The reckoning, p.10
The Reckoning, page 10
“That’s a good question. I’m here because I want justice for one of my members, Joshua Phillips, who was killed so brutally. He was shot three times in the chest. And I’m here because I’m tired of the way my people are being treated. I’m here because we have to continue to fight for progress. The struggle for freedom and justice is an ongoing one. But one we must undertake unwaveringly.”
“Did you know Mr. Phillips?” Lamar asked, trying to look interested even though he already knew the answer.
“Yes, I did. He was a member of my congregation. He was a good man. He was a civil rights hero. He did so much for this town. I just wish we could have recognized him before this tragic incident.”
“Thank you, Reverend Thurmond,” Lamar told the pastor, ending the interview.
“Thank you, young man,” Reverend Thurmond responded in kind. “Great interview. Your grandfather would be proud.”
“Your grandfather would be proud,” Lamar repeated to himself.
Drayton ain’t got nothing on me, he thought.
Emboldened by the pastor’s encouraging words, he looked for someone else to interview. He spotted Kyra and dashed over to her.
“Can I interview you?” he asked, not knowing what her response would be.
Kyra gave him a double take, then answered, “Yes. Don’t ask me no dumb questions, now, you hear?” she warned.
“Why would I ask you dumb questions, Kyra?”
“I’m just saying.”
Lamar ignored his sister and started the video camcorder rolling.
“I’m here at the protest for justice for Joshua Phillips. I’m speaking with Kyra Ayana Phillips.”
“Stop. Stop,” Kyra interrupted him, waving her hand at the video camcorder. “Why do you have to use my entire name? Just introduce me as Kyra Phillips.”
Lamar tried to keep from laughing. But he knew Kyra was just being Kyra.
“Okay. Okay,” he said to her. “But that is your name.”
“Just do what I say, okay?”
He started again. “I’m speaking with Kyra Phillips. She is the granddaughter of Joshua Phillips and one of the organizers of the protest. Kyra, can you tell us why you organized this protest?”
“Yes, I can tell you. Because a White racist shot and killed my grandfather. And if we don’t raise hell, nothing will be done about it.”
“What’s next?”
“What’s next! We’re going to keep protesting. We’re trying to get justice.”
“Do you think you’ll get justice?”
“We aren’t gonna stop until we do. We’ll come here every day. We’ll even boycott stores like they did during the civil rights days. We’re not gonna stop until the truth comes out and that man is arrested and sent to prison for assassinating my grandfather.”
Lamar attempted to ask another question, but Kyra raised her hand for him to stop.
“You have enough,” she told her brother. “I’ve got other things to do.”
Kyra rushed off and Lamar looked around for someone else to interview. He noticed Drayton Wilkerson speaking with a mostly White group that had gathered across the street. He raced over to see what was happening. The elderly White man that Drayton was interviewing seemed visibly upset.
“They’re making something out of nothing,” he spat out. “Just like they always do when something like this happens. They ain’t nothing but a bunch of troublemakers!”
“So you believe the shooting was justified?” Drayton asked.
“Hell yeah, it was justified. That, that…man came after Mr. Thigpen with a tire iron. What would you do if you was in his shoes?”
“So you don’t think the shooting was racially motivated?”
“Gimme a break. These people see race behind every doggone thing. I’ve had it up to here. They got their president. They own professional basketball. By God, the mayor of this town is Colored. I’m tired of ’em! Whose side you on? You’re White too, ain’t you?”
The elderly White man stormed off, ending the interview. Drayton approached another White man, who shook his head no and walked away. Others turned away as well. As Drayton started to leave, a younger White man came up to him.
“Are you going to run that interview?” he asked.
“It’s not up to me,” Drayton answered. “The folks at the station make that decision.”
“I hope they don’t run it. That gentleman doesn’t speak for all of us. Some of us don’t feel the way he does.”
“He speaks for me!” another middle-aged White man shouted. “Run it! We’re tired of hiding. Run every bit of it!” He stormed away, too. Discouraged, the younger White man moved aimlessly down the street.
Drayton seemed stunned by the candor he had encountered. After watching the younger White man walk away, so did he.
Thinking he might be able to get an important interview, Lamar approached one of the few Whites who remained. An overweight, middle-aged White man dressed in jeans and a blue flannel shirt seemed like a good prospect. Lamar had seen him before and thought his name was Mr. Madlock. Maybe he would remember seeing Lamar.
“What do you think of the protest?” Lamar asked, holding the video camcorder up high.
“Get away from me, boy! Go back over there where you belong and leave us alone!” the man yelled at him, his face turning red with anger. “If you point that camera at me, I’ll take it from you and smash it on the ground.” After staring menacingly at Lamar, he stormed off like the elderly White man had done.
Stunned, Lamar just stood there. He hadn’t expected that response. Yes, he had seen the stares from some Whites when he went downtown, their eyes examining him, assuming that he might be there to steal. He had even heard the N-word, but not spoken directly to him. But in all his twelve years, he had never experienced the in-your-face hatred that he had just encountered.
