June 21, 1964- December 17, 2005

Forty one years ago, Edgar Ray Killen murdered three civil rights workers. It took 41 years to bring him to JUSTICE. That's the word that the newspaper used. JUSTICE. I had to shake my head when I read that. I am a daughter of the South. I remember as a little girl being able to go downtown for a "treat". An ice cream cone, a root beer float or even just a soda. I remember those big signs that said "Whites Only" at the counter and God forbid if you were black and had to use thier restroom. The sign on that said "No Coloreds Allowed". I could ride at the front of the bus but my friends, Lena's children had to sit in the back. I was going downtown one day with Samuel and Sarah, Lena's Children. We each had two quarters grasped tightly in our sweaty little hands. That was a lot of money back then and we had earned it raking yards. WE all sat at the back of the bus prepared for a day of fun. The bus driver refused to start the bus until I came and sat in the front. I didn't understand that and wanted to sit with my friends. What he said to me burned into my memory and I remember it to this day. He called me A Ni**er Lo**r and said that I was a disgrace to my people. We got off that bus and I never rode one again. The South has changed but sometimes not enough.
Forty one years ago, James Chaney, 21 years old, Andrew Goodman, 20 years old and Michael Schwerner 24 years old, were in Mississippi registering black voters. Someone burned a black church nearby and they went to investigate. They were arrested on trumped up charges and jailed all day. They were released that night to the Ku Klux Klan.
They were tortured and they were murdered.
James Chaney was black, born and raised in Mississippi. I'll bet that he grew up hearing the stories from his parents and grandparents. I think that he wanted to make the world a kinder, better place for his children. He died for that ideal. Andrew Goodman and Michael Schwerner were white but they believed that all men really are brothers and they gave thier lives for that as well. Three young men murdered by cowards in sheets. Cowards that didn't even show thier faces. Three young men that died before they could gaze upon the faces of thier children, marry the woman that they loved, or live long enough to see the South change.
Night time in the South can be scary. The live oak trees hang with Spanish Moss, animals scurry in the underbrush and the stars can be hidden by clouds. I can not imagine the fear of those three young men as they stood there waiting to be tortured and killed. Did they pray to a God that didn't answer them that night? Was the Screech owl in the distance the last sound that they heard? The cowards left them there dead and covered with wet, red southern dirt. Left them a long time. Left thier mothers to cry every night and wonder where they were. JUSTICE for Edgar Ray Killen? I don't think so, and that headline made me weep.

I read something in the news a while back and it almost made me weep. It seems that two hikers in Fresno found the frozen body of an airman whose plane went down in 1942. The article stated that "he looked like he did when he went down". I suppose that's because his body was so frozen. I started wondering about the telegram that came that day or just a day or two later. Did it come to his wife or to his parents? WE REGRET TO INFORM YOU THAT....
Someone's son or maybe somones' husband died alone on that Mountain. I wonder what his last thoughts were? Did he wonder if she would marry again? Did he worry that the news would kill his mama? Did he want his son to grow up and be a soldier? I suppose that if he were married that his wife could still be alive? She could be in her 70's or even her 80's. Her hair would be silver now while his is still dark. Her face would be lined with wrinkles while his is still smooth. " He looked like he did when he went down". Nevertheless, he was a soldier. I love and respect soldiers. They go to war for me. They go to war for us. They work behind desks and they walk behind guns. it doesn't matter if they die in the Pacific or Europe. In Korea or Vietnam. In Kuwait or Afganistan or Iraq. They are our sons and our husbands and our fathers. Now they are also our daughters and our wives and our mothers. They are the lifes blood of this country and because of them, this country is what it is..Great and merciful and mighty. This country is free. It is because far to many families have recieved that telegram that says WE REGRET TO INFORM YOU THAT...
It hurts just as much today as it did 55 years ago.

