Governor Wallace sat idly by, listening as his chicken-shit lawyers and confidants gave him a spew of nonsense. The only things Wallace could glean from the empty words of these men was simple, a march would be conducted by a bunch of uppity pastors. Some Negro queers were going to be making their way down to the Perry court house, and they would protest like they always did. Wallace felt something different about this though, something just felt off.
“I don’t care about a bunch of uppity Negros with pickets! I want some boots on the ground and kicking their asses back to the ghettos,” Wallace would announce to his lawyers and advisors, who all stood in shock at his exclamation.
Governor Wallace knew better than these folks. It didn’t matter what liberal college these dimwits went to, Wallace knew his left from his right, and that was good enough common sense for him to say what he said with confidence. Wallace’s aides would mumble under their breath, but eventually one of them would pipe up and inform the governor they’ll have boots on the ground in no time. This was the right amount of ass-kissing that Wallace wanted from these people.
Dingy basements of heavenly churches were the only areas of solitude these people could find shelter in. These folks, fighting for civil rights in a place as white as the south, it wasn’t a fight they could win easily. They did their little sit-ins and their little protests outside coffee shops, but that did nothing for their cause. A plan was being set into motion, a plan to make their voice be heard louder than anyone else's voice in the little towns of Alabama. Their plan was simple – march on Perry county. Everything could go wrong, and they knew that as a damn fact. That’s why these men and women were prepared, not with guns or knives, but with hopes and dreams of a better tomorrow.
C.T. Vivian was to lead the march in Perry county, with a troop of fellow black men and women following behind him in unison. Vivian was a man of great character, he knew his way around the slums of Alabama and he damn sure knew his way around a bible. His voice was on par of the likes of Martin King and Billy Graham, a voice like his could inspire more than just generations. Vivian was prepared, but the only thing that kept him back was the fear of Wallace’s wrath against their black crusade for civility in the south.
The Perry county police force stood in front of the court house, a blockaide of metal and ash keeping the protesters away. These officers were ordered to keep the peace, but whispers from certain groups told them that if the going got tough, they could fight back with extreme force. As Vivian’s army of inspired young black men and women marched down the streets of Perry county, white folks started and watched in fear, holding each other's hands in hopes that things wouldn't turn brutal. These peaceful protesters making their way down the streets eventually found themselves at the steps of Perry county courthouse. Chants for freedom, cries for understanding, and pleas for acceptance were made as stone faced officers watched with bayonets in hand.
A lumber, old white man came out of the wall of men and gave a simple order to the police officers – don’t hold back. Officers raised their guns, and started to charge the protesters. Many stood tall, refusing to be moved by these enforcers of tyranny. Others though, like 26 year old Jimmie Lee Jackson wouldn’t stand with the others, and instead fall at the spear of a bayonet. The protesters, after much deliberation, were forced into leaving Perry county. Officers and county officials claimed victory in this situation, but the protesters were only emboldened in their fight against the state government of Alabama.
"You shot one of ‘em!?” Wallace bowled, an anger releasing from his voice that had not been felt in weeks. The room was quiet as all looked towards Wallace’s disgruntled face, now in a shroud of red anger and rage.
“I told you chicken-shits to hold back, no firing none of that bullshit. I hear though that one of you shot one of those Negros? W-What’d you think would happen, they’ll make the man a martyr now,” Wallace continued, “I should have you all lynched for this shit… but we can’t let that type of news get out, that some underarmed kid was shot by our men. Make a cover story, I tell ya, make it seem that he was an aggressive young man and the officer had to do something to protect himself… make the media buy it, I know they will.”
The fury of Wallace quelled, as the suits in his officers assured him they’ll have the situation under control, they assured there would be no news story about Jimmie Lee Jackson – the young black man killed by police.
To Be Continued...
“I don’t care about a bunch of uppity Negros with pickets! I want some boots on the ground and kicking their asses back to the ghettos,” Wallace would announce to his lawyers and advisors, who all stood in shock at his exclamation.
Governor Wallace knew better than these folks. It didn’t matter what liberal college these dimwits went to, Wallace knew his left from his right, and that was good enough common sense for him to say what he said with confidence. Wallace’s aides would mumble under their breath, but eventually one of them would pipe up and inform the governor they’ll have boots on the ground in no time. This was the right amount of ass-kissing that Wallace wanted from these people.
Dingy basements of heavenly churches were the only areas of solitude these people could find shelter in. These folks, fighting for civil rights in a place as white as the south, it wasn’t a fight they could win easily. They did their little sit-ins and their little protests outside coffee shops, but that did nothing for their cause. A plan was being set into motion, a plan to make their voice be heard louder than anyone else's voice in the little towns of Alabama. Their plan was simple – march on Perry county. Everything could go wrong, and they knew that as a damn fact. That’s why these men and women were prepared, not with guns or knives, but with hopes and dreams of a better tomorrow.
C.T. Vivian was to lead the march in Perry county, with a troop of fellow black men and women following behind him in unison. Vivian was a man of great character, he knew his way around the slums of Alabama and he damn sure knew his way around a bible. His voice was on par of the likes of Martin King and Billy Graham, a voice like his could inspire more than just generations. Vivian was prepared, but the only thing that kept him back was the fear of Wallace’s wrath against their black crusade for civility in the south.
The Perry county police force stood in front of the court house, a blockaide of metal and ash keeping the protesters away. These officers were ordered to keep the peace, but whispers from certain groups told them that if the going got tough, they could fight back with extreme force. As Vivian’s army of inspired young black men and women marched down the streets of Perry county, white folks started and watched in fear, holding each other's hands in hopes that things wouldn't turn brutal. These peaceful protesters making their way down the streets eventually found themselves at the steps of Perry county courthouse. Chants for freedom, cries for understanding, and pleas for acceptance were made as stone faced officers watched with bayonets in hand.
A lumber, old white man came out of the wall of men and gave a simple order to the police officers – don’t hold back. Officers raised their guns, and started to charge the protesters. Many stood tall, refusing to be moved by these enforcers of tyranny. Others though, like 26 year old Jimmie Lee Jackson wouldn’t stand with the others, and instead fall at the spear of a bayonet. The protesters, after much deliberation, were forced into leaving Perry county. Officers and county officials claimed victory in this situation, but the protesters were only emboldened in their fight against the state government of Alabama.
"You shot one of ‘em!?” Wallace bowled, an anger releasing from his voice that had not been felt in weeks. The room was quiet as all looked towards Wallace’s disgruntled face, now in a shroud of red anger and rage.
“I told you chicken-shits to hold back, no firing none of that bullshit. I hear though that one of you shot one of those Negros? W-What’d you think would happen, they’ll make the man a martyr now,” Wallace continued, “I should have you all lynched for this shit… but we can’t let that type of news get out, that some underarmed kid was shot by our men. Make a cover story, I tell ya, make it seem that he was an aggressive young man and the officer had to do something to protect himself… make the media buy it, I know they will.”
The fury of Wallace quelled, as the suits in his officers assured him they’ll have the situation under control, they assured there would be no news story about Jimmie Lee Jackson – the young black man killed by police.
To Be Continued...