Just Another Story on the Road to Justice

Charla and I had been on our own Civil Rights mini-tour for several days. We had stopped at what is left of the Bryant's store, we took in the museum that highlights the tragic Emmett Till story, the Historic Intrepid Center in Glendora, Mississippi, and we'd had an amazing conversation with an African American rabbi and his friend. We talked of his days growing up in Greenville, MS.  I shared with them my story of meeting the internal medicine physician/farmer who had supported my notions of stress on the health and well being of Black farmers when dealing with the USDA. Come to realize that this gentleman knew the farmer/physician. He told of how the farmer/physician was quite a farmer in that area of the south. The farmer/physician and I had met at a Black land loss summit in Memphis, Tennessee in January, 2006. The physician is still practicing.

We journeyed over to Jackson to site of the iconic Woolworth scene in which young Black people and a few white college students (including Loki Mulholland's mother) protested for the right of people of color to sit at lunch counters and to eat where other normal folk eat.

We found that. Read a few signs. And then we made our way to the next part of the journey.

I wanted to meet face to face if possible with former USDA Agriculture Secretary Mike Espy. Mr. Espy had served for a couple of years under President Clinton until, in my opinion, he got too uppity in the eyes of the white establishment and then the fabricated charges rolled in and shut down his efforts for justice.

Charla and I had an old office location and phone number. Neither worked.

We walked into the Visit Jackson! office downtown and asked for directions. People sat up and began to get curious as to why we were looking for him. We looped in a couple of things like meeting him, wanting him eventually for an interview for a documentary on Black farmers. Charla and I were certainly objects of curiosity with our Black Farmer BFAA T-shirts on, her with her flaming red hair and freckles, and me with my whatever face on. Two white people wearing Black folks shirts and talking about meeting one of Jackson's key people who was involved in a political campaign at the moment.

As we stood there and talked, out of the corner of my eye, I saw a woman walk past us, pause, and then turn back around to us.  She had gone several feet down a long hall to our right, just behind the desk where the Visit Jackson! folks were talking to us.

She came back, and with a note of interest said, "My daddy was a Black farmer and I couldn't help but overhear what you were talking about." Charla and I were pleased to meet her. We chatted about our interests and then she said rather calmly, "Mrs. Espy is one of my best friends.  I'll call her and ask where her husband's office is located." We were ecstatic.

She returned with the information. His office was on the north side of Jackson, not far away. We chatted further and attempted to express our gratitude, without over doing it, for her "intrusion" and information

We found our way to Mr. Espy's office, but he was in DC.  We did, however, exchange business cards with his campaign manager, a young woman who had just moved to Jackson from some place up north. I do believe we also saw in passing Mr. Espy's son, a young man who looked very much like he could be his son indeed. But, we dared not assume or presume. 

From that point on, my partner in the documentary effort, Shoun Hill from the Bronx, continued to pursue him in the hopes of interviewing him for the documentary. His role was pivotal and will come out clearly when we release the film into the public's eye here shortly.

In the grand scheme of things, beautiful things happen. Charla and I just followed our instincts and asked questions. Jacksonian people were extraordinarily helpful, especially the woman whose father was a "Black farmer," and who had a "best friend"  who was the wife of the gentleman we wished to see.

It is indeed a small world. People are very helpful and seem happy to help when they get the vibe that we are into things for the good of the people.

So, today, I am happy to share this story with you.  I hope you and I both will be good citizens and prove to be helpful and kind to those in search of various and sundry things.

The world needs us.  The world needs us badly. We need the world. We need each other. Badly.

Our Own Civil Rights Mini-Tour

For some time, my wife and I had planned a brief trek across the South to see and experience some pivotal scenes in the history of civil rights in our country. Though the time was short, the experiences were deep.

