Nobody Said Amen

by Tracy Sugarman

  Jimmy licked his lips, his mouth feeling suddenly dry. “It’s just a meetin’ to talk about voting, Mr. Claybourne.”

  “You mean a Communist meetin’.”

  “No, sir.” He stopped in mid-sentence as three black field workers came over the rise, halting in surprise.

  Claybourne’s voice rose. “You want my workers to go to a Communist meeting!”

  “No, sir. Not a Communist meeting, Mr. Claybourne. Only about five percent of the Negroes here in the Delta have ever voted.” His eyes moved to the three field workers. “Some of us think it’s time they did.”

  Eyes averted, the men hurried past them now, nodding briefly to Claybourne.

  “Some of you do, huh? Well, boy, you’ve got five minutes to get your black ass off my property. And those five minutes are a gift from Justin and Lottie. After five minutes I’m ringing up the Highway Patrol and reporting I’ve got an agitator here who’s disturbin’ my tenants. You don’t want to be here when they arrive.”

  Jimmy Mack looked calmly at the furious man. “Do you figure that my leavin’ is gonna keep these folks from voting, Mr. Claybourne? Things have been changin’ since I got back from Korea. Lot of my buddies comin’ back want a piece of the action. They think they paid some dues. This voting thing is happening all over the South, not just in Shiloh.”

  Claybourne thrust a thick finger against Jimmy’s chest. “It ain’t happening here, boy. Any of my Negroes go down to get registered will find their belongings out on the highway. Goes for Justin. Goes for Lottie. Goes for all of ’em. That’s a promise you can repeat over at the Sanctified Quarter.” He pulled a pocket watch from his jeans. “And you’ve got just three minutes left.”

  Ted was talking with Jimmy Mack on the porch of the Freedom House when the old roadster pulled into the yard. The Model A Ford was packed solid. Three young men from the front and two from the rumble seat exited the car and stood uneasily, surveying the old farmhouse. Jimmy stepped into the yard and approached the group.

  “Hi,” he said, “Can I help you?”

  A lanky redhead moved forward. “This was the old Wheeler farm when I was growing up. Is this what’s called the Shiloh Freedom House now?”

  “Yeah,” said Jimmy. “That’s our outside name for it. Inside, it’s still the old Wheeler farmhouse.” He half-smiled, “but with books.”

  Ted joined Jimmy, squinting at the redhead. “Sorry, but don’t I know you?”

  The redhead grinned. “Yeah, Mr. Mendelsohn. I’m Timmy Kilbrew, Senator Tildon’s summer intern last year. I met you twice when you came to interview the senator.”

  Mendelsohn laughed. “Of course! We even had lunch together once in the Senate dining room. If I remember right, your grandfather was visiting the senator and joined us.”

  “Grandfather Oscar was a fraternity brother of the senator at Ole Miss back in 1920. He’s still with us. Pretty much retired but still active.”

  “In politics like the senator?”

  “No. Just on the board of his church.”

  Mendelsohn said, “I’m glad to see you again, Kilbrew. Do you live in Shiloh?”

  “Not according to my mother! I’m in my senior year at Millsaps College, and I don’t get home much. In another week I’ll be back in Washington working with the senator.” His gaze moved to the blacks clustered over books in the yard, then back to the reporter. “I didn’t know you ever left Washington, Mr. Mendelsohn. Are you on assignment?”

  Ted said, “I’m covering the students who came down on the voting rights drive.” He looked at the restless young men behind Kilbrew. “I guess you and your buddies are not part of the movement.”

  Kilbrew wrinkled his nose and stared at the farmhouse. “Certainly not.” He nodded at the others. “We’re all from Millsaps. We were just wondering who was living here and decided to drive over to see.”

  Jimmy said, “Why don’t you get out of the sun and sit down on the porch?” His voice was careful. “We don’t often have the chance to welcome white visitors. They’re usually in a hurry to leave.”

  Timmy Kilbrew led the group to the shady porch. They stood, nervously scrutinizing the students in the yard and the piles of books on the porch, continuing their restless vigil even after Kilbrew settled on the top step. “We had questions and thought we’d come to the source for answers. Reading the papers about you doesn’t help a lot. Are you really a Communist conspiracy like it says in the Clarion?”

