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Mississippi--The Second Time Around
by Bob Civin
[Editor's Note: A retired New York editor, Bob Civin, pens this wonderful article about his experiences in Mississippi in 1964 and the differences he found when he made a second trip years later. USADEEPSOUTH readers, this is a MUST READ.]When it comes to predicting the future, I usually hedge my bets. However, there was one time I didn't. That was in the summer of 1964 when I told myself I would never--but never--go back to Mississippi. I had spent three weeks there, one of a group of northerners participating in what has become known as Freedom Summer. At the end of my three-week stay, I returned home to New York City and put my Mississippi experience behind me. I swore that was exactly where it was going to stay.
Please don't get me wrong. I didn't expect to find the Dixie pictured in Walt Disney's Song of the South when I left New York, Mississippi-bound. I had decided to spend my three-week summer vacation in the state to help in the drive to get disenfranchised blacks registered to vote. I had been propelled off my duff when I read newspaper reports of the killing under the most brutal circumstances of two young New Yorkers and a Mississippi native who had been participating in the campaign. I had not been seduced by that well-known southern invitation, "Y'all come down and see us, hear?"
My Mississippi base was a small crossroads hamlet just a few miles from Philadelphia, the seat of Neshoba County. Although I knew there was a possibility I might be beaten up or ridden out of town on a rail, I didn't really feel I was in a life-threatening situation. I knew lightning rarely strikes twice in the same place, and Philadelphia was where the three young people had been killed by an over-zealous sheriff backed by members of the White Citizens Council. It was unlikely, I thought, that the natives would want a second such atrocity in their neighborhood. I was right. I suffered no physical harm.
Nonetheless, my memories of my Mississippi experience add up the stuff of which nightmares are made. What stays with me in my mind's eye is the face of hatred bared. I was seared by the hate in faces in the street and the faces of the people at the courthouse when we brought would-be voters to try to register them so they could exercise their franchise.
Making the experience bearable was the courage of the black community--the courage of the family that gave me shelter and fed me and that of the people who were willing to subject themselves to psychological abuse to bring down a system which had been in operation much, much too long. I knew I was going back to New York, but those brave people had to continue to live there.
I had no feeling of accomplishment as I flew home. The particular group I was with hadn't succeeded in registering a single black voter. Sometimes we came back several times to be turned away again. It seemed I'd given over my vacation to an exercise in futility.
In the years that followed, I read in the newspapers that there had been a big change. I knew blacks had won the right to vote and were exercising it. I was aware schools had been desegregated. And I knew Mississippi voters had sent black legislators both to Jackson and to Washington. The Freedom Summer had, after all, borne fruit.
Nonetheless, I remained sure that Mississippi and I had seen the last of each other. That assumption proved to be wrong.
In late 1997 I met Beth Jacks, a native and proud resident of Cleveland, Mississippi, through an Internet e-mail group. I told Beth about my Freedom Summer experience. She was interested and sympathetic. She was emphatic though that that was yesterday--there had been a big change. As evidence, Beth sent me a copy of Grit, Guts, and Baseball, the book she had written with Cleveland High School's renowned African-American athletic coach Sank Powe. Above all, Beth was insistent that I had to come see for myself. Finally I yielded to the siren's song. I came on down for a 10-day stay.
Beth picked me up at the Memphis airport and, without wasting time, we drove south to Cleveland. I knew almost immediately that a real fine time was ahead of me. It was just about noon, and soon after we crossed into Mississippi we stopped for lunch at a gasoline station-grocery-cafeteria. Food is the main road to my heart, and the menu offerings hit me where I live. Real southern food. Fried chicken. Macaroni and Cheese. Red Beans. Collard greens cooked with fatback. Millions of wonderful calories as only the South knows how to prepare them.
While tucking into my lunch, I looked around me. I saw something that was only the stuff of dreams when I'd been in Mississippi 35 years earlier. The wait staff was multi-hued. Whites and blacks were working and eating together without self-consciousness. They just took it for granted. In 1964, I remembered, blacks would have had to stand outside at a window to buy food. They wouldn't have been seated inside. At that time, their money was welcomed. They weren't.
Beth was eager for me to experience Mississippi hospitality at its best. She had arranged for me to stay at Molly's Bed and Breakfast in Cleveland. I've been in luxury hotels in many parts of the world, but Molly's B&B, operated by Molly Shaman, wife of the well-known sculptor, Floyd, is up there with the best of them.
Once settled, I sauntered out to test the waters in the "different South" that Beth Jacks had been telling me about.
Since I'm an incurable bookaholic, it was only natural that one of my first ports of call would be the Cleveland Public Library. I was swept away. Its facilities surpass that of any neighborhood library where I live. Its collections, particularly in southern and black history are outstanding. The staff demonstrated that uniquely southern eagerness to help and to please. But, best of all, was the mixture of black and white faces both among the library staff and the people using the facility. The sight of a pretty black teenager at ease using one of the library's computers wouldn't have been imaginable in 1964.From the library I sauntered to the campus of Delta State University. (You may have already noticed that I did quite a bit of sauntering on this second visit to Mississippi. It didn't take me long to adapt to the southern view that life is to be savored rather than hurried through.)
The Delta State campus is, of course, beautiful. I had expected that. What did surprise me was the university's attractive and splendidly equipped Arts Center. I was even more impressed when I read down the list of coming events. Scheduled to come to Delta State were widely known professional performers, musicians and musical groups, and speakers. It was a cultural calendar of which the school could justifiably be proud.
