Stories and Poems

The articles and poems which follow were written by Mississippi Negroes who were students in this summer's freedom school program. Most of these first appeared in the Freedom News, a mimeographed bulletin put out by the Holly Springs Freedom School. Nearly all the other pieces are from a similar publication, the Benton County Freedom Train,

None of the authors had had any contact with the freedom movement until this summer, when COFO workers set up over 30 schools in Mississippi. By the end of the summer "newspapers" were being written and read in communities all over the state.

These articles are left unsigned in order to protect the writers from possible reprisals.

How We Feel About the Three Missing Boys

The news just suddenly broke out as a shock. The people were scared and angry, saying "Why would any person want to take the lives of the three boys."

The people in the country were scared and some were even scared to come to town. I feel sorry for those boys and I think they should be found. The missing boys were a shock to some. The white wasn't to sad.

They found their station wagon. It was burned. Some people think they are dead. Some say the police are not looking as hard as they should be and most people think they cut them up in little pieces and threw them in the river. July 8, 1964   written by a 13-year-old girl   from Holly Springs

November 22, 1963

The day was still and sad.

And in my little town in was

Windy, dark, and wet.

The day went on and on so slow.

Oh, how I wished it would end!

Then it came on the radio,

That the President had been shot.

"Shot!" said I.

"Shot!" said I, "Oh no, that can't be true!"

But in the emergency room they tried their might to save him, but the hope was slowly dying away as the afternoon began to fade promptly away.

Everyone just stopped and prayed. Their hearts skipped thump after thump as their throats began to lump (with tears).

Then the radio began to speak,

"He's dead. The President of the United States is dead."

All was still.

All was sad.

A thunderbolt had hit our path.

Eyes fell down.

Tears fell down.

No one made a joyful sound.

A knot curled in my throat--a knot that seems to have not been broken.

That phrase had hit us as if in answer to out prayers.

Why an answer so deep and sad?

Why an answer that has not a care?

All these questions and not any answers to me or no one else but Thee.

The next day was different--as different can be for the flag was lowered at half staff, you see.

All that had happened the other day seemed to have been but a dream.

Some believing.

Some unbelieving.

Some just staring and looking.

This was the date the world cried.

This was the date the world stood still.

This is the date we'll never forget!   November, 1963   written by a 14-year-old   girl who regularly wrote   a column for the Freedom   News and wants to be a   journalist.

* * *

What I Like About School

Well, the things I do to learn is to listen to what other people say and take notes of what I hear when I listen, I like to take notes what I'm doing.

My favorite subject in school is reading. I like to read because I like to look at different Kinds of pictures in the story. But if I don't pay any attention to anybody, well, I just won't know anything. Sometimes I look like I'm not paying any attention, but I was paying attention all along.   Aug. 14 1964   written by a young girl   from rural Benton County

* * *

Negro Laments and Hopes

The Negro is hated without a cause,

And he is not to blame.

He wipes the tear drops from his eyes,

And lives on jus' the same.

When you come to making laws

The Negro has no voice.

Matters not how gray his head,

He's always jus' a boy.

In the field of liberal arts,

And work that's kinds rough,

The Negro works with case and slight,

He really knows his stuff.

Often his eyes is blinded with tears

His way on earth is dark.

No one to tell his troubles to

So he tells it all to God.

Stigmatized and buffed about,

He's pressing through the storm.

South of the Mason-Dixon line

The Negro have no home.

There are thousands of honorable Negroes,

Some are living, some are dead.

Like the leaves that fade away

Not hardly a word is said.

So wake up Negroes go register and vote

And fight for your rights.

Aug. 14, 1964

written by a Benton Country farmes

Great Grandfather Was a Slave. Are You?

My grandfather said that he was ten years old during the Civil War. His master and mistress were named Mr, and Mrs. Beard. He didn't know his parents, so of course he went by the same name as they did, Beard.

He said that children were sold just as well sell cows and hogs today. They were stood on blocks and auctioned off and of course, the highest bidder would get them. He also said that Negro women were bred just like cows.

The slaves weren't allowed to leave the plantation without permission. If they did, they were punished. Bells were put on some of them at night so they could hear them if they tried to run away.

The mothers didn't have time, or should I say, weren't allowed to give their children the proper care they needed and the cook took care of them. They were fed like pigs in a trough, all together. She would cook corn bread and put it in milk. That is the way they ate.

Now do we want this today? No, is the answer the majority say. Are you going to stand up and fight for your rights?

We want better education for our children and we want better living facilities. We no longer want to live is slums.

We've started, but we can't stop now because we don't want to fall down again. God has sent us help and we should welcome them with open arms. Now is the time to vote, Don't be afraid. this is what we've been asking for so don't close your door in the freedom worker's face.  Aug. 14,1964  written by a mother of  seven children, who be-  came editor of the Benton  County Freedom Train.

* * *

Paul B. Johnson

Paul B. Johnson is my sheperd,

I am in want.

He leadeth me in the path of discrimination,

He destroyeth my faith in democracy,

He keepeth away from good jobs,

My children out of good schools.

Yea, though I walk through the

Valley of the Ku Klux Klan

I am not afraid.

Every day I walk in the presence mine enemies,

They anoint my head with the blood of my people,

My cup long ago ran over.

Isn't there any goodness or justice in Mississippi?

Or will I have to live in the land of the

Ku klux Klan bigots, police dogs, anl extremists forever?  Aug. 1964  written by a middle-aged  woman from Biloxi, Miss.

* * *

The Three Who Are Missing

How do we as Negroes feel about the freedom workers coming into Mississippi is a question many are asking. After asking many of my friends and neighbors I have heard them say, "It's a miracle" or "at last our prayers are being answered." To us this one of the most wonderful things that has happened since we were actually freed from slavery. We know these people didn't have to give up their precious time and come here to help us and we know that they are here because of love. Love not only for us, but also because they love the United States. They know that before the United States can have the respect of other countries it must also have the respect of its own people, both Negro and white.

When we heard about the three freedom workers missing, we were hurt, but not shocked, because many of our people have come up missing and nothing was said or done about it. Ever since I can remember I have been told of such cases from my people, but never have I heard it said on the news or over the T.V. or radio. this was known only to a few of us, not nation-wide. Even though most of us have given up hop about the three freedom workers, we are praying that they will be found alive.

The freedom workers have the blessings and prayers of the Negroes in Mississippi. We will be forever grateful.  July 8, 1964  written by an 18 year old  girl from Byhalia, Miss