Me and Rachel went to see Ben at the county jail everyday. I had put my job on hold, hoping Max McGee could still find me something when all this was over. He told me he was sorry to hear about Ben and for me not to worry. “I’ll have something for you when you get ready,” Max said. “This project is huge and will last a while.”
The Higgins came into town in droves. Some got hotel rooms in Collinwood and Gadsden, some just brought tents and found places to camp. The first time I saw Ned’s daddy was in my Uncle Joe’s store. He had quickly made friends with Bob Samples and some of the other resident bigots that had a hand in lynching Rube Evans. No charges were ever brought against Bob or any of the rest of them. I believe the sheriff wanted to, but had no cooperation from Randall Baxter. Prosecution and getting a guilty verdict would have been all but impossible, anyway.
Roscoe Higgins, Ned’s daddy, was a big man with hands the size of baseball mitts. He had a long, graying beard that made him look like a returning Confederate officer from the battle at Bull Run or Chancellorsville. There was a small cigar dangling from his mouth that bobbed up and down every time he talked. I was walking around the store, picking up a few things for Lizzie. I would occasionally glance in the direction of the gaggle of men that were standing in their usual place around the pot-belly stove. It was at least eighty degrees outside. I noticed Bob pointing at me once and Roscoe Higgins nodding his head. I had no idea what they were talking about or planning, but Bob knew better than to try to start trouble with me in my Uncle Joe’s store. He knew if he did, he would be staring down twin barrels of a double-barreled shotgun quicker than a cat jumping a mouse.
Uncle Joe put my few items in a poke sack and I paid him. He looked back in the direction of the men standing around the stove.
“Do you want me to call the sheriff?” he asked, concern in his voice.
“No, I’ll be alright, Uncle Joe. I’m going straight back to the Winston’s place.”
Uncle Joe nodded and handed me my change. I walked out and got in Mr. Winston’s car and drove away. I had gone maybe a couple of miles down Highway 11 and was fiddling with the radio in the car. I was trying to get some news on the war, specifically what was going on in North Africa where General Patton and Field Marshall Romell were trying to outfox and outfight each other. I knew we were gaining ground there, and I knew Patton would never quit. Patton didn’t sit around waiting for something to happen. He was a mover and a shaker. But most of all, that’s where Manuel was. He had saved my life and had been one of Rachel, Ben and my best friends when he lived in Collinwood.
I just happened to glance in the side view mirror in time to see the pick-up truck that was pulling up beside me. It was barreling down on me hard, trying to nudge me off the road. I put the gas pedal to the floor. I knew whatever the pick-up had under the hood, it was no match for the big V-8 in Mr. Winston’s Cadillac. I quickly pulled away, grinning a little as I saw the truck get smaller in the mirror. I knew the truck belonged to Roscoe Higgins, because I had seen it sitting outside my Uncle Joe’s store. It looked like somebody was riding with him, and I assumed it to be Bob Samples. It might have been better for them that I got away, because I wasn’t able to do much fist and skull fighting anymore since I nearly lost my leg in Algiers. But Mr. Winston kept a Colt .45 under the seat of the car and I would not have hesitated to use it.
*****
The sky had the orange and red glow that immediately precedes twilight as Will Henry walked into his front yard. He had put in a hard day hauling fertilizer to all the different tenant fields and running what seemed like a hundred errands for Mr. Winston. Just as he crossed the old dirt road that ran in front of his little house, he saw a pick-up truck pulled off to the side with two men inside that were big enough to fill the entire cab. Will looked over and saw his ten year old daughter and five year old son swinging on an old tire Will had hung from an oak tree limb. He knew they couldn’t hear them unless he yelled, so he cautiously walked over to the truck before the men had a chance to get out.
“What can I do fer you gents?” Will asked, trying to keep from sounding nervous.
“Well, we might be able to help one another,” the man sitting behind the steering wheel answered. “Names Roscoe Higgins. I’m Ned’s daddy.”
