CHAPTER VIIIKennethwas late in reaching the meeting-place that night. When he arrived he found all there waiting for him. Besides himself and Mr. Wilson were the Reverend Richard Young, pastor of Bethel African Methodist Episcopal Church, and Herbert Phillips, Jane’s father. There were also three men from the farming district whom Kenneth did not know, but who were introduced as Tom Tracy, Hiram Tucker, and James Swann.Mr. Wilson opened the meeting after the introductions had been completed.“Brothers, we’ve met here this evenin’ to talk over some way we can he’p these brothers who live out in the country and who ain’t been able to get an honest settlement from the folks they’s been farmin’ for. I’m going to ask Brother Tucker to tell us just how things are with the folks out his way. Brother Tucker.”“Brother” Tucker rose and stood by the table around which they were seated and on which flickered an oil lamp. He was a man between fifty and sixty years of age, of medium height and thick-set. His black skin was wrinkled with age and toil. His hands, as they rested on the table in front of him, were gnarled and hardened through a lifetime ofploughing and hoeing and the other hard work of farm life. It was Mr. Tucker’s face, however, which attracted interest. Out of the rolls of skin there shone two kindly, docile eyes. One gained the impression that these eyes had seen tragedies on top of tragedies, as indeed they had, and their owner had been taught by dire necessity to look upon them in a philosophic and pacifist manner. One remembered a biblical description: “He was a man of sorrows and acquainted with grief.” Kenneth, as he looked at him, felt that Socrates and Aristotle and Jesus Christ must have had eyes like Brother Tucker’s. His impression was heightened by Mr. Tucker’s hair. Of a snowy whiteness, his head bald on top, his hair formed a circle around his head that reminded Kenneth of the picture-cards used at Sunday school when he was a boy, where the saints had crowns of light hovering over their heads. The only difference was that Mr. Tucker’s halo seemed to be a bit more firmly and closely attached than those of the saints, which he remembered always seemed to be poised perilously in mid-air. He had often wondered, as he gazed intently at the pictures, what would have happened had a strong gust of wind come suddenly upon the saints, and blown their haloes away.Mr. Tucker began speaking slowly, in the manner of one of few words and as one unused to talking in public.“Brudders, me ‘n’ Brudder Tracy, and Brudder Swann ast Reverend Wilson here to let us come t’town some time and talk over with you gent’men a li’l’ trouble we’s been havin’. Y’ see, all of us folks out dat way wuks on shares like dis. We makes a ‘greement wif de landlord to wuk one year or mo’. He fu’nishes de lan’ and we puts de crap in de soil, wuks it, and den gathers it. We’s sposed to ‘vide it share and share alike wif de landlord but it doan wuk out dat way. If us cullud folks ain’t got money enough to buy our seed and fert’lizer and food and the clo’es we needs du’in’ de year, we is allowed t’ take up dese things at de sto’. Den when we goes to settle up after de cott’n and cawn’s done laid by, de sto’ man who wuks in wif de landlord won’t giv’ us no bill for whut we done bought but jes’ gives us a li’l piece of paper wif de words on it: “Balance Due.”He paused to wipe the perspiration from his face caused by the unusual experience of speaking at such length. He continued:“An’ dat ain’t all. W’en we starts to pickin’ our cotton, dey doan let us ca’y it to de gin and weigh it ourself. De lan’lord send his wagons down in de fiel’ and as fas’ as we picks it, dey loads it on de wagons and takes it away. Dey doan let us know how much it weighs or how much dey sells it for. Dey jus’ tells us it weighs any ‘mount de lan’lord wants to tell us, and dey says dey sol’ it at any price dey set. W’en we comes to settle up for de year, dey ‘ducts de balance due’ from what we’s got comin’ t’us from our share of de craps. I’s been wukin’ for nigh on to six years for Mr. Taylor out nearAshland and ev’y year I goes deeper in debt dan de year befo’. Las’ year I raised mo’ dan twenty-fo’ bales of cott’n dat weighed mo’ dan five hundred poun’s each. My boy Tom whut’s been t’ school figgered out dat at eighten cents a poun’—and dat’s de price de paper said cott’n sol’ at las’ year—I oughter got mo’ dan a thousan’ dollars for my share. An’ dat ain’t all neither. Dey was nearly twelve tons of cott’n seed dat was wuth ‘bout two hundred and fo’ty dollars. An’den dey was mo’ dan three hundred bush’ls of cawn at a dollar’n a ha’f a bush’l dat makes fo’ hundred and fifty dollars mo’. All dat t’gether makes nearly three thousan’ dollars an’ I oughter got ‘bout fifteen hundred dollars fo’ my share.”Tucker stopped again and shifted his feet while Tracy and Swann nodded agreement with his statements.