When I was in high school, I was supposed to read many wonderful works
of literature. Growing up, I always loved to read, and that's what
led me to become a writer. Here was the problem between working thirty hours
a week at the grocery store, theater rehearsals, the mountains of homework from
my honors in eight classes, and the desire to be a somewhat normal teenager
who had a less than average social life. I literally had no time to
read. SparkNotes became my best friend. Now, thanks to COVID nineteen and
the wonders of modern day technology, I've been listening to dozens of audio books
through my local library Chapter one, deciding I should probably give the time these
wonderful novels deserved. I've been going back through and rereading books from my high
school English classes. Let me tell you, I missed out on some amazing
stories. The message in The Great Gatsby really struck a note with me.
But I can't believe we never talked in class about how Nick Carroway is obviously
a little gay of mice and men, packed so much story into such a
tiny book that I was shocked I didn't have time to read it, and
then there's To Kill a mocking Bird. This is the one I think I
gave the most attention to in school, but over time forgot a lot of
what happens. It's fascinating to me how a book that just turned sixty years
old is just as relevant today. Now, if you haven't read it,
I won't spoil too much for you, but let's just say it revolves around
the extreme racial tensions in the South and how white folk could essentially get away
with lynching African Americans. Author Harper Lee probably didn't know what would happen in
Mississippi about a year after her novel was published. Imagine with me the small
town of Liberty, Mississippi and Ahmit County. In twenty ten, the town
had a population of seven hundred and twenty eight, so in nineteen sixty one,
I'm sure that number was significantly smaller. Liberty is home to the first
Confederate statue ever erected in Mississippi, so you can imagine how the Caucasian population
felt about African Americans in the midst of the Civil rights movement. It was
nearing ninety degrees in the town square and the air was thick with humidity.
Dozens of people stared wide eye that the remains of what had happened minutes ago.
A white man in his early forties stood by a rusty pickup truck with
a pistol still smoking in his hand. On the ground before him laid a
clean shaven black man with a trickle of blood flowing from his temple to his
gray hair. The town knew both men fairly well. One was a quiet
activist and the other a loud state representative. The politician quietly peeled his button
up shirt away from his sweaty skin and placed the gun back out of sight
as the sheriff ushered him into his cruiser. It was clear the politician had
killed the other man, and yet the sheriff wasn't taking him to jail.
The sheriff was making sure the murderer was safe. Welcome to deadtime stories.
In nineteen fifty three, eight years before the murder, Eldridge Willie Steptoe,
or Ews history usually calls him, nervously waited in a courthouse for his voter
registration to be approved. The employee behind the counter looked up from EW's test
with a stowell, boy, you ain't smart enough to vote. That's what's
wrong with you. Y'all think you need the same rights as us, But
you damad in a fifth grade. As a matter of fact, the thirty
seven year old e W had a sixth great education, which was enough for
him to know he had a right to vote, despite the bigoted laws Mississippi
put in place to prevent him from doing so. With the tip of his
hat ew left on the outside, he seemed calm, but inside a fire
was starting. When he returned to his farm in o My County, e
W was greeted by the welcoming glow of fireflies and his neighbor, Herbert Lee,
evening, e W, how was it they let you register? Nah
said, I wasn't smart enough to pass the test? Oh hogwash? You
smart enough to run that farm? Ain't you shoot? And I'm smart enough
to know what the NAACP's doing for folks like us. Since I left that
courthouse, I can't stop thinking about starting a chapter here. And am I
I don't think a lot of folks would like that much. The Waits don't
have to know about it. We could host meetings right here on my farm.
What are y'all boys talking about? Over there. The two men turned
to their neighbor across the street. Eugene Hunter Hurst or EH, looked at
them from his porch, his plump white face turning a slight red. Herbert
gave him a nod, even just asking e W. HIGs registration went.
Eh shook his head. You're a good fan, Herbert, but don't belong
at voting booms. If I was in office, i'd seated at not wanting
trouble. Herbert only smiled, Oh, of course, have yourself a nice
evening, you two boy. My grandaughter. E W's dream of starting a
local NAACP chapter was initially a success, with over two hundred members regularly attending
underground meetings at his farmhouse. Good evening, everyone, let's begin now our
first order of this. Of course, nothing good can last. And one
night in nineteen fifty four, members of the KKK, along with the local
sheriff, interrupted a meeting. Everyone out back, now come on, fasting
grim grass to a goose, e W ushered members out as the KKK burst
through his front door and terrorized those who couldn't quite make it in time.
