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Copyright © 2013, Susan Follett
In 1984, my roof was, literally and
figuratively, ripped from my house. That night,
staying with a friend and unable to sleep, I
turned on the television and happened upon a
documentary about the March from Selma to
Montgomery. I watched, riveted, as unfamiliar
history unfolded.
On a Sunday in March, 1965, 600 people headed
east out of Selma, Alabama on U.S. Route 80.
They reached the Edmund Pettus Bridge six blocks
away. There, state and local lawmen attacked
them with billy clubs and tear gas.
The images I saw on the TV screen—dangerous,
brutal, and arbitrary—somehow combined with
images of the tornado and the devastation it
wreaked upon my suburban Minnesota neighborhood,
to heighten my reaction. That reaction was
confusion, tinged with shame. What was this
event in Alabama, scarcely more than 100 miles
from where I grew up in Meridian, Mississippi?
And why hadn’t I done something to stop it?
One obvious answer to the latter question was
that I was a child at the time. But what if I
had been older?
These questions lay just beneath the surface
until 2000, when they began to nag at me. I did
my first interview then, with Meridian civil
rights attorney Bill Ready, Sr. He painted a
picture of the time and place in which I grew
up. One TV station. One newspaper. Each owned by
the same man. Parents, white and black, intent
on protecting their children from harsh
realities.
Hooked on the story and the research, I began to
read—dozens of oral histories captured as part
of the
Civil Rights Documentation Project on the
University of Southern Mississippi web site—and
write. In 2005 I began working with professional
writing mentor
Mary Carroll Moore. With her
help, what I came to call “my essay about the
story I wanted to write” began to materialize in
novel form.
Beginning in 2007 I became eager to do my own
investigation of the times and
questions it held for me. My earliest interviews then
were with movement figures: civil rights,
anti-Vietnam War, and women’s rights.
I spoke with
Ben Chaney, voter rights activist
whose brother James was murdered along with
Michael Schwerner and Andrew Goodman outside
Philadelphia, Mississippi in the summer of 1964.
I consulted Reverend Ed King, native white
Mississippi Methodist minister who, with Mrs.
Fannie Lou Hamer, Aaron Henry, and others,
attended the 1964 Democratic National
Convention representing the integrated Mississippi
Freedom Democratic Party.
They tried, and failed, to unseat the
Dixiecrats, the all-white state Democratic
Party delegation; yet MFDP
opened many Americans’ eyes
to voter discrimination. I learned from Heather
Tobis
Booth who was an important contributor to
the early women’s movement in Chicago and,
like my character Zach Bernstein, went to
Mississippi from the University of Chicago
during Freedom Summer.
Social
studies teacher Vickie Malone, who piloted
civil rights education at Mississippi’s
McComb High School.
Vickie’s local
cultures class inspired
Mississippi’s K-12 public school mandated
civil rights education curriculum.
Mississippi is the first state in the U.S.
to issue such a mandate.
Former language arts
teacher and Freedom School student Faye Inge,
who is one of the “Meridian 5.” These five
African American women desegregated Meridian
High in 1965, well before Mississippi
finally complied with federally mandated
desegregation in January 1970.
As well,
book groups nationwide have taken up my
pre-published manuscript and shared their
reactions. The first was
Seattle’s The BookClub. Jackie
Roberts, member and co-founder of Seattle’s
Interracial Dialogue Series, was my gracious
host.
Dr. Scaggs
introduced me to Gail Falk, who taught at the
Meridian Freedom School 1964-65. Gail has become
both mentor and muse, informing and enlightening
me about the Mississippi Summer Project in
Meridian in 1964 and provoking me to dig deeper
to convey the complex mix of emotions
experienced during that time. Reader
feedback suggested that I had two books in one
and that, though Freedom Summer was the pivotal
element in my story, it was underdeveloped.
Fleshing out the summer of 1964 in Mississippi
required more research. Through Dr. Bill Scaggs,
immediate past president and senior fellow of
The Montgomery Institute, I learned of
Freedom
64. This education and restoration
project—founded by Roscoe Jones, Meridian
Freedom School student and longtime activist—is
working to preserve the historic Fielder &
Brooks Drug Store, which housed the Council of
Federated Organizations (COFO) in 1964. Gail Falk (front), teaching: My passion
lies in tackling such complexities, via themes
of everyday heroism, prejudice, and personal
change. I relate my original working title,
The Fog Machine, to the mission statement of
the
William Winter Institute for Racial
Reconciliation which describes
prejudice as “systemic and institutionalized.” I
hope my story can entertain as well as inform
and that Out From the Fog will find its
way into the hands of countless more book
groups, individual readers, students, and
teachers.
Each time I think about the people I’ve been
honored to interact with during the writing of
Out From the Fog, I am awestruck. I’ve
tried to capture history from aging history
makers and present it through relationships. One
example is the scene at the Reflecting Pool
during the March on D.C.
“Seventy-five years now I been living in this
country,” said the old Negro in a voice that
rang out like Mahalia Jackson’s. “But today’s
the one I become a man.”
— from a true story, shared by Rabbi Robert J.
Marx
I hope Out From the Fog honors the
strength and human frailty of everyday heroes
like C.J. Evans.
Before Zach met Grandma Willie, C.J. was the
strongest woman he knew. Yet he couldn’t imagine
her family bringing a volunteer into their home.
— Zach Bernstein
It’s of fundamental importance to me to portray
prejudice as a shared human challenge, not a
“Mississippi thing” or “southern problem.”
Differing degrees of prejudice among my
characters, then, serve to compare and contrast,
never to excuse or mitigate.
“We thought it was about Mississippi. But Zach
taught us it’s about the possibility. That we’ll
consider ourselves better or worse because we
belong to some group. Or take advantage because
we have the power. Or stand by, making no move
to stop what isn’t right.”
— Rosalee Evans
Overarching it all, the writing of Out From
the Fog has been a journey of discovery.
Capturing history, lest we forget or never even
know it, and exploring what enables and disables
change in human beings. I’ve found, as other
fiction writers have described, that writing is
an organic process. If you create characters,
then set them free, they will lead you to
answers to questions you pose to them. Through
the lives of C.J. Evans, Joan Barnes, Zach
Bernstein, and all their friends, families, and
people they crossed paths with, I’ve concluded
this: a complex interaction of family, culture,
society, politics, personality, what we value,
what we fear, and who we meet determines both
what prejudice we feel and our ability to
change.
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