Today’s an important day in American history. And I think it’s fitting that it falls a few days after Memorial Day this year. Memorial Day is a day we honor those that fell fighting for our country. It’s a day we honor the scars that brave men and women in uniform were left with. But, today marks the 52nd anniversary of another type of battle. One battle in a series of battles that was fought on our own soil in our very recent history whose repercussions are still being felt.
On this day in 1963, a racially mixed group of students sat down at a segregated lunch counter in Jackson, Mississippi. It was not the first sit-in and it would not be the last. But, it was the most violent and widely publicized sit-in of the 1960s. The scars that were received from this battle (a battle for something so absurdly simple that it’s unbelievable that people had to be beaten and killed before this right was granted) are scars we all share. And it is just as important that we know and share the battles to obtain civil rights for our country’s minorities as it is to know and share battles like Bunker Hill, the Alamo, Gettysburg and the Invasion of Normany on D Day. I say that not to diminish those named battles, but to raise awareness and reverence to battles fought in Little Rock High School, the University of Alabama, the bus boycott in Birmingham and the march from Selma.
One side in these battles carried no weapons. What they fought for is the quintessentially American belief that all deserve freedom and fairness. They fought far longer than anyone should have had to fight for that simple right and the scars they received and the martyrs that they lost are our American scars and our American martyrs. So, it is just as important that we remember this American battle for freedom, too. If we do not remember what caused the scars (and how recent these scars were inflicted), our country stands no chance of healing and living up to the potential of all the brave men and women who honorably put their lives on the line for freedom. To have a true pride in our country, we must have respect for our victories and an understanding of our failures.
Today, I give thanks to Anne Moody, John Salter, Pearlena Lewis, Joan Trumpauer, Memphis Norman, George Raymond and Lois Chaffee. Here, in Anne Moody’s own words from her autobiography, Coming Of Age In Mississppi, is a detailed account of what happened. Please take the time to read. It’s hard to stomach, but it’s important to swallow and take in:
“In the beginning the waitresses seemed to ignore us, as if they really didn't know what was going on. Our waitress walked past us a couple of times before she noticed we had started to write our own orders down and realized we wanted service. She asked us what we wanted. We began to read to her from our order slips. She told us that we would be served at the back counter, which was for Negroes.
"We would like to be served here," I said.
The waitress started to repeat what she had said, then stopped in the middle of the sentence. She turned the lights out behind the counter, and she and the other waitresses almost ran to the back of the store, deserting all their white customers. I guess they thought that violence would start immediately after the whites at the counter realized what was going on. There were five or six other people at the counter. A couple of them just got up and walked away. A girl sitting next to me finished her banana split before leaving. A middle-aged white woman who had not yet been served rose from her seat and came over to us. "I'd like to stay here with you," she said, "but my husband is waiting.''
The newsmen came in just as she was leaving. They must have discovered what was going on shortly after some of the people began to leave the store. One of the newsmen ran behind the woman who spoke to us and asked her to identify herself. She refused to give her name, but said she was a native of Vicksburg and a former resident of California. When asked why she had said what she had said to us, she replied, "I am in sympathy with the Negro movement." By this time a crowd of cameramen and reporters had gathered around us taking pictures and asking questions, such as Where were we from? Why did we sit-in? What organization sponsored it? Were we students? From what school? How were we classified?
I told them that we were all students at Tougaloo College, that we were represented by no particular organization, and that we planned to stay there even after the store closed. "All we want is service," was my reply to one of them. After they had finished probing for about twenty minutes, they were almost ready to leave.
At noon, students from a nearby white high school started pouring in to Woolworth's. When they first saw us they were sort of surprised. They didn't know how to react. A few started to heckle and the newsmen became interested again. Then the white students started chanting all kinds of anti-Negro slogans. We were called a little bit of everything. The rest of the seats except the three we were occupying had been roped off to prevent others from sitting down. A couple of the boys took one end of the rope and made it into a hangman's noose. Several attempts were made to put it around our necks. The crowds grew as more students and adults came in for lunch.
