Miss Ethel: Chapter 3

The Lynching

The mettle of Harv's friendship and character is tested by a tradgic event.

After we graduated from high school, Josh and I made our plans that took us in different directions. I had been accepted by a small college about 60 miles from home, and Josh had enlisted in the army. The year was 1959 and it was a peacetime army since the Vietnam War had not gotten hot yet, and Josh, like many young men enlisted in the army because it would provide college expenses when they were discharged. Josh wanted to go to college, but on a sharecropper’s income, his father could not afford to help him. The GI Bill would provide the means to pay his college expenses.

Two weeks later he left for boot camp and in the fall I started college. We did not see each other much during his hitch in the army, however, when he was home on furlough, he always gave me a call and we’d get together as much as we could.

When Josh completed his army hitch and returned home, he enrolled in one of the black universities as a freshman. I was a senior at my college and only about 15 miles from his. It was great having him close again so we could occasionally get together, although the times in which we were living and the rules of conduct for the races prevented our being too open with our friendship since it could create problems on either side.

The racial tension was becoming more intense and there were frequent racial incidents with Freedom Riders and voter registration drives all across the south. During this time, the threats and retributions were usually against black preachers and their churches. Churches were the place where black people congregated for both spiritual and social events, and because the preachers were respected in the black community, they used their influence to push voter registration and other changes in their communities.

It was a grievous shock, but not a surprise when my roommate handed me the newspaper with the front-page story of a black preacher who was killed. Grabbing the paper from him, I read in dismay and horror the full story of how Rev. Isaiah Washington was brutally beaten, then hanged in his own church.

I immediately called Josh’s dorm, and when someone answered the phone, I asked to speak with him.

“Sorry, he’s not here,” the voice answered.

“Do you know when he will be back,” I asked not knowing why I had asked since I knew he wouldn’t return until after the funeral.

“Not for a while. His father was discovered murdered last night.”

I thanked him and hung up, and grabbing some clothes, in spite of it being in the middle of the week, I jumped in my car and headed home to my mom and dad’s.

When I arrived, I asked about the murder.

“Well, son,” my dad started, “It’s a horrible thing, but all we know is what you read in the paper. I don’t think anybody here was involved, but it’s just terrible. I heard he was beaten so bad they had a hard time to know who he was.”

“I’m going over the see Josh and Miss Ethel,” I announced.

“Now wait, son,” my dad cautioned, “Feelings are running pretty high among the blacks, it might not be wise or safe to go over there now.”

“He’s right,” my mother said, “I know Josh is your friend, but you might get hurt.”

“I’ll be fine and they’re my friends. I gotta go.”

I felt some apprehension myself about going, but I knew if I didn’t go, I was a lousy friend. His friendship was owed this visit and I felt they would appreciate my being there.

Leaving our house, I saw my grandfather driving up the hill in his old pickup and stopped to chat.

“Harvey,” he said, “What you doing home from college?”

“Came to see Josh Washington cause his daddy got killed,” I answered.

“Oh, that was terrible thing that happened,” he said, “Terrible, terrible thing. I wish Isaiah hadn’t got mixed up in all that voter registration stuff. There’s some people out there that just won’t set still for it.”

“You think somebody here did it?” I asked.

“I don’t think so, Harvey, but you know there’s a few mean folks around who might,” he remarked.

I knew if anyone had any idea at all about any locals who might be involved, it was he. He knew everybody within 5 counties and their political affiliation. He was a small time southern politician and loved it.

“You going over to Washington’s now?” he asked.

“Yes sir,” I answered, “You know me and Josh been playing together ever since we were knee high to a pup and I just need to go.”

“Well, be careful. There is some mad folk out there with the blacks right now. Josh and Ethel and the family know who you are, but some of them bucks don’t know you. I’m gonna go see Ethel after the funeral sometimes next week. She knows we’ll help her with her needs. You tell her I asked after her and that I’ll stop by when it’s appropriate.”

“I’ll tell her, Papa,” I assured him. And then we parted as he went on up to my parent’s house. Papa was sincere in his concern about the Washingtons. He was typical of men his age in the south, hating to see the changes in the social order, but at the same time, I think I knew his heart and he truthfully hated to see what had happened. Several years later, after he had died, I learned that he frequently gave food and sometimes money to many of the poorer people in the community.

When I approached the house, there were so many cars, I had to park back up the road and walk down. As I neared the house place, several young black men started out to meet me. I didn’t recognize any of them.

“What you want, white boy?” one said roughly as they neared me.

“I am a friend of the family and I came to pay my respects,” I responded.

“Yah, you come to see if yo work done what you wanted it tu do. We don’t need any of you whiteys here today. Go on home and enjoy yo-self. We got tu morn our pastor,” he said firmly.