We visited Money, Mississippi and the infamous Bryant's Grocery Store where Emmett Till was accused of whistling at the owner's wife. He died a brutal death within hours, and his murderers were deemed "not guilty" by an all white, male jury. Here are three scenes: 1) the marker in Money, 2) the store in its day, and 3) the gin where a 75 pound fan was seized and attached to his body before it was dumped in the Tallahatchie  River.

Marker at Bryant's Store

Store at it was in the day

The gin in Glendora

The gin is now the site of the Emmett Till Historic Intrepid Center in Glendora, Mississippi. At the gin we made new friends from Friendswood, Texas and Greenwood, Mississippi. That was a memorable conversation.

New friends from Mississippi and Texas

The following day, we had a most remarkable experience. We wanted to visit the site of the iconic photo and demonstration of the Tugaloo students at the Woolworth's counter in Jackson, Mississippi. Woolworth's is now a parking garage, but the marker is there commemorating the event. Loki Mulholland, a friend in these battles for justice, has noted on numerous occasions and in his three documentaries that his mother, Joan Trumpauer Mulholland, sat at the counter. Before leaving town, we determined to deliver document to one of the principals in our black farmer documentary. Most people up and down Capitol Street. His office building was under reconstruction.

    A last ditch effort found us walking into an office that promoted the city. 

Woolworth's Capital Street, Jackson

Charla and I were twinsying on this particular day, wearing our match Black Farmer Land Loss Summit t-shirts.  While we stood at the desk discussing our agenda with the officer personnel, a woman walked past us, did an immediate u-turn, came back, and said, to me, "My father was a black farmer." A  lively conversation ensued.

Matching black farmer t-shirts

She immediately called her friend, the wife of the gentleman we wished to see. We were ecstatic.  This photo is taken after that wonderful conversation. We were amazed that the confluence of forces led us into that office, to her, to her friend, and from her friend to the office of the person we wanted to see.


Thursday was a most remarkable and heart rending day as we went to the Legacy Museum in downtown Montgomery, Alabama, on the very site in which enslaved Africans were warehoused prior to being auctioned. A dream of Bryan Stephenson, The Legacy Museum covers enslaved through mass incarceration via video, audio, photography, and other means to capture the brutality meted out upon the backs of the enslaved and its history up to the current time. Dr. Marsha Vaughn, friend, former student at Abilene Christian University, and faculty member at Judson University, Elgin, Illinois, was the inspiration and prompt for the tour. She is passionate about matters of justice.

National Monument for Peace

Telling the story by Akoto-Bamfo

Trinity County Texas

Up the hill a quarter of a mile or so is the National Monument for Peace and Justice. Immediately inside the large open space at the bottom of the hill is a gripping piece of sculpture by artist Kwame Akoto-Bamfo of Ghana.

The design of the National Monument was both intriguing and moving. Moving clock-wise, steel rectangular cylinders represented the county and state and the name and date of the lynched person. When I found my own county, Trinity County, Texas, I was deeply moved. And likely remain so for a while.

A trip to Alabama would be incomplete without a trip to Selma.  The home of the infamous Bloody Sunday, March7, 1965, in which those marching from Selma to Montgomery were turned around at the bottom of the bridge by police, guns, water hoses, guns and all manner of violence. My wife and I walked peacefully over the Edmund Pettus Bridge which symbolizes the best and the worst of America during the Civil Rights Movement, the worst because people died in Selma, and the best because justice was realized, ultimately. We had a lively conversation with three women from Chicago and Selma. 

Edmund Pettus Bridge

We walked the bridge and then we walked through the memorial garden on just below the bridge on the way to Montgomery. As we walked the bridge, we pondered the names and faces of people we have seen in the media, but more dramatically, we pondered the stories of people we have gotten to know who have given their very lives for justice. That list of people stretch across the south, up the eastern seaboard, and reaches into the Bronx. I plan to see Selma again along with a few more important movies. Someday soon, I will also listen to some interviews done with farmers through the years.  I will be moved. Their stories must be told. Their stories are the stories of the civil rights movement in America.