All kinds of feelings flooded over him. He felt sad. He felt hurt. He felt angry.
Suddenly, a comforting hand rested on his shoulder. An elderly Black man greeted him when he turned around. “You’ve just experienced real racism, son,” the man told him. “Kind of shocked you, huh?”
Lamar didn’t respond. He didn’t know what to say.
“I saw you come over here,” the man continued. “So I thought I’d follow you, just in case. What did you expect after seeing how they responded to that White news reporter? I grew up experiencing that kind of stuff. You’ve not faced it so blatantly like that. When something like the murder of a Black man by a White man happens, it surfaces again. That’s what your grandfather was fighting against. Now, I think you and me should go back where it’s safer.”
After crossing the street, Lamar went to the steps of the post office, where he could sit and think. He placed his video camcorder on the step next to him and stared at the sidewalk below him.
The noise the protestors made as they continued their march seemed far away. He wasn’t thinking about the protest now.
“Gramps must have put up with a lot back in the day,” he said softly. “I see what he was talking ’bout now.”
“This is something!”
Lamar was surprised to see T.C.
“Look at all these people!” T.C. added.
“What’re you doing here? Did you leave school?” Lamar asked, picking up his video camcorder.
“So many students left to come here, Mr. Deloria closed school and told us to go home and to be careful. Everybody’s here. Little John. Even Ray. Here comes Ciara now.”
Lamar saw his middle school classmates walking up the street.
“I saw Phil over there somewhere, too,” T.C. said. “This is BIG, huh? Your grandfather would be proud.”
Lamar nodded, but he couldn’t stop thinking about the earlier encounter with the middle-aged White man. He knew it would remain with him forever.
“I apologize for not being available sooner,” the short man with a shaved head and a thin mustache explained to the Phillips clan later that evening. “I was in California when my office got in touch with me. I came right over here with Robert as soon as I got back.”
“Won’t you have a seat?” Lamar’s mother offered.
“I think I will,” Attorney Smith replied. “I am a little tired. Taking a trip by plane is an ordeal these days. You spend so much time rushing through airports and standing in long lines. I understand a protest got underway today?”
“Yes, Kyra and some of the students at the high school and a ministers’ association started it,” Lamar’s dad answered.
“I was there, too,” Lamar added proudly.
He wondered if he should tell everyone about the incident with the middle-aged White man. He decided not to. His mom and dad might not allow him to go to the protests anymore.
“We have to talk about that, young man,” Lamar’s mother told him. “We’re not happy that you left school this morning without letting us know.”
“But Kyra was there, too,” Lamar protested.
“We knew Kyra would be there. The school gave her permission. You can go to the protest, but only after school.”
“Aw, man, Kyra must have ratted on me.” Lamar sighed. “By the time school is out, I would have missed all the action.”
His mother gave him that look. Lamar knew there wasn’t anything he could say to change her mind. Her word was final. And he knew he was right not to tell anyone about the incident.
“Have you had the funeral yet?” Mr. Smith asked, moving to another subject.
“Yes,” Lamar’s father answered. “A few days ago.”
“Well, you have my condolences. These wanton murders of Black people just keep occurring.”
“So what’s the next step, Mr. Smith?” Robert asked pointedly. “What do we do next?”
Kyra had already researched the attorney. He had a terrific record for winning cases. His biggest was helping to get a man released from state prison years after he had been wrongfully convicted. The freed man had spent twenty-five years behind bars.
Lamar thought one of the deacons at Friendship Baptist Church looked like Mr. Smith. The deacon wasn’t as smooth and cool as the attorney. Lamar had already decided to interview the attorney for his documentary.
Attorney Smith pulled out a legal pad and addressed Lamar’s dad.
“We have to find out if there was a witness or witnesses,” Mr. Smith answered. “The highway between Morton and Thomasville is always busy. Someone had to be driving on it when the murder happened. Especially that early in the morning when people are going to work. Right now, there is only Thigpen’s version of what happened. And I believe those sheriff’s deputies know more than they’re saying. I want to talk to the prosecutor. I already have a call in to his office.”
“Do you think he’ll talk to you?” Lamar’s dad asked. “He’s already said that a crime ain’t been committed. There’s no evidence.”
“We’ll see. I’m hoping that he will think talking to us is the politically expedient thing to do. This case is starting to get publicity. Two national cable news networks have reported on it.”
Lamar could tell that Kyra had something on her mind. She started walking back and forth, wringing her hands. Lamar had seen her like that many times before.
“Mr. Smith, do you think we’ll be able to find out what really happened?” Kyra asked, finally stopping to pose her question. “In the cases where Black people have actually found justice, there was always a video. If there’s no video, nothing happens. We don’t have that. We don’t even have a witness.”
“Well, Kyra, we’re still in the early stages. I am hoping that a witness will emerge, that more information will surface. Remember, before Darnella Frazier posted her video on social media, the killing of George Floyd was being swept under the rug. Would the Ahmaud Arbery case have been tried without the video that was finally released and the persistence of his mother and the community? We can’t give up and think nothing can be done. We have to keep pursuing justice for your grandfather. We have to keep the protests going.”