  Jimmy suppressed a smile. “Kind of a shabby place to have a Communist conspiracy. Not at what we’re getting paid!” For the first time the young men laughed, and settled on the porch steps.

  Kilbrew’s eyes swept the gaggle of kids in the yard. “So, what are you hoping to do in Shiloh?”

  “We spend most of our time talking with the families we’re living with,” said Jimmy, “trying to convince them that they have the right to vote down here. You have questions, Kilbrew? Ask away. We’ll tell you what you want to know.”

  “Senator Tildon is leading the fight against the Voting Rights Bill and our group thinks that he’s doing a hell of a job, protecting the states’ rights to determine who should vote.” Kilbrew gazed steadily at Jimmy. “It’s fair to say we resent people who don’t live here who come down and tell us how to live differently.”

  Jimmy said, “I’m sure that’s true. Feelings run pretty deep, on both sides of the highway.” He met Kilbrew’s unblinking eyes. “About six hundred thousand Americans died arguing about that. But we didn’t come all the way down here to fight the Civil War all over again.”

  Kilbrew pressed forward. “To a lot of the folks here, your coming down, acting high and mighty, feels a lot like an occupation we remember very vividly. It’s humiliating. And we’re not about to sit still for it.”

  Mendelsohn looked quizzically at Timmy Kilbrew. “Didn’t think you were old enough to remember the occupation, Timmy. But that’s your prerogative. That’s what the courts are for. That’s what the laws are for. That’s the system we all established, and the Constitution we ratified. That’s what brought me out of Washington.”

  “I’m old enough, Mendelsohn,” Kilbrew said, his voice rising, “to recognize that you’re down here covering only one side of the argument.”

  “That’s not so,” said Ted. “I’m a journalist. I get paid to do this. So I’m reporting about Negro Americans who are trying to achieve equality of the franchise, and honestly telling about the obstacles they have to overcome. The people have a right to know that.”

  “That’s crap!” Kilbrew was clearly aggrieved. “Then the people ought to be told that white Mississippians are daily being portrayed as savages and brutes who hate black people because they object to race mixing. There’s never a word about kindness and generosity by the white community.”

  Ted nodded. “That may be so, but the headlines are more likely to be about three nonviolent students who have disappeared and are probably dead. Or about the Sojourner Chapel which was attacked while I watched, by violent men hurling Coke bottles at the black parishioners.”

  Jimmy studied the faces of the Millsaps students, “Can you guys justify that violence?”

  “Of course not!” snapped Timmy Kilbrew. “We believe in law and order, same as you. People who commit crimes should be held responsible. You may think of us as a lynch mob, but you’re wrong. We just know from our history that the state is a better vehicle to provide law and order than a detached federal bureaucracy. We have our traditions and we respect them. We know our people and trust them to elect candidates who share those beliefs. Those are the people who vote in Mississippi.”

  “The people who vote in Mississippi,” said Jimmy in a cool voice. “The people who have been allowed to vote in Mississippi.”

  Kilbrew turned to Ted. “Mr. Mendelsohn, you know that I work for a senator who has committed his whole public career to keeping the federal government off our backs. He believes that saving this state’s integrity is a public trust.”

&
nbsp; Ted nodded. “That’s Senator Tildon.” He stood and walked with the students to their car. “So you believe that only white Americans should vote in our elections, Timmy?”

  “No,” said Kilbrew. “Just Americans who share our values.” He climbed into the driver’s seat and extended his hand to Mendelsohn. “I remember the old Wheeler farm very fondly,” he said, starting up the Ford. “It was a friendly place. I’ll tell Grandfather Oscar that I saw you at the Freedom House.”

  Chapter Six

  The rooster outside Mendelsohn’s window had startled him awake at sunrise, so Rennie’s call from the bedroom door came as he was already dressing. “Somebody been messing with your car I think, Ted. I couldn’t see, it was before sun up. When I went to the window, wasn’t nobody there. But I heard somethin’.”

