A note to listeners before we begin. Today's story deals with extreme racial tensions
in the Deep South during the Civil Rights Movement, and some language used may
not be appropriate for all listeners. These slurs are solely for the purpose of
historical accuracy and do not reflect mine or the cast and crew's opinions at the
original Deadtime Stories. And now on with our show, What a Wild Ride
twenty twenty was right. I was listening to a radio piece on a local
station one morning while working from home, and in this piece they played clips
of horrible racist things cops and bystanders were saying, and I had to stop
working for a few minutes because I literally started crying. I've never really done
that before, but I'm so happy I did, because it made me realize
just how angry and tired I am with the racism we've seen in America.
Well, researching more about the Civil Rights movement, it floored me to realize
that in the grand scheme of things, segregation wasn't all that long ago.
I mean, in both my parents' lives, whites or coloreds only signs were
still widely used while they were children. Granted dad grew up in California,
and mom in northern Ohio, so I'm not sure how prevalent those were,
but had they traveled south, they for sure would have seen them. But
even in a stereotypical liberal state like California, my dad grew up witnessing racism.
When he was a wee lad, his dad was occasionally host cookouts.
At one of these cookouts, he invited his friends, who just happened to
be an African American family. Now, not everyone appreciated my popops inclusion,
and a few days after the party, their house was stoned. My dad
was confused and asked to Pop up why it happened. Grandfather explained as best
as he could to his toddler what racism was. Five year old Fred Fasted
now didn't understand why other people didn't like the Washington's because they were nice people.
Now, no parent is perfect, but I'm so incredibly thankful that I
was raised with parents who kept that mindset. Skin color literally doesn't determine whether
someone is less than you. And yet, when we saw the deaths of
mister George Floyd and Miss Brianna Taylor, some of my friends of color were
brave enough to share these disheartening stories. About times that they experienced racism by
cops, teachers, coaches, neighbors, etc. Etc. These stories weren't
about neighborhood barbecues from sixty odd years ago. These were stories from my lifetime,
about my friends, with my country as the background. The fight for
equality seems far from over, and today's story will make that even more abundantly
clear. Welcome to the original Deadtime Stories, a weekly podcast where I Skyler
fastonell walk you through a true crime event in the style of an old fashioned
radio program. If you're a fan of our show and want to support us
even more, head on over to patreon dot com slash og Deadtime. We'll
continue this story after these brief messages. Welcome back to our show. For
those who haven't listened to our episode Lesson from a Mocking Bird, I would
highly recommend it just so you get the full background of today's story. Here's
the important thing to note on. My county was one of the most dangerous
places for African Americans during the Civil Rights Movement. The Ku Klux Klan was
prevalent here, in its alleged members being involved with law enforcement and the government.
Of course, mostly's men pled the fifth when asked about their involvement with
the KKK, so on paper they weren't involved, but well, I have
my opinions on the reality. In eighteen seventy, Congress passed the fifteenth Amendment,
which gave people the right to vote no matter their quote, race,
color, or previous condition of servitude, which should mean everyone can vote now.
Hooray. Then Mississippi passed their own constitution on November first, eighteen ninety.
Mississippi's constitution enacted a poll tax and literary tests you had to pass if
you wanted to vote. And guess what. Poorer parts of the community,
which were a majority African American, couldn't afford the poll tax, and odds
were they weren't given as good of an education as their rich white neighbors,
so would likely not be able to pass this literary test. Hey boy,
here's our tests. Please transcribe Article one, section three of the Mississippi Constitution
and interprety. I have a suspicion most of us wouldn't be able to do
that with or without an education. After Mississippi enacted this constitution, other Southern
states followed. This is where the Student Non Violet Coordinated Committee or snick comes
into play. Bob Moses, one of the group's major leaders, traveled to
Mississippi in the summer of nineteen sixty and was disheartened by what he saw.
I was taught about the denial of the right to vote behind the iron curtain
in Europe. I never knew there was a denial of the right to vote
behind a cotton curtain here in the United States. We need to help folks
here register and exercise a right to vote. Of course, this was easier
said than done, because Caucasians in Mississippi felt this was taking away the rights
of white people or whatever. Now in Amite County, a man named Eldridge
Willie Steptoe or Ew worked alongside Herbert Lee to help African Americans properly register.
Herbert's white neighbor, eh Hurst, wasn't a fan of this. Eh As
she might recall, was a member of Congress and had helped Herbert lay claim
to his property. On September twenty fifth, nineteen sixty one, eh followed
Herbert to a local cotton gym, killed the engine on his truck, and
approached with his gun drawn. We gotta talk, Herbert. I'm not playing
around this time. I won't talk to you unless you put the gun down.