My gut said I should just leave, but I couldn’t do it and remain a friend to Josh.

“I know this is a terrible thing,” I started to say but was cut off.

“You don’t understand nothin. You ain’t never had somebody you love and respect done like they done Rev. Washington. You jest need to leave, fore something happens to you,” he spat out.

“Look, I am a friend of Josh and I want to pay my respects to him and the family. I ain’t leaving till I see him,” I responded just as firmly.

I saw the jaws tighten even more and was thinking about what I needed to do, especially if it turned violent, as it appeared to be heading.

Then one said, “You that Williams boy.”

“Yeah, I’m Harv Williams,” I said. “Just take me to Josh and Miss Ethel, you’ll see.”

“OK,” the one I later learned was Joe said. “Come on, les take him tu thu house.”

As we entered, Miss Ethel saw me first and said, “Oh, Lawd, hit’s Mr. Harvey, Josh.”

And she came over with her arms open, weeping. As I felt her wrap her long, thin arms around me, I couldn’t hold back my tears and we both wept as Josh and some of the other kids joined in the group hug.

When we finally regained enough composure to step back from the hug, Josh said, “Harv, you shouldn’t a come. It’s not safe for you to be here. Some of the folks are angry.”

“Who could blame them?” I said. “You and all the community have every right to be boiling mad.”

“But, I don’t want my best friend and my only white friend to get hurt.”

“Josh, I was coming and neither hell nor high water would have prevented me,” I said firmly.

“I’m not surprised,” he responded

“I told Josh dis morning that you gone be here sometimes today, didn’t I?” interjected Miss Ethel looking over to Josh.

“That’s right,” said Josh, “Momma told me I needed to call you and let you know.”

“But we been so busy we just didn’t get ‘roun tu doin it” said Miss Ethel apologetically.

“I know. This was so terrible that I am surprised you can even carry on a conversation.” I said,

“Well, honestly, we ain’t been able tu do much but cry till dis a’ternoon. The church deacon board and women’s board, they just took over the planning o’ the funer’l. Mr. Harvey, dis been badder than bad, Isaiah, he don’t look like hisself. Dey took me over tu see ‘im and I mite near passed out he look so bad,” she explained with big tears forming in her eyes.

“Miss Ethel,” I said, “You don’t have to put yourself through all this for me. I don’t have to have all these details.”

“That’s alright, Mr. Harvey, ever time I tell it, hit gits easier,” she said, and then proceeded to go through all the details and sequences of events.

After she had finished I asked about the time of the funeral.

“It will be on Saturday morning at 11:00,”answered Josh, “But you don’t need to go.”

“Josh, you’re my friend, your daddy and Miss Ethel are family to me, yes, I’ll be there.”

“Harv,” said Josh firmly, “This is going to be an important event in the black community here, all across the state and even nationally. They are trying to get some of the national civil rights leaders to be here; there’s going to be national news people and emotions are going to be high. Harv, it won’t be safe for a white person to be here.”

“Josh, I’d be a low-down, dirty egg-sucking yellow dog if I wasn’t here.”

He looked at me and with a half smile said, “Yeah, I guess you would at that,” because this had been our description of someone worthless since we you little boys.

He scratched his head as he said, “I gotta figure out how to keep you safe, thought.”

Then he motioned to a young man who came over and received the two-word command, “Find Joe.”

Soon he returned with the young black man who had finally brought me into the house.

“Joe,” said Josh to his friend, “This is Harv.”

“Yeah, we met,” he remarked.

“On Saturday, I want you to pick him up at his house and bring him to the church. Be there at 10:45 and keep him in your car till the family arrives. When we arrive, bring him to me so he can go into the church with the family and sit with me. Then, after the funeral, you take him home. Do NOT let him go to the cemetery. Can you do that for me?”

“Sure,” he responded, “But you mean you gonna have a white boy here for the funeral. You know we may have some big civil rights folks here; somebody from Martin Luther King’s organization’s gonna be here. And, some of the boys here are fighting mad and we don’t want anything to happen.”

“I know, that’s why I want you to get here about the time we arrive. No, better you meet us at the crossroads and when we come through, you pull into the line behind the family.
I’ll let somebody know to expect you. Then you be sure to get him to me. He’ll sit with the family between me and momma.”

When all this was worked out, I stayed for a while longer, then Joe escorted me to my car and I returned home and back to school.

The rest of the week was a blur. I could not help but think about the funeral at the end of the week. I knew there would be lots of civil rights rhetoric and there was the danger of some radical militant black people who may decide to take their frustration out on me. Then, there was the possibility, albeit a very small one in my estimation, that some whites might try to do something. I tried to think of all the possibilities and be prepared for the options.