“Oh…yeah, uh…pleased to meet you, Mr. Higgins. I work, uh….used to work with Ned. Me and him was good friends. I sure do hate what happened to ‘im.”
“Me too, boy, me too. Why, it plum near broke his momma’s heart when she heard about ‘em fishin’ his body outta that river.”
“Well, if there’s anything I can do……”
“There is something you can do, boy,” Roscoe said. “You can testify at that little niggers trial. There gonna prob’ly call you, anyhow, so you might as well tell ‘em what really happened to my boy.”
“Well, sir, I wasn’t there when it happened. Ned sent me on home, you see, and…..”
“You know what happened, boy. That Mexican took that gun away from Ned and shot him dead in cold blood. Then him and that nigger boy put ‘im in that truck and dumped him in the river for the catfish and carp to eat.”
“That may be, sir. But I didn’t see ‘em,” Will said, looking over his shoulder to see if his children were still swinging. They were still there, and he was praying they would go in the house.
“Well, let me ask you sump’n then. I believe you seen what really happened that night and maybe just forgot. Would five-hundred dollars help yore memory any?”
Five-hundred dollars was more than half what Will made in a year, and he sure could use it. He would like to buy his wife and kids some nicer clothes. Mr. Winston paid a fair wage and gave him a place to live, but he still didn’t have as much as he would like to spend on his family. They deserved nice things just like everybody else. Of course, he seemed wealthy compared to the tenant farmers and sharecroppers.
“I don’t know, Mr. Higgins. I ain’t got nothin’ personal against Ben Evans, and besides I don’t like lyin’. And lyin’ in court is against the law.”
“How about six-hundred, then. I don’t think I could raise no more than that.”
Will shook his head. “I don’t know, I just don’t think…..”
“Well, let me put it to you like this, boy,” Roscoe said, pointing his finger at Will. “You can take the six-hundred dollars and say what I tell you to say, or, well…. let’s just say I shore do hate to hear when folks young ’uns come up missin’.” Roscoe was looking past Will at the children, who were now pushing the swing back and forth with nobody in it.
“Is that a threat, Mr. Higgins?” Will asked, starting to move a little further away from the truck.
“No, it ain’t no threat, boy. I’m just sayin’ sometimes a man has to do certain things to keep his children safe, that’s all. Why, I reckon a man would do about anything for his children. You shore have do have a fine lookin’ boy and girl there,” Roscoe said, pointing toward the children. “I bet six-hundred dollars could buy them some nice duds and some shiny new toys, too. That’s a whole heap better than comin’ home one day and finding out one of ‘em’s run off somewhere.”
Will looked at Roscoe, then turned around and looked at his children. It was getting dark out and he couldn’t believe their momma hadn’t called them in yet.
“Is my wife alright?” Will asked Roscoe, trying to keep his voice from sounding shaky.
“I couldn’t rightly say, boy. I ain’t never seen your wife. Me and Rex here ain’t been out of this truck since we drove up.”
As soon as Roscoe had gotten the words out of his mouth, Will’s wife came to the door and told the children to come in the house. Will breathed a sigh of relief. Will turned back to Roscoe. “What do you want me to say,” he asked, hating himself for giving in. But what choice did he have? He knew the town was full of Higgins. He couldn’t tell his wife to keep the children indoors all the time. And what if they did something to harm her? He knew Ned had had a mean streak in him a mile w
ide and he could see where it came from. Six-hundred dollars talked awful loud, too. If he was going to be forced into doing something he didn’t want to do, he felt like he may as well be compensated for it.
“We’ll let you know what to say the day before your called to testify,” Roscoe told him. “We wanna make sure it’s fresh on your mind when you take the stand.”
*****
Mr. Winston offered to pay for the best lawyer he could find, but Ben would have none of it. We all told him he was making a terrible mistake, wanting to serve as his own council.
“Ben, your life could be on the line here, son,” Mr. Winston had said. “At the very least you may face prison time if you are found guilty of something less than murder. I know you are a genius, nobody’s questioning that, but you don’t have any trainin’ when it comes to the law.”
