All the Days Past, All the Days to Come

by Mildred D. Taylor

  “Tell the truth, I don’t know what we can do,” said Stacey. “May already be too late.”

  “It was too late,” surmised Little Willie, “soon’s Moe got in his car and headed down here.”

  We all had to agree.

  Man asked about the funeral. “They set a date yet?”

  “Heard day after tomorrow. It’ll be a sorrowful thing, young man like that.” Little Willie shook his head. “These white folks ain’t hardly letting up. You heard what they done to our young people up at Woolworth’s the other day when they did that sit-in? Threw pepper spray in their eyes, sprayed them with paint too. Then come that night, somebody gone and thrown a bomb at the Evers house. Shook the whole neighborhood. Heard it myself. Then, right after that, couple days later, some high school students, several hundred of them over at Lanier, got to singing protest songs, and white folks got all upset. Police come in with their dogs and beat those children all upside the head with clubs. My boy Calvin, he’s a freshman over there, he was one of them.”

  “How’s Calvin doing?” I asked. “Was he hurt bad?”

  “Boy’s got a hard head just like me. That ain’t sayin’ I sit easy though with my son gettin’ clubbed like that.”

  Dora sat on the arm of Little Willie’s chair. “Thought I was gonna hafta call some of my folks to keep Willie in this house he was so mad. I didn’t want him going after these white folks and getting hisself killed about this thing.”

  “Everybody was mad,” said Little Willie. “Brother Evers down the street called the Justice Department up in Washington, told them how these white police down here done treated our children. ’Fore Washington done anything about it, the young folks gone and done a protest march right downtown. Yeah, right here in Jackson! Can you believe it? Now, y’all know these white folks really was mad now! Police come in again, clubbed the children and they got arrested. Took them to the state fairground to this here what they called an open-air jail. Fenced them in like cattle.”

  Dora gently rubbed his shoulder. “They know all that, baby.”

  “Calvin one of them?” asked Stacey.

  Little Willie sighed wearily, but there was pride in his voice when he spoke. “Yeah, he was. They’re all out now. Just glad it ain’t no worse. Just look what they done to our children in Birmingham! Water-hosing them and setting their dogs on them! Course, we’re all thinking it’s gonna get worse here too, what with that white Citizens’ Council and the mayor saying ain’t no more things ’bout to change down here. Things seem to be going from bad to worse with these people since last fall, when James Meredith got into Ole Miss and the white folks gone crazy, rioting and all. We was all proud of our man James Meredith getting into Ole Miss, and it made our young folks stand up. You know what I’m sayin’? If James Meredith could do this thing, then they could too.

  “Now, I’m gonna be fair about the thing. I heard there was some white folks right here in Mississippi done supported James Meredith getting into Ole Miss. That speech Medgar Evers gave on television too, some of them took what he said to heart. Made them think, maybe colored folks ain’t had it so good. Maybe there was something to this equal rights business. Maybe things need to change. Some of them, they sure did say that. Minds got changed ’cause of that speech.”

  “Well, I guess we’ve got the mayor to thank for that,” said Dora. “He hadn’t gone on television first and made his speech, Medgar wouldn’t have gotten to make his.”

  Stacey, Clayton Chester, and I all knew about Medgar Evers’s speech. It had come about because Mayor Allen Thompson of Jackson had gone on television in early May and talked to the Negroes of Jackson. Patronizingly he said that the NAACP and other groups coming from the North were out to fool Jackson’s Negroes and that they should not be cooperating with these organizations or with NAACP’s field secretary, Medgar Evers. He said that whites and coloreds in Jackson had had a good relationship for a hundred years and warned Negroes not to destroy the relationship by listening to Medgar Evers and outside agitators.

  Negroes were outraged at the speech.

