Through jails and trials the project members had their closest contact with whites. John Faresse, and his nephew Tony, the two lawyers who run Marshall and Benton Counties; Sheriff J. M. "Flick" Ash of Marshall County, and Roach, his redheaded deputy who carries a hefty cane on Freedom Days, and whose face turns nearly as red as his hair when a freedom worker approaches; Sheriff Brooks Ward and Deputy Oliver Crumpton, the "laws" of Benton County: some of the workers got to know these men quite well.
Color Reaction
It is small wonder then that after being in Mississippi for a week, everyone develops a certain set of reactions to color. A pair of freedom workers walks down a street at night in Holly Springs to buy a late supper. A car edges slowly along the curb, and both workers gaze intently trying to see the passengers in the light of the streetlamp. One finally speaks, "'s okay, they're the right color." And as the car of Negroes passes, the two white freedom workers relax a bit.
The constant harassment, the knowledge of dangers breeds a tension that even jokes and laughter never throw off. When the COFO worker leaves the freedom house he signs out for a specific time--if he is not back at the office at that time, or has not phoned or radioed in (by August most project cars had two-way radios), a local search will begin. As time passes, the Greenwood and Jackson COFO offices are notified and the search is extended. The FBI is called.
The Meridian COFO office, for example, called the FBI at 9 p.m. on June 21, notifying them that the trio of workers was missing. Had the FBI acted then, with a routine visit or phone call to local jails, Schwerner, Chaney, and Goodman might be alive today.
The freedom worker also takes a "buddy" with him when he leaves. Thus he has someone to help in case of any trouble, he has a witness, and he has the eerie comfort of knowing that at least he will probably not die
Usually this tension is ignored or alone in Mississippi. As he drives, his eyes constantly flit to the rear view mirror and he habitually notes the make and color of every car he sees, immersed in the work of the moment. Often it rises to the surface in a stupid argument with a fellow worker. And sometimes workers express it to each other, because they all feel it, "By accident I crossed into Tennessee today. Man, did it feel good up there!"
It is the success of the project and the enthusiasm of the local people that helps offset this tension or at least make it worthwhile. Running a mass meeting may be tiring after 11 hours on the road canvassing for the MFDP. But such is fun too--the worker cannot help but feel pleasure and pride as he listens to the people speak their thoughts. To him, these are "my people." When he called the first meeting hardly anyone would speak up and the freedom worker had to talk himself hoarse. Now the local people have elected their own officers and run the meetings by themselves. Nearly everyone speaks, and the freedom worker can just listen and relax among friends.
A Freedom Day in Holly Springs can bring the same kind of happiness. City police, Sheriff Ash and his deputies, and the highway patrol stand around the court house. Forty lawmen, many with clubs, all with guns. A large yellow paddy wagon. A voter registration worker walks up West College Avenue, from the Anderson Chapel. Behind him is a sixty year old Negro woman and behind her a man of the same age. These people are going to register to vote. The three people must walk eight feet apart, or police say they will arrest them.
May Lose All
The freedom worker knows that he may be beaten or jailed. (On the first Freedom Day one worker was jailed, two were jailed on the second.) But the two people walking behind him stand to lose all they have ever had in their lives. In addition to a jailing or beating they are risking their jobs or their small farms, their homes, their families. They may have to stand in the hot sun in front of the court house for two hours, waiting to go in and take the registration test. The police question them in order to frighten them. And yet still they walk up West College Avenue. The freedom worker knows all this, and cannot help but admire the people who follow him. If he goes to jail they have made it a pleasure.
Everywhere farmers, ministers mechanics, many of them illiterate, turn out to be natural political leaders, speaking with ease and skill at meetings, helping the people reach decisions. The young people are perhaps the most exciting. Few are in their twenties, because most people of that age leave the state. But the teenagers appear capable of anything.
It seems a miracle that these students who attend the nation's poorest school system, are so eager to learn, and so ready to pass their lessons on to others. Many join in or take over the work of the project (such as running the Freedom School or canvassing for the MFDP) and are soon "freedom workers" themselves.
Mississippi is at once the worst and the best. It is a nightmare of fear and tension, quite literally a police state. Yet it also has the most thoroughly organized and strongest freedom movement in the nation and, on occasion, can seem like a dreamland of youth and hope. The freedom worker lives in the nightmare and the dream world every day