Anisa Threlkeld

 

 

 

period one

 

 

 

Coleman Henry, African American college student

 

 

 

 I will be free, or die trying-Freedom Summer participant

 

 

 

Freedom Summer:a story of struggle,determination,and hope,from an African American College Student

 

 

 

 UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN NEWSLETTER

 

 

 

Coleman Henry, a graduate of  1967,participated in the Voter's Registration of 1964.Now,at age forty five, he shares his story:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It was August second, the summer of 1964.The sounds of excitement filled the streets. The yells of protesters could be heard from the crowd,and the screams of the children sounded loudly in my ears.Suddenly,everything was quiet,except for the quiet sound of shuffling steps,as we got ready to march toward the tables.

 

 

 

My name is Coleman Henry.I am a college student who moved just came to the sate of Mississippi.My friends and I have come down here,to help the African American people of this state who are not able to vote. We arrived yesterday,and today we are going to register the first group .These men and women had been living in the cold bare countryside or living on the unforgiving streets of the city. They had not had a say in the democracy of our country for fifty years. Now, as I am originally from the Northern region of our country,I had little or no idea of the hardships these poor people were facing.Everytime they tried to vote white men would come to their homes or businesses and terrorize them. They would end up too afraid for their famiy's and their own lives,to try and register themselves. All these years this has been happening,and finally after five decades,they are getting a chance.Not just a chance to vote,but to get one step closer to equality.Thoug it seems it may never work. In some states the government have passed laws that require them to pass a test to be able to register to vote,and many of these people could not read or write very well,and would fail the test.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Before I found out about this,I was living in Flint,Michigan.I am an African American myself,and I had heard of the segregation of the South,and even parts of the North. My family had tried to protect me from the horrid stories of lynchings and murders of black people for my whole childhood,and we never visited our family in Alabama.When I entered High School though my daddy decided it was time to pay a visit to Grandma Eleanor is Birmingham.My little sister Lucy and I boarded the bus,with no idea of the horrors in store for us.On the fifth day we were there, some teenage boys came and made some inappropriate jeers at little Lucy.Furious, I ran outside and yelled at them.They finally ran off,cussing at me the whole way.That night,I slept over at my cousin Allen's house, and my grandma went to the store.During the night,those boys came and set Lucy on fire,along with Grandma's house. As if that was not enough, they assaulted and beat her first. I came home the next day,and saw Grandma sitting in the ruins,and staring at something. When I came closer, I saw little Luce,mutilated beyond reapir,lying on a pile of ash,dead. Her face, arms, and legs had no skin, and she had no mouth or nose. Her beautiful amber eyes stared up at us , glassy and unmoving. I will never forget the grotesque sight of my sister, murdered , just so some white kids could prove they were the superiority. To this day, I wonder,how was it fair that a nine year old girl could be put through that!?How is it fair she never met her brother Richard,or her sisters Janie and KatieRose?It isn't,and I know that I wil never rest ,as long as I live,until those boys are dead.

 

 

 

When I entered college I had a full undersatnding of the poor treatment of people like me. I was lucky to even be in college,since African Americans were just starting to be allowed in all-white schools. During my second year,I was given the oppurtunity to come to Mississippi to assist scared,yet willing African Americans who were determined to be able to vote.I took the bus down South with James Chaney, a good friend of mine.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

My momma didn't want me to go,but I told her it was something I had to do.She finally gave in,but I could tell she was unsure,and afraid that she might wake up one day,and find me to be dead l.I told her

 

 

 

not to worry,and that she shouldn't hold on too tight. Before the actual project started two one-week orientation sessions for the volunteers, which were held at Western College for Women in Oxford, Ohio, from June 14 to June 27.

 

 

 

  I woke up the morning of the first day of the registration,and put on my long white shirt,and my old brown pants.I felt proud of myself,proud to be doing this. But when I went down to our meeting place,all I could think about was how I might be killed,and decided to get in the back of the crowd.Then, I saw a small child,about seven years old,walk right up to the front with a huge smile on her face."What am I doing?",I wondered.If that little girl can walk right up there,without a second thought,then why am I even here?I moved to the front as well.I later learned her name was Sarah Benton.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Many of the people who had come to register were gaunt with hunger and fear.Their shoes were covered in holes,and some children don't have shoes at all.It was the middle of summer,and children should be free to play in the park,or go to the candy store, and yet here they stand,having to fight to be able to do those things.As I offer one small child my jacket,I think,"Do I deserve to be here,with these people,who are so determined to be free?They say we are the heroes,helping them through this,but we are not.These men,women,and even children are the true heroes. They are ready to give their lives for this cause,and I am only here because my friends are going.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

