by Shana Burg
Since our books are left over from the white schools, sometimes the pages are missing right in the middle of the assignment. When that happens, first I get mad to think we’ve got to use hand-me-downs, but then I get glad, because Cool Breeze and me don’t have anything to do but talk. And now that Cool Breeze knows all about my daddy, he’s started to tell me about his. But trust me, Delilah comes round plenty to make sure we’re not learning anything we’re not supposed to.
Now Delilah and me walk round the side of the big house. I near about keel over when I see my neighbors pass by the side door and stream through the front. The front door! Well, if I do faint, at least I’ll look like the sunshine, lying here on the lawn with my orange dress spread right round me in a circle.
I bend down to kiss Flapjack goodbye. Then Delilah and me push on inside. Despite all my time working here, before this very instant I never did notice how pretty the entry looks with the marble pillars on the inside. I mean, sure I saw the pillars, but I never saw them like this. I look up at the blue, yellow, and red specks dancing in the middle of the staircase. The banisters need dusting something awful.
Delilah stands beside me, her eyes popping out of her head, because once and for all she sees for herself what I’ve been telling her this whole time was the no-doubt-about-it, one-hundred-percent, honest-to-goodness truth. She stares at the deep red carpet, the silver vase in the glass cabinet, the frilly white curtains in the living room.
“That’s where Uncle Bump and me watched the shows,” I say, and point to the empty space where the television used to be. And I reckon the folks from Ole Miss took the leather sofa for the university library, since it’s missing too. But even with so much furniture gone, Delilah’s impressed. I leave her staring at the empty living room because I can’t wait to see the kitchen.
When I get there, I find Elmira leaning over the sink, shaking her head one way and the other.
“Elmira,” I say.
She turns to me, her eyes wet. “It feels so empty,” she says.
And even though there’s more people in the house than there were for Old Man Adams’s Christmas party, I know just what she means.
“That Mudge,” she says. “He’ll pay his dues.”
From the twinkle in Elmira’s eye, I reckon she’s already cast a spell.
Elmira’s not the only one still sour Mr. Mudge never had to show his face in court. We all are. The judge said there wasn’t enough evidence against him for a trial. He said someone likely planted those butter bean sacks in the forest near Mr. Mudge’s house to frame him. Wouldn’t you know it, now Mr. Mudge is supplying free seeds, seedlings, and equipment for the new garden, including the use of his brand-new tractor. So one thing’s clear: Mr. Mudge wants to make extra-sure he’s not dragged into court later.
“Here the innocent are run out of town and the criminal flies free as a sparrow,” Elmira says. “On the bright side, soon as our community garden comes up right, folks is gonna buy even less from the Corner Store.”
And I reckon Elmira’s right. Some folks would rather rely on anyone but Mr. Mudge to fill their bellies. Even though we’re going to grow our own vegetables, unless we take the bus all the way to Franklindale, we’ll still have to get eggs, flour, bread, and honey at the Corner Store. And even if we do ride all the way to Franklindale, we still can’t get Mr. Mudge’s famous chocolate chip cookies there.
I take Elmira’s hand, pull her through the big house dining room, past the empty space in the ceiling where the chandelier used to hang. Once we get to the living room, it’s real awkward because the reverend and the mayor have set up folding chairs, but there aren’t any signs for seating coloreds and whites like there are in the courthouse.
So after some milling about and bumping into one another, things sort out in the regular way. The white folks sit down up front, then some Negro folks sit down behind them. And since there aren’t enough chairs, plenty of us stand in back too. Why we marched in the front door of the big house but can’t take seats up front, I’m fresh out of ideas.
The white preacher stands beside Reverend Walker. Both men wear black suits and somber faces. “Let us bow our heads in prayer,” Reverend Walker says.
Several gentlemen take off their caps.
“Lord,” Reverend Walker says, “we ask you to spring a well of peace inside these walls as we begin a journey. A journey to plan for the garden the way Old Man Adams intended.”
