There Is Such a Thing As the Truth
During my visit to Montgomery’s National Memorial for Peace and Justice, I was devastated to see three names of murdered souls listed on the marker for my home of Lauderdale County in Alabama. As soon as I saw the names, I needed to know the stories. I needed to read with my own eyes what happened to those who died.
That night in my hotel room, I began my search. I knew that whatever I found would likely be untrue or exaggerated and, above all else, unjust. Every name was a person and every person lived a life. The most devastating thing to me about what I found is that those life stories have been largely lost to time. The stories I could find were only those of their deaths. The most horrifying moments of their lives are the ones left for us.
Here they are.
George Ware, 04.28.1883
John Edmonson, 07.17.1897
Cleveland Harding, 03.24.1907.
“Murder and Mob Law – George Ware Lynched For Killing Robert Bethune, May 2, 1883
On Friday, April 20, George Ware, a big burly, gambling negro, robbed Robert Bethune, a white boy, 15 years old, of $5.05 and two plugs of tobacco, three (sic) him in the Tennessee river near Muscle Shoals, and, when he tried to swim to shore, struck him with stones in the head, and he sank; his body has not been recovered. A young white man named Scott, plowing on a high bluff not far off, hearing the boy’s screams, ran to edge of the bluff, witnessed the murder and heard the boy beg, “Don’t kill me.” Scott was unable to render any help, but told neighbors of the murder and the direction the murderer went. He was captured and lodged in jail at Florence. There was talk of lynching him. Gov. O’Neal, who was in Florence, tried to prevent it by his advice and, also, promise to secure an early trial. Accordingly, he wrote to Judge Speake at Moulton, asking him to appoint a special term for the trial. Judge appointed an early day in June.
Last Saturday was appointed for a preliminary investigation by a magistrate. Several hundred people, white and black, came to town. The Sheriff feared to bring the prisoner out of jail. But at his request, he was taken to the Court House, where he stated that he and another negro, Reynolds, robbed the boy and Reynolds killed him.
The witness Scott, then made his statement, and the prisoner was then taken back to jail. Shortly afterward some 200 or 300 men, white and black, went to the Sheriff, demanded the jail keys, and, on refusal of the Sheriff, seized him, took the keys from him, seized the prisoner and carried him to a tree near the R. R. Depot. There the prisoner made a full confession of his exclusive guilt, and said nothing but hanging would do him any good. His request for a minister to pray for him was granted, and a colored minister prayed (the crowd respectfully taking off their hats and keeping quiet) and the prisoner prayed aloud all the time. - He was, then, placed on a barrel, a rope thrown over a limb of the tree and rightly adjusted to the prisoner’s neck. A brother of the murdered orphan boy knocked the barrel from under the prisoner, and he was pronounced dead in 12 ½ minutes.
The barbarous brute got his deserts, but there ought to have a judicial trial and execution under the law.”
“LYNCHED A PREACHER: An Alabama Mob Wreaks Vengeance on the Man Who Concealed Williams, July 24, 1897
FLORENCE, ALA., July 18, ‘97.
For shielding Anthony Williams, colored, who was shot to death and burned for the murder of Rene Williams, a colored preacher named Edmondson was lynched and burned on Friday night, three miles from this place.
TRYING TO SAVE A LIFE.
Edmondson concealed Williams in his house, and the mob finding their victim decided to teach the preacher a lesson, but Edmondson took refuge in a colored woman’s cabin. The mob hunted him down with blood hounds, and found him under the woman’s bed.
BEGGED FOR MERCY.
He begged for mercy, and it is probable the mob would have limited his punishment to a thrashing had he not broken away from his captors and started to run. He was brought down with a pistol bullet, stamped nearly to death and then swung up to a tree and his body burned.
FIENDS WORK.
The colored woman, who concealed Edmondson, was next hauled out and whipped.
The whole country for fifty miles is excited; everybody is armed: the sheriff powerless and further race trouble is feared.”
“Lynching in Alabama: Negro Victim of the Mob Is Tied to a Tree and 1,000 Bullets Fired Into Him
Florence, Ala., March 2o. A negro named Cleveland Harding, who attempted to rape Mrs. Ben Rice near here Friday, and who was driven off by Mrs. Rice’s shepherd dog, has been lynched by his intended victim’s husband and some 200 or 300 sympathizers. Tied to a tree with his arms up the negro was riddled with bullets, the first shot being fired by Rice, following which every man In the crowd emptied his revolver at the prisoner. It is said that over 1,000 shots were fired. The negro was captured half a mile below town and was taken before Mrs. Rice, who fainted at sight of him. Upon recovering she fully Identified the assailant and on being asked what should be done with him, told the negro’s captors to do as they thought best. There was talk of burning alive, but shooting to death was decided upon.”
Invocation
The wind brings your names.
We will never dissever your names
Nor your shadows beneath each branch and tree.
The truth comes in on the wind, is carried by water.
There is such a thing as the truth. Tell us
how you got over. Say, Soul I look back in wonder.
Your names were never lost,
each name a holy word.
The rocks cry out –
call out each name to sanctify this place.
Sounds in human voices, silver or soil,
a moan, a sorrow song
a keen, a cackle, harmony,
a hymnal, handbook, chart,
a sacred text, a stomp, an exhortation.
Ancestors, you will find us still in cages,
despised and disciplined.
You will find us still mis-named.
Here you will find us despite.
You will not find us extinct.
You will find us here memoried and storied.
You will find us here mighty.
You will find us here divine.
You will find us where you left us, but not as you left us.
Here you endure and are luminous.
You are not lost to us.
The wind carries sorrows, sighs, and shouts.
The wind brings everything. Nothing is lost.
- Elizabeth Alexander