For the first time in a long time, Lamar saw his sister relax. “I’m so glad to hear that,” she told the attorney.
“Mr. Smith, we will keep fighting for justice for my father,” Lamar’s dad spoke up. “But that story about Papa attacking that man with a tire iron has spread everywhere. They’re trying to make our father out to be a thug or gangster.”
“We’ll deal with that, too,” Mr. Smith assured them. “We’ll set up press conferences on a regular basis to let people know who Mr. Phillips really was. We’ll get his story out there. We will not let others control the narrative.
“Now, how are you all doing?” Mr. Smith asked. “You’re dealing with a lot. I know you are still grieving.”
“We’re handling things the best that we can,” Uncle Robert answered. “Right now, we just want to get justice for our father. He meant so much to us.”
“I’m going to do a documentary about him!” Lamar said.
“Now isn’t the time to talk about a documentary,” Kyra told her brother, frowning at him.
“A documentary is a good thing,” Mr. Smith interjected. “That’s a good way to remember your grandfather’s legacy. That’s very important.”
“Can I interview you?” Lamar asked. “Not now, but later?”
“You certainly can. But right now, we have a few important steps to take. I want to have a talk with Reverend Thurmond. He’s the head of the ministers’ association, isn’t he? I saw the interview the television reporter did with him. I want to talk with the pastor to make sure we’re all on the same page. I’m sure he has influence in this area.”
“We can go to the church right now to see him,” Lamar’s dad told the lawyer. “I’m sure he’s there. He’s a good man. A real good man.”
The next morning Lamar and T.C. headed to school together as usual. This time, Little John joined them.
“Go directly to the gym,” Ms. Harper told them when they entered the school building.
“I wonder what’s up?” Little John said.
“Who knows?” T.C. answered.
When the three entered the gym, they were told to sit anywhere, not in their customary sections by grade.
The portable stage had already been set up underneath the large scoreboard. Mr. Deloria assisted one of the school janitors with the sound system.
“What’s going on?” Little John asked Lamar and T.C. as they watched Mr. Deloria.
“Why you keep asking us? You know as much as we do,” Lamar replied.
Assembly had never been held so early during the school day. Lamar spotted Ciara sitting in the bleachers on the other side of the gym. She was with a group of girls from her class. He waved to her. After hesitating, she waved back, but like she didn’t really want to. Lamar looked around, checking out who was sitting together.
I don’t see too many White students, he thought. He counted them. There were only three. Thirty-five White students were enrolled at Morton Middle School. He didn’t see Jeff.
“Did Jeff come to school last week?” he asked T.C. and Little John.
“He came a few days,” Little John answered.
“Hardly any White students came last week,” T.C. added. “I guess their parents scared or something.”
Finally, Principal Deloria took the mic and looked out at the noisy student body.
“All right, let’s come to attention! Let’s quiet down!” he ordered.
After waiting for a moment, he repeated his call for attention. As usual, some students didn’t listen. Impatient, Principal Deloria demanded that they quiet down for a third time. A few still whispered to each other. Principal Deloria yelled, “I said quiet down!” That got everyone’s attention. Principal Deloria rarely yelled.
Lamar remembered when Mr. Deloria came to Morton a little over a year ago. He was the first White principal Morton Middle School had had in decades. The news in Morton was that White members of the school board chose Mr. Deloria because they didn’t want to hire another Black principal. Lamar didn’t know much about all that. He only knew that he liked Mr. Deloria. Mr. Deloria and Ms. DuBois, the Black vice principal, treated the students fairly and with respect. That meant a lot to Lamar. To the other students as well.
“I called this special assembly this morning,” Mr. Deloria addressed the students, “because I think it is important that we remain together as a family here at Morton Middle School.” It was now very quiet.
“We all know that our town is facing big challenges,” the principal continued. “A terrible incident has happened. A citizen of our town has lost his life. And a protest started yesterday.”
All eyes turned to Lamar, who looked away to avoid the stares.
“And that terrible incident seems to be tearing our community apart,” the principal went on. “We have been working hard here at Morton to bring students together, to help forge a different and better future for all of you. We don’t want to lose the progress we have made.
“I am hopeful that the truth about this terrible incident, whatever it is, will be uncovered, and that justice will be done. As justice plays out, we have a job to do. You have a job to do. We must continue to provide all of you with the best quality education that we can. And you, you must learn as much as you can so that you can be prepared for the future.”
Principal Deloria stopped speaking for a moment and looked upward, as if he was searching for what to say. Then he continued.
“While we are at school, during each school day, I want all of us, teachers and students, to focus on the jobs we have been assigned. And those jobs are, for teachers, providing a quality education, and, for students, receiving a quality education. Our motto here at Morton remains the same…ONE FAMILY WITH ONE GOAL: THE PURSUIT OF EXCELLENCE.”