  Mendelsohn went outside and gingerly inspected the Chevy, flinching as he inched up the dusty hood and explored with his fingers under the dash. Rennie was watching from the window, so he waved reassuringly and then eased down, sliding under the car. Explosives? What the hell did he know about explosives? Nothing. And unless they were labeled EXPLOSIVES he’d probably not know them when he saw them. He crawled back into the driver’s seat and stared at the ignition key, willing himself to turn on the motor. When he closed his eyes and turned the key, the Chevy purred to life. He was wringing wet and grinning with relief when he stepped from the car. Rennie and Sharon were smiling and waving from the house. And then he saw the slashed rear tire. With a sigh, the car tilted, the last air finally escaping. By the time he’d jacked up the car and removed the damaged wheel, he was greasy and dripping with sweat.

  “No place to go except Kilbrew’s,” Rennie said. “Not that they’ll be any help. Next place is seven miles away, up in Ruleville.”

  He left the Williams yard, pushing the damaged wheel before him. At the Sojourner Chapel he paused for breath and then headed across Highway 49 to the Kilbrew Gas and Auto Repair. “Anybody here? Hello!”

  The door opened, and a demure young woman stood at the entrance. Carrying a small linen purse and dressed in a white cotton shift, she seemed foreign to the scene and appeared uncomfortable. She stared at him and then said softly, “Good morning.”

  “Good morning. Wasn’t sure anybody was here. Somebody who can help me with this tire? I’m staying across the highway and when I came out this morning somebody had—” He stopped to look around the deserted station. “Well, this tube has got to be repaired and the tire replaced.”

  “My brother’s gone on a service call, and I promised to keep an eye on things till he gets back. I don’t work here. You can leave the tire if you want. Bobby Joe is pretty busy, so I can’t rightly tell you if and when it’ll get done.” She paused, cocked her head and looked hard at Mendelsohn. When she spoke again, the timidity had gone from her voice. “I don’t guess Bobby Joe is going to want to help you. You’re one of those Freedom Riders over in the Sanctified Quarter, aren’t you?”

  Before he could answer, a pretty, blond, and pregnant woman emerged from the office and planted herself boldly in front of the office door. “We saw you when you first drove into the Quarter, didn’t we, Em? You had another white boy next to you and two Nigras crouching down in the back seat.” She chuckled. “Welcome to Shiloh. Population 3,107. The most vigilant town in Magnolia County!”

  Mendelsohn had to laugh. “Thank you for the welcome.” He dropped the tire, suddenly conscious in their presence of how he must look, and wiped his hands on his grimy jeans. “Well, I sure can’t do much freedom riding with this damn tire, ladies. So I’m going to have to leave it. Maybe Bobby Joe will show a little Christian spirit. I’ll appreciate it.”

  The pregnant woman smiled. “You don’t look like the others.”

  “Beg your pardon?”

  She flushed. “I said you don’t look like the others.”

  He returned her smile. “I’m just like the others. I’m twenty years older than they are, but I’m just like them.”

  She laughed softly, turned briefly to her embarrassed companion, then pointed her finger at him. “Take off your sunglasses,” she demanded. “I’ve got questions for you, and I want to see your eyes.” Puzzled, but intrigued by the glint of brazen fun in her voice, Mendelsohn removed his sunglasses and stepped forward. “What would you like to ask me?”

  Surprised by his willingness, she wetted her lips and pondered. “Well, Em and I were wondering . . . ” She halted, then raised her chin, her green eyes flashing. “No, that’s not fair. Not Em. Me. I was wondering what are you doing down here in Shiloh?” The woman’s silent companion, lips parted and eyes wide, edged back to the entrance of the office.

  “I’m spending the summer writing and taking photographs. I’m a journalist. And I’m covering the kids who came down here to work.”

  The blonde’s eyes narrowed. “Who are you bein’ a journalist for?”

  “Newsweek magazine.”

  “Newsweek magazine! Up in New York City?” Up in New York City sounded as if she were speaking of the Land of Oz.

  He tried not to smile. “Yeah. That’s where the publisher is. He sends us working types out to see the country. That’s how I got to Shiloh.”

  Excited now, she moved closer. A very feminine summer aroma of lavender and suntan lotion made his thoughts drift. Her face was very near. “Would you answer me honest?”

  Her companion interrupted from the doorway, “Willy! What in the world?”

  “It’s all right, Em.” She never took her eyes from his face. “Would you really talk with me?”