Eh lowered the pistol, and Herbert slid out from the passenger side of
the cabin. His heart racing in his chest, he trudged to the front
of the vehicle. You ain't running, boy. By now, several people
had gathered to see what the commotion was. This included an African American man
by the name of Lewis Allen. He lifted the wide brim of his hat
to get a better look. I don't want any trouble, eugee, I
just Lewis's eyes widened as Sheriff Daniel Jones ushered Eh into his cruiser and spat
off, I mean Herbert for dead in the hot sun. Lewis wanted to
scadaddle, but boy, yes, sir, get in the car. The
officer motioned to a police cruiser, and not wanting trouble, Lewis ducked inside.
Listen, boy, they're going to ask you a lot of questions.
You're going to tell them that. Then 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 Hust he grabbed a tire iron from his
truck and he was going to whack mister Hust with it. Mister Hust fought
for his laugh, the gun accidentally discharge and killed him. Understood. Being
a man of color in the racist South, Lewis understood that he had no
other choice. Yes, Sir. Upon arrival at the coroner's jury, Lewis
was greeted by a group of scowling, intimidating white men. He took a
seat and regurgitated the false story. After the other four witnesses testified, the
all white jerry concluded that eh Hurst murdered Herbert Lee in self defense and the
charges were forgotten. Louis returned home late in the evening, feeling deflated.
His wife Elizabeth waited on the front porch and waved as he approached. Your
face is telling me everything I need to know. I had to lie,
Elizabeth, and it's been eating me up all day. You did what you
had to do to protect us, Louis, But mister Lee can't defend himself.
If I lied about a man who was still alive, I could ask
for us forgiveness and hope he understood. But it dead man. You can't
ask him anything. Here, give me your hat and get you some supper.
As you can see, Lewis Allen was an honest man. He elected
to always wear a hat because he saw it as a sign of self respect.
When he was twenty three, he served in World War Two at Camp
Shelby. By the end of the war, numerous African Americans had left Amite
County due to extreme racial tensions and Jim Crow oppression. Lewis wanted to do
the same, but knew he needed to take care of his ailing mother,
so took up work as a logger. He saved up enough money to buy
his own land where he could raise his four children and some cattle to bring
in more money. You ain't touched a drop of that soup, Lewis.
I'm sorry, allowed to protect y'all, but eh is walking free because of
it. I needed to tell somebody to truth. He decided to tell Julian
Bond, Snick's communications director, who encouraged Lewis to tell the FBI. With
the help of SNICK leader Bob Moses, a meeting was set up and nest
a real truth and mister Hurst shot and killed mister Lee completely unprovoked. In
that case, we'll need to set up another trial, a federal one this
time, and we'd need you to testify. Mister Allen, with one of
your agents stuck around after the folks weren't here, would be itching to lynch
me if I dared speak up, sir, I'm not sure we could guarantee
your protection, mister Allen. Without guaranteed protection and still scared for his family's
safety, Lewis repeated his self defense story and e. H Hurst was exonerated
for murdering Herbert Lee and broad Daylight. We all know people love to gossip,
So even though Lewis lied in favor of eh there were whispers around town
that he originally planned to come forward with the truth. And there's nothing racist
white people loathed more than a brave African American who could topple their social hierarchy.
Sheriff Daniel Jones was especially miffed and focused all of his energy on ruining
Lewis's life. He leaned against his police cruiser alongside another white man. There
he is, Sheriff. That's the who's been raising bill for them boys who
stole from my store, the ones I arrested last week. Yes, Sir,
that boy's trouble. We all stopped using his logging business after he threatened
to testify about mister huss But he ain't afraid. How are you going to
stop him? Lock him up with his little friends. On June thirtieth,
nineteen sixty two, Sheriff Jones followed Lewis to his property and slowly walked up
the driveway even in Sheriff Lewis, allen, you are under arrest for interfering
with an officer. What, Sheriff, you have the rob that hole in
your face. Your husband's been raising bill for some colored boys. I rested
for shoplifting. He's in a fearing with the law that Elizabeth. He's right,
I have been raising bail. Let me grab my hat, Shu,
and don't you budge from that spot. Louis slowly raised his hands, Yes,
sir, but if you let my son Hank grab my hat, I'll
go with you. Without hesitation. Sheriff Jones clabbered Lewis with his heavy flashlight.
Blood splattered the front porch, but Lewis didn't let his freshly broken jaw
bother him. He allowed Sheriff Jones to handcuff him and entered the police cruiser
without uttering a word. Lewis spent several days in prison. Please, sir,
and need a doctor to look at muntja looks like any other colored man's
jaw to me, shut up. Louis was eventually released from prison and bravely
decided to take Sheriff Jones to court for assaults. Since you have to be
registered to vote to serve on a jury, and most African Americans were barred
from voting, the jury was all white. All right, let's see here.
