1932

For the uninitiated, Scottsboro is a small town in far northeastern Alabama that is famous for two things: The Lost Luggage Store and the Scottsboro boys.

First of all, have you ever been on a plane, or train, or bus, or any form of public transportation and, when you disembarked, forgot to take with you an item, whether valuable to you or not?  If that happens, and if you don’t (or, can’t) claim that item within a certain amount of time, it is sent to the Lost Luggage Store (now called the Unclaimed Baggage Center, at 509 W. Willow Street, Scottsboro) where an “ever-changing array” of items from around the world, such as unclaimed luggage, clothes, jewelry, bags and electronics can be found at incredible values.  Such is the Unclaimed Baggage Store.  (One of these days, I’m going to take a trip down there just to see what’s available.) 

As for the Scottsboro boys, during the so-called “Great Depression”, anyone who had a job was undoubtedly grateful to have it—and fortunate to have one.  Those who hadn’t one looked hither and yon for any form of employment possible so that there was shelter for the family and food on the table.  It was not uncommon for young boys and men to hop on to freight train cars, to travel from one place to another in search of work—almost any kind of work.

On March 25, 1931, nine black teen boys, some of whom were not acquainted with each other (Olen Montgomery, 17; Clarence Norris, 19; Haywood Patterson, 18; Ozie Powell, 15; Willie Roberson, 15; Charles Weems, 19; Eugene Williams, 13; Andy Wright, 19; Roy Wright, 12), hopped onto a couple of train cars where they ran into a group of white boys doing the same thing.  As was not unexpected, fighting between the two groups ensued and the black boys were arrested when the train came to a stop in Paint Rock, Alabama.  Coincidentally, two white girls, Ruby Bates and Victoria Price, disembarked at the same time.  Not wanting to be caught in the presence of the black boys on a freight train and being charged with prostitution and, also, violating the Mann Act (crossing a state line for immoral purposes), the two girls immediately accused the black teens of rape—in Alabama in 1931! train and being charged with prostitution and, also, violating the Mann Act (crossing a state line for immoral purposes), the two girls immediately accused the black teens of rape—in Alabama in 1931!

The story of the Scottsboro boys is one involving numerous twists and turns, and is a decades-long spectacle of more than a dozen key players and of endless trials, appeals, verdicts, perjury, disappearing witnesses, recantations of testimony, murder and attempted murder, lynch mobs, hung juries, jail escapes and, yes, lower court and Supreme Court rulings, a case which became one of this country’s first major civil rights litigations.  Even when the last of the nine young men was released from prison, eighteen years after their initial arrest (incidentally, for a crime that they did not commit, the last young man being pardoned by Gov. George Wallace in 1976), not one of them was truly free, in that their experiences tormented them for the rest of their lives, some of those ill fortunes brought on by some of the boys themselves, but most occurring because of the highly biased so-called justice system under which they were charged and tried and convicted. 

A case-in-point is that of Haywood Patterson, who was tried four (4) times, each time by an all-white jury, and sentenced to die in the electric chair three times, again, for a crime he did not commit.

My father was assigned to cover the third Scottsboro trial that took place beginning in January of 1936 in Decatur, Alabama, a change of venue demanded by the defense lawyers, Samuel Liebowitz and C.L. Watts.

In my father’s own words, several factors entered into his serendipitous snagging of all pertinent details of this fascinating story, one which will also inform you of the atmosphere of this quaint, and scary little corner of Alabama:

“Decatur, Alabama - There is a saying among members of the craft that the newspaperman’s constant prayer is that he be allowed to be on the scene when something breaks in the way of news.  And by the same token it is said that such a state of affairs is the greatest break that can come to a newsman.  If the statements be axiomatic, then it must necessarily follow that I am the luckiest newspaperman alive—certainly the most fortunate of the craft of my race.

In its issue of January 25 (1936) my newspaper related that the Journal and Guide is the only Negro paper represented by a staff correspondent at the Scottsboro trials in Decatur, Alabama.’

Suffice it to say that the statement concerning the Journal and Guide being the only weekly represented at the trials was and is true. Until Friday morning, January 24, when the trial of Clarence Norris[3] was scheduled to start, the writer was the only Negro reporter here.  On that day, however, another newshound of color blew in from Atlanta, Georgia, but as luck would have it (his luck), Norris’ trial was postponed indefinitely together with all the other Scottsboro trials.   Speaking of breaks!