Personal items were smashed and across burned in the front lawn. For Ew bravely
faced the men as his own escaped. Hello, folks, what can I
do for it? We heard y'all was having a party and didn't invite us.
He got up in EW's face. But y'all better watch out, because
if you don't, I'm gonna cream your corn. He looked down at the
table and snatched a piece of paper from it. Well lucky here list of
members. Ew reached out for the important document, but two other men shoved
him to the ground. Go fetch anything else he's hidden. E W shook
as the clan scoured his home with valuable information now in the hands of terrorists.
Membership declined. The KKK's goal of intimidation had succeeded. It was time
for a dramatic change, and as the civil rights movement gained traction, EW's
fire grew hotter. He knew he needed himself and others to gain the right
to vote. At the time, only one African American man was registered to
vote in the county, and he didn't exercise that right, presumably from fear.
Enter Bob Moses. Bob was a member of the Student Non Violent Coordinating
Committees sometimes called the SNCC in other times SNICK, which was a group of
young African Americans bound by the common goal of challenging white supremacy. The twenty
six year old Bob arrived at McComb, Mississippi, in August to start snick's
first voter registration camp pain. By the middle of the month, he accompanied
an older gentleman and two middle aged ladies to the courthouse to register. They
arrived at about ten in the morning and were greeted by a nasty, pimple
faced boy. What do you want? The elderly gentleman nervously stared down at
the white man behind the counter. Ah, I hit it out more.
These three people would like to register to vote. Please hold the hell are
you? My name's Robert Moses, Sir. I'm with the SNCC, which
I believe in. No help vote. The workers scowled up at Bob.
Already got a lady and here register. You have to what yes, sir.
The four took a seat and patiently waited. Their presence caused quite a
stir inside the building, and as people passed, they couldn't help but stare
and mumble under their breath. At some point, a state highway patrolman named
Officer Carlyle took a seat across from them, his eyes never leaving there back
By four thirty that afternoon, all three had finished their registration and left with
Bob. I'm so glad he was there, mister Moses as fix in the
schedatle as soon as that officer sat down. You can't let those folks intimidate
you anymore. You aren't breaking any laws. As he adjusted his mirrors,
Bob caught sight of Officer Carlyle's cruiser following extremely close. Now, what's the
problem? He pulled off to the side and allowed the officer to pass.
Once the police car was a bit ahead, Bob continued his drive. He's
turning round, mister Moses and his lots are on. Oh don't worry,
I'll handle this. Bob once again pulled over and got out of the car
as Officer Carlyle cockily sauntered over, Good afternoon, sir, that's why you
pulled us over. My friends are very frightened, and I get back in
the car. Follow me. Officer Carlyle shoved back into his own car and
slammed the door. Bobo bade his orders and followed the officer back to mccoms
Police Department. Sit down and don't speak. Bob calmly took a seat in
a chair and crossed his legs while Officer Carlyle and his coworker flipped through a
blab bla ah. Here we go. Boy, you're under arrest for interfering
with an arrest. How could I have interfered with an arrestment? I was
the only one being arrested. Shit, boy, you're under arrest for interfering
with an officer in the discharge of duties. Very well, I'd like to
make a phone call, please, The officer grunted and pointed to a phone.
Thank you, sir, Department of Justice, Washington, d C.
Please. Bob ignored the officers snickers, say hello, this is Robert Moses.