  Mendelsohn stared. Where was this going? He hadn’t been near a woman who smelled so good in—Christ! Six weeks? “Sure, Let’s talk. What’s bothering you?”

  She pouted and frowned. “Well, we can’t talk here!”

  He gazed slowly around the empty station and asked innocently, “Why not?”

  She exploded, “Because this is a gas station!” Taking a deep breath, she plunged ahead. “Would you come to my house?”

  Em looked shocked but remained silent. Mendelsohn grinned and nodded. “Well, thank you. That’s the first invitation I’ve had from the white community since I arrived in Magnolia County.”

  “Now don’t start that!”

  “Look, before I accept your kind invitation, you ought to know that if I come I’m liable to jeopardize your position in Shiloh. When I drive in or out of the Sanctified Quarter, people notice. You both noticed. And I’m often followed.”

  “Don’t be silly. Everybody in Shiloh knows me. Just come.” She pointed south. “You go down 49 past the high school. First road on the right. The Claybourne place. Anybody can show you.”

  “Thank you.” He thought of what it would be like if Dale Billings met this woman, and could hardly suppress his smile. “Can I bring some of the kids I’m living with? You’d like them.”

  Her eyes widen in horror. “Heavens, no!”

  He laughed at her vehemence. “They don’t bite! When would you like me to come?”

  Her eyes were bright with anticipation and she turned to Em. “Can Bobby Joe fix his tire by Wednesday? He’ll need his car to get out to the plantation.”

  Looking very uncomfortable, Em stared at the blonde, then shrugged. “I’ll talk to him.”

  The pregnant woman clapped delightedly. “Bobby Joe’s never said no to Emily in his whole life. So why don’t you come Wednesday afternoon, one-thirty. Em, you come, too.” She extended her hand to him. When he took it, it felt smooth and surprisingly cool. She smiled. “My name is Wilson Claybourne. What’s yours?”

  Chapter Seven

  Dale Billings was speaking to SNCC headquarters in Jackson when Mendelsohn dropped into the chair opposite. Billings was staring at the phone, seemingly unaware that Ted had even come in.

  “J. Edgar Hoover said he’s opening an office?” Billings’s voice became strident. “Down in Neshoba? Be the first fucking office the FBI’s got in Tildon’s state if it’s true! Keep me posted. It’s l
onely up here.” He hung up and saw the reporter. His long slender fingers beat a tattoo on the old desk. “Nothing new on the boys.” A sardonic smile creased his intent young face. “But the shit’s hit the fan in all the big papers up north. Mickey Schwerner and Andy Goodman, two white guys, are missing. So Jackson says J. Edgar’s gonna have to look interested. Word from Washington is he’s going to open an office down here.” His scornful voice filled the empty Freedom House. “After how many years? How many lynchings? How many burned down churches? How many black brothers gone missing or shot? Now two white civil rights workers, Mickey and Andy, go missing, and the FBI is going to open an office in Missafuckingsippi? I wish I could still laugh. It’s fucking pathetic.” He took a deep breath and pointed to the ham sandwich on the desk before him. “You want part of this? You been gone all morning, you must be hungry.”

  “Hell, no. Unlike some of my brothers, I do like ham. But that sandwich looks as tired as you.” Even at the Ohio orientation Ted had thought Dale looked drawn, his eyes too large in his thin face. Rail-skinny, he thought. And the bottled intensity in the youngster seemed ready to spill now that he was back in the Delta. His fingers never seemed at rest, tapping a staccato accompaniment to his speech. The kid’s been waiting for this summer, Ted reflected, feeling everything, and not taking care of himself.

  He walked to the ancient ice box and took out a quart of milk and placed it next to Dale’s sandwich. “Eat your lunch, Dale. You look like a poster child for the Salvation Army.”

  “Still being my Jewish mama, Ted?”

  “Well, your kin are down in Tunica, so I’m the only man in Magnolia County that knows you don’t know how to take care of yourself. So eat your pork and drink your milk.”

  Dale slapped the desk, his laughter cascading. “Mercy, mercy!”

  “You’ve been on the pipe most of the night with Jackson? You’ve got to get some sleep. Things are just getting started down here now that the students have arrived. They’ll need your help. Nobody knows Shiloh and Magnolia County like you do.”