  A week later Medgar Evers went on television to refute what Mayor Thompson had said. Since segregationists controlled the television stations, Medgar Evers had gone directly to the Federal Communications Commission to get airtime, and he told all of Jackson, all of Mississippi, the truth of the matter. He told all listening that things were not as rosy as the mayor said. He told all listening that Negroes in Jackson could not eat at lunch counters in stores where we spent our money or go to the main public library or to tax-supported parks or playgrounds or to downtown movie theaters. He told all listening that there was not one black person on the police force, not one Negro fireman, not one Negro working in government offices, except those employed in segregated facilities. He told all listening that when colored people got sick, we were segregated into colored spaces in hospital. As for the Jackson police, which the mayor said were giving Negroes twenty-four hours of protection, Medgar Evers stated that he believed the police were giving twenty-four hours of harassment instead. He said the Negroes of Jackson wanted all that to change. The Negroes of Jackson wanted the same opportunities as those afforded the white citizens of Jackson.

  “I was here at the time and I heard that speech,” Clayton Chester said. “Who would have ever thought a colored man would get the chance to speak to the white people of Mississippi like that? Made me proud.”

  Dora too confirmed that the speech was something all right. “Had us glued to our seats. Willie and me and all our children. Everybody in the neighborhood was talking about it.”

  “Soon after that speech,” said Little Willie, “that’s when our young people began to take up the cause again.” He was quiet a moment before his face suddenly erupted into a wide grin. “Y’all hear the Horne was here? Just last week! Come to help raise money for the cause. I’m telling you, that’s one beautiful woman!”

  Stacey smiled. “Watch it, Willie. Your wife’s sitting right here.”

  “Ah, Dora knows how I feel ’bout the Horne.” Little Willie looked up at his wife. “Don’t you, baby?”

  Dora laughed good-naturedly, knowing that Lena Horne, Negro actress and singer celebrated for her great beauty, was idolized by many men, black and white. “Thanks for taking my part, Stacey, but men like my Willie here like to dream, and a woman like Lena Horne is just a dream.”

  Little Willie laughed too and placed his hand on her knee. “Ah, baby, you know you more’n enough woman for me. You know you my dream.”

  “Better be,” said Dora, “after all these years and all these children.”

  “Anyways,” Little Willie continued, “Lena spoke at a rally, then later on that same day, she sang. It was golden music from the heavens above!” Little Willie looked upward in sweet remembrance. “Beautiful moment.”

  Stacey nodded in acceptance of that fact and stood. “We’d better be getting on home. You let us know if—”

  The sound of gunfire blasted the night.

  Dora jumped up. “Lord have mercy! What in the world—”

  And Little Willie cried, “What the hell!” and rushed across the room, swung open the screen door, and dashed onto the porch. The rest of us followed. There was more gunfire. Across the street a door opened and Little Willie hollered over to his neighbor. “You hear that? What happened?” The neighbor answered he was wondering the same thing. Little Willie and Dora’s children came sleepily onto the porch, questioning their parents about what was going on. None of us knew. Other doors on the block opened, and a hush settled over the neighborhood. We all just stood there waiting. Then a man came running up the street. Little Willie leaned over the porch rail and yelled at him. “Henry! Henry, that you? What’s going on, man?”

  “It’s Medgar!” the man yelled back, continuing to run. “It’s Medgar! They done shot him! Right in his driveway! They done shot our Medgar Evers!”


  * * *

  ◆ ◆ ◆

  After we learned that Medgar Evers had been shot, like much of the neighborhood, we went down the street to gather in front of the Evers house and silently waited for any news. Folks already gathered there said Medgar Evers had been taken to the hospital. They said a white man hiding in the bushes across the street from the Evers house had shot Medgar Evers as he stepped from his car. Whites from the surrounding blocks came and stood with us. Through the night we waited and we prayed, but when the news came, it was what we all had feared.

  Medgar Evers was dead.

  * * *

  ◆ ◆ ◆

  It was light before we left Jackson. We had already called home to let everyone know we had made it in and to tell them about the killing of Medgar Evers. When we got to the house, Big Ma had breakfast waiting. No one had eaten, so we all sat down together. As always, Papa was at the head of the table and asked the blessing. Papa didn’t look sick at all, at least not to me. “So, what are your plans for the day?” he asked as he passed the bowl of grits to Stacey.