The jury has said no bill, meaning that Lewis's broken jaw wasn't sufficient
evidence of officer harassment, and the charges were dropped. Classic there ain't no
justice in this town, Lewis. You're an honest man. I worked for
you for wood. We'll shoot. So many years are gone, and forgot
how many. I wish we could do some to teach that Sheriff Jones lesson.
No, you know how this world works, Leo. So long as
the clan is in control of our town's government, we just gotta stand by
and smile until we can vote and make a change. And when is that
gonna happen? We went to register last summer and got shout at, so
we keep on fighting. Well, you saw how that worked for her book.
Oh shoot, my lunch breaks over. My best be getting back to
the mouth. Yes, sir, me too. You keep your chin up,
Leo, that's the only way to see change. Sheriff Jones leered down
at the two African American manners. They parted ways, then pounced on Leo.
Good afternoon, Sheriff. What's your name boy, Leo McNaught? Sir?
You know that Evan Louis Alan, Well, yes, sir, used
to work at his lumber yard. Well your best forget about him. Yeah
here his business is going stale, and Anny with a quarter of a brain
knows wood rot spreads to the rest of the tree. Leo raised his head
with pride. No color men, not to re elect a corrupt official.
Good thing, you choose not to vote this town. By affiliating himself with
Lewis Allen, Leo made himself a prime target, and in February of nineteen
sixty three, his home mysteriously burned down, with his wife, son in
law, pregnant daughter, and himself still inside. Officially, the fire's cause
is unknown, but many African Americans believed it was deliberately started as a warning.
If that's the case, Sheriff Daniel Jones was getting bolder and no person
of color in town was safe. The original deadtime stories will continue after these
messages. And now back to our story of those chickens taking thank you so
come again soon? Right? Oh, good afternoon, Lewis. Afternoon,
mister Johnson, How are you well better than you these days? Look,
maybe we should talking about you, know how? Folks here are the white
business owner who will call Michael Johnson led Lewis into his office, making sure
that no curious eyes were watching. I've heard you got in the bathroom,
Sheriff Johns. Yeah, you've heard right, Mike. He's intimidating folks to
stop using my business, which is why I'm here. And you and me's
been best friends since we was kids, and I worked for you for ten
years, one of my best employees. If you have any work you need
done around the house, I'd be more than obliged to. I wish I
could help you, but I have nothing right now, Louis. The best
thing you could do is leave your little family and the innocent people, and
your house could get burned down, all of you could get killed like Leo.
I don't want that to happen to you. I know it, and
I'm itching to leave town. They have someone out to my house watch me
all the time, but mine's too sick to travel, and I still got
debts to some folks. Mister Johnson chefs here. I'll be right out.
No you need, mister Johnson, I'm here for this. We did a
search of that rust bucket truck of yours. It was illegally parked out front,
and we found this in the glove box. Why you got a twenty
two in your truck? When I went into Louisiana on business, I was
told to always carry one. The official record will state that on the sixth
day of November nineteen six to three, Lewis Allen has been placed under arrest
for carrion a concealed weapon and writing bad checks. Bad checks clerk told me
that one I asked who's beat up truck was pocked out, Sheriff mister Allen's
never written. Sheriff Jones's eyes blazed threateningly into Michael's. The store owner silently
sat back in his chair and looked away. Come on, boy, back
to the slammer. You get Lewis sat on the tiny wooden stool with his
back against the cold stone wall. Who it's gonna be a good night warning?
We got our sells, some folks, itch and a lynch. Then
tell him I'd be taking a break round eleven if they want to visit.
Hope the sheriff won't mind. I think he thought the idea here, that
boy, you're getting strong up to night. Come on warden, let's get
him some bread and water. Once the monsters were gone, Lewis looked out
his tiny cell window and spotted his son, Hank been waiting for folks to
leave. Bah you good? Rumor? Has it a mob's coming to night?
I think you can stand guard? Of course I can, good boy,
Now go home, get you some supper. Didn't tell mama you go
into a friend's house. I don't need he'll worry. Yes, Sir Hank
stood guard outside the prison like attic his bench and to kill a mocking bird.