I hear a little boy laugh.
At once I know I was a fool to think Mrs. Tate would stay home with her son today. Why would she miss the most important Garden Club meeting of all? But now there she is, in the third row, her husband by her side. The second I spot Ralphie on Mrs. Tate’s lap, my lip quivers. I hold up my hand to cover it. From here, I can only see the shine of his black hair and the curve of his back as he leans into his mama’s chest.
“Give us strength, Lord, as we commence the first meeting of the All-Kuckachoo Garden Club,” the white preacher says.
Plenty of folks shake their heads when the preacher says “All-Kuckachoo,” but everyone says “amen” anyhow, and things get under way.
“With the will in our possession,” says Reverend Walker, “it’s nothing but a fact that all Kuckachookians will eat from this garden come the spring picking.”
“And we’ll have half what we ought to,” shouts Mrs. Worth from the front row.
“In the garden of the Lord, there’s more than enough for us all!” Reverend Walker says.
“Amen!” yells Mrs. Montgomery.
Next, the white preacher asks folks what should be planted this time round. For a minute, everyone’s quiet.
Then Mrs. Tate calls out, “I like carrots, myself. If I recall, there are four hundred seventeen rows. I’d like to see at least seventy rows of carrots. They’re good for the little ones’ eyes and skin.”
“Corn!” cries Elmira.
Everyone groans. No doubt they’re thinking of the corn that bordered the garden and protected the butter bean criminal from view.
“Not Indian corn!” Elmira says. “Sweet corn. I can cook up a mighty good soup, plus I can make a lotion from the husks.”
“Four hundred rows of corncob then,” says Mrs. Montgomery.
Mrs. Worth turns in her seat. “Twenty rows of corncob will be more than plenty.”
And right here, the All-Kuckachoo Garden Club gets off to a roaring start. People talk over and under and all round each other.
Sometime during the yelling about the rows, Ralphie stands on his mama’s lap. Now I can see his little face. His wide eyes. His pinch-of-sugar nose. He looks round at the people while my heart leaps out of my chest and runs over all these folks to that little boy.
Then Ralphie smiles. And I reckon he sees me. He does!
I blow him a kiss.
As soon as I do, that boy stretches out his arms straight toward me. But when he can’t reach me all the way back here, his cheeks redden like apples. He tries to jump off his mama’s lap but Mrs. Tate holds him firm.
Now Ralphie lets out a piercing wail.
Mrs. Tate doesn’t realize I’m to blame for her son’s sudden tantrum. She excuses herself and takes her fussing boy outside. The second she leaves out the front door, I can’t help but cry.
Elmira turns to me. “It’s okay ’bout the corncob, honey. I’ll find ’em some other place.”
My nose runs too.
“Don’t go ruinin’ yourself about the rows. You look too pretty in that dress,” she says.
But all this fighting about the rows is nothing compared to the fight going on inside me, the fight to stay here with these people when all I want to do is run outside after Ralphie.
I slip away from Elmira, away from everyone, into the kitchen. I’m leaning over the drying rack, trying to find a way to stop the pain in my chest, when I see Mrs. Tate through the window.
She’s holding Ralphie out in front of her while he kicks his legs real mad.
I’m not
sure how long I stand staring, my face against the glass, when the next thing I know, Mrs. Tate turns to me. It’s like we see into each other’s eyes at the exact same second in time, and that second gets stuck, and for some reason, I don’t look down.
Our eyes, they hold on to each other’s.
Then lickety-split, Mrs. Tate waves her hand like I should come on outside.
I unlock the door. Before I know it, I’m in the yard of the big house, near the rows and rows that all them folks inside are hollering about.
“Ralphie misses you,” Mrs. Tate says. “Hold him.” She pushes her son into my arms.
Ralphie, he’s warmer than rain. I sing in his petal ear, “He’s got the whole world…” Slow, real slow, his scream settles into a moan. Then I hold up my finger, and soft as cotton, he wraps his hand round mine.
