Emmett Till
Page 35
Huie’s unorthodox method of paying for stories, known as “checkbook journalism,” gave him a reputation among his colleagues that one fellow journalist described as “roguish,” “more talented than respectable,” “shrewd,” and “iconoclastic.” A writer who interviewed Huie in 1974 described his subject’s long career as one of “chasing stories, exposing injustice, puncturing myths and deflating false heroes.” Consequently, “he has made considerable money and no small number of enemies. . . . Prolific, sometimes profane, often provocative, he has led a fast, gadflyish, globetrotting life poking his inquisitive nose into controversy and strife.”20
Such was the man who set out to learn the facts about the kidnapping and murder of Emmett Till. Huie had been in California on the set of Mamie Stover during the trial in Sumner and did not take a real interest in the case until he read newspaper reports later. The coverage, he said, was depressing; the arguments of the attorneys suffered from regional bias, making the trial “a circus.” What the case needed, he declared, was the truth, and he believed he was the one who could bring it forth.21
In early October, a week or two after the jury in Sumner freed Milam and Bryant on murder charges, Huie left his home in Alabama, drove to Greenwood, Mississippi, and checked in at the Holiday Inn. The next morning, he went to Sumner and at 8:00 A.M. strode into the offices of Breland and Whitten. A five-hour meeting with John Whitten followed.
Huie was frank with the Delta lawyer. “John, I want the truth about the Till case. I want to publish it. Whatever our racial sins down here, I like to think we are less hypocritical than some of our enemies. I like to think that truth serves decent purposes better than mystery or propaganda.” He laid out his theory about the murder. Milam and Bryant probably took the boy and meant only to whip him. But they went too far, and in a drunken state, killed him.
Whitten, no longer in the defense mode that won his clients an acquittal, said he did not know what happened to Emmett Till. He never asked either of the men if they were guilty, mainly for his wife’s sake, because she became deeply troubled over the murder. He said he only aided them because the Constitution entitled them to a defense.
Regarding Huie’s theory, however, Whitten admitted that “my assumption is about what yours is.”
Thirty-six-year-old Whitten was more circumspect than his sixty-seven-year-old partner, J. J. Breland, who entered the conversation briefly. Breland’s description of his clients was unapologetic:
Bryant and Milam? Sure, they’re rednecks—peckerwoods. We’ve sued Milam a couple of times: he’s bootlegged all his life. He comes from a big, mean, overbearing family. He’s got a chip on his shoulder. That’s how he got that battlefield promotion in Europe: he likes to kill folks. But hell, we’ve got to have our Milams to fight our wars and keep the niggahs in line. Bryant’s a scrappin’ pine-knot without a pot. . . . They shouldn’t killed that nigger. They should’a just given him Thirty-Nine [thirty-nine licks, the normative punishment for slaves]—and turned him loose. But you know how these things go. They’re likkered [liquored] up. They start off whippin’ him and he sasses one of ’em, and maybe they hit him with the axe. And then they got to finish the job.22
Not one of these men harbored any doubt that Milam and Bryant murdered Emmett Till, but Huie wanted to hear it directly from the killers themselves, and he needed these attorneys to help him. He proposed that Whitten bring J. W. Milam and Roy and Carolyn Bryant to him “in a secret rendezvous in Greenwood” where they would “tell me every last line of the truth.”23 His aim was to write a story about an “approved” murder in the state of Mississippi. In other words, a “community approved murder—a ‘policy’ murder.” Huie would pay Milam and Bryant in cash for their story and the signed releases, plus a percentage of the profits after it appeared in print. He made it clear to Whitten that he would keep their meetings secret, would not testify against the duo in court (at that point, Milam and Bryant were still facing possible indictments on kidnapping), and would carefully avoid writing the story in such a way that it would be perceived as a confession. Breland and Whitten liked the idea and promised to talk with the men. The lawyers were enthused from the beginning, but for reasons of their own. As Huie observed, “Publication of this story, with all its revolting details, is exactly what Breland’s group in Mississippi wants. They want to ‘put the North and the NAACP and the niggers on notice.’ My proposal strikes them as being a ‘good propaganda move.’”24
Huie was convinced that Milam and Bryant would talk, and for at least two reasons. First, there was no danger of a retrial on murder charges because they had been acquitted on those. Second, they would simply be swayed by the money. To help raise funds for the payoff, Huie approached Roy Wilkins and asked for $3,000 from the NAACP as a purchase price for the story and the releases. Huie also dropped a bombshell on Wilkins: “Two other men are involved: there were four in the torture-and-murder party. And if I name them I must have their releases—or no publisher will touch it. I know who these men are: they are important to the story; but I have to pay them because of their ‘risks.’”25
Huie did not say how he learned about these co-conspirators, but it seems clear by the timing that he was tipped off by Breland or Whitten, who would have remembered the courtroom testimony of Willie Reed. Reed had said in court that he saw Emmett Till on the back of a truck in Drew, driven by four white men. Shortly thereafter, he noticed Milam and others at a plantation shed, and heard sounds of a beating coming from inside. As hard as the attorneys tried to refute Reed during the trial, they may well have believed him. It is not likely that the attorneys learned about these other men through Milam and Bryant themselves. If Whitten had never asked the defendants about their own involvement, as he claimed, it follows that the brothers would not have confirmed their guilt by revealing accomplices.