Either it was a rumor or. They were intimidated by Hank, but
no mob showed up, and within three weeks the naacp raised enough funds to
cover Lewis's bail. Lewis was totally shaken up, though, and ready to
leave town as soon as he could. Some of the names in government reports
have been redacted, but we know Louis asked someone, presumably Hank, to
go with him whenever he left home, because he felt safer with him there
By now, even Louis's friends of color were avoiding him, making life absolutely
miserable. When his mother passed away in early nineteen sixty four, Louis knew
it was time to head north to Milwaukee, where they could stay with his
brother. Okay, Pa, Gared mees going to a party tonight. You
need me. I'm going to mister Johnson's for a letter of recommendation. Can
you follow me to the highway? I should be safe from there, yes,
sir. Around seven, Hank and his friend got in the family car
as Louis started his truck. Hank cautiously followed his father, keeping an eye
out for any suspicious activity. Everything ran smoothly as they approached Highway twenty four
and parted ways. It was about midnight when Hank returned home. What's Daddy's
truck doing at the end of the driveway. He'll kill his battery, leaving
those lights on all night Hank entered his dad's truck bed and saw the keys
were still in the ignition, but the car was not running. Confused,
he slowly stepped back out and lost his balance. Oh what the Hank motioned
for his friend to drive the car closer so he could see what he stepped
on. As the headlights flooded the scene, Hank screamed, having realized that
he stepped on his father's hand when he exited the truck. It wasn't the
hand that concerned him, though, it was the fact that the left side
of his father's face had been completely blown off. He ran back to the
car. What do we do? I don't know. I mean, we
have to get to shaff Rock, the man who probably set this up.
Who else do we tail? With no other choice, the men sped over
to Sheriff Jones's home, who returned with coroner William Bridges around one twenty five.
Hold my flashlight, boy, Yes, sir. Based on his temperature,
I'd say he's been dead about two hours and was shot from the right
rear end of his truck. Thank you, doctor Bridges. Ain't you going
to do an autopsy or something? Nah, there's no need to trouble mister
bridges with that. But let me see if I can find something that caused
the problem in his wallet, Sir, you've been trying to vote, ain't
you. Yo. Daddy must have ticked off the wrong person. Let's see
what we got? Some cash and identification card and what's this in a ACP
membership card. Huh. I'll hold on to these for evidence. He would
later return the wallet in cash, but not the NACP card. Now you
get to bed. No sense in keeping you around to interrupt my investigation,
Yes, sir. Sheriff Jones stayed at the crime scene until sunrise and claimed
to find no fingerprints, tire marks from another car, shotgun shells, or
any other evidence. When he searched an open field across from the property,
he didn't find traces of anyone lying in wait for Lewis's return home. So,
with no evidence, the coroner's jury determined that the cause of death was
a homicide by a person or persons unknown. Now there was a time where
that would have been the end of the story, and they all lived miserably
ever after. But then in two thousand and seven, the Emmett Till unsolved
civil rights crime Act showed up, meaning the Department of Justice would investigate violations
of criminal civil rights statutes ending in death before December thirty first, nineteen sixty
nine. Played to Robinson, a professor at Tulane University, had studied Lewis
Allen's murder since nineteen ninety four and came to the FBI with countless hours of
research and transcripts that he believed pointed to Sheriff Daniel Jones as the murderer.
You're not shocked by that, right, Well, it'll be even less shocking
to learn that Daniel changed his story nearly every time he was interviewed. For
example, he claimed that he never found any evidence at the crime scene,
and yet we know he took the NAACP card. And another source said that
he witnessed Daniel taking crime scene photos, picking up shotgun shell watting and found
a pistol. I may not be an expert, but that sounds like evidence
to me. The exact details of what went down on the day of the
murder aren't entirely known because of Daniel's ever changing story, but let me piece
it together as best as I can from FBI transcripts. Rewind to the sixties
and enter Audrey Weatherspoon, an African American man. Oh shoot, Audrey,
she have Jones's back. I told you he was looking for you earlier.
It ain't ever good news of his shows up. I ain't near five o'clock.
I ain't need ship down evening. Boy, your wife tell you about
my truck. Boom. She said something about mating work done on it.
That's right, looks like you ain't busy now getting the car? Oh?
Hi you Jack? Another African American man named Jack White silently nodded hello as
Sheriff Jones started the truck. I got a proposition for you, lucky.
Y'all know, I'll run this town if I like you. All Whites like
you, y'all know Lewis allen me, sir. Then you know nobody in
this town likes him, especially not me. We're gonna make the town happy
and kill him. Getting that grass he just left, But he ain't gonna
be long. The three men hid themselves in the tall grass across from Lewis's
home until he returned around eight thirty. There he is, boys, Would
you pull the trigger? Would you shoot him? No? I ain't gonna
do it. I'm gonna shoot him. You come out here to kill him,
You kill witless? Give me that gun. Oh good, ain't it?
