There was an acknowledgment of laughter. “Now, the state of Mississippi requires a poll tax to be paid before a body can register to vote. Most folks around here can’t afford to pay it, but don’t worry about that. We’re raising money to cover that tax, so anybody go to register can pay the poll tax. We’ve got to do everything just right, but if we do and we get the vote, then we get to help elect people like the sheriff, people like the county registrar, people like the governor. The vote is power and the white folks know it. There was a time they didn’t even want us to learn how to read or write, because they know knowledge is power. That’s the same with the vote. The vote is power and getting it won’t be easy, but nothing worthwhile ever is.”
After the meeting I spoke to Morris. Morris, now in his mid-twenties, was a confident young man, smart and affable and tall—six and a half feet of tall. “So, Little Brother Morris,” I said, “looks like you’ve decided to stay down here.”
“Well, there’s no reason to be in Detroit now that Moe’s gone. Besides,” he grinned—“you see that pretty young woman over talking to your mama? Teaches at the school. She’s plenty of reason for me to stay, her and my daddy.”
“Denise Thomas,” I said as I looked over. “Good reason.”
“I think so.”
I turned back to Morris. “About this voter registration, when do you expect to start classes?”
“Right now, we’re thinking not until next year. We’ve got to get organized.”
“I know the Mississippi constitution,” I said. “Maybe I can help.”
“Guess you do, being a lawyer and all.”
“That’s not why I know it. Long time ago I studied it with Mrs. Lee Annie Lees.”
Morris nodded knowingly. “Mrs. Lee Annie,” he repeated. “Heard about her.”
I knew he had to have heard about Mrs. Lee Annie, even though he was too young to have known her. Most people around here knew her story. Mrs. Lee Annie was an elderly woman who decided she wanted to vote and she asked me to help her with reading the constitution. I was only eleven at the time. When interpreting the constitution became difficult for both of us, Mama joined us in our studies. Mrs. Lee Annie and her family lived on the Granger plantation and she was told by Mr. Harlan Granger himself not to try to register to vote. She went to register anyway. Mama and I went with her. She failed the test, but that made no difference to Harlan Granger. He put Mrs. Lee Annie and all her family off his land.
“Well, that’s what folks are afraid of now, same thing,” said Morris. “Folks in some counties already got put off their places just this year for trying to vote. These white people intend to stop registration if they can. They know once we get the vote, we can outvote them in a number of counties. We got more black folks in Mississippi than any other state, and if we can outvote them, we can begin to change some things. Problem is though, getting folks to come to classes and learn that constitution. Even then, if folks learn it, you know as well as I do, it’s up to the county registrar to choose the section he’ll question them on and then it’s up to him to decide whether or not he approves of the interpretation of the section. It’ll be a slow process and not always a rewarding one.”
“Well, you let me know when you get started. I can’t do much from Boston, but maybe I can lend some ideas and raise some money too.”
“That’ll be a big help, Cassie. What would be a bigger help is if you come down and teach in the drive—”
“Now, I don’t know about that.”
“Think on it. Fact, why don’t you come to a meeting we’re having in Jackson this weekend? We’ll be discussing organizing drives here in the state. Won’t be a big meeting, but we’ll have some speakers there.”
“Maybe I will,” I said.
“You’d be surprised to know who’s offered to help.” Morris didn’t give me chance to respond. “Mr. Wade Jamison. Saw him in Strawberry the other day and he stopped me right there on the street and asked me into his office. He wanted to talk to me about the sit-ins. He asked me if there were any plans for sit-ins in Vicksburg or Jackson. Fact is, I didn’t know and I wouldn’t have told him if I had, but he was genuinely interested. He went so far as to say he supported the sit-ins. Said he understood the need for them.”
“I’m not surprised.”
“Well, I was.”
“Little Brother, he knows the constitution backward and forward. Wouldn’t hurt to have him on our side.”
“Maybe. Anyway, he said his door was always open if he could be of help.” Morris glanced around, then took my arm and led me away from anyone else’s hearing. In a low voice he said, “What do you hear from Moe? Nobody down here’s heard a thing.”
“He’s all right,” I quietly replied. “Stacey and I went up to see him a couple of weeks ago. We knew you all would want to know how he’s doing.”
“And how is he doing?”
“He’s still in Toronto, managed to get himself a little job under another name. He sent a letter by us to your daddy. Stacey’ll take it over tomorrow.”
“Good. Daddy’ll be happy to get it.” Morris frowned. “You think Mississippi knows Moe’s in Canada?”
“I really don’t know, Morris. Only thing I do know is that the arrest warrant and extradition request are still in effect in Michigan. But as long as Moe stays in Canada, I think he’ll be okay. Thing I worry about though is Moe taking risks like he did at Christmas, coming back into the country.”
“I worry about that too,” said Morris. “He better not come back here again. I don’t want him to be a dead man.”
* * *
◆ ◆ ◆
Mama and I went with Morris to the organizational meeting in Jackson. The meeting was at Little Willie and Dora’s house. Little Willie and Dora owned a dry cleaners on Farish Street and were doing well. They had even bought a house in what many considered an exclusive neighborhood for coloreds. It was a middle-class neighborhood occupied mostly by professional people, educators, lawyers, business owners, and the like. The street was only a block, but it was a long block, curving at one point and going up a slight incline. Situated right in the middle of a white neighborhood, the houses had been designed by a black architect and built by a black builder. They designed the houses for Negro veterans like themselves, and Little Willie and Dora had gotten the house under a VA loan. Living at the other end of the block from them was Medgar Evers, field secretary of the NAACP and also a veteran. Both he and his brother had fought in World War II, but unlike Christopher-John and Clayton and many other returning Negro soldiers who could no longer tolerate the racial injustices of the South and had left, Medgar Evers, his brother Charles, and men like Little Willie had stayed. Many of them were now in the fight for equal rights.