AFTERWORD
The anthropologist Margaret Mead once said, “Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed citizens can change the world. Indeed, it is the only thing that ever has.”
The people who fought in the civil rights movement proved Margaret Mead was right. They protested, marched, boycotted, and demonstrated for many years. With the help of the media and federal courts, the civil rights workers exposed to the whole world the injustices that occured in the segregated South. Citizens and lawmakers nationwide were disgusted by horrible images of police dogs biting young boys and fire hoses toppling little girls. And they were inspired by the nonviolent resistance of the civil rights activists. So they responded.
On July 2, 1964, President Lyndon Johnson signed the Civil Rights Act. This act struck down the Jim Crow laws and promised freedom from discrimination for African Americans—and for all Americans. The following year brought another victory in the struggle for equality. The Voting Rights Act of 1965 ordered the elimination of literacy tests and other obstacles to voter registration for minorities.
The Civil Rights Act of 1964, the Voting Rights Act of 1965, and other important legislation opened new opportunities for African Americans and all minorities in our nation. People who were treated unfairly and had the courage to bring their cases to court also contributed greatly to the civil rights movement. Today, we can see the results. Now Americans of all colors attend the same schools, play at the same parks, sit together in restaurants, and marry legally. There are more nonwhite leaders representing citizens at almost every level of government, and the most blatant barriers to voting are gone. Compared to 1963, when Addie Ann’s story takes place, there are far more people willing to speak out against racial prejudice.
Unfortunately, discrimination against African Americans and other minority groups still exists. In fact, all these years after the civil rights laws passed, African Americans and Latinos are still the least likely of all racial groups to get basic health care. And today, all these years after the Jim Crow laws were reversed, research has found that if a white youth and an African American youth commit the same offense, the African American youth is much more likely to wind up in the criminal justice system. North and South, many public schools that were desegregated by law are still segregated. One reason for this is that wealthier white parents often buy homes in different neighborhoods from those where poorer minority parents live. In this day and age, here in the richest nation on earth, millions of children live in poverty, and a disproportionate number of them are African American and Latino.
So really, the struggle for equality isn’t over. Today, the cost of silence is high. You may be too young to vote for our nation’s leaders. But you’re never ever too young to speak up for justice and lead by your own example.
CHRONOLOGY OF EVENTS
Many important events contributed to the modern civil rights movement. The following chronology describes those milestones mentioned in A Thousand Never Evers.
1941–1945
U.S. soldiers risk their lives to fight against the Nazis in World War II. African American Medgar Evers is among them. When Mr. Evers and other black soldiers return home, they are treated like second-class citizens. This infuriates many people and contributes to the rise of the modern civil rights movement.
May 17, 1954
In a case called Brown v. Board of Education, the U.S. Supreme Court rules that segregation in public schools is unconstitutional and, therefore, against the law. However, many states and school districts resist the ruling for more than a decade. And even today, though not the direct result of law but of other factors, many U.S. public schools remain largely segregated.
August 28, 1955
From 1882 through 1962, at least 4,736 citizens are lynched by angry mobs. The majority of murder victims are African American men who live in the South and somehow have offended white people. In 1955, after fourteen-year-old African American Emmett Till is kidnapped and brutally murdered in retaliation for allegedly whistling at a white woman, Mrs. Till insists that her son’s tortured body is shown to the world. This ignites the civil rights movement.
May 2 and 3, 1963
In an event known as the Children’s Miracle, young people skip school to protest segregation in Birmingham, Alabama. Some are only six years old, but many are teenagers. City firemen spray young demonstrators with fire hoses, and city police set vicious dogs on them. At least eight hundred students participate the first day, and at least fifteen hundred the next. Despite their youth, hundreds are arrested and thrown in jail. The images and stories captured by the news media appall citizens nationwide.