Confirming to this former skeptic that Mississippi--or at least parts of it--is now in the cultural mainstream was my visit to Oxford. I had known that the University of Mississippi there has one of the most splendid campuses anywhere. What I wasn't prepared for was the Square Book Store. I could have spent a happy half-day there. As I've told you, I live in New York. We pride ourselves in being the cultural capital of the world. I realized we may be suffering under a delusion when I saw that store. I don't know of a single bookstore in New York that can surpass the Square and only a handful that can match it.
I fell in love with the overall ambience of Oxford--with the almost perfect proportions of its main square, with the statue of its famous son, William Faulkner, and with the Faulkner Homestead itself.
Now though perhaps I should tell you that I've been presenting a picture of myself that lacks dimension. As you may have gathered, culture interests me. But it's food that captivates me. I ate my way through Mississippi.
I'd known that, at least in theory, the South is one of our country's best repositories of regional cooking. In Mississippi I found that to be fact. I ate my way through the state, delighting in everything from street-eats to fine dining.
I happily munched while strolling at the Belzoni Catfish Festival which had thoughtfully been timed to coincide with my visit. Naturally I sampled fried catfish accompanying them with some delightfully zesty corn dogs. I washed down a moon pie with a Dr. Pepper. And, it goes without saying, I applauded the Catfish Queen and her court. I pondered why the South has always produced the prettiest girls--since at least the time of the late Scarlett O'Hara.
In Vicksburg, while I was dutifully awed by the national military park there, it was the food that became etched in my memory. We had lunch at a wonderful old house where the food was served family-style. And what food it was! Why does it seem that only Southerners have the touch that macaroni and cheese requires. I won't even tell you about the fried okra, the greens, the string beans, the fried chicken, the pork tenderloins, the pecan pie and--of course--the iced tea. All we could eat of everything.
Back in my Cleveland base, I discovered hot tamales. We have scores of Mexican restaurants in New York, but none of them seem to know about tamales. How did they get to Cleveland? I had gumbo which easily matches and may even surpass the New Orleans best. The same goes for the crawfish etouffe I ate in a roadside restaurant with a memorable jazz band.
And it was in Cleveland, a town that I had expected to be insular and provincial, that I dined in K.C.'s which has to be one of the finest restaurants anywhere in the country. People come from everywhere to eat at K.C.'s. One night there was a party which had flown in from South Carolina just to eat there. Owners, proprietors, chef, and maitre d' at K.C.'s are the Brothers Joe, two Cleveland-born Chinese-Americans.
Best of all was the friendliness of the people, far different from those who had shouted epithets at me in 1964. I went to adult Sunday school with Beth's husband, G-Man. From then on, people came up to me on the street and introduced themselves, saying they had seen me at Sunday school. Many did say, "Come back and see us now, hear?" And they sounded as if they meant it.
You know by now that I'm more than glad I went back to Mississippi. The second time around allowed me to put my sad experience of 1964 behind me. As a matter of fact, I did come back again to see all those fine people. I've been back for a third--and even a fourth--time around. I'm looking forward to the fifth. But, who's counting?
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Contact: Bob Civin
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Although Bob Civin was reared and schooled in a small New England town in the heart of Yankeeland, he has lived in New York City for more than 50 years. He has worked as editor of leading national business-oriented magazines.
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Want to leave a comment for Bob? Click HERE, and please note in your message that your remarks are for the CIVIN article. Thanks so much.
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FROM: Gloria Easton [native born Okie]
I also have been to Cleveland, Mississippi, several times and stayed at Molly's, and have taken relatives from Scotland to Molly's. We all love it and enjoy visiting with the fine proprietors there. KC's is a wonderful place for a lovely dinner and we intend to visit some of the other places you have mentioned. Did you by chance go to the pottery shops?
FROM: G. R. Katzer [NZ]
When it can be done in Mississipi why can't we do it world-wide?
FROM: Dorothea Osterhouse
Thanks Bob, it is a great article, and even at this rather late hour the food sounds wonderful. Please relay my best wishes to Beth!
FROM: Pat Warrington of Cleveland, MS
What a tribute! This gives me such a feeling of pride. Thanks, Bob.
FROM: Marty Civin of MA
Great article . . . I knew it would be!
FROM: Maarten Jans of The Netherlands
Hey Bob, A very interesting article you wrote about Mississippi. You must have been spoiled to death . . . Greetings from Holland (the Netherlands)
FROM: Dr. Bernd Richter of Germany
Your article does the best a travelling article can do: It makes you want to go there to see for yourself--and to eat for yourself! All the best from Germany. --Renate and Bernd
FROM: Tom Givens
I appreciate your gracious remarks about the area where I was born and raised. The Delta is somewhat unique when compared to some parts of Mississippi back then, especially that area where you camped. We were more laid back and fun loving, I think.
FROM: Kekou (The Netherlands)
Hey, Bob! We know each other, but I didn't know the world(s) that you are talking about in this article. It makes a very interesting read for a girl from a tiny country from across the ocean. It has broadened my horizon. Thank you!
FROM: Amie Oliver
Your article certainly makes me homesick. Beth and Gerald were leaders of my church group when I was growing up in Cleveland. We had a lot of fun. I haven't thought about them in years and years - thanks for reminding me. I live in Virginia now and I know my friends here have a difficult time imagining what the Delta is and was. As an artist, I can't imagine growing up on more fertile ground or in a more nurturing place. It's time to count my blessings once again.
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