May I speak with John Door please. The officers exchanged nervous glances as
Bob confidently talked to the lawyer for the Justice Department. How the hell did
that get through to Washington? Damn to fine? No, Yes, John,
they've arrested me well, obviously because they're intimidated by me legally helping people
exercise their right to vote. Yes, sir, I'll keep you posted if
they try anything else. Bye Bye, Bob finished his call and turned back
to the officers. They swept him away to an extremely biased trial, where
he was found guilty and given a ninety day suspended sentence and a five dollars
court fee. All due respect, gentlemen, but I will not be paying
that fine. Anybody can see I've committed no crime for that. Bob was
placed in jail for a few days until the NAACP bailed him out. McCombs
and WCP president took Bob to nearby Omite County. Here he met up with
their branch president E. W. E. W wiped sweat from his brow
and waved as Bob walked up to the whitewashed front porch. Welcome, mister
Moses. I've been expecting you. Thank you for inviting me. Mister Steptoe,
I know you folks were stilled in doing this. In case you haven't
noticed yet, Mississippi wasn't exactly the friendliest to African Americans, and Omite County
was actually one of the most dangerous parts for them. Journalist Jack Neufeld,
who wrote for publications such as Village Voice in New York Post, once referred
to the area as the Ninth Circle of hell. The first thing we ought
to do is set up a voting school to educate everyone on the rights and
how to obtain voter registration. I thought we could use the church here on
my farm as a classroom. Wonderful idea. Now, how do we get
everyone here? The house is a father part and I thought. Burke,
who had remained quietly in the background, timidly approached. I have a cars,
sir, I can drive you and others wherever you need. Lucky is
split. With that settled, the men got to work. It was slow
going at first. Even though all Might County's population was predominantly black, it
had the highest amount of Ku Klux Klan members in the state, so most
African Americans were too intimidated to learn how to vote. Nevertheless, Bob Ew
and Herbert gathered up around five people at a time and taught them within the
little church's walls. Bob addressed the small group gathered on the folding chairs.
Now, I won't say it's not dangerous out there. A few more of
our brothers registered successfully last week without any problems. But I've heard the rumblings
of rumors that the white folks are planning something for us tomorrow. Whatever you
do, be peaceful and polite. We're not doing anything illegal. If we
back down, they've won, Herbert, it'll just be Curtius and preaching Knox
with me. So if you want to take the day off from driving,
I am I Yes, all right, gentlemen, let's go home and get
ourselves a good night's rest. Herbert cozy dock next to his wife Prince,
in their bedroom. She closed her book and set it on the nightstand.
You've been quieted in a fox chasing a field mouse, and having turned a
single page of that book. Now, what's wrong? This voting business has
me worried? Herb Folks around here can be meaner than a wet panther,
and I don't want nothing bad happening to you. We have nine mouths to
feed, you know, I know it, Prince. You know I try
and avoid racist folk when we with the children. But this is something I
gotta fight for. I want our babies to grow up in the world.
Well, they don't have to worry about making their political voices heard. Just
promise me you'll be careful. I will. The next evening, Ew slowly
rocked back and forth in a rocking chair, on his front porch. He
waited nervously for Bob and the two voters to return, and when their car
pulled out, e W jumped up to greet them. Sweet Jesus, Bob.
What happened? A bloodied Bob looked up at Ew. His face was
injured so badly that e W almost didn't recognize him. Luijit cassing got us
as we're leaving. He attacked me at the end of his knife. That
billy is thirsty for blood. He'd string all of us up from an oak
if you could and get away with it because he's a sheriff's cousin. Ew
wiped at Bob's face. Shit, we got to get you over to Doc
Henry's place. Bob would end up needing eight stitches for the three gashes.
I'm gonna press charges on that point. But this, this was a good
thing. How can you say it's a good thing? The scam, Miss
Steptoe. The people thought this was just a phase we were going through,
but now they're realizing we're very serious. It might soon be changing their heavoice.
Billy Jack Caston did go to trial for the attack, and Bob testified
against him. But Bob wasn't allowed to witness the final decision, and as
Herbert picked up his morning paper, he saw Billy was acquitted and shook his
head, mourning. Herbert. Herbert looked up as e. H. Hurst
approached morning mister congressman. Oh please, Herbert, call me, mister Hurst.