We kept our eyes straight forward and did not look at the crowd except for occasional glances to see what was going on. All of a sudden I saw a face I remembered—the drunkard from the bus station sit-in. My eyes lingered on him just long enough for us to recognize each other. Today he was drunk too, so I don't think he remembered where he had seen me before. He took out a knife, opened it, put it in his pocket, and then began to pace the floor. At this point, I told Memphis and Pearlena what was going on. Memphis suggested that we pray. We bowed our heads, and all hell broke loose. A man rushed forward, threw Memphis from his seat, and slapped my face. Then another man who worked in the store threw me against an adjoining counter.
Down on my knees on the floor, I saw Memphis lying near the lunch counter with blood running out of the corners of his mouth. As he tried to protect his face, the man who'd thrown him down kept kicking him against the head. If he had worn hard-soled shoes instead of sneakers, the first kick probably would have killed Memphis. Finally a man dressed in plain clothes identified himself as a police officer and arrested Memphis and his attacker.
Pearlena had been thrown to the floor. She and I got back on our stools after Memphis was arrested. There were some white Tougaloo teachers in the crowd. They asked Pearlena and me if we wanted to leave. They said that things were getting too rough. We didn't know what to do. While we were trying to make up our minds, we were joined by Joan Trumpauer. Now there were three of us and we were integrated. The crowd began to chant, "Communists, Communists, Communists." Some old man in the crowd ordered the students to take us off the stools.
On this day in 1963, a racially mixed group of students sat down at a segregated lunch counter in Jackson, Mississippi. It was not the first sit-in and it would not be the last. But, it was the most violent and widely publicized sit-in of the 1960s. The scars that were received from this battle (a battle for something so absurdly simple that it’s unbelievable that people had to be beaten and killed before this right was granted) are scars we all share. And it is just as important that we know and share the battles to obtain civil rights for our country’s minorities as it is to know and share battles like Bunker Hill, the Alamo, Gettysburg and the Invasion of Normany on D Day. I say that not to diminish those named battles, but to raise awareness and reverence to battles fought in Little Rock High School, the University of Alabama, the bus boycott in Birmingham and the march from Selma.
One side in these battles carried no weapons. What they fought for is the quintessentially American belief that all deserve freedom and fairness. They fought far longer than anyone should have had to fight for that simple right and the scars they received and the martyrs that they lost are our American scars and our American martyrs. So, it is just as important that we remember this American battle for freedom, too. If we do not remember what caused the scars (and how recent these scars were inflicted), our country stands no chance of healing and living up to the potential of all the brave men and women who honorably put their lives on the line for freedom. To have a true pride in our country, we must have respect for our victories and an understanding of our failures.
Today, I give thanks to Anne Moody, John Salter, Pearlena Lewis, Joan Trumpauer, Memphis Norman, George Raymond and Lois Chaffee. Here, in Anne Moody’s own words from her autobiography, Coming Of Age In Mississppi, is a detailed account of what happened. Please take the time to read. It’s hard to stomach, but it’s important to swallow and take in:
“In the beginning the waitresses seemed to ignore us, as if they really didn't know what was going on. Our waitress walked past us a couple of times before she noticed we had started to write our own orders down and realized we wanted service. She asked us what we wanted. We began to read to her from our order slips. She told us that we would be served at the back counter, which was for Negroes.
"We would like to be served here," I said.
The waitress started to repeat what she had said, then stopped in the middle of the sentence. She turned the lights out behind the counter, and she and the other waitresses almost ran to the back of the store, deserting all their white customers. I guess they thought that violence would start immediately after the whites at the counter realized what was going on. There were five or six other people at the counter. A couple of them just got up and walked away. A girl sitting next to me finished her banana split before leaving. A middle-aged white woman who had not yet been served rose from her seat and came over to us. "I'd like to stay here with you," she said, "but my husband is waiting.''
The newsmen came in just as she was leaving. They must have discovered what was going on shortly after some of the people began to leave the store. One of the newsmen ran behind the woman who spoke to us and asked her to identify herself. She refused to give her name, but said she was a native of Vicksburg and a former resident of California. When asked why she had said what she had said to us, she replied, "I am in sympathy with the Negro movement." By this time a crowd of cameramen and reporters had gathered around us taking pictures and asking questions, such as Where were we from? Why did we sit-in? What organization sponsored it? Were we students? From what school? How were we classified?
