8lլ1[k\R{j/u;I%[Kh\Bsi/mm R0WQn@2zu ;=OFe $IH<=(%I 0NI#?.s}}Nh|}A69_.  3c K;HA'€5R&^@ -Mo3v'J NA#>&z5 NPjfi1 BW,W\Li ݏ^h$ˑ?7@h ( ( ( (@%(@v ZJ( _XjC@)P}JPP}hܾ&(w/@ }J]7/hܿ ߡrx~F x~G(~M!*oBq8C4mNhh|0`&/d(E9__"Cۏ E'ps'4#~L&EО}€&W(2@@@h= .}(S@ldT͢I< cjhvh( (Ҁ 0=(p=(Ҁ J0=(p=(m Pz 6A@(vA@Q P =@ QW?t~Tn/PP@ @ A Time of Terror

 

 

I had heard of white people lynching Black people all of my life.  My mother, relatives, and friends used to tell me hair-raising accounts of this enigma. I had read of lynchings in the newspapers, magazines, and periodicals, and heard about the practice over the radio. To me, it was strange how that lunatic fringe of our population, who advocate white supremacy avenged real or imaginary wrongs committed against them

Little did I dream that one horrible night filled with stark terror, I too, would fall into the hands of such a merciless mob of fanatics, that they would by my judge and jury, and attempt to execute me to carry out their diabolical scheme of death because of the color of my skin. This whole way of life was and is a heritage of Black slavery in America. Every Black person knows the routine, the ritual.        

How did I act when it came time for me to die? This question has been thrown at me countless times. It is impossible to explain the impending crisis of sudden and terrorizing death at the hands of people I had grown to love and respect as friends and neighbors. The words I am putting down on this paper can only give an idea of the big emotions involved. Only God knows the agony of such a trial. Man's inhumanity to man is especially terrifying a Black man who has experienced the fury of white mob violence.  I can never forget the mobsters breaking into the jail. They surged forward in one great lunge, knocking and trampling the Black prisoners around me. Some of the mob got their hands on me right away, three on each side, and then the merciless beating began. I tried to break out of their grasp, but there were too many of them. They beat and kicked me in the corner of my cellblock for several minutes before dragging me out of that part of the jail. Their grips were like bands of steel. They knew, now, how to hold me captive because they had just lynched Tommy and Abe, my two buddies. I was in the clutches of the same murderers who had lynched them on a tree on the courthouse lawn.   

All the way down the corridor outside my cellblock, all the way down the steel stairway, the angry pounding continued. So many clubs and hands were aimed and swung at me that they got in each other's way. Now and again, one of the men holding me would cry out in pain, but they never released their hold on me. Somehow, not because I wanted to, I remained dimly conscious. Through a thick haze mixed with blood, I saw the crowd come to life as I emerged from the jail. Only the strongest and biggest people got close enough to hit me. The weaker ones had to be content with spitting and throwing things at me. I was mauled all the way to the courthouse lawn, and had become too numb to feel the excruciating pain.