“Las’ year me ‘n’ my wife said we wuz gwine t’ get along without spendin’ no mo’ money at de sto’ dan we had to, so’s we could get out of debt. We wukked ha’d and all our chillen we made wuk in de fiel’s too. My boy Tom kept account of ev’ything we bought at de sto’, and when de year ended he figgered it up an’ he foun’ we’d done spent jus’ even fo’ hundred dollars. But when we goes to make a settlement at de end of de year, Mr. Taylor said he sol our cott’n at eight cent a poun’ and didn’have but sev’n hundred and thutty-five dollars comin’ to us. An’ den he claim we tuk up ‘leven hundred dollars wuth of stuff at de sto’ which he done paid for,so that leave me owin’ him three hundred ‘n’ sixty-five dollars dat I got to wuk out next year.”His face took on a dejected look as though the load had become almost too heavy to bear. His voice took on at the same time a plaintive and discouraged tone.“An’ when you adds on dat three hundred dollars dat Mr. Taylor says I owed him from las’ year, dat makes neah’ly sev’n hundred dollars I owes, and it doan look like I’s evah goin’t git out of debt. An’ I thought we wuz goin’ to be able to sen’ Tom and Sally and Mirandy t’ Tuskegee dis year off de ‘leven hundred dollars I thought I wuz gwine t’ make.”The discouraged air changed to one of greater courage and determination. His voice rose in his resentment and excitement.“Now I’s tiahed of all dis cheatin’ an’ lyin’! Mr. Taylor mus’ take me for a fool if he thinks I’m gwine stan’ for dis way of doin’ things all de time. I stahted to tell him dat I knew he wuz cheatin’ me in Janua’y w’en he give me dat statemen’, but den I ‘membered whut happen t’ Joe Todd two years ago w’en he tol’ dat ol’ man Stanton dat he wukked for, de same thing. W’en ol’ man stahted thit Joe, Joe hit him fust and run. Dey came one night and call Joe to his do’ and tuk him down in de swamp an’ de nex’ mawnin’ dey foun’ Joe full of bullets, hangin’ to a tree. De paper say Joe done spoke insultin’ to a white ‘oman, but all de cullud folks, an’ de white too, know dat Joe ain’t nevah even seen no white ’oman dat day. Dey knew dat if dey say he ‘sulteda white ’oman, de folks up Nawth won’t crit’cize dem for lynchin’ a nigger down here in Georgy. So I jus’ kep’ my mouth close’. Now we wants t’ know if dey ain’t somethin’ we c’n do t’ make dese white folks we wuks for stop cheatin’ an’ robbin’ us po’ cullud folks.”He sat down, evidently greatly relieved at finishing a task so arduous. Kenneth had listened in amazement to the story of exploitation, crudely told, yet with a simplicity that was convincing and eloquent. Having lived in the South all his life, he naturally was not unaware of the abuses under the “share-cropping” or “tenant-farming” system in the South, but it had never been brought home to him so forcefully how close at hand and how oppressive and dishonest the system really was. No wonder the South lynched, disfranchised, Jim-Crowed the Negro, he reflected. If the Negro had a yote and a voice in the local government of affairs, most of these bankers and merchants and landowners would have to go to work for the first time in their lives instead of waxing fat on the toil of humble Negroes like Hiram Tucker. He turned to Tucker to get further information on the system.“Mr. Tucker, have you and the other folks like you ever thought of trying to get loans from the Federal Government through the banks they have established to aid farmers in buying land and raising their crops?”“Oh, yes, Doc. Soon’s they started lendin’ money to farmers, I ’plied for a loan to buy me a li’l’ placedat I wuz gwine t’ wuk an’ pay for off whut I raised. But dey tol’ me dey didn’ have no funds t’ lento niggers an’ dat dey already done loaned all dey had to de white farmers. W’en I ast dem to put my name down on de lis’ to get a loan when some mo’ money came in, dey tol me dat it wa’n’t no use ‘cause dey already had so many white folks’ names down on de lis’ dat dey nevah would come to de cullud folks.”“Did you think about writing to Washington and telling them that they were discriminating against Negro farmers?” questioned Kenneth.“Yas, suh, we done dat too. But dey wrote us back dat de onliest way any loan could be made was th’u’ de local agents, so dat didn’t come to nuthin’.”“But, good Lord, they can’t discriminate in that way against you without something being done about it!” was Kenneth’s indignant comment.Tucker looked at him with a wan smile that was almost pitying at the ignorance of the younger man. His voice became paternal.