What can I do for you this morning? Well? I've been thinking
you and I've been friends since we was knee had to api z. I
even helped you get a loan so you could have this your farm. I
know it good, good, But you see, Herbert, it's this voting
business. I've seen you driving that ball over town since he arrived, and
I think it's time you remembered your place. You have this wonderful dairy and
cotton farm which more than provides for your family. What do you need to
vote for? Wouldn't you want my family's support for your reelection? Boy,
I don't need you to win. I have the rest of all community now
if you're small, so you'll stop driving that ball around and stick to picking
cotton. That's what do best, after all. A canary yellow grin spread
between H's sweaty lips. No Eugene would do best is face a challenge until
justice is served. Now, I'll keep driving Bob around until every single in
this community is just a devote The canary melted from EH's perspiring face. Mmmmm,
very wellly, I hope you don't regret that choice. Good day and
good day to you two, Eugene. By September, the threats and intimidations
hadn't stopped, so Bob called him back up in the form of his friend
at the Department of Justice, John Dore. They sat on EW's front porch
one evening and sipped iced tea. We've interviewed just about everyone in this town
who's been facing threats for registering Bob. I think their spirits are a bit
brighter now that we're here. Is there anything else we should know? E
w bit his lip as he rocked back and forth. Just one thing,
mister Dora, my neighbor over yonder eh Hurst. He's been making death threats
for a few days now. John pulled out a notebook and pencil. Do
you have the names he's mentioned? Yes, sir, he said, me
and George Reese, but Herbert Lee's come up the most. John nodded as
he finished writing, I'll go and speak with the other two men. Tonight
will put a stop to this. But when John went to Herbert's home,
he learned he was out on business. Having done what he could, John
returned to d C. The next day, September twenty fifth, Herbert filled
his pickup with cotton and headed towards Liberty. As he passed by a state
senator's house, EH and Billy Jack cast and watched him. Oh there goes
Lee. I have something to see him about. Can I bow? You'll
chug billy. Billy gave the chubby faced man a quizzical look, and Eh
responded by flashing a pistol at him from his shirt. Billy grinned, here's
the key. Teach those what happens when they cross us. As Herbert sweated
in line at the cotton gin in Liberty, EH pulled up behind him and
got out of the sparkling truck. He angrily tapped on Herbert's window with his
gun. We gotta talk, Herbert. I'm not playing around this time.
Herbert stared at the gun, then shifted his gaze to EH's wicked face.
Won't talk to you unless you put the gun down. Each did what he
was asked, and Herbert slid out from the passenger side, his heart racing
at his chest. The air was sticky hot, but it was welcome after
being inside the stuffy truck. Herbert trudged around to the front of the rusted
vehicle. You ain't running, boy. Several people had now gathered around to
see what the commotion was, so they watched as Eh kicked up dust running
to meet Herbert, sunlight fulgrating off the metal of his pistol. I don't
want any trouble, eu gee, I just H's hand quivered slightly as he
lowered the weapon and leered down at his dead friend. Scarlet liquid slowly eked
out from Herbert's soft brown skin, skin that would no longer feel the heat
of the day or be touched by his wife's gentle hands. The sheriff hustled
over. I'm oh getting the cob photos. Make a move on you,
he whisked. Hege away, ignoring the flies slowly gathering around the feast of
the open wound. One witness, African American Lewis Allen, couldn't take his
eyes off the traumatic scene. His thumbs never moved from the strops of his
blue overalls. Ain't somebody gonna called corner. Ain't nobody gonna take that body?
Okay, just leave him there, And yet they did. Accounts differ,
but Herbert's body laid uncovered in the sticky, stifling street for at least
two hours while corners from different towns argued over who would be forced to take
him in. Eventually someone claimed him, but they needed a coroner's jury to
help decide the cause of death. Sheriff Daniel Jones, unrelated to her voice
actor and my boyfriend for the record, forcefully led Lewis into his car and
drove off. Listen, boy, they're going to ask you a lot of
questions. You're gonna tell them that threatened mister Hurst, got it, but
you hush up. There was money trouble between the two of them, and
he wasn't going to pay mister Hearst. He grabbed a tie iron from his
truck and was going to whack mister hers whitty. Mister Hurst fought for his
life and the gun accidentally discharged and killed him. Understand with no other choice,
Lewis nodded yes, sir. Five witnesses were called to testify, Aby
Westbrook and Jack Reynolds, who were both white and Lewis Jesse Anderson and Reverend
Or Marshall, who were African American. As the courthouse doors opened, the
men were greeted by a room filled with tall, lluscular, and armed white
men. In that terrifying situation, what other choice did they have but to
give a false testimony. In the end, the all white jury concluded the
murder was justified since it was allegedly in self defense. If you're thinking,
what the actual fuck, trust me, you aren't alone. Herbert was given
a funeral in which Bob Moses attended. Prince caught his eye and rushed across
the lawn, her eyes moist with tears. This is your fault. If
you hadn't come to this town, my husband would still be alive. You
gave us black vocal, false hope, and heartache. You murdered Herbert,
You son of a bitch. Bob didn't have any words for her and hung
his head. He couldn't help but feel like she was right. Herbert's death
was a heavy blow for him, as it was the first death due to
being involved with Snick. Bob packed his bags and prepared to leave all Mike
County. The night before he left, he knocked on ew screen door.
Good evening, mister Moses, evening. I had just stopped buying, say
goodbye. If I can't protect you folks from white retaliation, that I have
no business being here. Both men turned to see Louis Allen timidly approaching.
