even answer. She told me they would have to contact my parents. And then she said I had no business being over there in that mess. As the day went on, I could see her whispering to other teachers about what I had told her.

When I got home that afternoon, of course they had talked with my mom and dad. All I could think about was being whipped. Then I began to see how inquisitive they were as they talked to me about what was going on. It made my parents nervous not only for me, but about what was about to happen in Selma. They were fearing something. This made it even more interesting to me.

I wanted to know about voting. I didn't know what that was about. And then I wanted to know who was this man Dr. Martin Luther King. Once Hosea Williams talked about him coming to Selma, you could tell in his expression and the way the people were applauding that he had to be somebody great. My parents knew of his name, but it was like I shouldn't know him or want to know him. This made me even more inquisitive. I was told to stay away from around there. I had no business being there.

Rachel, who was my best friend, lived right next door. After I saw I wasn't going to get a whipping, I was anxious to tell her about what happened. We talked, and I told her I was going back ut there.

One day we were playing out in front of the church, and we saw some pretty cars drive up. In the sixties in our housing area, we didn't see many big cars ride through there like that. It caught our attention. We saw these black men get out of the cars, all dressed neat. And we saw them as they huddled and were talking among themselves. We went a little closer, and when we got near them, there was this man who spoke to us and asked us our names. We told him, and he told us his. That was Dr. King. I said to Rachel, “This is the man that they were talking about!” So we followed them all into the church.

There was this other man who said to us, “You all can go on now.” Dr. King immediately told him, “No, let them stay. There's nothing we can do to harm them.” So we went on inside and sat there.

Then before they got ready to leave, Dr. King came to us again and told us that he wanted to see us when he came back. This was exciting to us, especially to me, because this was the man Hosea Williams had been talking about. Just the idea that he had the patience. He didn't throw us aside, or anything. He gave us the attention.

I didn't start learning what freedom meant until later on. We went home and told our parents that we met Dr. Martin Luther King, and that they were talking about a mass meeting, whatever that was. It was going to be at Brown Chapel Church, and I wanted to be there.

It started off with Rachel and me going to mass meetings. We'd sit in the front row and sing. The first song we learned was “Ain't Gonna Let Nobody Turn Me ‘Round.” That song itself told me a lot about what freedom was. It naturally meant there was going to be a struggle for rights that were owed to the black race.

The more mass meetings I attended, the more I began to learn. The words equality and justice were mentioned so much. I put all the pieces together just with those words. I may not have understood it well, but I understood enough.

It was so visible with us being there as children, that they started asking us to come up and lead freedom songs. When Dr. Martin Luther King had first come to one of the mass meetings, we were sitting in the front row. We had already led a few freedom songs, and we inched up to the pulpit and sat on his lap. He remembered us, and every time he would come, we would go up there and sit on his lap. We looked forward to him being there. It was just a thrill. The more we saw him come, the more mass meetings I attended. I became a very disobedient child. That's how deep I got into it.

 

Teachers were afraid for a long time because they would definitely lose their jobs if they had got involved in any way. They would call on me sometimes just to ask me what was going on. It was a great day when I saw all of the teachers marching together. That was a beautiful day.

Before then I only recall one teacher that stood out among all of them. Her name was Margaret Moore. After I had made my own decision that I was going to do it anyway, even though my parents said not to, this is the lady I would look to, Margaret Moore. On the demonstrations I would always go with her. I felt I was safe then. She was not my teacher. She was a teacher at another school.

I remember the first march I went on very well. I had gone to a mass meeting, and they were talking about marching to the Dallas County courthouse. It was a march about blacks getting registered to vote, and you had to register at the courthouse. I wasn't sure that I really wanted to go because it just wasn't clear what could happen. But I also wanted to be there. As I got ready for school, this was on my mind. I stopped at the church.

After I had gotten there and they began to prepare to march, I got with Margaret Moore. It was exciting to me, seeing all the people walking. We sang as we marched. Looking at the hostility, now that was a little frightening. You could see it and feel it as you walked. You know, whites standing at the side and looking and saying nasty things. I remember the policemen having their billy clubs. On this one march we went to a certain point, and we prayed and then turned back around.