“Son, dat’s jes’ zactly like de man whut wuz in jail and his frien’ come by and ast him whut dey put him in jail for. When de man in jail tol’ him whut he wuz ‘cused of, de man on de outside said: ’Dey can’t put you in jail for dat! De man dat was lookin’ out at him th’u’ de bars laughed and said: ‘But I’se in jail!’ An’ dat’s de way ‘tis wif de cullud folks in de Souf. Dey’s lots of things dey can’t do to ’em but dese white folks does it jes’ de same. I reckon you got a lot of things t’ learn yet, Doc, spite of goin’ up Nawth t’ study.”Kenneth felt properly rebuked by this humble man who, though illiterate, was far from being ignorant. He joined in, but not very heartily, at the general laughter at Tucker’s homely sally.Mr. Wilson, as acting chairman, ended the discussion by calling on Tom Tracy. Tracy was a much younger man than Tucker and was about Kenneth’s age. Tall, well built, intelligent looking, his dark brown face had worn a scowl of discontent and resentment while Tucker had been talking. He began talking in a clear voice that but poorly masked the bitterness he felt but which he tried to keep out of his voice. Older men like Mr. Tucker were always quick to rebuke any sign of “uppishness” in the younger generation.“I graduated from Tuskegee three years ago. My old mother worked herself almost to death to keep me in school, and I came back here determined to earn enough money to let her rest the balance of her life. But she and my father had been living all their lives just like Mr. Tucker here, and they didn’t have anything to give me a start. So I went to work on shares, taking that thirty acres that joins on to Mr. Tucker’s farm on the South. I took this land that wasn’t thought to be any good, because it had been exhausted through overworking it year after year. I bought some new ploughs and fixed it up fine. I thought I could put the things I learned at Tuskegee into practice and in a couple of years pay off all I owed. But instead of doing that, I’m getting deeper in debt every year. I rent my place from Ed Stewart andhe knows that I know he’s cheating and robbing and lying to me, but when I try to show him where he is wrong in his figures, all he does is to get mad and start to cussing me and telling me that if I don’t keep a civil tongue in my head, the Ku Klux Klan will be hearing about this ‘sassy young nigger Tracy’ and I’ll wish I had kept my mouth shut. I’m getting sick of the whole thing, too. If it wasn’t for the old folks, I expect I’d ‘a’ started something long ago. They are all talking about me being a dangerous character out my way already. Say I’m too ‘uppity’ and I need to be taught a lesson to show me that ‘niggers must stay in their places.’”Tracy finished speaking in a tone that was almost a shout. It could be seen that he was very near the breaking-point from brooding over the wrongs he had suffered.Mr. Phillips, who had said nothing, broke in with a question.“Tom, why don’t you move away from Ed Stewart’s place if he doesn’t treat you right?”Tracy replied bitterly:“Yes, suppose I tried to leave, what would happen? The same day I left, Sheriff Parker would come and get me. They’d put me on trial for jumping my contract and fine me. Old Stewart would be in court to testify against me. He’d pay my fine and then I’d have to go back to Stewart’s place and work a year or two for nothing, paying off the fine. A fat chance I’ve got with the cards all stacked against me!”Mr. Young, of the Bethel African Methodist Episcopal Church, nodded assent to Tracy’s statement.“Brother Tracy’s right. Look at what happened to Jeff Anderson down near Valdosta last spring. He ran away and got to Detroit where he had a good job working in an automobile plant. They swore out a warrant against him for stealing, brought him back, and the last I heard of him he was back down there working out a three-hundred-dollar fine. No, Brother Phillips, you’ve been reading the law that applies to white folks—not to us coloured people.”James Swann’s story was along the same lines as the others. The seven men entered into a discussion of ways and means of taking some action which would alleviate conditions before the harvesting of the crop which was now in the ground. One suggestion after another was offered, only to be as quickly discarded because of local difficulties. Midnight came, with no decision reached. When it became apparent that nothing would be settled, Kenneth was chosen with Mr. Wilson and Mr. Phillips to work out some plan to be reported at the meeting to be held one week later.
