My Civil Rights Summer

It's hard to say when it's a heat wave in Mississippi. That's because most of the time, it's even too hot for the Devil himself," as my mother was fond of saying. I'll tell you something though it was the hottest and longest summer in the history of the state of Mississippi beginning in the summer of 1964 and extending into 1965. Not because of the weather, but because of the Civil Rights Movement that was gaining momentum. Like all great social movements in history, when the right time has arrived, there is no stopping it. The evils of Jim Crow racism, segregation, and the reign of terror of the Ku Klux Klan and other White Supremacists groups were being challenged in the Deep South as it never had been before.

All across the South, young people were a big part of the Movement. We were idealistic enough, naive enough and energetic enough to believe that we could really change the world. A young president, John F. Kennedy had told us to serve our country> Dr. Martin Luther King jr inspired us with his dream of equality for all Americans regardless of the color of their skin. These messages deeply resonated with me and young people all across the country.

In the summer of 1965, I had just completed my Freshman year at Jackson College. which was only about four miles from home. Home consisted of my parents, John and Ruth Sawyer and my younger sister, Susan. The city of Jackson was of course, very segregated at that time. We lived in the "Negro" section of the city We had a decent, sturdy frame house with indoor plumbing.

My father had a good job at the lumber yard owned by Mr. Martin, one of the prominent white citizens. My father had worked there for twenty years and it meant everything to him.

Like a lot of college students, I had participated in a few demonstrations and marches. I had to be really careful not just because of the potential for violence, but because my father and to a lesser extent my mother was opposed to their children getting involved. I don't know what they would have done, had they known that I was a member of C.O.R.E. and would be working this summer with the Voters Registration Drive.

I remember one Sunday dinner when I tried to convince my father that it was the responsibility of everyone to involve themselves in the struggle for equality.

"Daddy, even you can't deny how much Dr. King and the SCLC has made in the last few years. Take what happened with the Montgomery Bus Boycott. That was around ten years ago. Today, those buses operate on a first come, first seated basis."

"O.k. I'll grant you that. But what about the aftermath? What happens after the S.C.L.C. move on to another State? Another battle? The local people are left to pay the price! Fire bombings. lynchings. Ask the mothers of the four little girls killed in the Birmingham Church bombing if they think this Civil Rights Movement was worth it? They were probably innocent bystanders! Probably hadn't attended any protest meetings!

"What about last year, right here in Mississippi they killed those three Civil Rights Workers and threw their bodies in that dam! Ain't nobody been arrested for it either. The Chaney boy was from down here. He should have known better

I took a deep breath to calm my anger. "That's all the more reason to continue the struggle" I did not know them personally but . the deaths of James Chaney, Andrew Goodman, and Michael Schwerner was devastating

"Now you look here, Ruth Marie Sawyer, I'm tellin' you for the last time. I don't want you or your sister getting mixed up in any of this Civil Rights Business. I could lose my job if it was known my family members were in it! Then what would we do? Do you know how blessed you are to have a roof over your head, food on the table and clothes on your back?"

Those three things were the Holy Trinity to my father.

"I'm sure they do, my mother interjected. "It's just that everyone is stirred up these days. The young people of today don't accept things the way we did."

"You two just keep your mind on your books, your studies and learning as much as you can," Daddy said in a tone that meant the discussion was over.

"Right," I said sarcastically. "I'll be the best educated maid in Mississippi."

I regretted it as soon as I said it, when I saw the hurt look in my mother's eyes. She had previously worked as a maid but was more in demand now as a cook for one wealthy family.

I apologized while we were doing the dishes.

"I'm sorry I said. I appreciate all the work you do to help our family.'

"I know you do," she said. It's just you have big dreams of your own."

"Mama. Susan said as she dried a platter, just what do you think of the Civil Rights Movement?'

"Well. Lord knows we need to stand up for ourselves. This is supposed to be the land of the free with liberty and justice for all. But the other folk don't want to accept it. They want to keep us as close to slavery as they can. I love how Dr. King is so committed to non-violence. The problem is the KKK and others have no qualms about killing, lynching even torturing us. Lord help me, but I don't think I could be as good a Christian as all the mothers of the four little girls. I don't think I could go on living if anything like that happened to either of you."

We all hugged each other and cried. Susan promised never to get involved. I didn't say anything. I just decided I had to be even more careful. I told my parents I was taking a special Independent Study Course at college this summer and I would be staying on campus.

In early June, the white college kids from the North arrived in Jackson to help with the Voters Registration Drive. It was about thirty of them. I was surprised so many had come, in lieu of what happened last year.

They were being put up in he dorms at Jackson College. We had a spare office in one of the out of the way buildings that would serve as our headquarters. We had orientation and planning sessions. We talked about the "Freedom Schools" which were really classes held that taught people English, Math and the Constitution and how fill out the forms to register to vote.

We divided ourselves into teams consisting of three or four people each. Two white students would be paired with one or two Negro students from Jackson. That's how I met Tony DeLorenzo. He was a nice looking young man from Penn State University. He had curly brown hair and blue eyes and an athletic build. We were assigned to the same team. We hit it off right away.

We designed and mimeographed fliers that told about the classes and other information. These were distributed throughout the Negro neighborhoods. Many people refused to even take them. Same thing happened with the door to door registration attempts.

Tony became discouraged and a little frustrated. I guess he envisioned a whole lot of people eager to throw of the shackles of discrimination.. I explained to him about the fear of recriminations. It was very real. He said, he understood.

"It's like people who don't want to cross the Mafia," he said.

That led to a conversation about his ethnicity and family. We had many conversations. I admired his intellect. He knew a lot about Politics, History, Current Events and even art and music. We had a lot of great conversations.

As the summer went on, I had to admit I liked Tony a lot. More than a friend. Not like a boyfriend, because that would be impossible. So I settled on "special friend."

After we finished our assignment for the day, we would go buy sodas and snacks and go to our office and laugh and talk and eat our food.

One day, all of the team members got together for a little party. Someone brought a record player and some records. Someone else brought refreshments. It was fun, just to be regular teen-agers and dance the "Twist" and the "Mashed Potatoes" . Slow dancing with Tony was especially nice. The party broke up, but Tony and I lingered behind.

It was nearing time to wrap up the summer program. The college kids would be leaving soon. Tony and I spent as much time together as we could. We promised to stay in touch and write each other. He gave me his address. I bravely waved good-by when he got on the bus. I didn't want to start crying in front of everybody.

I started writing Tony that very evening. I wrote him almost every day for months. He never answered any of my letters. Not even the one when I told him I was pregnant. You know it was funny, he had moved on just like my father said the Civil Rights Organizations do. And I was left to deal with the aftermath of a "Civil Rights Baby."