The two mystery men Huie alluded to became the least of his worries, however, because he soon learned that not even Milam and Bryant were both on board. On October 17, Whitten called Huie to tell him that he would get the story, but that only one of the acquitted killers was interested in talking. This limited access may have been Whitten’s idea, because, as Huie also explained it, Whitten said it would be “easier” if Huie interviewed and received a signed release from only one of the men. Huie knew that in the end, this would be up to the publisher, but he agreed to push for it anyway. Whitten did not identify which of the two was unwilling to talk, but Huie assumed it was Milam.26
Huie envisioned a few outlets for his finished story. One possibility was that it be woven into a book. Another was to sell it as a stand-alone article to a magazine or newspaper. Besides Wilkins, who apparently was not interested, Huie sent the word out to two other influential parties, fifty-year-old Daniel Mitch, longtime editorial director of Look magazine, and Basil L. “Stuffy” Walters, fifty-nine, executive editor of Knight Newspapers and former president of the American Society of Newspaper Editors. It did not take long for Phyllis Jackson, Huie’s agent at MCA, to call and tell Huie that Mitch was interested.
Huie wrote Mitch that same day and laid out his plans for obtaining and paying for the firsthand account of the kidnapping and murder of Emmett Till. Of concern to Huie, of course, was that he protect himself, Milam, and Bryant, and head off any legal issues for Look should the magazine publish it. He made four promises very clear. First, “I will agree never to testify against one of them; that even if I am subpoenaed, I will decline to divulge ‘sources.’” Second, he promised never to show the signed release to anyone in Mississippi or with the NAACP. Leaving the door open for a feature film, his only exception would to be to “make confidential use of it in New York or Hollywood.”
In a third stipulation, Huie said he would make no claim that his story was based on a confession by the killers. Although he “may quote directly the words of the murderers at any point in the action, I will not quote them as having said anything to me.” In other words, Huie continued, “the story will be my version of ex
actly what happened; exactly what was said; exactly what was done at exactly what date and hour; but I will not state, declare or claim that I had the assistance of any particular person.” There was one last issue to consider. The grand jury in Leflore County was set to meet on November 8 regarding the kidnapping charges. Huie predicted (accurately, of course) that there would be no indictment. “However,” on the off chance that there would be one, “we will hold up any publication of this story until after the trial.”
At this point in time, Mamie Bradley and the NAACP were still on good terms, and the possibility of a civil suit against Milam and Bryant still loomed. “What the Hell do I do?” asked Huie, rhetorically. “Well, I testify to the facts as I established them ‘to the best of my ability.’ I stand by the story—every line of it. It’s the truth. But as to how I came by the truth—I stand on my ‘constitutional’ right not to reveal any sources.”
Huie knew that Mitch had concerns of his own, namely, any potential legal ramifications for Look. “It is our clear understanding that when I furnish you an original copy of the signed release you will photostat it, return the original to my agent; and then, under no circumstances short of the necessity to forestall a legal action, will you ever reveal to anyone that you have it. . . . But I’m sure you understand that when I tell this murderer that his release will be kept confidential, that I will never use it except to protect you or me from a damage suit, I mean to do just that.”
It was now up to Huie and Mitch to decide upon the provisions of the release forms and how many of the men involved in the crime should sign one. “Do you insist that two murderers must sign? Or four?” Huie had other questions, and the answers were important from a legal standpoint. “Will you insist on a release from anyone else whom I reveal as having had a part in the ‘case’ but not in the abduction, torture, murder, or disposal of the body?” This was clearly a reference to Carolyn Bryant. Regarding actual accomplices, he pointed out “that two of the murderers have been indicted and tried. The other two have never been ‘publicly disclosed.’ If we do not have their releases, shall we name them in the story or not? Shall we quote them anonymously in any part of the action?”27
Mitch made Huie “a substantial offer” for the story, conditioned upon two signed releases. Yet Huie, looking for even greater possibilities—and profits—made an attempt for a better offer, which he outlined in a proposal to Walters. He wanted a $3,000 down payment upon completion of a rough draft, then another $2,000 for the final product. On top of that, he requested half of all profits realized from syndication. With Walters, Huie wanted to avoid Mitch’s requirement of two releases, which would work to Huie’s advantage. “The cheapest and easiest way for me to proceed is to go with Bryant only. He is the younger; it was his wife who was insulted; and he is flat broke. So I would hope that a publisher would accept him as sufficient.” If an agreement with Walters hinged on two signatures, however, Huie could live with that. “I think Milam’s release can be obtained if it must.” Releases from all four of the men involved, Huie now feared, “would probably be too heavy a handicap.”