Kennethwas late in reaching the meeting-place that night. When he arrived he found all there waiting for him. Besides himself and Mr. Wilson were the Reverend Richard Young, pastor of Bethel African Methodist Episcopal Church, and Herbert Phillips, Jane’s father. There were also three men from the farming district whom Kenneth did not know, but who were introduced as Tom Tracy, Hiram Tucker, and James Swann.
Mr. Wilson opened the meeting after the introductions had been completed.
“Brothers, we’ve met here this evenin’ to talk over some way we can he’p these brothers who live out in the country and who ain’t been able to get an honest settlement from the folks they’s been farmin’ for. I’m going to ask Brother Tucker to tell us just how things are with the folks out his way. Brother Tucker.”
“Brother” Tucker rose and stood by the table around which they were seated and on which flickered an oil lamp. He was a man between fifty and sixty years of age, of medium height and thick-set. His black skin was wrinkled with age and toil. His hands, as they rested on the table in front of him, were gnarled and hardened through a lifetime ofploughing and hoeing and the other hard work of farm life. It was Mr. Tucker’s face, however, which attracted interest. Out of the rolls of skin there shone two kindly, docile eyes. One gained the impression that these eyes had seen tragedies on top of tragedies, as indeed they had, and their owner had been taught by dire necessity to look upon them in a philosophic and pacifist manner. One remembered a biblical description: “He was a man of sorrows and acquainted with grief.” Kenneth, as he looked at him, felt that Socrates and Aristotle and Jesus Christ must have had eyes like Brother Tucker’s. His impression was heightened by Mr. Tucker’s hair. Of a snowy whiteness, his head bald on top, his hair formed a circle around his head that reminded Kenneth of the picture-cards used at Sunday school when he was a boy, where the saints had crowns of light hovering over their heads. The only difference was that Mr. Tucker’s halo seemed to be a bit more firmly and closely attached than those of the saints, which he remembered always seemed to be poised perilously in mid-air. He had often wondered, as he gazed intently at the pictures, what would have happened had a strong gust of wind come suddenly upon the saints, and blown their haloes away.
Mr. Tucker began speaking slowly, in the manner of one of few words and as one unused to talking in public.
“Brudders, me ‘n’ Brudder Tracy, and Brudder Swann ast Reverend Wilson here to let us come t’town some time and talk over with you gent’men a li’l’ trouble we’s been havin’. Y’ see, all of us folks out dat way wuks on shares like dis. We makes a ‘greement wif de landlord to wuk one year or mo’. He fu’nishes de lan’ and we puts de crap in de soil, wuks it, and den gathers it. We’s sposed to ‘vide it share and share alike wif de landlord but it doan wuk out dat way. If us cullud folks ain’t got money enough to buy our seed and fert’lizer and food and the clo’es we needs du’in’ de year, we is allowed t’ take up dese things at de sto’. Den when we goes to settle up after de cott’n and cawn’s done laid by, de sto’ man who wuks in wif de landlord won’t giv’ us no bill for whut we done bought but jes’ gives us a li’l piece of paper wif de words on it: “Balance Due.”
He paused to wipe the perspiration from his face caused by the unusual experience of speaking at such length. He continued:
“An’ dat ain’t all. W’en we starts to pickin’ our cotton, dey doan let us ca’y it to de gin and weigh it ourself. De lan’lord send his wagons down in de fiel’ and as fas’ as we picks it, dey loads it on de wagons and takes it away. Dey doan let us know how much it weighs or how much dey sells it for. Dey jus’ tells us it weighs any ‘mount de lan’lord wants to tell us, and dey says dey sol’ it at any price dey set. W’en we comes to settle up for de year, dey ‘ducts de balance due’ from what we’s got comin’ t’us from our share of de craps. I’s been wukin’ for nigh on to six years for Mr. Taylor out nearAshland and ev’y year I goes deeper in debt dan de year befo’. Las’ year I raised mo’ dan twenty-fo’ bales of cott’n dat weighed mo’ dan five hundred poun’s each. My boy Tom whut’s been t’ school figgered out dat at eighten cents a poun’—and dat’s de price de paper said cott’n sol’ at las’ year—I oughter got mo’ dan a thousan’ dollars for my share. An’ dat ain’t all neither. Dey was nearly twelve tons of cott’n seed dat was wuth ‘bout two hundred and fo’ty dollars. An’den dey was mo’ dan three hundred bush’ls of cawn at a dollar’n a ha’f a bush’l dat makes fo’ hundred and fifty dollars mo’. All dat t’gether makes nearly three thousan’ dollars an’ I oughter got ‘bout fifteen hundred dollars fo’ my share.”
