Interviewed by George King, May 1992

TOUGALOO'S LEGACY

I was born in Jackson, Mississippi in 1946. There were six girls and no boys in our family. My parents were students at Tougaloo College. My father's mother graduated from high school at Tougaloo and her mother graduated from Daniel Hand School at Tougaloo. So Tougaloo was a part of our family. We moved to Meridian, where my father was a football, basketball, and track coach as well as a math instructor.

Our parents sheltered us quite a bit. They were very concerned about us not having to pick cotton or work for whites. We were taught to work for ourselves, and when we left Meridian and moved to Forest in '54, we had a garden or farm and we raised sugar cane and vegetables. We were taught to be independent at a very early age. We were also taught not to ask for trouble, but not to run from trouble.

My father was extremely outspoken but he never asked for a fight. When we moved to Forest, it was unusual for a black man to vote. But Daddy voted and it was no big deal. It was just something he took for granted. We had that kind of pride.

FIGHTING A SYSTEM

I remember when Gladys Noel Bates filed a lawsuit for equalization of teachers' salaries around 1960, Daddy was the happiest person in the world. He sent money to her, made contributions. Quite a few black folks had that kind of pride. We just didn't go around and say, "Okay, to hell with the system." There are ways of fighting a system without anybody knowing how you're fighting it.

We were always taught that we were as good as anyone. Race, we were taught, was no barrier. Your worth was determined by the contributions you made to others. That has stuck with me.

We did not go to movies where we had to sit in the balcony. We didn't ride the bus. Our parents took us where we needed to go. They didn't want us to sit in the back of the bus. We were aware of the political realities and the realities of racism and injustice, but our parents tried to keep us from actually having confrontations.

FACING CONFRONTATIONS

Of course, I do remember some confrontations.

I do recall my father stopping at a vegetable stand and the guy calling him "boy" and telling him not to touch the tomatoes. I remember my father squeezing the tomatoes until one broke in his hand and telling us to get back in the car. We never stopped there anymore.

I recall going to California in our car. My father was going to UCLA to work on his masters degree. We got to Flagstaff, Arizona, and my father stopped so we could get a room. The guy told my father there were no vacancies and Daddy said, "Why is there a sign that says vacancies?"

He said, "Well, there are vacancies, but they're not for y'all."

And I remember my father using profanity and getting very angry. I remember us having to sleep in the car that night.

It was incidents like that, before I went to Tougaloo, that produced the need to hold somebody accountable and responsible for making certain that we all were treated fairly.

I was in high school when the first student sit-ins began. I recall the pride I had in their the courage to stand up to the system. And I recall a cousin of mine, Memphis Norman, and another Tougaloo student, Ethel Sawyer, on television with people pouring ketchup on them and pouring sugar on top of the ketchup when they were sitting-in I always had a problem with permitting anybody to misuse my body, but for those who were able to do it, I had the utmost respect.

MEETING MEDGAR EVERS

I came to Tougaloo in the summer of '63 for a pre-med program. It was at that time that I met Medgar Evers. I met him, got to know him in the first week of June, and he was killed June 12. Because of his death, I became involved then in marches and protests. I was away from home, and I didn't have to worry about my parents being protective.

Next to my father, I thought Medgar Evers was the greatest man in the world. He was the packaged deal. He was good looking. His eyes were so bright. He was extremely articulate. He was committed. He believed in doing what was right. When I first met him, he was organizing students for voter registration drives on campus. I could see marching with him and working with him the rest of my life.

Now I had really looked forward to the pre-science program at Tougaloo because I wanted to be a doctor, but then I met Medgar. I think I came of age after he was killed. Because of Medgar's death, I made a promise to myself to bring about changes in Mississippi.

From the NAACP, my involvement led, in 1963, to working with a sorority, Delta Sigma Theta, on voter registration—something I'm still committed to today. We came into Jackson and registered people instead of doing foolish things. We went into housing projects where nobody dared tread. I think I came up with 700-800 new voters.

TOUGALOO - IMPORTANT TO THE MOVEMENT

At Tougaloo at that time there were quite a few students involved in SNCC. Stokely Carmichael, Rap Brown, Hollis Watkins, and Bob Moses, all of them came down. Tougaloo became important to the movement. At Tougaloo, academia and the world of social change came together. We had an integrated faculty with whites who were sympathetic to our cause. You dealt with the realities and you also dealt with what should be. You learned about the Constitution and then you saw the application of the First and Fifth Amendments. The movement folks were there but you also had to be accountable for your academic performance. That's why I was able to go to Ole Miss and challenge the system from a social perspective in an academic setting.

REPRESENTING ACTIVISTS - LAWSUITS FOR CHANGE

In 1970, when I graduated from law school, I represented the families of two students— James Earl Green and Philip Gibbs—who were killed at Jackson State. In June of 1970, I filed a lawsuit against the highway patrol, which had never had a black patrolman. In August of 1970, I filed a lawsuit against the state prison system, bringing about a change in the living conditions there.

I represented Tougaloo students who were stopped by highway patrolmen and beaten and had their Afros cut. I represented people who were stopped by highway patrolmen at roadblocks and beaten. I represented prisoners who were beaten in jail. Seeing Rodney King beaten on television was nothing compared to some of those who walked into my office when I was practicing law. One man walked in with an eye hanging out of the socket. Another walked in bleeding so bad I couldn't tell his face. Both had just been released from jail. I think if you put yourself in a position to be contacted when such things happen, you'll be surprised at the prevalence of brutality.

PASSING THE BATON