One advantage to publishing the story in a newspaper was the speed at which it could appear, and if the grand jury failed to indict the men on kidnapping in November, Huie wanted to see it in print the next day. In a worst-case scenario that there was a trial, it should appear immediately following the announcement of a verdict. A magazine, by its very nature, could not be so accommodating. Due to an upcoming Christmas issue then in the works, Mitch could not promise that Look could publish the story before January.28 Whether Walters failed to bite or Mitch countered with something better is unknown, but within a few days Huie sealed the deal with Look.
Sometime during the early planning phases, Bryant got cold feet, but Whitten apparently intervened to help alleviate his fears. By October 20, three days before the planned tell-all session with Huie, Bryant made up his mind to talk, and Whitten gave Huie the news. Bryant, whom Huie described as “pretty badly shaken up,” had more to lose than he realized, but Huie did not really care. “The poor bastard!” he wrote in a letter to Mitch the next day. “He has already lost his business, and most of those people who ‘approve’ what he has done will now find ways to avoid him. Three months from now the folks who put up the money for his defense won’t speak to him on the street.” Huie knew that even though the story would not read as a confession, people would read between the lines and know who his sources actually were.
Within a few days, Milam decided that he would talk after all, and Huie and Mitch made final arrangements concerning the payout. A Look attorney would travel from New York to Mississippi with the cash. However, Huie insisted on keeping Breland, Whitten, Milam, and Bryant at ease by falsely representing this attorney as “my lawyer from Birmingham.”29
On Sunday, October 23, Huie spent the day in Sumner with Milam and Bryant at the Breland and Whitten law office and heard the half-brothers tell their story, in painstaking detail. They held the meeting in the office library, with Milam and Bryant on one side of the table, and Huie and Whitten on the other. Whitten asked all of the questions while Huie took copious notes. Milam did most of the talking.
When Huie returned to his motel in Greenwood that evening, he fired off an enthusiastic letter to Mitch. “This was really amazing, for it was the first time they have told the story. Not one of their lawyers had heard it.” Whitten even gave Huie his files on the case so that Huie could make comparisons to the story he had just heard. “Perhaps I am too close to it to appraise it,” Huie said as he began to contemplate the aftershocks, “but I can’t see how it can miss being one of the most sensational stories ever published.”30
Huie avoided details in his letter but assured Mitch that “I know every step that was taken—can verify most every word of it—and the manner in which these men operated for five hours before they finally shot this boy and threw him in the river—will make your readers gasp. Particularly, their stark explanation of their motives.” The final agreement for payment stipulated that 20 percent of Huie’s profits would go to Milam and the Bryants. Huie would pay them $3,150 against that in cash up front. Breland and Whitten would receive 10 percent after Milam and the Bryants received their portion, with a cash payment against that of $1,260. Another 10 percent would be paid out in agency commissions. They scheduled the release signing ceremony for October 28 at the Sumner law office, where a total of $4,410 would be distributed among the various parties.
At some point, Mitch changed his mind and insisted on not just two but three signed releases. Huie confirmed that he would get them from Milam, Roy Bryant, and Carolyn Bryant. Each would also initial copies of Huie’s notes wherever needed to verify accuracy. The Look attorney and Whitten would officially witness the signing by adding their own signatures to the documents. Huie reassured Mitch that “all this dealing is to be entirely secret, with me never divulging to anyone in Mississippi that I have talked with the principals.” Huie also planned to spend his week in Mississippi talking to other pertinent people, including Eula Bryant, mother of J. W. and Roy, in an effort to obtain supporting facts.
After explaining all of this to Mitch, Huie made one inexplicable comment that would not only determine the direction of his narrative but would, in effect, shape the Till story for decades to come. “Of this I am now certain: there were not, after all, four men involved in the abduction-and-murder; there were only two. So when we have these releases from Bryant and Milam and the woman, we are completely safe.”31
What led Huie to this new conclusion is unknown, but it clearly came about after his meeting with Milam and Bryant earlier that day. Was he simply taking these two men at their word? Clearly, Milam and Bryant had every motive to protect co-conspirators who could not only be tried alongside them for kidnapping but for murder as well, and Huie was astute enough to know that.32 He may have backed away from including others because they were not willing to sign releases. Or, in the end, he simply calculated the risks of in
volving them in the first place.33 That was certainly a concern five days earlier when he shopped the story to Basil Walters. Even when Huie was adamant that others had conspired with Milam and Bryant, he asked, “Can we safely handle the story with releases from the two men who have been disclosed and tried?” Huie answered his own question. “YES. We can, if necessary, omit the names of the other two. We can even avoid all reference to them; though I would urge any publisher to state that they were present, to quote whatever they said at any point in the action, but not to name them.”34 Whatever the reason, it became easier in the end to simply make them disappear from the story entirely.
On Monday, October 24, Huie met with Milam and Bryant in a second lengthy meeting. Following up with Mitch, he reported that “there is much that I could say about the story as it is developing—but no time or space here. I have had to change some of the conceptions I have conveyed to you in earlier memos. Two long sessions with these bully-boys have been shattering, even to a man like Whitten.” Then, easily predicting public reaction to such a sensational story, Huie concluded: “It’s an amazing, indefensible murder—and much of our story will be in the cool, factual, manner in which we let the facts indict the ‘community.’ It will shake people in Mississippi.”35