  “Figured first to go see Mr. Turner, see how they’re all doing, and find out if they’ve heard from Moe,” Stacey said.

  “You think he could’ve made it home all right?” questioned Big Ma.

  Uncle Hammer grunted. “Dangerous, foolish thing for him to come down here.”

  Papa smiled at Uncle Hammer. “Yeah, look who’s talking. You know you would’ve done the same, you’d been in his shoes.” Uncle Hammer just looked at Papa, then speared himself some ham from the meat tray of ham and sausages and bacon.

  Big Ma concurred. “He sho ’nough would’ve done it all right.”

  “He has done it,” added Mama, “time and time again.”

  Big Ma gave Uncle Hammer a motherly look. “Well, thank the Lord, he ain’t had to here lately.” Uncle Hammer continued eating, with no acknowledgment of their words. Big Ma looked down the table at Papa. Papa had hardly touched his food. Big Ma picked up the biscuit platter and held it out toward Papa. “Have another biscuit, son.”

  Papa declined. “Haven’t finished this one yet, Mama.”

  Disappointed, Big Ma set the dish back on the table. “Well, eat what’s on your plate,” she admonished.

  Papa stirred his grits absentmindedly, but did not lift his fork. His other hand rested on the table. Mama was watching him, as we all were. Sitting next to him, she placed her hand lightly over his and looked around at all of us. “I just keep thinking how blessed we are, having everybody home, although I’m sick about the reason for it.”

  Big Ma shook her head mournfully. “Well, I’m grievin’ jus’ much for Denise, that poor girl, and that baby of hers as I am for that boy Morris. Much as I seen in this life, still can’t believe it. Life jus’ stole away from all of them.”

  Papa looked at Big Ma, then asked the boys and me, “How long y’all planning to stay?”

  “Little Willie said he’d heard the funeral’s planned for Thursday,” said Stacey. “That still the case?”

  “Yesterday when we were over there, that’s what they said,” Papa replied. “Wake’ll be tonight.”

  “You felt well enough to go over to the Turners, Papa?” I asked.

  Papa gave me an irritated look. “I might not be feeling the best, but I ain’t dead yet.”

  “Well, I didn’t mean—”

  “Orris Turner and me been friends since we were boys going to school up at Great Faith. Day I can’t get myself out of bed and go see my friend grieving his son, that’s the day I am dead.”

  Stacey glanced my way, aware of Papa’s curt response to me, and got back to Papa’s question about how long we were staying. “We’ll be going to the funeral and then most likely be staying until the funeral for Medgar Evers if it’s this week. There’ll be a lot of people at Medgar Evers’s funeral so we might not get into the church, but we want to go pay our respects.”

  “I’d like to go myself,” said Mama. “I met him once. He was a fine man, a brave man. Took a brave man to do all he did, take all those risks. Most of us couldn’t have done it.” Her voice went soft. “I admired him so much. Everybody in the community did.”

  Stacey acknowledged Mama’s words with a solemn nod, then said, “Christopher-John, Man, and I’ll be headed back to Toledo right after his funeral. Cassie, though, she’ll be staying awhile.”

  “How come?” Papa sipped his coffee. “You know, y’all don’t have to be down here all the time. Hammer’s here and he’ll be staying—how long you say, Hammer?”

  Uncle Hammer sopped up his breakfast gravy with his last remaining biscuit. “Long’s you need me.”

  “Well, that won’t be too long. I figure to be able to work again soon.”

  I felt encouraged. “You getting your strength back, Papa?”

  “I expect I will soon, Cassie girl, now that you all come home. But like I was saying, y’all don’t have to keep coming down. Y’all got your jobs, your own lives to live, families to take care of—”

  I stopped Papa right there. “What family do I have to take care of outside of the family sitting right here? I’m on my own, Papa, nobody to take care of but the people I love around this table.” Right after I said that, I knew it was the wrong thing. I knew how Papa felt about my being alone. I knew the fact that I was without a family of my own worried him. It worried Mama also, and sometimes it worried me too.

