He Was Blinded, But Justice Was Not Blind

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If you read the New York Times’ 1619 Project, you would have seen an old photograph of Sergeant Isaac Woodard and his mother taken in 1946.

The sunglasses Sergeant Woodard is wearing will lead you to believe that he is blind, even before you read the caption.

Within five hours of returning stateside from WWII, Sergeant Woodard was beaten by Police Chief Lynnwood Shull of Batesburg, SC, and then blinded by the chief’s forcing his blackjack into each of the sergeant’s eyes.

His crime? He asked the bus driver if he could get off at the next stop to use the bathroom. The bus driver cursed him and he cursed the driver back.

Sergeant Woodard never did receive judicial justice for the beating despite three trials over several years. He was, however, the match that lit the flame that would lead in a direct line to the Brown v. Board of Education decision in 1954.

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Judge Waring

Unexampled Courage: The Blinding of Sgt. Isaac Woodard and the Awakening of President Harry S. Truman and Judge J. Waties Waring focuses mainly on Judge Waring’s evolution from fair, decent federal judge in South Carolina to fiery civil rights proponent.

However, had Sergeant Woodard not told a bus driver on a fateful night in 1946, “I am a man, just like you!”, that evolution might never have happened.

Walter White, executive director of the NAACP at the time, heard about Sergeant Waring’s beating and was determined to bring it to the widest public attention possible. He enlisted the aid of Orson Welles, who did a radio show about it that drew widespread outrage in the North. Woody Guthrie wrote a song called “The Blinding of Isaac Woodard.” It was one of the few cases where a lynching victim (remember, lynching did not require ropes, but was any act of violence toward an African-American) actually survived.

A show trial had been held locally that of course exonerated Shull. President Truman learned about the beating and was concerned, but until White personally described it to the President, Truman had no idea of the outrages that were being committed in the South. He pressed his Justice Department to hold a federal trial.

Though the FBI had investigated the beating, it was J. Edgar Hoover’s FBI and the local agents could have cared less. The federal prosecutors also did not want to be involved and the prosecutor in charge of the trial was half-hearted at best and negligent at worst. Politicians and elected officials in South Carolina were outraged that the federal government was getting involved and did their best to stop it.

They didn’t stop it, but with an all-white jury and a lackluster prosecution, Shull was found not guilty.

Judge Waring presided over the trial and was dismayed by its outcome. Around the same time, he divorced his wife and remarried. His second wife was a Northerner. Waring had been at best a gradualist, believing that fairer treatment of African-Americans was something to work toward in the future. By the time more cases of racial inequality came to his court, he and his wife began seriously studying the whole history and present state of civil rights, and he was soon considered an activist judge.

Among cases that came before him and brought him the wrath of his fellow South Carolinians was one that involved the state’s Democratic Party disallowing African-Americans to vote in primaries without signing a pledge that they would not thereby consider themselves equal to whites.

The country at that time was still using the SCOTUS precedent of Plessy vs. Ferguson in civil rights cases. This was the argument that schools, public accommodations, etc. were to be “separate but equal” for African-Americans. We know that in fact, everything was separate AND UNEQUAL.

Judge Waring began seeking out civil rights cases to advance on his docket that would challenge using Plessy v. Ferguson and move on to segregation itself being unequal.  His first attempt was in a case regarding the unequal pay of teachers in African-American schools compared with white schools. His second attempt was in a case regarding the poor conditions of the African-American schools. The prosecution was blindsided, however, by the school district’s raising a bond to update the African-American schools rather than integrate the students in the white schools.

It was Briggs v. Elliott that was the landmark case connected directly to Brown and was consolidated in Brown. Thurgood Marshall prosecuted the case for the NAACP before a three-judge panel that included Judge Waring. Though the case was lost, Judge Waring’s dissenting opinion established the “Per Se” argument, that segregation in and of itself was per se unequal. The case was eventually consolidated into Brown v. Board of Education.

Briggs v. Elliott also was the first time that sociologists Kenneth and Mamie Clark’s research was introduced for the prosecution. That research showed that African-American children’s developmental status was harmed by segregation. They used black and white dolls and asked children which doll was “good” and which doll was “bad.” The majority of black children chose the white doll as “good,”  indicating that they had internalized the oppression of segregation and racism.

All of the plaintiffs in Waring’s civil right cases faced the backlash of losing jobs, being threatened, and other reprisals. After a cross was burned on their lawn, rocks thrown through their windows, and innumerable threats, the Warings themselves left South Carolina and moved to New York City. The Warings had become social pariahs in Charleston because of their friendships with the NAACP’s  Walter White and Thurgood Marshall; in New York, they met and earned the admiration of many other civil rights leaders, including Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. The judge retired but edited opinions and arguments for civil rights trials.

Author Richard Gergel is also a judge and also known for his civil rights activism in South Carolina. He is best known for being the presiding judge in Dylann Roof’s trial for the murder of nine blessed souls at Mother Emmanuel Church in Charleston. His book is compelling and dense with facts of the state of civil rights during this period.