“I’ve done a lot of research, sir,” Ben told him. “And I’ve been reading law books for years, now. If I get a lawyer, he’ll control everything I do or say. I trust myself more than somebody I’ve never met.”
Ben’s trial started on the first Monday in July. The courtroom was packed, with people standing outside, hoping somebody would get up to go relieve themselves or maybe get hungry so they could get there seat. The balcony was also packed with negroes from all over the county. Evergreen and Nellie were given seats on the front row. Ben sat alone at his table, which would have been intimidating to anybody else. Randall Baxter had his secretary and another lawyer at his table. But Ben didn’t look the least bit intimidated. In fact, he looked eager, as if he were in a card game and was waiting to be dealt his hand.
Judge Hawkins walked into the courtroom and everybody rose. I looked at the clock on the wall that said it was 9:02.
“This court will come to order,” the judge spoke loudly. “Case number CC-88-2925, the State of Alabama versus Benjamin Franklin Evans.” The judge paused and looked down at Ben who looked small sitting alone at his table. “I want this to go on the record,” the judge said looking at the court reporter. Then he looked back at Ben. “Mr. Evans, you’ve been told several times that you have the right to council and it has been strongly suggested that you do so. If you can’t afford council, the court will appoint one at no cost to you. Do you understand that?”
“I do, your honor,” Ben answered. “I’ve been offered the benefit of council on numerous occasions and I wish to represent myself, sir.”
“Let the record show Mr. Evans has repeatedly refused council.”
“Mr. Baxter, is the prosecution ready for it’s opening statement?”
“I am, your honor,” Baxter answered with a smug little smile on his face.
Baxter stood up and walked slowly toward the eleven men and one woman that made up the jury. All white of course. Baxter paced back and forth, looking at each individual juror as if he were about to pick one out to run an errand for him.
“Gentlemen, or I guess I should say lady and gentlemen, I intend to show you over the course of the next couple of days how the defendant, Ben Evans, and his accomplice, Mr. Manuel Cruz, did willfully and with malice, murder Ned Williams in cold blood. Now, he’s gonna tell you that he was threatened by Mr. Higgins and feared for his life, and also for that of his accomplice. I won’t argue that Mr. Higgins had a weapon. He was there with George Winston, his employer, and the owner of the cotton gin where the incident took place and a fellow employee. Mr. Winston saw the lights on at the office of his cotton gin and thought someone had made an unlawful entry, which in fact they had. They were there with Mr. Winston’s daughter, but she doesn’t own the gin. Her father does. Mr. Higgins, the victim of this crime, was doin’ what he was asked by his employer to do. But Mr. Evans and his accomplice somehow managed to take the gun away from the victim and instead of letting him go, shot him down. It’s as simple as that, ladies and gentlemen. There’s no point in me spending half a day up here trying to tell you the reason’s why this happened, or give you some elaborate hypothesis as to a motive. The fact is, it did happen, whatever the motive. Mr. Evans comes by violent tendencies honestly. Why, his own father brutally raped and attempted to murder an innocent and well-loved member of this community. I believe growin’ up and being subjected to that kind of violence only fueled those tendencies when Mr. Higgins tried to protect Miss Winston that night. I believe Mr. Evans had romantic notions for Miss Winston, feelin’s she didn’t return, and that really turned his anger into a murderous rage, and Mr. Higgins was the unfortunate victim that violent rage was directed at. He was in the wrong place at the wrong time, my friends.”
Baxter walked back and forth in front of the jury like a caged lion, trying to read their faces and see what effect his words had had on them. Apparently he saw something in some of the faces that satisfied him. He looked at them intently. “I have nothing further to add. I’ll let the facts speak for themselves.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
As Baxter took his seat, I whispered to Rachel, “What facts are he talkin’ about? He don’t have any facts.” I knew Ben never had, or never would lie to me. I believed his account of what happened that night completely. How did Baxter think he was going to prove anything different than what Ben had said? There was nobody in the cotton gin office that night but Ben, Manuel and Ned Higgins, and Ned wasn’t around anymore to tell anybody anything. I believed he was just trying desperately to plant the seed of doubt in the jurors minds. What I couldn’t figure out was who he was going to call as witnesses. Who could he have to testify against Ben that had anything but wild guesses as to what happened.
