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Mother of girl killed

Page history last edited by PBworks 16 years, 2 months ago

Of the Fear, Of the Sorrow, Of the Pain

Claire Martin

Diary Entry in Memory of

Carol Robertson, Denise McNair, Addie Mae Collins, and Cynthia Wesley

“And then it hit me-Denise was in the girl’s bathroom.”

It was like a scene out of a horror movie-only worse. I wasn’t the one, who lost my life, but instead my eleven year old daughter lost hers’. And that’s why my heart came to a stop, at the exact moment of the explosion, at the exact moment of my daughter’s death, at the exact moment of the fear, of the sorrow, of the pain, that had just begun, of the fear, of the sorrow, of the pain that would become a part of me, and stay forever. Of the fear, of the sorrow, of the pain, that would never let me forget what had just happened-the fear, the sorrow, the pain, that will haunt me forever more-but not just the fear, the sorrow, and the pain-but the love in those little letters that form the word that makes every mother feel loved, the word that calms all; “mommy”, the fact that I’ll never be able to hear those words come from my baby girl, Denise, the fact that I’ll never be able to hold my baby, the fact that she’s gone-gone.

On September 17^th, 1963, we settled down for a nice, country, home cooked breakfast. It was a beautiful day; the sun was out and shining. During breakfast, Denise talked about how she loves Sunday school, because her best friends, Addie Mae Collins and Olivia Simmons play with her. (Even though Addie Mae and Olivia Simmons are three years older than her) Denise was saying a lot of things about how wonderful and exciting learning about Jesus is, and how she loves to sing the songs in Church. I have always pushed my children to go to Sunday school, because I know they’ll appreciate it further on in their lives. I want them to be able have Jesus Christ in their lives, when times are bad. What really upset me, was when Denise, asked me about segregation. I want her to know about it, but I don’t want a kid to confuse her about it, or tell her the wrong thing. I don’t want my baby getting hurt. So, when Denise told me that one of the boys in her Sunday school class said, “Whites are mean to us, they call us “savages”, and they are going to kill us all-KILL US.” This deeply upset me, and I told my baby, “Denise, there are always going to be sad events in life, but you will overcome them.” Whites aren’t bad, they just believe in different things, and some of them think that we are unimportant, because of our skin color. All you have to remember baby girl, though, is to never let someone pull you down, just keep going, keep going, and always remember that your skin color doesn’t make you-your heart does.”

At around 9:45 we went to Church. We go to Sixteenth Street Baptist Church, which is the largest Negro church in the city. Denise wore a brown dress, under her white, laced choir robe. (Denise was singing in the choir today.) Addie Mae went into the bathroom, to get ready for the choir. We were in the middle of the Lord's Prayer, when around 10:22, out of the corner of my eye I say smoke coming from the girl’s restroom, not just cigarette smoke, but deep, heavy smoke, smoke. It was smoke from a bomb. The smoke filled the air so fast that I didn't have time to think about what would have caused the smoke. In a split second, the stairs exploded and crashed down. Fire began exploding everywhere. I told Denise to stay calm, but she said to me,"No, mom I can't leave my best friend in the bathroom, I must save her." "No, Denise, don't go." Loads and loads of people began sprinting for the lives out of the Church. I grabbed Denise's arm, and we sprinted and sprinted, but within a split second, when I looked behind me, Denise was gone. I couldn't find in her in all the people, and I yelled, "Denise, Denise." She never answered. And then it hit me-Denise was in the girl’s bathroom.

I sprang to the bathroom, and rushed to the closet way to the girl’s bathroom. I was panting, sweating, and worrying about all the things that could happen any second, or the things that have happened. It would be all my fault if my baby girl died. Part of the Church ground collapsed, but we weren’t about to give up, and stop sprinting. I prayed to God while I was sprinting, and prayed for my baby girl. I was running as fast as I could. When I got to the girl's bathroom, I stopped dead in my tracks. And at that moment I lost it-I cried and cried, as I began to lift something in the bathroom. I yelled, “No, No this can’t happen, no, no, Denise…stay with me.” When I lifted the bricks, I saw her robe, and her body, along with her friends’ bodies, Cynthia Wesley, Carol Robertson, and Addie Mae Collins, under a pile of bricks. At that moment, when my daughter’s death became reality, I wanted to die with her. The pain in my heart took over, and my mind and heart collapsed.

I couldn't bring myself to look at my baby girl, because it was my fault that she let go of my grasp. It was my fault that she died. I sprinted out of the Church, just in time. When I got out there I ducked. When I looked behind me, the whole Church exploded, and fell into pieces. I couldn't keep myself together, I just cried, and cried, and cried. Terror, violence, and horror filled the streets that day. The day that had once been beautiful, and peaceful was know a day of horror and terror, one of the worst days in history. A sixteen year old African American boy, ran by a policeman, and the policeman shot him. He shot him, for no reason. I opened my mouth to scream at the policemen, but nothing came out. I felt helpless, and sick to my stomach. An African American boy, who was riding his bike rode by. Behind him two white boys, whispered something to eachother, and one of them shot him. I started to run after them, but I couldn't move. My daughters death, and the injury of many people had all happended in within seconds, and I couldn't bring myslelf to believe it. It was impossible to.

I stayed at the Church-well what was left of it, for hours. I tried to find my daughter's body, and the burned down bathroom. There was sadness and depression everywhere. I tried to bury myself in the ruins. I wanted to disapear forever, and stay there all day, and never move on. I couldn't let myself leave, because I felt that if I did, I would leave my baby girl forever, and that I would forget her excistence. I kept telling myself, that it was a dream, and soon I would wake up from this horrific event, but I never did.