  * * *

  ◆ ◆ ◆

  Stacey, Man, and I went to pay our respects to Mr. Turner and the rest of Morris’s family. Although Christopher-John had gone over with Uncle Hammer, Mama, Papa, and Big Ma the day before, he went with us. Mr. Turner had given up his place where the family had sharecropped for most of the century and now lived with Levis and his family, who had gone into dairy farming. When we arrived at Levis’s farm, several trucks and cars were parked in front of the house, along with a couple of wagons. We greeted all the people standing around the house, then went inside. Mr. Turner’s bed was in the living room, and as we entered, he tried to sit up. One of his granddaughters rushed over to help him. Stacey shook Mr. Turner’s bony hand, then leaned down and gently hugged him. Christopher-John, Man, and I did the same. Mr. Turner waved his arm toward all his family gathered in the dark room. “Well, y’all get on up, give them some chairs and bring them chairs up close, so’s I can see ’em.” The Turners quickly obeyed, and chairs were brought. Levis was there; Maynard wasn’t. He was in Vicksburg at a funeral home with one of the sisters, seeing to Morris’s body.

  Levis brought his chair close to the bed and sat with us. “Good of y’all to come,” he said.

  “Had to,” said Stacey. “Morris was family to us too.”

  “We know that,” said Mr. Turner. “Y’all been family to both my boys, and I’m mighty thankful y’all been there for them all these years.” Mr. Turner dabbed at cataract-covered eyes with a damp cloth. “Never thought my baby boy would be the one I’d lose.”

  “Well, Daddy,” said Levis, reaching out a consoling hand to his father, “baby brother wouldn’t give up that voter registration drive for nothing. We all know that’s what got him killed.” Mr. Turner nodded in acceptance and Levis added, “But we got no proof of that.”

  Both Mr. Turner and Levis were mournfully silent. Then I said, “Could have, perhaps, if you had the car. You ask the sheriff about getting it back?”

  “Course we did,” said Levis, “but the sheriff said he was impounding it as evidence that Morris was at fault for going off that road.”

  “Seems though you have a right to see it,” said Christopher-John. “Cassie, couldn’t they get a subpoena, force the sheriff to show it to them?”

  “A subpoena? From who?” snapped Levis. “What white judge down here is gonna give us a subpoena to tell the sheriff what to do?”

  “We couldn’t get a subpoena anyway,” I said. �
��If according to the sheriff the car is evidence, then he has a right to hold it. He doesn’t have to show it to you.”

  “Besides that,” said Levis, sounding discouraged, “that car’ll be all beat up. It’ll show Morris was forced off the road.” He shook his head, as if all were useless, and turned to Stacey. His voice low, he asked, “You talk to Moe before you come down?”

  Stacey looked around the dark room at all the people gathered and cautiously said, “No. Was going to ask if you’d heard from him since you told him about Morris?”

  “Naw,” said Mr. Turner right off. “The boy was all broke up ’bout Morris. Sho wish Moe could be here, but we know he can’t.”

  “We know it’s hard on you, Mr. Turner,” Stacey empathized, “losing Morris like this and not having Moe here.”

  “It’s hard all right. Can’t deny it. That Moe was my rock, but he been gone from here now more’n twenty years. Don’t ’spect I’ll see him again before they lay me in my grave.”

  We sat talking softly for some minutes longer, then Stacey asked Levis to join him outside. I went with them. After taking a few minutes to speak to those who had just come to the house, Levis, Stacey, and I headed over to the fencing that separated the lawn from the fields. There was no cotton growing. The field was planted in corn.

  “Corn looks good,” I said.

  “Maybe it’ll feed us,” said Levis, who then turned to Stacey. “I’m thinking you’ve got word from Moe.”

  Stacey sighed. “More than word, Levis. Moe’s on his way down here.”

  Levis, his arms resting on top of the fence, looked away. He did not seem surprised. “When did he leave from there?”

  “Came before us,” said Stacey. “Myrtis called, told us what had happened and that Moe was already gone.”

  “Well, she ain’t called here to tell us that.”