The news has gone on and on about Don Imus and what he said about The Rutgers womans basketball team. I am certainly not condoning what he said, it was inexcusable but... Come on folks, what happened to free speech ? He is a SHOCK JOCK for God's sake. You pretty much know what is going to come oout of his mouth. There was a time that men fought and died for our right to say whatever we wanted to say. If your a celebrity, you say something offensive and go straight to rehab and then you are forgiven. The world is full of PCness now. God forbid we hurt anyones feelings. We can watch videos and movies full of death and dismemberment but we can't SAY anything? Of course they won't fire Don Imus or Howard Stern or even Rush Limbaugh. They make money. Lots of money. They prey on people that are "differant" than whatever they believe. I expect that some of you will disagree with me on this and you know what? that's ok.. I respect your right to think and talk differantly than I do. I celebrate the fact that you can. It almost scares me that we can't say anything anymore. What Imus said was vulgar and unnecessary BUT he said it. There is a solution to hearing what you don't want to hear..PUSH THE OFF BUTTON. I am a southerner. I am VERY concious of race and hatred but I have one question ? does anyone remember Tawana Brawley? the same man leading the charge against Imus was once at the center of that horrible hoax. Ruining lives without repercussion. In the words of another "racial" hero...can't we all just be friends?

Last night I was talking to an old woman that goes to the church that I used to attend. She said, "Sugar,, Essie Davis died this mornin. She weren't never the same since she fell and broke her hip. She finally just laid down and quit tryin. They gonna burie her down at the old home place day afta tommorrey". I will go to Essie's funeral and celebrate her life. She was a teacher many years ago. There will be many former students there that will tell "ESSIE" stories. Essie refused to make her black students sit at the back of the class and went to jail for that and a few other things. She was a protester before anyone else knew what that was. I asked her about that time a few years back and she said , " I just looked at the faces of all those precious chirren (children, in old south speak) and knew that the good Lord made us all. Sides, jail wasn't so terrible. I got to teach some boys thier letters". Essie's husband stepped on a land mine somewhere in France in WWll and left her with two children to raise. Her son died of Polio and her daughter died in a car crash in 1971. That would have done me in. I would have been driven crazy with grief. Not Essie though. She took in foster children thoughout the years. So many that we have lost count. She loved those children and treated them as if they were her own. Some of those boys will be pall bearers. Southern funerals are a thing of thier own. EVERYONE brings food. There will be fried chicken, pulled pork,potato salad, greens, peas, macaroni and chees, cornbread, pies, cakes and so much more. It will be a celebration of a life well lived. Sometimes, someone will pass around the moonshine. The stories and the laughter will get louder and louder. It is a chance to see people that you haven't seen for years and the old folks will marvel because some people will come " all the way from Gawga" and points beyond. I will raise a glass and tell Essie thank you for touching my life and I will realize that heroes aren't always on Oprah and don't always win awards. Sometimes they live and die and are laid to rest in the Alabama red clay, not very far from thier home place. I got to go make deviled eggs.

A month ago I was coming back from a weekend in the mountains with my friend. I dropped her off at her grandmas in Atlanta and headed home. I had been driving about an hour and stopped to get gas and to do that thing that women seem to have to do more frequently than men. The gas station was one of those little stores that you can still see in the South. A jar of pickled pigs feet, a jar of cheese and a big ole piece of hoop cheese on the counter. The " Co Cola " box was humming so loudly that I just HAD to sit on that rocking chair on the porch for a minute and rest. An old yellow dog curled up at my feet and shared my cheese. I rocked a few minutes then went to my car and saw the strangest thing. There was a red dirt road running parallel
to the store with a man walking down it. Now, that in itself isn't a big deal. There are always old men walking down dirt roads in Alabama.
THIS man had two buzzards circling his head. Well, I have never seen buzzards circling anything alive before. Usually you see them hovering and salivating over possums and armidillos that have lost the battle with an automobile. I stood there for a while and watched it play out.This man had a big straw hat on his head and I couldn't tell his age, race or anything else. He just looked defeated, shuffling slowly and staring at the ground. I had to wonder what went wrong with his life. Was he dying spiritually, emotionally or physically? What happened to those babies that he bounced on his knee? Where was that girl that he spun around and around at night under a full Alabama moon? How many paychecks had he cashed on Friday at the General Store before he went coon hunting with Cecil and the boys? I don't know. But, I DO know this.. No one should ever be so alone that they end up with buzzards circling thier head. I got in my car and headed home.