I told them that we were all students at Tougaloo College, that we were represented by no particular organization, and that we planned to stay there even after the store closed. "All we want is service," was my reply to one of them. After they had finished probing for about twenty minutes, they were almost ready to leave.
At noon, students from a nearby white high school started pouring in to Woolworth's. When they first saw us they were sort of surprised. They didn't know how to react. A few started to heckle and the newsmen became interested again. Then the white students started chanting all kinds of anti-Negro slogans. We were called a little bit of everything. The rest of the seats except the three we were occupying had been roped off to prevent others from sitting down. A couple of the boys took one end of the rope and made it into a hangman's noose. Several attempts were made to put it around our necks. The crowds grew as more students and adults came in for lunch.
We kept our eyes straight forward and did not look at the crowd except for occasional glances to see what was going on. All of a sudden I saw a face I remembered—the drunkard from the bus station sit-in. My eyes lingered on him just long enough for us to recognize each other. Today he was drunk too, so I don't think he remembered where he had seen me before. He took out a knife, opened it, put it in his pocket, and then began to pace the floor. At this point, I told Memphis and Pearlena what was going on. Memphis suggested that we pray. We bowed our heads, and all hell broke loose. A man rushed forward, threw Memphis from his seat, and slapped my face. Then another man who worked in the store threw me against an adjoining counter.
Down on my knees on the floor, I saw Memphis lying near the lunch counter with blood running out of the corners of his mouth. As he tried to protect his face, the man who'd thrown him down kept kicking him against the head. If he had worn hard-soled shoes instead of sneakers, the first kick probably would have killed Memphis. Finally a man dressed in plain clothes identified himself as a police officer and arrested Memphis and his attacker.
Pearlena had been thrown to the floor. She and I got back on our stools after Memphis was arrested. There were some white Tougaloo teachers in the crowd. They asked Pearlena and me if we wanted to leave. They said that things were getting too rough. We didn't know what to do. While we were trying to make up our minds, we were joined by Joan Trumpauer. Now there were three of us and we were integrated. The crowd began to chant, "Communists, Communists, Communists." Some old man in the crowd ordered the students to take us off the stools.
"Which one should I get first?" a big husky boy said.
"That white nigger," the old man said.
The boy lifted Joan from the counter by her waist and carried her out of the store. Simultaneously, I was snatched from my stool by two high school students. I was dragged about thirty feet toward the door by my hair when someone made them turn me loose. As I was getting up off the floor, I saw Joan coming back inside. We started back to the center of the counter to join Pearlena. Lois Chaffee, a white Tougaloo faculty member, was now sitting next to her. So Joan and I just climbed across the rope at the front end of the counter and sat down. There were now four of us, two whites and two Negroes, all women. The mob started smearing us with ketchup, mustard, sugar, pies, and everything on the counter. Soon Joan and I were joined by John Salter, but the moment he sat down he was hit on the jaw with what appeared to be brass knuckles. Blood gushed from his face and someone threw salt into the open wound. Ed King, Tougaloo's chaplain, rushed to him.
At the other end of the counter, Lois and Pearlena were joined by George Raymond, a CORE [Congress of Racial Equality] field worker and a student from Jackson State College. Then a Negro high school boy sat down next to me. The mob took spray paint from the counter and sprayed it on the new demonstrators. The high school student had on a white shirt; the word "nigger" was written on his back with red spray paint.
We sat there for three hours taking a beating when the manager decided to close the store because the mob had begun to go wild with stuff from other counters. He begged and begged everyone to leave. But even after fifteen minutes of begging, no one budged. They would not leave until we did. Then Dr. [A. Daniel] Beittel, the president of Tougaloo College, came running in. He said he had just heard what was happening.
About ninety policemen were standing outside the store; they had been watch-ing the whole thing through the windows, but had not come in to stop the mob or do anything. President Beittel went outside and asked Captain Ray to come and escort us out. The captain refused, stating the manager had to invite him in before he could enter the premises, so Dr. Beittel himself brought us out. He had told the police that they had better protect us after we were outside the store. When we got outside, the policemen formed a single line that blocked the mob from us. However, they were allowed to throw at us everything they had collected. Within ten minutes, we were picked up by Reverend [Edwin] King in his station wagon and taken to the NAACP headquarters on Lynch Street.”
Originally Posted On Facebook.
RSS Feed