“Mr. Evans, do you have an opening statement?”
“Yes, your honor, I do,” Ben said, rising from his seat.
Ben didn’t walk toward the jury as Baxter had done. He started out right where he was standing. I knew, however, if he got on a roll, the pacing would soon start.
“First of all, I would like to thank you good people of Jones County for sacrificing your daily wages or your usual daily endeavors to do your civic duty. That is an honorable thing you’re doin’, but I know a burden on all of you. We live in the greatest country with the fairest judicial system in the world. If we are accused of a crime, we have the right to confront our accusers in front of fine people like yourselves and tell our side of the story. If there is even a reasonable doubt that we are guilty of the charges brought against us, we cannot be convicted. And a jury’s decision must be unanimous. We have the right to have people professionally trained in the law to defend us whether we can afford to pay them or not. That’s as fair and just a system as anybody could ask for. In this country, we are allowed to protect ourselves and our property from those who mean to do us harm, without fear of any reprisal from the law. Self preservation and the preservation of one’s family is a natural instinct among all living things and is natural law. Natural Law is what our country was founded on. The idea that rights come from God and not an all powerful, central government, and that they are inalienable and can’t be taken away at the whim of a tyrant. Tyrants like we are at this moment fighting against in Europe and in the Pacific. Tyrants who want to impose their will on other people and treat them as slaves under the auspices that what they are doing is for the common good. In this country, I am considered a minority. My progenitors were African, whereas the vast majority of this country is made up of people of European descent. But I submit to you, that the color of my skin in no way makes me the smallest minority. The smallest minority, my friend, is the individual. In this great country we recognize that. We are all created equal. That doesn’t mean we are guaranteed equal outcomes in our lives. It does, however, guarantee every man, woman and child equality in the pursuit of happiness and to go as far as our efforts and abilities can take us.”
Ben picked up his glass of water and took a couple of small sips. Then he put his hands behind his back, just like I eventually knew he would, and stepped out from behind his table.
“Now, I’m not using this in any way as part of my defense, but I am
but three generations removed from, what was in my opinion, the only blemish there has ever been in this otherwise great country that I love. The heinous institution of slavery. I guess if I chose to do so, I could hold a life-long grudge against the descendents of those who chose to keep my ancestors in bondage. In fact, slavery goes against everything this country was founded on. The premise that all men are created equal. But our founders saw this great sin from the beginning, and though it took eighty some odd years for it to come to fruition, it was finally abolished. Once again, justice prevailed, proving to the world that this American experiment would endure, even after we were torn asunder by our own hands. Consanguinity and our own kinship didn’t keep those who believed in equality and justice for all, from prevailing, even though it meant pitting brother against brother in a bloody war.”
Ben paused again for a minute, turning his attention from the jury to the people in the packed courtroom, who were all listening intently. I believe the old adage of hearing a pin drop would have held true at that moment. Other than someone occasionally moving a little in their seat or maybe a cough, it was dead silent. Ben saw in the back of the courtroom, standing among complete strangers, the beautiful face of Abby, smiling. She had come in before he started talking, though he didn’t know it at the time. This strengthened his resolve even more. He took another sip of water and continued.
“Yes, friends, I suppose I could hold a grudge if I wanted to and feel sorry for myself for the hand I was dealt. But as far as I know, and if there were they would be in mighty feeble condition, there isn’t a single person here today that ever owned a negro slave, or anybody from any other race as far as that goes.” Ben’s last statement got a few muffled laughs from the people in the courtroom. I even noticed a couple of men in the jury smiling.
The Sharecropper Prodigy Page 17