Claremont-Mississippi Summer Project

In August of 1965, I signed up with the Claremont Mississippi Project. This trip consisted of several van loads of Claremont community people traveling to Edwards, Mississippi. As I recall, it was sponsored by the Claremont University Student Religious Center, located at that time, just north of Honnold Library.

I have struggled to recall who came along with me on this trip. Carolyn See was a UCR student and a daughter of a theology professor somewhere in the east. Or was he at the School of Theology? And HMC Professor Tom Helliwell, who was a fellow member of Claremont's Chapter of CORE, drove his VW. Refreshed with Tom's better memory, I now recall the leadership of Jim Joseph, assistant Chaplain at the Colleges. Rev Joseph, according to Tom, eventually left Claremont to join the US Foreign Service, and became a distinguished public servant, with a stint as US ambassador to South Africa among other assignments. I also remember the name of Doug Ayers.

Ironically, and literally as we were leaving California, the Watts Riot, sometimes referred to as 'the Watts Rebellion', erupted on August 11th. I can recall an impromptu meeting on the side of an Arizona highway, comprised of two carloads in our caravan. We asked ourselves whether or not we should leave California for Mississippi in view of the fact that the need for interracial reconciliation in the North was so dramatized by the gunfire and Molotov cocktails in Los Angeles. After listening to our car radios and debating for an hour, we decided to press on: this project had been planned for some time and there were people and programs in Mississippi awaiting our arrival.

Our passage through Texas was uneventful, but as we drove through Louisiana, tension became palpable. Our destination was a former college of Mt. Beulah, just outside of Edwards MS. It had been turned into a civil rights base camp. It was a comfortable sanctuary from local racism.

But very soon after arriving and making ourselves comfortable, some of us were selected out to travel to less comfortable destinations. A group of us were assigned to go north, via van, to Indianola and Greenville. We were broken up into teams of two. My teammate was Carolyn See. We spent a week in a private residence in each town.

Our assignment was to survey and document reprisals upon local residents for registering to vote and for registering others to vote. I honestly don't remember very much of exactly what records we amassed but I'm sure I got some good use of my Hermes portable.

Most of the time we were in the Black section of town. My nonviolent philosophy and discipline went out the window when one of my hosts asked me if I knew how to handle a shotgun. I confirmed that I had experience with a double-barrel 12 gauge. He assigned me to keep his loaded shotgun within easy reach of where I was sleeping.

Whenever we strayed off the reservation, we drew angry stares from whites. One afternoon I strayed into a crowded African-American bar. I was the only white guy in there. Most Blacks were welcoming, but there were a handful who eyed me with uneasy suspicion. All went well, as it usually goes with cold beer, until two fat white guys came in. One guy was wearing a badge of some sort. But what really got my attention was that he was pointing a .45cal Thompson sub-machine gun at my belly. I'm not kidding. It was World War II vintage, like what we used to see John Wayne tote around in the movies. The Deputy told me I was "disturbing the peace" and that I would be under arrest if I didn't stop my "mingling" and vacate the premises with in 60 seconds. My mind raced around and around in the time allowed: in the end, I couldn't decide whether my chances of living until the age of 30 were optimized by going to this guy's jail or by going out into his street, unaccompanied. At that point, the barkeep indicated that he didn't want me around anymore and my friends advised that I not hang out in their bar any longer. I took the hint. My friends left with me.

When our tour of duty was over, we redeployed back to Edwards. In our absence, our ambitious and resourceful comrades had built a fairly large swimming pool. The significance of this project might be missed unless one is reminded that blacks were not permitted to use public swimming pools at that time. This idea was well-intended: however I am informed that the water available for use in the pool turned out to be so opaque as to render the pool unsafe for swimming. (Eventually, residents filled it in.)

I returned to Claremont a changed man: extremely humbled by my good fortune and happy circumstances. And, I couldn't believe how white my family was, not to mention everyone in Claremont! Carolyn and I did not forget our host: we chipped in and bought her a pair of reading glasses, per her prescription.

Life resumed.