On Saturday, Joe came to my house just as Josh had instructed and we left in his car. Arriving at the crossroads not far from the church, we waited and chatted. He was puzzled as to why Josh and I had such a tight relationship. I gave him the synoptic version of how we had met and through the years had played and worked together. Joe, while a nice guy, had what some would call reverse bigotry. He just couldn’t understand why a black guy could have a white guy for his best friend. His statement was, “Ain’t no way I would tell a white guy what I thought or felt.”

Soon, the funeral procession reached the crossroads and the car behind the family slowed making a space for Joe and I to fall into. At the church, as a sea of black faces gathered around the procession, they were visibly surprised when I emerged from Joe’s car and was quickly taken to Josh and his mother. We walked behind the casket as it was carried down the church aisle to its resting place and we turned into the first few rows, me safely between Josh and Miss Ethel.

I could not help but imagine what the church people were thinking. Some knew me because of my family, and others had seen me when I came to their church a few times with Josh.

The funeral message, as I had thought, was strong on civil rights imagery. Several people spoke and the service was well over two hours long. The pastor of a nearby church preached the funeral message and spoke about Rev. Washington being a great pastor. He kept repeating the theme of his message, which was “Strength and honor.” Rev. Washington was a man of strength and honor in all his dealing with both white and black people and the church and community must continue to exhibit those traits of strength and honor. They mustn’t let the hate that was poured out against him consume them. Be strong and act honorable in all their dealings with all reces.

It was a good funeral. It gave honor to Rev. Washington, the church community and to God and I felt blessed for attending. When it was completed, everyone passed by the casket and viewed Rev. Washington’s body for the final time. The family was last to go by and there was lots of wailing and crying at this part of the service as family members leaned over the casket, kissed him and wept as they said their final good-byes.

When we were leaving the church, Josh, Joe and I stopped before going out the door and Josh said to Joe and me, “Take him home. Do not let him get cornered by one of the news people outside. Being the only white here, he sticks out like a sore thumb. Harv, I’ll call you when I get back to school,” and we hugged and he shoved Joe and me out the door.

I had almost made it to the car when someone grabbed my arm and spun we around. Before I realized what had happened, a man from one of the national news networks was asking me why I, a white man, was there. He pushed a microphone in my face and I stared at a news camera.

Caught so off guard, I responded, “I am here because I knew Rev. Washington and one of his sons is my best friend.”

The next question was, “And what do you think of his death and anyone who would do this to him?”

My words erupted like a volcano. Words like cowardly, dastardly, men who love the dark because their deeds are dark. On and on I went describing how reprehensible they were. Finally I had exhausted my thoughts and they had enough for the nightly news and I was able to get into Joe’s car.

“Whoa!” said Joe once in the car, “You ‘bout fried that boy’s microphone, didn’t you, white boy?” and he laughed out loud.

I knew I had acted foolishly by blurting out all those adjectives and there were going to be some folks unhappy and some embarrassed by them. At the same time, I felt a sense of pride and power by having acted and said what I felt.

When I got home, I announced I had to return to school to work on some “stuff,” and left before my folks had a chance to see the news. Back on campus, I kept a low profile for several weeks.

Sunday morning, Josh called me from his mom’s home, and said, “Saw you on the nightly news, Bro.”

“Yeah?” I returned, “and what did you think of my performance?”

“Outstanding! Academy Award Oscar performance with oak leaf clusters.”

“Do you think there’ll be any consequences?” I asked.

“Hard to say. Maybe they’ll just chalk it up to a young idealistic white boy who dun forgot his raisings. Whatever, watch your back.”

Those words made chills run up my spine. I knew he was right. I am sure mom and dad were embarrassed by my remarks, although I hoped they agreed with me. I also knew there were people who would slash my car tires or worse, slash me for those remarks. Even on the campus there were those who rejoiced in the death of Rev. Washington and might have even participated in it. Then there was another group who did not approve, but would never say anything. There were some who would clap me on the back and say, “Way to go, Harv.” Only problem was I never knew who was who.

After a week and nothing had happened, I though I was probably just over reacting and began to calm down. Then one afternoon I was retuning to my dorm room following my last class and a man pulled up beside me in a black Cadillac and asked if I was Harvey Williams?

“Yes, sir, I’m Harvey Williams,” I answered.

“I’d like to talk with you. Hop in my car and let’s go for a ride,” he said.

I had heard of folks hopping into cars and going for a ride, but the problem was they never came back. I did not plan for that to happen and I declined the offer of the ride and suggested he park and we sit on a bench under a tree in front of my dorm.

“Son, I just want privacy in our talk. Nothing’s going to happen, just talk,” he said.

“I understand that, but nothing’s going to happen on that bench and it’s just as private,” I responded beginning to feel resentful at the intimidation I was feeling.

“OK,” he acquiesced, “Where can I park.”

