Fearless Freedom

Fearless

Freedom

Corinne L. Gaile

Smashwords Edition

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author

Text copyright © 2013 by Corinne L. Gaile

Cover design and illustration copyright © 2013 by Corinne L. Gaile

This is a work of fiction. While the events described and some of the characters in this book may be based on actual historical events and real people, names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or, if real, are used fictitiously.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or an information retrieval system now known or to be invented, including photocopying, taping, and recording, without the prior written permission of the author.

ISBN: 978-0-9897207-2-4

Visit the author on the web at www.corinnelgaile.com

For my mother

Corinne Jane Jackson Gaile

Table of Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Epilogue

Acknowledgments

Chapter One

Mama raised an eyebrow, but she didn’t say a thing when Daddy turned toward Kelly Ingram Park.

Just feel like driving a while, Daddy said.

A drive seemed like just the right thing after sitting in church all morning. I relaxed in the backseat and looked out the window.

Daddy stopped the car short, and I shifted to the middle of the seat to look between my parents out the front window. A group of colored people knelt to pray. I could see a line of police with German Shepherds blocking their path.

What are those people doing?

It looks like a protest, Daddy said.

My chest filled with pride at the sight of freedom fighters. Now, I thought, I’m going to see a real protest, not just read about it. When the group finished praying, they stood up ready to march. A red-faced policeman started shouting. "You folks do not have a permit to march. Disperse, or you will be arrested!"

I held my breath. The people stayed put. The police stepped closer.

I knew the protesters wouldn’t put up a fight. Freedom fighters went to jail for their cause. I was all set to watch the arrests, but then some people watching from the park started yelling and carrying on. The police raised their batons, and my heart jumped.

I think we’ve seen enough, Mama said.

I wanted to see more, but Daddy backed up the car and turned around. I twisted to see out the back window, but we drove away fast.

Those people are just stirring up trouble, Mama said. She looked back at me. "I don’t want you anywhere near downtown until this thing is over with, you hear me?"

Yes, ma’am, I said, but ever since I met my hero and heard him speak, I knew that downtown with the marchers was exactly where I wanted to be.

***

I jumped to my feet, clapped like crazy, and made a dash to the front of the room. By the time I got there, a bunch of big tall men blocked my view. I wasn’t about to miss my chance, so I ducked down, squeezed through, and popped up right at the head of the crowd.

Well hello, young lady, he said. His sunny brown eyes fixed on me like I was the only person in the room.

My name is Bernice Givens, and I want to be a freedom fighter.

Pleased to meet you, Bernice, we can always use help from an enthusiastic girl like you.

Then he shook my hand! I smiled wider than I ever smiled before and gazed up at my hero. I could’ve stayed like that all day, but somebody else reached for him.

Bernice, I heard my father call, time to go.

Daddy led me out the church and into our car. My body scooted onto the front seat, but my mind was still back at the church. Used to be nothing exciting ever happened to an eleven-year-old colored girl from Birmingham, Alabama, but I had just shaken hands with Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.

***

Daddy parked the car in front of our house and turned off the engine. Mama got out and hurried up the steps to the porch, but I stayed behind.

Daddy, what do you think happened after we left?

My father put his arm on the back of the seat and turned to look at me. I’m guessing a bunch of people got arrested, and I’m afraid somebody got hurt, but the marchers were prepared for that. You weren’t scared, were you?

No, sir! I knew that sometimes people got hurt, but nothing could stop the movement. I imagined the protesters stepping into paddy wagons like in the pictures I had seen in Ebony Magazine. Freedom fighters were the bravest people in the world. Just to think there were colored people, right here in Birmingham, who weren’t afraid of the police and weren’t afraid to go to jail. More than ever, I wanted to be a freedom fighter, too.

I helped Mama get dinner started and then went to my room. I wanted to write Lorraine, to tell her what happened. She always wrote about something interesting going on up in Nashville. Her letters to me were as thrilling as a Saturday movie matinee. My letters to her were as dull as Sunday school, but this one would be different, because this time I was the one with exciting news.

My sister, Lorraine, and I wanted to join the movement ever since those Freedom Riders came through two years before. Those brave college students, who rode through the South defying segregation, were our heroes. Then Lorraine started college at Fisk up in Nashville. She met the Freedom Riders and joined the Student Nonviolent Coordinating Committee. She was in the movement. Now I would have my chance.