What happened to Sergeant Woodard? In the immediate time after he was blinded, he received no training in how to navigate life. His Army pension did not include disability payments because  he had already been demobbed. His wife left him and he was forced to move to the Bronx to live with his parents.

The NAACP did much to help him, raising funds by taking him on a speaking tour.  He received half of the proceeds. Some of that money was invested in an annuity for him and some was used, unwisely, to buy a multi-family rental property where he and his family could live and also receive an income. That property was taken by the state of New York by eminent domain in the 1950s to build new housing.

Sergeant Woodard fought for and was finally granted full disability payments from the Army. He was finally able to buy a home for his aging parents, the cousin who was his caregiver, and two sons from a relationship. He owned a business and professed in his later years that he was a happy, contented man. He died in 1992.

Let there be no mistake: This is not a story about “white saviors.” If any savior is to be found, it is Sergeant Woodard for standing up for himself, enduring grueling trials in a debilitated physical state, and being the source of Judge Waring’s and President Truman’s epiphanies that racial justice was not something that should wait for an undetermined time in the future; the time had come. Indeed, it was long overdue.

The sad realization at the end of the book is that racial justice is still overdue, and I’ve no doubt that underscoring this tragic fact was part of Judge Gergel’s motivation in writing Unexampled Courage.

Racism is a white problem, and only by white people educating themselves and putting themselves in positions where such epiphanies as Judge Waring had can be experienced will racism be overcome.

May it be so.

 

The Moral Universe – What Happened at Port Chicago was not Mutiny

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It seems impossible to start a new post without referring to current events. It is more important than ever, I believe, that white people understand the twisted history of the African-American experience in the United States. While many of the tragedies have led to civil rights legislation, the cumulative effect of this history has left scars on millions of our fellow citizens.

My friend Don told me about the Port Chicago incident last Labor Day weekend, and the subject has been on my “write about” list since. It was the release of Steve Sheinkin’s book on CD for young adults that finally spurred me to get down to business.

Port Chicago bookcoverThe Port Chicago 50 is a short and concise history of the explosion and the mutiny trial of 50 African-American sailors, a perfect read or listen for young people and adults as well. Read by Dominic Hoffman, it would make a good project for Black History Month. (Even though it is American history, I doubt you’ll ever find it in a regular history textbook.)

During World War II, thousands of African-American men were ready, willing and eager to sign up for military service. Joe Small went with a friend to a recruitment center to enlist in the Army. It was late in the day and the white officer was in a hurry to close the office. He signed Joe’s friend up for the Army and Joe for the Navy. He did not tell Joe that the Navy was segregated and that black men could only serve as mess workers and would never actually go to sea.

Joe was assigned to Port Chicago, at the time an isolated Naval Magazine outside of San Francisco. There he was assigned, along with other black servicemen, to load live ammunition and bombs onto ships. Joe was a born leader, and the other men looked up to him and often sought his advice; he became the foreman of his group. None of them was happy that the white officers often bet each other as to whose group could load the ammunition fastest. The sailors had had no training in loading live ammunition at all, and an offer by a San Francisco teamsters’ group to come instruct them was turned down by the Navy.

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The remains of the SS Quinault Victory. The SS E.A. Bryan was completely disintegrated by the blast.

On July 17, 1944, around 10 pm, during a loading session, a bomb went off, killing most every sailor nearby and even civilians in the town of Port Chicago while also rattling windows in San Francisco. The SSEA Bryan, carrying 4,600 tons of ammunition already, and the SS Quinault Victory, carrying 430 tons of bombs, were blown sky-high. The blast sent up a 30-foot wall of water. Of the 320 killed, 202 were black enlisted men. Of the 390 injured, 233 were black enlisted men. (These facts come from the American Merchant Marine at War website, www.usmm.org.)

After the blast, the black sailors were ordered back to work. On the parade ground, Joe and his group of 250 men stood still. One officer after another came out to harangue them, and 200 of the men eventually went back to work. Fifty men were detained in a barracks while the Navy tried to figure out what to do with them.

joe smallThe detained men held a meeting at which Joe was the unofficial chair. They decided to continue to refuse the load ammunition, saying that they were scared to do so because nothing about the operation had changed and another explosion could happen at any time.

The 50 were court-martialed on charges of mutiny. In fact, the military definition of mutiny was based on not just refusing orders, but actually attempting to take over the authorities and establish the mutineers’ own authority. The fact that the men had held a meeting indicated conspiracy, said the prosecutor, Lieut. Cmdr. Joseph Coakley, despite the fact that the men all volunteered to serve in active duty or any other duty than loading live ammunition.

Lieut. Gerald Veltmann’s defense of the 50 failed and they were all sentenced to 15 years’ imprisonment. Thurgood Marshall, then an NAACP lawyer, appealed the verdict, but it was upheld.

Attempts were made over the years to exonerate and/or pardon the black sailors over the years. In 1999, President Clinton did pardon Freddie Meeks, 80 years old at the time. Mr. Meeks, one of the last surviving members of the 50, was grateful. However, a pardon is not the same as having the conviction overturned, and there are still activists who would like to see this happen.

The Navy was desegregated in 1945.