Mister Moses. My name's Louis Allen. I was wanted the men there when
Herbert was murdered. The white folks forced me to lie, to stand and
will I did it to protect my family? If I told them the truth
they killed them Amy, they sure would, mister Allen, I haven't been
able to sleep. See. It's one thing a lie about a man who's
still alive, you can apologize to him and hope he'll understand. But a
dead man, well you can't ask for his forgidness. Bob thought it over
and wound up calling the Department of Justice again to see if maybe his friend
John Dor could reopen the case. John Dor was denied three times by the
FBI before they finally agreed to take another look at the murder. Lewis agreed
to testify, but requested protection, and unfortunately, the Justice Department wasn't able
to grant his request. Faced once again with the room of intimidating white men.
Lewis repeated his previous false testimony, and e. H Hurst was never
punished for murdering Herbert's league. Word got out that Lewis was considering telling the
truth, and the white folks in town began threatening him. The day before
he was going to move out of town, Lewis was discovered dead in his
front lawn. His murder still remains officially unsolved to this day, even though
it's been reinvestigated in recent years. Hi welcome. On May twenty fifth,
twenty twenty, nearly sixty years after Herbert's murder, a forty six year old
man entered a Minneapolis convenience store. Perhaps you've heard his name. If you
have, say it with me loud and as strongly as you can. George
the Lloyd Chester Cigarettes, Yes, sir, ten dollars out of twenty,
Have a good night. The employee watched George leave and scrutinized the bill.
He picked up the phone and dialed nine one one. What's your emergency.
I'm working down at the Quakeies Martin. This guy just gave me a counterfeit
twenty George Floyd paused as cops swarmed around him. One of them, Derek
Chauvin, held George on the ground with his knee pressed on the back of
George's neck. Onlookers pleaded with the officers, Oh my God, get off
him. He needs help. The records differ as to how long Derek held
George like this, but a New York Times report says that, based on
a timestamp video, it was longer than the seven minutes and forty six seconds
that some people have reported. But let's be real, the time doesn't really
matter because George Floyd was killed while Derek pressed down on his neck. Whether
you believe George Floyd was guilty or not quite frankly, doesn't matter to me.
What we know is the Minneapolis Police Department broke protocol and decided that George
was guilty until proven innocent. Oh I'm sorry, last I knew it was
innocent until proven guilty. The point I'm trying to make is this, about
sixty years ago, a black man was murdered in broad daylight by a white
politician who was whisked away by a sheriff who made sure that witnesses lied on
the stand. Now, the four officers involved in George Floyd's murder. We're
all fired the next day. But why is it that sixty years later people
still hold this bullshit bias that all African Americans are criminals. Look, I
really strive to not get political on this podcast because it's about true crime and
not politics. But the deaths of innocent people like Brianna Taylor, Ahmed Aarbury,
Stefan Clark, and so so many others falls into the category of true
crime. In my eyes, I think it's time that we, and more
specifically cops, take a look again at Atticas. Finch told his daughter's scout,
it's a sin to kill a mockingbird. Lesson from a mocking Bird was
written, narrated, and edited by me Skyler fasten Now, and produced by
Daniel Jones. Voice talent was provided by Maurice Whitfield, Tamra Perry, Jeremy
Staple, Walker Barnes, Jeermel de Schwan, and Shatara Irvin. You know,
I'm so glad you joined us for a second season finale. A percentage
of proceeds from this episode will go to Black Lives Matter Los Angeles and charities
honoring George Floyd. So if you like what you heard and feel empowered now.
Please leave us a five star rating review or both on your favorite podcasting
nap. It might not seem like much, but it helps us out more
than you can imagine. You can also share our show with the true crime
lovers in your life so they can enjoy it just as much as you have.
We will be taking a little break from our regular scheduled programming, but
I've already started the episodes for our third season and cannot wait to share them
with you. We're scheduled to be back Wednesday, September second, with a
new episode every single week. Oh yes, I just said. We're going
to become a weekly podcast. Get eck cited to get regular updates on what
we're doing, Meet the cast, or find out more about today's story that
we just didn't have time to cover. Be sure to follow the original Deadtime
Stories on Instagram and Facebook. The links to those pages are in the episode
description. Until next time, stay safe out there. I don't want you
to be the next chapter's topic. On the original Deadtime Stories,