I pointed to an empty space near the dorm and walked over to the bench and waited for him. He was dressed in a black suit and hat and I would guess him to be 50-55 years old. He spoke with a strong southern accent, but sounded as if he had education.

“Mr. Williams, I’m John Mark.”

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Mark. Who are you with?” I asked.

“Oh, let’s just say, I’m with myself,” he remarked casually.

“You’re not with an organization or agency, company?” I persisted.

“I’m here representing myself and actually your interest as well.” He said.

“What can I do for you, or maybe I should say, how can you help me?” I asked feeling rather nervous and weak.

“Harvey, you made some rather strong and I think inflammatory statements to the national news at the Washington funeral, and I just wanted to advise you it might be unwise to continue to make those kinds of statements given the racial environment that exists here in the state.”

“Well, Mr. Mark, the Washington funeral, as you put it, was the funeral of my best friend’s father, a good and honorable man.”

“Oh, I know, Harvey and I didn’t mean any disrespect by using the family name instead of his name, but you must see that what you said could be used to incite further violence. Some of which, God forbid, could be directed against you.”

“Mr. Mark, do you work for the KKK?” I said wanting to cut to the bottom line.

“Oh, Harvey, surely you don’t believe the KKK is part of what happened! Oh, in the past they were a violent group, but they’re a bunch of old men who robe up and march in protests. Their teeth have been pulled a long time ago. And I don’t know who did this terrible thing to Mr. Washington, but I don’t want to see anything happen to you or any of your family. Just don’t make any other remarks like you did to that news reporter. That’s all.”

“I doubt seriously any news reporter’s going to look me up for an interview based on my remarks. I mean, I’m just a college student here at this little old southern college.”

“I hope so, Harvey. I do not want to visit you in the hospital or worse your family in the funeral home and say, ‘I tried to warn you.’”

“Mr. Mark, are you threatening me?” I asked feeling the same feelings I had that day with the reporter.

“Oh, heavens no, Harvey. I don’t have the capacity to threaten anyone. I’m just trying to give you some advice. When I saw you on TV, I thought, that young man needs to realize there are evil men out there who will not take kindly to those statements. He needs to be warned.”

“You are right about evil men, Mr. Mark, Rev. Isaiah Washington is…I started to say living proof, but actually he is proof that you are dead right! And you can tell your people that I have no intention of making any more inflammatory statements to the press, primarily because no one’s going to ask me. In this conflict of civil rights, state’s rights, personal rights and southern rights, right rights, I am a peon. I wish I could say this has been pleasant meeting.”

I got up from the bench and started towards my dorm, when Mark said, “I don’t have any people to tell, however you are making a wise decision.”

Stopping and turning to face him again, I said, “I’m not making any decision, Mr. Mark. The decision was made for me.”

And I walked into the dorm praying my legs would not collapse before I reached my room. Entering, I locked the door and fell across the bed, absolutely exhausted. I dreaded the next few weeks because I was completely paranoid about what might happen.

Later, when I had regained my strength, I went to a phone booth and called Josh. I was afraid the phone in my dorm might be bugged.

“Josh, I got a visit this afternoon.” I started.

“Was she pretty, sexy and willing?” he joked.

“No, she was a man in a black Cadillac who wanted to take me for a ride.” I said.

“Well, I’d mark that one off my list and erase her name out o’ my black book.”

“Josh, I scared.” I admitted.

“If you weren’t, you’d be stupid. Harv, this is why I didn’t want you to come to the funeral. You see, it’s expected for us coloreds to git upset and wail and make noise, that’s the way they know they got to us, but when a white boy starts using that language, they don’t like it cause it’s a crack in the white wall. Harv, you watch where you go and who’s around you. Don’t go anywhere with anybody you don’t know and for God’s sake, don’t be making any more statements to the news or to individuals.”

“You don’t have to warn me now. I had already marked all that down on my to do list.” I joked.

“OK. Now watch your back cause I don’t want to lose my white-boy friend,” he joked back.

“I will, cause I don’t want you to lose your white-boy friend, either.”

I did not trust anyone I didn’t know well. I began raising the hood of my car before starting it. I even purchased a mirror, glued it to a board and attached a handle so I could check under my car before starting the engine. Finally this incident got far enough behind me that my paranoia began to recede back into wherever it came from.

I sure was happy when the next several months were over and I graduated. Josh and I celebrated by going on an all night fishing trip down on the creek on Papa’s land. The next week, he would leave for Chicago and a summer job at the company where his brother, Roy, worked and I would be moving to Atlanta to work with the regional representative for IBM. Hopefully, this would be the first rung on the corporate ladder that would be long and carry me far.

I was going to miss not talking with or seeing Josh as often as I had since we were eight years old, but that was the progression of life. I wondered if our friendship would remain as strong over the next 20 years.