April 7, 1963

Dear Lorraine,

How are you? I am better than fine since Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. came to town. Daddy took me to hear him talk about his plans for Birmingham. His speeches are just as exciting as the papers say. I was jumping up and down in my seat. If Mama had been there, she would have told me to sit still and act like a lady, but I couldn’t help it. And guess what I did when his speech ended. I walked right up to him and shook his hand!

We are going to end segregation in the stores downtown. No more colored only water fountains and bathrooms, and we will finally be able to eat at the lunch counter in Loveman’s, just like the white folks. It’s about time!

Yesterday, Reverend Shuttlesworth led a protest downtown and everybody was arrested. Can you believe it? Today I saw a group of marchers downtown. The police came, and I bet they were all arrested.

Bernice, supper, my mother called.

Dang! My letter would have to wait. I skidded into the kitchen to help set the table and almost knocked over a serving dish.

Careful, Bernice. My mother gave me the what-am-I-going-to-do-with-you look. Slow down.

‘Be careful! Slow down! Lower your voice!’ My mother said those words to me so often that I could hear them in my dreams. Could I help if I was naturally excited about things? Daddy called it exuberance. Mama said I was all limbs and sharp edges. I tucked in my elbows, careful not to bump anything else, and started setting the table.

Salty steam from Mama’s chicken and dumplings competed with the collard greens in a delicious smell-off. I licked my lips.

I set the table with plates and silverware and then folded our napkins into triangles to give them some style. I took the biscuits from the oven and transferred them one by one into a biscuit pyramid on Mama’s special platter. Then I poured three glasses of iced water. Palm Sunday supper was always special. There was a sweet potato pie waiting in the pantry.

Mama nodded her approval of the table and stepped over to the stove. Once she filled the serving dishes, Mama took off her apron, smoothed her dress, and called for Daddy.

My father walked in with a smile on his face, patting his trim waist. Something smells mighty good! He lifted the cover off the chicken and flared his nostrils wide, inhaling the aroma. Then he pulled the chair out with a flourish, and Mama sat down like a queen. I slipped into my chair while Daddy claimed his seat at the head of the table.

Bernice? Mama said. We bowed our heads, time to do my duty. Grace today had to be something special, it being Palm Sunday and after what we saw.

"Lord, we thank you for the fine dinner that Mama prepared on this special day. We pray a blessing for our family here and for Lorraine up in Nashville. And we pray for all the valiant freedom fighters who are sitting in jail. I paused over the word valiant, hoping my father would notice. Please keep them safe until they get back home to their families. We pray that the boycott will succeed and that freedom will come to downtown Birmingham this spring."

A-men, Daddy said. His big hands spooned a healthy helping of chicken onto his plate before passing it to me. I took some and then sent it on. Soon my plate was full of chicken and dumplings, collard greens, brown sugar carrots, and rice smothered with gravy. Daddy kept quiet while he tasted a bit of everything and washed it down with some water. Then he said one word, Stupendous!

Mama and I giggled. Ever since I could remember, my father had been coming up with these ten-dollar words. Mama told Lorraine and me that Daddy wanted to be an English teacher when he was a boy, but he never got the chance to go to college.

Daddy cleaned the lawyers’ offices in a building downtown. He said he was the most literary janitor in Birmingham. Daddy loved to read. It was what he did every night after dinner. I filed the word stupendous in my mental dictionary.

Daddy, how long do you think Reverend Shuttlesworth will be in jail? And what about those people today?

I don’t know, Nicey. Daddy gave me my nickname, Nicey. It rhymed with spicy. Daddy said I was like a dash of Tabasco. We’ll just have to wait and see. King’s organization should be able to raise the bail money.

Mama shook her head. It’s a shame when men of the cloth get sent to jail. And if that’s not enough, protests on Palm Sunday!

Things are going to get serious now. Daddy dabbed his mouth with the napkin and looked at me, no turning back. There will be more demonstrations, and more people going to jail. That’s the strategy, Nicey, fill up the jails, let them know jail don’t scare us.

I nodded. "That’s right, jail