Tucker stopped again and shifted his feet while Tracy and Swann nodded agreement with his statements.
“Las’ year me ‘n’ my wife said we wuz gwine t’ get along without spendin’ no mo’ money at de sto’ dan we had to, so’s we could get out of debt. We wukked ha’d and all our chillen we made wuk in de fiel’s too. My boy Tom kept account of ev’ything we bought at de sto’, and when de year ended he figgered it up an’ he foun’ we’d done spent jus’ even fo’ hundred dollars. But when we goes to make a settlement at de end of de year, Mr. Taylor said he sol our cott’n at eight cent a poun’ and didn’have but sev’n hundred and thutty-five dollars comin’ to us. An’ den he claim we tuk up ‘leven hundred dollars wuth of stuff at de sto’ which he done paid for,so that leave me owin’ him three hundred ‘n’ sixty-five dollars dat I got to wuk out next year.”
His face took on a dejected look as though the load had become almost too heavy to bear. His voice took on at the same time a plaintive and discouraged tone.
“An’ when you adds on dat three hundred dollars dat Mr. Taylor says I owed him from las’ year, dat makes neah’ly sev’n hundred dollars I owes, and it doan look like I’s evah goin’t git out of debt. An’ I thought we wuz goin’ to be able to sen’ Tom and Sally and Mirandy t’ Tuskegee dis year off de ‘leven hundred dollars I thought I wuz gwine t’ make.”
The discouraged air changed to one of greater courage and determination. His voice rose in his resentment and excitement.
“Now I’s tiahed of all dis cheatin’ an’ lyin’! Mr. Taylor mus’ take me for a fool if he thinks I’m gwine stan’ for dis way of doin’ things all de time. I stahted to tell him dat I knew he wuz cheatin’ me in Janua’y w’en he give me dat statemen’, but den I ‘membered whut happen t’ Joe Todd two years ago w’en he tol’ dat ol’ man Stanton dat he wukked for, de same thing. W’en ol’ man stahted thit Joe, Joe hit him fust and run. Dey came one night and call Joe to his do’ and tuk him down in de swamp an’ de nex’ mawnin’ dey foun’ Joe full of bullets, hangin’ to a tree. De paper say Joe done spoke insultin’ to a white ‘oman, but all de cullud folks, an’ de white too, know dat Joe ain’t nevah even seen no white ’oman dat day. Dey knew dat if dey say he ‘sulteda white ’oman, de folks up Nawth won’t crit’cize dem for lynchin’ a nigger down here in Georgy. So I jus’ kep’ my mouth close’. Now we wants t’ know if dey ain’t somethin’ we c’n do t’ make dese white folks we wuks for stop cheatin’ an’ robbin’ us po’ cullud folks.”
He sat down, evidently greatly relieved at finishing a task so arduous. Kenneth had listened in amazement to the story of exploitation, crudely told, yet with a simplicity that was convincing and eloquent. Having lived in the South all his life, he naturally was not unaware of the abuses under the “share-cropping” or “tenant-farming” system in the South, but it had never been brought home to him so forcefully how close at hand and how oppressive and dishonest the system really was. No wonder the South lynched, disfranchised, Jim-Crowed the Negro, he reflected. If the Negro had a yote and a voice in the local government of affairs, most of these bankers and merchants and landowners would have to go to work for the first time in their lives instead of waxing fat on the toil of humble Negroes like Hiram Tucker. He turned to Tucker to get further information on the system.
“Mr. Tucker, have you and the other folks like you ever thought of trying to get loans from the Federal Government through the banks they have established to aid farmers in buying land and raising their crops?”
“Oh, yes, Doc. Soon’s they started lendin’ money to farmers, I ’plied for a loan to buy me a li’l’ placedat I wuz gwine t’ wuk an’ pay for off whut I raised. But dey tol’ me dey didn’ have no funds t’ lento niggers an’ dat dey already done loaned all dey had to de white farmers. W’en I ast dem to put my name down on de lis’ to get a loan when some mo’ money came in, dey tol me dat it wa’n’t no use ‘cause dey already had so many white folks’ names down on de lis’ dat dey nevah would come to de cullud folks.”
“Did you think about writing to Washington and telling them that they were discriminating against Negro farmers?” questioned Kenneth.