What had once been a peaceful, and beautiful morning, had transformed into a dull, depressing, and horrific tradegy, that I will remember for the rest of my life. It was a tradegy that can never be forgotten, a tradegy that will always remain in my life. A tradegy of deaths. A tradegy of all loss of hope. A tradegy that can never be undone.

Months, and months passed, and fear, sorrow, and pain began to control my life. I would find myself start sobbing out of no where. I would read articles about the Church bombing, and my daughter's death, over and over again, and I couldn't stop. I couldn’t face the fact that my daughter had died, and the fact that she was gone for good. There wasn’t a day where I didn’t wake up, and call her name, or go to her room to remind her to come down. I didn’t want to face it, because she is and was my baby girl, and God put her in my arms to protect her, and guide her through life. He put her in my arms, to hold her tight, and never let her love for me go. There were days where I did nothing but sit in sorrow-and never move, where I sat in bed all day, and cuddled up in a ball under the covers, without moving an inch. I didn’t want to face reality-I wanted to wake up, and everything be back to where it was, where my baby girl was safe and sound-I wanted to hide from life-hide from the truth.

My husband, Chris and the family, came to the Church. They hugged me and hugged me. For hours, we all sat there in silence, and in shock, not believing what had happended. No one said anything, no one moved. We just sat and prayed, prayed for our baby girl, and for a better world.

It's not fair for there to be segregation, and it's certainly not right. The Jim Crows laws are designed to get inside other's heads, and make them feel unimportant. We live in a world of violence, terror, and horror. African Americans, and many others are discriminated againist every day, and it has gone too far. People judge us, when they haven't even met us. They believe what they hear and read form others and in magazine's. African Americans have stood strong throughout this time period though, and have united as one. Many African Americans have stood up for what they believed in.

On December 1st, 1955 Rosa Parks refused to give up her seat to whites, and was arrested. This inspired blacks to do something about this. In 1955, the Montgomery Bus Boycott took place. African Americans put millions of signs out about what they were going to do, they called many up, and had many meetings about the boycott. Many African Americans in Alabama didn't ride the buses. The bus percentage dropped so much, but the officials wouldn't give in. The city was loosig thousands of dollars. The Sumpreme Court declared that segregation of public buses was unconstitutional and the boycott was stopped. This boycott lasted a year, and was succesful, because it inspired other African Americans to help in stopping segregation. The boycott caught the attention of the entire nation. It made Martin Luther King Jr. well known, as well as Rosa Parks, which then helped them continue on, and make a difference.

In 1952, Linda Brown, her father, and the NAACP did something to help stop segregation. Linda lived there a white school, that was down the street, but because of segregation, she had to go to a black school much farther away. Her father became very angry with her situation, and decided to do something about it. Her told the NAACP about it, and Thurgood Marshall became there attorny. In 1954, the Supreme Court declared that the segregation of schools violates the Fourteenth ammendment. A group of African Americans, called The Little Rock Nine were the first to try the new law out. These kids were the first African American students to go to a white school. They went to Central High School, in Little Rock, Arkansas. Many white kids threatened to hang them, and kill them. They verbally abused the African Americans. Govener, Oval Faubus, tried to stop the black kids, from going to this school. He surrounded them with the National Guard, in order to prevent them from being able to enter the school. In 1957, Oval Faubus was the court made him stop. This was a very memorable event in history, because it was a step up for African Americans. It showed that slowly, African Americans are gaining their rights.

We can't even walk down the street, without getting yelled at, or threatened. In resturants, we must go to a one designed for colored people, there are different water fountains for blacks and whites, and the ones for whites are much nicer, there are seperate entrances for all public places, there are seperate public transportations, there are sepertate hospitals and mental facilites, we are more easily put in jail, our children have to go to a black school, even if there is a white one much closer to our houses, we have to give up our seats to whites, if the bus becomes full, and we must sit in the very back, we aren't allowed to get married to whites, even if we fall in deeply in love with them, we can't cut a white persons' hair, even if we own the barbershop. The list goes on and on.I used to, and in fact I still dream of a dream when black children can go to school with white children, when blacks can go to resturants where whites are; when there is no segregation. One day, I hope that we can live in a world, blind from skin color. A world that is free, and a world of hope and happiness. A world for all people, big or small. A world for everyone, black or white. A world of equaltiy for all.

I've been able to overcome the pain and the sorrow and the fear that used to contoll my life. I know that Denise would of wanted me to continue on, and use her heroicness, as an example to educate others and inspire them to make a difference in this segregated and horrific world of unequality. I know that Denise would of changed the world tremendously if she didn't die. And I know that she would never want me to sit in sorrow and pain and in fear, the rest of my life.

I'll never ever, ever forget my baby girl. I'll never forget her smile.I'll never forget her talent. I'll never forget her love for me. I'll never forget her heart and soul. I'll never forget her hope of a better world. I'll never ever, ever forget my baby girl. I will always remember the way she looked at me when I said not to go and save Addie Mae. I'll never forget that even though she didn't save Addie Mae, she still tried. Denise risked her life to try and save her best friends'. I'll always remember each and every little part of my baby girl, Denise, that made her who she is and always will be. She was a gift to this world, and even though she was opened, and broken-she still was never thrown away, and never forgotten.

When I think about my daughter's death, and also the death of three of her friends, I not only think about how heroic and kind they were, but I also think about how fast it happended. Things can happen in within seconds, that you can do nothing about. Your children can die, your parents can die, your siblings can die, your realatives can die, and your best friends can die. These things happen everyday, and they are apart of life. We have to learn how to rise ourselves up from these tradegies, and keep going, but never forget our loved ones. Because, if we don't keep going, we might lose them for good.

My Baby Girl