Others Are Late - On Sunday night, January 26, another newsman appeared as though by magic, but, of course, there were no trials to cover.  But in the meantime, the alleged escape attempt of three of the boys had been made while the group was being returned to Jefferson County jail in Birmingham and being in Decatur where a part of the story originated, each of us was able to get something on that.

But my point is simply this.  Dispatched originally to Decatur to cover the Scottsboro trials, I have through sheer luck, or otherwise, been either on the scene or within easy driving distance, of three of the most significant and important news breaks of the year and in one instance I was the only reporter of my kind anywhere near the scene. It can be said that it is nothing more or less than sheer luck because but for the extremely inclement weather which kept me marooned in Decatur for more than a week after the trials, I would have been safely at home when ‘opportunity’ knocked at my door.

Newsman’s ‘Luck’ - It was just pure luck, bad or otherwise, which was responsible for my being here when Ernest Merriweather[4], 22-year-old drug store delivery boy, was arrested and charged with having smuggled into the Morgan County jail the knives with which Ozie Powell and Roy Wright are said to have made their desperate bid for freedom during the last transfer of the Scottsboro defendants to Birmingham following Haywood Patterson’s conviction and the subsequent postponement of the remainder of the celebrated trials.

And by the same token, it was more luck that I happened to still be in Decatur when the youth was released because local authorities were not able to connect him in any way with the knife smuggling charges. On that occasion I was able to interview Merriweather and obtain his side of the story, his impressions of the Morgan County jail, and his reaction to his arrest, among other things.

It is only fair to say, however, that all this time at least one of the other newsmen was also ‘at the scene of the crime’, so to speak, and was able to share therein.

On The Spot - When news came of the purported escape attempt of Wright, Powell, et al., near Cullman, I believe my paper was among the first to get the news.  A brief flash to the Decatur Western Union office was the first indication that anything was wrong. A messenger boy was dispatched to my home immediately to ask if I could use the information. 

Could I use it?  Could I breathe?  Could I eat when I’m hungry?  Could I run if perchance a mob made me take to my heels? Could I use it? I could—and did. With the few meager details at the messenger boy’s disposal and his statement that the WU superintendent was then at Cullman trying to get some facts, I dashed off a bulletin and sent him hurrying back to his office, to follow immediately myself.  I had already been extended an invitation to stand by at the local office and to use whatever information came through that channel direct from the scene of the trouble.

Cullman Tough - I had a car, and I must confess my first impulse was to jump in it, step on the gas, and go to Cullman.  But luckily, I had a talk with one or two local residents and the net result was that I definitely DID NOT GO to Cullman.  I was told, among other things, that up to a few years ago, Negroes were not even allowed to live in Cullman; that even now, the only colored residents of that thriving North Alabama community of approximately 2,500 inhabitants are those who work in the local hotel as domestics, that when the L. & N. railroad double tracks were being run through that district in 1912, fifteen Negro workmen were routed out of their quarters one night and the quarters burned to the ground because of some interracial mixup.

I was further informed that even to this day, Negro motorists enroute to and from Birmingham and other points north and south try to give Cullman a wide berth or steer clear of it entirely.  And if perchance they are forced by sheer necessity to stop there, they make the stay as brief as possible.

Birmingham Shift - No, I decided I would cover my story via Western Union and not go to Cullman. But the story shifted to Birmingham with the transfer of Powell to Hillman Hospital in that city, and the remainder of the boys to Jefferson County jail.  And, Birmingham was another place entirely.  I went, I saw, but I did not conquer.

I found the vicinity of Hillman Hospital a veritable fortress with armed sheriff’s deputies and city policemen literally all over the place. You couldn’t get within a mile of the place.  I did get close enough, however, to see that the hospital, which serves the city of Birmingham as a city general hospital, was quite large.

At any rate that angle of the story has since died down.  Powell is expected to live and will, no doubt, be indicted, together with Wright, on a charge of attempted murder by a Morgan County grand jury which is scheduled to convene on February 17.