“Yas, suh, we done dat too. But dey wrote us back dat de onliest way any loan could be made was th’u’ de local agents, so dat didn’t come to nuthin’.”
“But, good Lord, they can’t discriminate in that way against you without something being done about it!” was Kenneth’s indignant comment.
Tucker looked at him with a wan smile that was almost pitying at the ignorance of the younger man. His voice became paternal.
“Son, dat’s jes’ zactly like de man whut wuz in jail and his frien’ come by and ast him whut dey put him in jail for. When de man in jail tol’ him whut he wuz ‘cused of, de man on de outside said: ’Dey can’t put you in jail for dat! De man dat was lookin’ out at him th’u’ de bars laughed and said: ‘But I’se in jail!’ An’ dat’s de way ‘tis wif de cullud folks in de Souf. Dey’s lots of things dey can’t do to ’em but dese white folks does it jes’ de same. I reckon you got a lot of things t’ learn yet, Doc, spite of goin’ up Nawth t’ study.”
Kenneth felt properly rebuked by this humble man who, though illiterate, was far from being ignorant. He joined in, but not very heartily, at the general laughter at Tucker’s homely sally.
Mr. Wilson, as acting chairman, ended the discussion by calling on Tom Tracy. Tracy was a much younger man than Tucker and was about Kenneth’s age. Tall, well built, intelligent looking, his dark brown face had worn a scowl of discontent and resentment while Tucker had been talking. He began talking in a clear voice that but poorly masked the bitterness he felt but which he tried to keep out of his voice. Older men like Mr. Tucker were always quick to rebuke any sign of “uppishness” in the younger generation.
“I graduated from Tuskegee three years ago. My old mother worked herself almost to death to keep me in school, and I came back here determined to earn enough money to let her rest the balance of her life. But she and my father had been living all their lives just like Mr. Tucker here, and they didn’t have anything to give me a start. So I went to work on shares, taking that thirty acres that joins on to Mr. Tucker’s farm on the South. I took this land that wasn’t thought to be any good, because it had been exhausted through overworking it year after year. I bought some new ploughs and fixed it up fine. I thought I could put the things I learned at Tuskegee into practice and in a couple of years pay off all I owed. But instead of doing that, I’m getting deeper in debt every year. I rent my place from Ed Stewart andhe knows that I know he’s cheating and robbing and lying to me, but when I try to show him where he is wrong in his figures, all he does is to get mad and start to cussing me and telling me that if I don’t keep a civil tongue in my head, the Ku Klux Klan will be hearing about this ‘sassy young nigger Tracy’ and I’ll wish I had kept my mouth shut. I’m getting sick of the whole thing, too. If it wasn’t for the old folks, I expect I’d ‘a’ started something long ago. They are all talking about me being a dangerous character out my way already. Say I’m too ‘uppity’ and I need to be taught a lesson to show me that ‘niggers must stay in their places.’”
Tracy finished speaking in a tone that was almost a shout. It could be seen that he was very near the breaking-point from brooding over the wrongs he had suffered.
Mr. Phillips, who had said nothing, broke in with a question.
“Tom, why don’t you move away from Ed Stewart’s place if he doesn’t treat you right?”
Tracy replied bitterly:
“Yes, suppose I tried to leave, what would happen? The same day I left, Sheriff Parker would come and get me. They’d put me on trial for jumping my contract and fine me. Old Stewart would be in court to testify against me. He’d pay my fine and then I’d have to go back to Stewart’s place and work a year or two for nothing, paying off the fine. A fat chance I’ve got with the cards all stacked against me!”
Mr. Young, of the Bethel African Methodist Episcopal Church, nodded assent to Tracy’s statement.
“Brother Tracy’s right. Look at what happened to Jeff Anderson down near Valdosta last spring. He ran away and got to Detroit where he had a good job working in an automobile plant. They swore out a warrant against him for stealing, brought him back, and the last I heard of him he was back down there working out a three-hundred-dollar fine. No, Brother Phillips, you’ve been reading the law that applies to white folks—not to us coloured people.”
James Swann’s story was along the same lines as the others. The seven men entered into a discussion of ways and means of taking some action which would alleviate conditions before the harvesting of the crop which was now in the ground. One suggestion after another was offered, only to be as quickly discarded because of local difficulties. Midnight came, with no decision reached. When it became apparent that nothing would be settled, Kenneth was chosen with Mr. Wilson and Mr. Phillips to work out some plan to be reported at the meeting to be held one week later.