    Someone yelled for us to get in lines,with the helpers leading. Everyone had made signs that said things like,"We wan't voting rights!,Make us equal to those whites!,Do the checker board!, and "The constituiton s black and white!" were raised above heads. We soon started to chant,"We wanna vote!We wanna vote!", and we were finally heading towards the tables. Businesses  started to open their doors,and many of their owners had stopped what they are doing to watch us.A fat man in a dark suit and tie stops sweeping the steps in front of his conveniance store,and runs inside.He comes back out holding apples in his hand.He starts to throw them at us. One hits a small girl,about ten years old.She starts to cry.Her father runs to comfort her,and yells at the man.All he does is laugh.No wonder the African Americans living here hated them.

 

 

 

  About two miles in,we were stopped by a couple policemen,who told us that this was against the laws of the state of Mississippi.We just kept on walking,and we saw them get into their cars and zoom away.I thought the worst was over,but I was wrong.The police returned,and they brought reinforcements.About twenty-five cars pulled up,and about forty or fifty men jumped out.I noticed none were African American.They ran at us with handcuffs and guns,but I don't think they were going to shoot us.They were however,planning on arresting us. Many people ran off into the woods surrounding the town, while others tried to slip incognito into the crowds that were watching."Cowards.", I muttered under my breath.Some of the volunteers were arrested, as well as many of the women and men planning to register themselves. I quickly dodged a sergeant's meaty hands,and he grabbed  a woman named Louisa Turner. She had been very supportive,and one of my best friends since high school.I whacked the man's large arm,and he let go with a howl of pain."Run Lou!", I screamed, and pulled his hands away from my sleeve. I ran as fast as I could,and he soon had to stop and rest. We kept marching on.

 

 

 

        After twenty minutes, a volunteer yelled,"Look!There it is!", and pointed to a large amount of  tables a couple hundred yards away. We finally reached them,and a couple people went up and spoke to a woman standing closest to us. The woman was another volunteer, who had come earlier that morning, along with about one hundreed others, to set up. They came back a moment  later, and explained what we were planning to do."We need to have a volunteer at every table,to assist all the registrars with their forms and papers. We also need a couple to preoccupy any policemen that should prove to be a problem with this process. There must also be volunteers to hold back the lines, and escort people to different tables. Now,let's get started!". I was put at table fifteen,which a woman named Virginia was manning."Here are some forms to fill out,and you also need to sign this list.",she said, pointing to a long peice of paper. My first charges,were a couple who insisted on registering together.They had heavy southern accents, and their names were Wyatt and Marlene Wilson.They looked at the forms uncertainly. The man finally spoke. "We did not know we was required,to be able to read these he-uh forms. So we was wonderin' if you could be so kindly, as to help us,since we can't read none of this."."Well",I said,"I don't see why not!", and I read them everything on the forms. After I finished with them, I returned to the line, and waited for my next assignment. I noticed that many more people had been arrested, but we still had people coming. As I looked around, I also noticed James was missing, and he was not with the long line of arrested volunteers. I had the urge to try and look for him, but I decided I was put to better use helping. He never turned up that whole day.

 

 

 

 

 

  Throughout that summer, we continued with the same system. There were a few incidents, including the murder of several people, including my good friend James Chaney,who I mentioned had gone missing, along with two other men ,Michael Schwerner and Andrew Goodman (two Jewish volunteers from New York), earlier.  They never turned up during the whole Voter's Registration. I remember looking for them every night with search parties.  After about a month, he was believed dead. I never lost hope though, for I was determined to find them, dead or alive. Two months later, we discovered their beaten bodies, in a earthen dam, and it was atrocious . A million thoughts went through my head at once," What happened, and why ?,Is this really James, good ol' Jamie, who had gotten me through the murder of my sister?", and I was filled with anguish beyond imagination. No one deserved this, and revenge was the first thing on my mind.  I went to court, and the murderers were eventually found to be members of the Ku Klux Klan, and were put into jail, though that was hardly repayment for the damage done. There were also several minor and severe bombings, mainly in churches. Many citizens of the state disapproved of us, and mant made snide comments, and threatened us. Several people who were going to register backed out, fearing for their families, and their own lives , which was a large disappointment. On the bright side thogu, many others decided to join us.