May 28, 1963
Black and white college students and their Native American professor stage a sit-in at the “white only” lunch counter at a store called Woolworth’s in Jackson, Mississippi. For three hours, they withstand an attack by a mob of two hundred white people, including many high school students, who beat the protestors bloody and pour salt and ketchup into their wounds. White police officers watch but do nothing to stop the violence.
June 11, 1963
President John F. Kennedy shows a new level of commitment to the fight for civil rights when he addresses the nation on television and radio to propose a bill that would make segregation illegal in restaurants, hotels, buses, and other public places across the country. The bill also would help desegregate schools and secure voting rights. However, in order for the bill to pass into law, members of the U.S. House of Representatives and the U.S. Senate must vote to support it.
June 12, 1963
Medgar Evers is shot and killed in his driveway in Jackson, Mississippi. The fingerprints of white supremacist Byron De La Beckwith are found on the rifle. Mr. De La Beckwith is tried for murder twice and set free by all-white juries. It is not until 1994 that he is convicted of the crime.
August 28, 1963
About 250,000 people gather for the March on Washington for Jobs and Freedom. They insist on the passage of the civil rights bill introduced by President Kennedy. At the march, Reverend Martin Luther King Jr. delivers his famous “I Have a Dream” speech.
September 15, 1963
The Sixteenth Street Baptist Church in Birmingham, Alabama, is bombed. Four young girls are killed while attending Sunday school. The five suspected killers are members of the Ku Klux Klan.
October–November, 1963
Many whites in Mississippi deny that black citizens want to vote. But the Freedom Vote Campaign proves that this is false. Activists hold a mock election in which 83,000 black citizens register and vote. They show that African Americans aren’t voting because they are intimidated into staying away from the polls or are prevented from registering to vote because of taxes or tests.
November 22, 1963
President John F. Kennedy is assassinated while riding beside his wife in a motorcade in Dallas. Vice President Lyndon B. Johnson is sworn in as president.
July 2, 1964
President Lyndon B. Johnson signs the civil rights bill that Kennedy had introduced into law. Called the Civil Rights Act of 1964, it outlaws discrimination of all types based on race, religion, or the country
in which a person was born. The act declares that segregation in hotels, restaurants, parks, and other public places is illegal. However, in segregated states like Mississippi, many white people resist the new law. Some use violence to prevent black citizens from integrating their facilities.
August 6, 1965
President Lyndon B. Johnson signs the Voting Rights Act of 1965. It outlaws literacy tests and other methods used to prevent African Americans from voting. After its passage, civil rights activists keep fighting to make sure the new voting law is enforced.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Some people say writing a novel is a solitary pursuit, but this book has led me to smart, interesting, and generous people from all over the United States. Heartfelt thanks to:
My multitalented agent, Andrea Cascardi, who helped bring Addie Ann to life. She not only critiqued the manuscript many times but also introduced me to my truly brilliant editor, Michelle Poploff. Michelle, along with Amalia Ellison and Pam Bobowicz, asked hundreds of questions and made the suggestions that helped me realize the story’s full potential. Also to Trish Parcell Watts for designing a cover that could spring only from the creative well of someone who lived part of her childhood in Mississippi.
The residents of the Mississippi Delta, who lived through the civil rights era, read chapters, and told me the way things really were back in the day: Lela Bearden, Patricia Browne, David Jones, Elizabeth Kegler, Gyrone Kenniel, Jonett Valentine, Madie Wheeler, Geneva Wilson, and most especially Lillie Clifton and Mattie White. Also, Mayor Johnny Thomas and Superintendent Reggie Barnes, whom I met many years ago. Their passion and enthusiasm inspired this novel.
Fifth-generation Mississippi farmer Bethany Pepper of Blue Bird Acre CSA Farm, who read the entire manuscript, answered hundreds of farming questions, and insisted on replacing broccoli with mustard greens. Billy Barron of Barron Farms, who told me how to heap up the rows, sent me speckled butter beans, and insisted on replacing basil with sage. And Mississippi farmers Allen Eubanks and Dewey Wise, for sharing their wisdom about everything from cotton to corn.