Biggest Break = But back to Decatur.  My biggest break came (journalistically speaking) when the tragedy occurred near Scottsboro in which twenty state convicts were burned to death.[5]  It was my big moment, my biggest thrill—when I learned of the tragedy—and knew there was not another Negro newspaperman within hundreds of miles, the two others having long since gone.

I’m no hero, and so I confess I had considerable trepidation about approaching Scottsboro, whose very name is known all over the world. I remembered another time while en route to Decatur, when I suddenly came upon Scottsboro by way of a detour about seven o’clock in the evening without knowing where I was.  I remembered my mingled feelings of fear and ecstasy when told bluntly by one of its natives who answered my query about ‘what town is this’? that I was in Scottsboro.

I recalled to my asking very timidly if I might buy some gasoline in Scottsboro and my shock when for the first time I discovered that in the sovereign state of Alabama that precious fluid is twenty-six cents per gallon.  No.  I’m no hero and I thought of the magic name of Scottsboro in fear and trembling.  Besides, it was cold, bitterly cold, and I tried to use that as an excuse not to go last week.

Still The Newsman - But my newsman’s instinct finally won, and so over roads as slippery as greased glass and with the thermometer actually registering just five degrees above zero, I defied the gods and went to Scottsboro for my story.  There was very little I could get on the actual tragedy because the burned truck, with its gruesome load, had been removed from the scene in less than an hour and rumors and speculation were about the best to be had.

At one stage of my fact gathering, I was asked bluntly what I was looking for. I don’t remember exactly what I said, but it evidently satisfied my questioner.  I was stared at plenty but not molested to any great extent.  But it was with a sigh of relief that I saw the lights of Scottsboro fade into the distance as I finally departed.

I consider what I’ve written in the nature of news. I consider the experiences real breaks, the kind that come once to few newsmen, and to some—never…” 

(Much has been made of the odyssey of these nine young men who for decades suffered under the ‘slings and arrows’ of the southern justice system which falsely accused them, found them guilty of a crime which they did not commit and then sentenced all but one to die in the electric chair, even after Ruby Bates, one of their two accusers, unequivocally recanted her story.  Along the way, the case’s notoriety attracted the attention of no less than notable organizations such as the NAACP, the American Civil Liberties Union (ACLU), and the Communist Party, all about which my father wrote.  Nonetheless, the nine were finally posthumously pardoned on November 21, 2013 by the Alabama Board of Pardons and Paroles, ironically, at the Scottsboro Boys Museum and Cultural Center.  Governor Robert J. Bentley said on that day:

“While we could not take back what happened to the Scottsboro Boys 80 years ago, we found a way to make it right moving forward. The pardons granted to the Scottsboro Boys today are long overdue.  The legislation that led to today’s pardons was the result of a bipartisan, cooperative effort. I appreciate the Pardons and Paroles Board for continuing our progress today in officially granting these pardons. Today, the Scottsboro Boys have finally received justice.” [6]

Needless to say, the story’s notoriety has generated innumerable offshoots, including the establishing and running of the Scottsboro Boys’ Museum and Cultural Center in 2010 by Ms. Sheila Washington, for exploring the case, and in which will be held a commemoration of the search for justice for the nine young men.

Unfortunately, Mrs. Washington passed away on January 20, 2021. But before she passed, she uttered her fondest wish: “It gave me a passion, that one day I would hold that book (Scottsboro Boy, Haywood Patterson’s memoir, which inspired Ms. Washington to pursue research on the Scottsboro tragedy) burn a candle, and set things right for the Scottsboro boys.”[7]  There is also an NBC television movie titled, “Judge Horton and the Scottsboro Boys”, which aired in 1976.  On Broadway, there was an actual production about their circumstance, and there are innumerable media outlets exploiting the boys’ plight, all of which are easily accessible thanks to the internet. 

Add to those the novel, To Kill A Mockingbird, by Harper Lee, which is said to have been influenced by the Scottsboro trials, Richard Wright’s Native Son, along with Leadbelly’s song, "The Scottsboro Boys" and Countee Cullen's "Scottsboro, too...".  We could also list Jean-Paul Sartre’s, La Putain respectueuse, about a black man wrongfully blamed for an incident on a train involving a white prostitute, and the list can grow ad infinitum, but the internet and other media are at the disposal of the public for that purpose.)

= Albert L. Hinton