Mister Joe getting the car? And if you breathe a word of this
to anyone, I will do the same to you. Understand, Yes,
Sir. Daniel Jones never admitted this story to the FBI, but Reverend Alfred
Knox told Plater that Audrey confessed all of it to him. When the FBI
interviewed a redacted sore who I believe to be Audrey's wife, she said he
returned home around three that morning. Though they never spoke of the murder.
She assumed that Audrey had something to do with it because I could put two
and two together and it ain't a coincidence. All the black business except Audrey's
was run off Main Street and asked for Jack White. One day, while
he was in a grocery store, he overheard a few men discussing how Sheriff
Jones shot Lewis. He didn't see who they were, but he did find
a note on his car the next day threatening to kill him if he didn't
leave town, so he fled to Baton Rouge. Plater interviewed Daniel Jones twice,
and the FBI followed up in two thousand and seven and two thousand and
ten. You asked me about the Lois Allan case, and I'm a hundred
percent in my mind that the clan was responsible for that. But as far
as proof and evidence, not only I couldn't find it. The FBI had
thirteen agents in Discounting at one time working on that or other cases, and
in that particular case, they didn't find any evidence. I have regrets in
my life, sure, but I didn't murder Lewis. Both Audrey and Jack
say otherwise if there was evidence to support that, they would have charged me.
Then who do you think did it? Probably someone trying to get the
money Lewis just got for a trip. Mister Jones, Were you involved with
the KKK? I played the fifth on that question, But look, I
see where you're trying to go with this, and I'm tired of people blaming
me for the murder. It's clear that this is those NACP people trying to
advance their own agenda. Mister Jones, would you be willing to take a
polygraph test about the murder? It'd clear your name? Nah, my enemies
us something like that against me. I've made peace with my maker, and
I know I didn't do it. Daniel Jones passed away in twenty thirteen,
still claiming he had nothing to do with the murder, though the Omit County
Sheriff's Department didn't have any evidence on file, a redacted source within the department
told the FBI that they witnessed Norman Travis, the sheriff, after Daniel Jones
removed three crime scene photos. These pictures depicted the cattle gate outside Lewis's home,
Lewis's body underneath the truck, and the truck door. This same sheriff
told the source, this murder was a tragedy and as sure as you're sitting
there, Daniel Jones had something to do with it, but you can't ever
tell anyone about it. Unfortunately, Sheriff Travis passed away in two thousand and
four before anyone could interview him. The FBI closed their investigation in twenty fifteen,
determining that it wasn't a prosecutable crime since there wasn't sufficient evidence. Anyone
who could admit to anything has since passed away, meaning the murder of Lewis
Allen will officially remain unsolved. Of course, I have a firm belief that
a certain racist white sheriff who most likely was involved with the KKK since his
daddy was an exalted Cyclops or whatever, is the culprit. But that's just
my opinion. But I'm glad Sheriff Jones made peace with his maker. Good
for him. The case of Lewis Allen does have me asking a lot of
questions, though I feel like this cold case doesn't get a lot of traction,
while something like The Boy in the Box still gets talked about consistently.
Investigators and anyone involved with both of these crimes have since passed away, and
they were from roughly the same era. Yet I've heard more about the Boy
in the Box from TV shows, podcast, etc. And only happened to
come across Lewis Allen's story while researching the murder of Herbert Lee. It's very
telling to me what culture has to hermit is necessary for us to look into.
I sincerely hope we can one day get an official story for the murder
of Lewis Allen, and more importantly, see an end to racism. The
Mockingbirds Lesson Continues was written, directed and edited by me Skyler Fastenell and executive
produced by Daniel Jones, who has no relation to Sheriff Daniel Jones. Just
for the record, voice talent was provided by Tamra Perry, Maurice Whitfield,
Shuitar, Irvin Jeremy Staple, and Daniel Jones. Our theme music was performed
by Tracy Zails and our cover artwork by Catherine Fastenell. We are so grateful
you tuned into another episode. If you enjoyed our show, let us in
the rest of the world know by leaving a review and five star rating on
the podcasting app you're using. It does help us out so much. We
appreciate all of your constant support and if you'd like to help us continue making
this podcast, please check out Patreon dot com, slash og Deadtime ASA.
Thank you, you'll get early access to new content, add free episodes,
signed artwork, and a plethora of other goodies. You can also check out
our Instagram, Facebook, and Twitter at the original Deadtime Stories to keep up
to date with what we've been up to. As always, we will be
returning in one week with a story that proves it's sometimes good to be obsessed
with the murder. Until then, stay safe out there. I don't want
you to become the next chapter's topic on the original Deadtime stories.