 

With my family, it was always that fear factor. This lasted a long time. Everything that I saw and everything that I really wanted to talk about was almost being pushed aside. I recall one time as I really began to grow into the movement, coming and talking to my mom about what they were saying at the meetings. I remember her telling me that I could cause her to lose her job. I didn't understand that, and I began to ask her how could she lose her job with me being there. “White folks don't like that. If they knew that you were involved and you're my child, they would fire me.”

But I didn't have any fear. I used to tell my momma, “I want you and daddy to be free. I want you to be able to vote just like the white folks.” They couldn't do it. They just couldn't do it. “We ain't free. We're not gonna be free.” This really made me be motivated more and more.

My parents had given me the example of the four girls killed in the church bombing in Birmingham to keep me from being involved. They said it could happen in Selma at Brown Chapel Church. And there were several bomb threats.

Why children? Why us? It made me realize that it didn't matter who you were. If you were black and you were in an area they didn't like or where the cause for freedom was being fought, you were at risk. It didn't matter—children, boy, girl, or whatever.

My father and I went to Jimmie Lee Jackson's funeral. There were a number of situations that I knew of as a kid where death actually happened. Jimmie Lee Jackson, James Reeb, Jonathan Daniels, Viola Liuzzo, the four kids in Birmingham. Three of the people were white, but they were part of the struggle. And in the struggle it didn't matter if you were black or white, we were all just like a big family.

 

I remember being afraid on the first attempt of the Selma-to-Montgomery march [March 7, 1965]. That was the first time that I was really afraid. The night before the march I slipped to the mass meeting. They began to talk about the strategies, like not fighting back. That right there told me that there was a possibility that there could be some fights. They were saying if you're hit, or if something is said to you, just bow down. Out of all the times my parents had talked to me about what could happen, this is when it really came to me. But somehow I was still determined to go.

I got up the next morning, frightened to march. This was on a Sunday. I remember very well my mom and dad trying to ensure that I was in the house. I slipped out the back door and I ran down.

The people began to congregate and line up. I was looking for Mrs. Moore and I found her. I remember not wanting to get close to the front of the line because I was afraid. I remember Mrs. Moore telling me that I should go back home, and I was saying I was going to march. I got in the midway of the march. As usual we knelt down to pray, and after we had prayed, we began to sing. A little of that fear began to leave me as we sang, because people were still joyful.

As we marched down the street to the downtown area, I began to see more spectators, black as well as whites, and this was different to me. Normally you didn't see a whole lot of spectators. And I began to see more police officers riding around on motorcycles. It was a little bit more exciting. We still clapped, and we sang all the way down. The closer we got to the bridge, the more I began to get frightened. At this time I could see hundreds of policemen. The helmets, state troopers, dogs and horses, police cars. I got even more frightened then. I began to hold Mrs. Moore's hand tighter, and the person's hand on the other side of me. My heart was beginning to beat real, real fast. I looked up at Mrs. Moore, and I wanted to say, “I want to go home,” but I didn't. She was looking straight ahead. Then the people began to kneel down and pray again.

We were still on the Edmund Pettus bridge. Going up, you can't see what's at the bottom on the other side. But I had gotten up to the top, which is midway on the bridge, and you could see down. The big picture that I saw frightened me more. When we were asked to kneel down and pray, I knelt down with everybody. Shortly after we got up, a burst of tear gas began. I could see the troopers and policemen swinging their billy clubs. People began to run, and dogs and horses began to trample them. You could hear people screaming and hollering. And I began to run. I don't know what happened with Mrs. Moore. All I wanted to do was make my way back home. As I got almost down to the bottom of the bridge, Hosea Williams picked me up. I told him to put me down ‘cause he wasn't running fast enough. I just continued to run.

You began to hear sirens. You could still see the dogs and horses trampling people, who were running all the way back from the Edmund Pettus bridge to Brown Chapel Church. When I made my way back home, I saw my mother and father and even my sisters and brothers there. My father was standing in the doorway. They were just waiting for me to get home. I remember him opening up the door and taking a deep breath seeing me, that I was safe. I went straight upstairs. He stood at the door watching what else was happening after I had come in. I was crying, and my mother came upstairs to comfort me. I was shocked at what I had seen.