 

             Freedom Summer also established many Freedom Schools. Freedom Schools were free, temporary  schools for African Americans. Black children were not let into the segregated public schools of the time, and so they decided to found these. They gave African Americans a better education than the run-down schoolhouses reserved for African Americans. The schools were organized by About 1,000 African Americans were registered during the summer of 1964, with the help of hundreds of young volunteers like me. Freedom Summer brought this country one step closer to becoming the free, and equal one it is today. Freedom Summer was organized by by the Council of Federated Organizations (COFO) which was an umbrella of four established civil rights organizations: the NAACP, the Congress of Racial Equality, the Southern Christian Leadership Conference and the Student Nonviolent Coordinating Committee, and was approved by President Andrew Johnson. This project also encouraged many of the voters to join the Mississippi Democratic Party. Over 1,000 mostly young people volunteered to help with the cause, many of them Northern whites, or Jewish people. The registration was one of the most celebrated events of the Civil Rights Movement of the 1900s, and I am proud to have taken part in this inspiring and wonderful project. Thank you.

 

 -Coleman Henry, alumni, class of 1967.

 

*A special thanks to my wife Louisa, whom also participated in this event, and to my beautiful children Caroline, Jackson, Bryant, and Lauren, you are the light of my life, and I thank and love you.

 

     

 

   -Wiki page by Anisa Threlkeld, period one

 

I say to you today, my friends, so even though we face the difficulties of today and tomorrow, I still have a dream. It is a dream deeply rooted in the American dream.

 

 

 

I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: "We hold these truths to be self-evident: that all men are created equal."

 

 

 

I have a dream that one day on the red hills of Georgia the sons of former slaves and the sons of former slave owners will be able to sit down together at the table of brotherhood.

 

 

 

I have a dream that one day even the state of Mississippi, a state sweltering with the heat of injustice, sweltering with the heat of oppression, will be transformed into an oasis of freedom and justice.

 

 

 

I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character.

 

 

 

I have a dream today.

 

 

 

I have a dream that one day, down in Alabama, with its vicious racists, with its governor having his lips dripping with the words of interposition and nullification; one day right there in Alabama, little black boys and black girls will be able to join hands with little white boys and white girls as sisters and brothers.

 

 

 

I have a dream today.

 

 

 

I have a dream that one day every valley shall be exalted, every hill and mountain shall be made low, the rough places will be made plain, and the crooked places will be made straight, and the glory of the Lord shall be revealed, and all flesh shall see it together.

 

 

 

This is our hope. This is the faith that I go back to the South with. With this faith we will be able to hew out of the mountain of despair a stone of hope. With this faith we will be able to transform the jangling discords of our nation into a beautiful symphony of brotherhood. With this faith we will be able to work together, to pray together, to struggle together, to go to jail together, to stand up for freedom together, knowing that we will be free one day.

 

 

 

This will be the day when all of God's children will be able to sing with a new meaning, "My country, 'tis of thee, sweet land of liberty, of thee I sing. Land where my fathers died, land of the pilgrim's pride, from every mountainside, let freedom ring."

 

 

 

And if America is to be a great nation this must become true. So let freedom ring from the prodigious hilltops of New Hampshire. Let freedom ring from the mighty mountains of New York. Let freedom ring from the heightening Alleghenies of Pennsylvania!

 

 

 

Let freedom ring from the snowcapped Rockies of Colorado!

 

 

 

Let freedom ring from the curvaceous slopes of California!

 

 

 

But not only that; let freedom ring from Stone Mountain of Georgia!

 

 

 

Let freedom ring from Lookout Mountain of Tennessee!

 

 

 

Let freedom ring from every hill and molehill of Mississippi. From every mountainside, let freedom ring.

 

 

 

And when this happens, when we allow freedom to ring, when we let it ring from every village and every hamlet, from every state and every city, we will be able to speed up that day when all of God's children, black men and white men, Jews and Gentiles, Protestants and Catholics, will be able to join hands and sing in the words of the old  spiritual, "Free at last! free at last! thank God Almighty, we are free at last!"

 

 

 

 

 

-Martin Luther King Jr.s' "I have a Dream" speech.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A plaque commemorating the murders of three men