Selma, Civil Rights, and Me
Title
Selma, Civil Rights, and Me
Identifier
SELMA_AND_ME
Creator
Jacob Schlitt
Description
"Prologue: The following is what happens if you think too long about a piece of history that you want to write about."
Date
2015-06-12
Coverage
1955/2015
Format
application/pdf
Type
text
Language
en
Text
SELMA, CIVIL RIGHTS, AND ME
(Prologue: The following is what happens if you think too long about a piece of history that you want to write about. The 50th anniversary of the Selma to Montgomery March brought to mind my involvement in the request from Dr. King for AFSCME’s participation. But being who I am, instead of just telling that story, everything, no matter how remotely related, came spilling out. Rather than edit it, here it is.)
On Sunday March 8, 2015, America commemorated the 50th anniversary of the Selma to Montgomery March for Voting Rights, and for a while, 50 years ago, I thought I might be participating in that march, representing the American Federation of State, County and Municipal Employees (AFSCME).
The 10 years preceding the march were exciting and instructive ones for me, as were the years that followed. In 1955, I was in the US Army, stationed at Camp Gordon, Georgia, having been transferred from Camp Rucker, Alabama, giving me a first hand look at the segregated south. The Army had been desegregated in 1948, which made southern Army camps integrated islands in a segregated sea. Most of us in my unit were white and had been drafted. At each camp to which I had been assigned, a large proportion of the non-commissioned officers were black and had enlisted, a big change from the pre-World War II armed forces.
The Augusta bus service, which I seldom used, required blacks to sit in the back. My first experience: Several of us got on at the Camp Gordon bus stop to go into town. There was a black soldier with us. We sat down together, and the bus driver told the black soldier, who was from New Jersey, to move to the back. He was incredulous, and stared at the driver, who repeated his order. We all got off the bus together. He never took the bus after that.
On February 29, 1956, I received my discharge. I had made friends with several Augustans. They knew me as a New York Jew, pro-labor and pro-civil rights. Touchingly, they asked me to stay, and take part in helping to change the segregated world in which they lived. Instead, we returned to New York, and after a year, moved from a very changed Fox Street in the Bronx—changed from majority Jewish to majority Puerto Rican and black—to an integrated Sterling Place in Crown Heights Brooklyn.
From 1956 to 1962, I worked for the Jewish Labor Committee. My job was to fight discrimination and advance civil rights among unions. We helped unions set up civil rights committees, prepared educational materials, taught at union summer schools, developed coalitions of labor and civil rights groups. When southern states were being called upon to implement the Supreme Court’s school desegregation decision, I worked with the Virginia AFL-CIO getting it to accept the decision, and not participate in the state’s “massive resistance.” Part of my job was to staff the NYC AFL-CIO’s Civil Rights Committee, which was chaired by the manager of the Laundry Workers Joint Board. In 1962 he offered me the job of education director of the union, and I accepted. The overwhelming majority of our members were black and Puerto Rican. It was in my capacity as the laundry workers union education director that I worked as a volunteer for the 1963 March on Washington for Jobs and Freedom, and organized our participation, sending five buses of laundry workers to the march.
In December 1964, I went to work for AFSCME in Washington D.C. as education director, having been offered the job by its President, Jerry Wurf. I was aware that he would be a difficult person to work for, but I also knew that were few labor leaders as committed to organizing workers, and to advancing civil rights. He was very close to Jim Farmer of CORE, and three years later, would be linked with Dr. King as a result of the Memphis Sanitation Workers strike.
In February 1965, Jerry decided to create a new position of director of education and research, and designated the current director of education (me) and the longtime director of research, as assistant directors. He had hired Elwood Taub, who had held a similar joint position with the Woodworkers Union. Very quickly, my relationshjp with Taub became strained.
Along with most concerned people, I had been following the developments on the civil rights front in the fight for voting rights for some time: Freedom Summer 1964, the efforts of CORE, SCLC and SNCC to get blacks registered to vote, the killing of Schwerner, Goodman and Cheney in Mississippi.
The long-time campaign for the franchise for black Americans had been building. In January 1965, Dr. King came to Selma. In February, he was jailed, and noted that there are more Negroes in jail with him in Selma than there are on the voting rolls. Repeated attempts by blacks to register were rebuffed. In February, Jimmy Lee Jackson was shot and killed by an Alabama State trooper while participating in a peaceful voting rights demonstration.
To give national attention to the struggle, the decision was made to march from Selma to Montgomery. The date set for the march was Sunday March 7, 1965. There were over 600 participants, and people watching on TV saw the brutality of the State Troopers, the local police led by Sheriff Jim Clark, and the mob, as the marchers tried to cross the Edmund Pettus bridge on what has come to be known as ”Bloody Sunday.” The marchers were attacked with clubs and tear gas. John Lewis received a fractured skull. Troopers on horseback chased the marchers as they tried to escape. Police were beating the people who had retreated, choking from tear gas.
A second march was scheduled, to be led by Dr. King, on Tuesday March 9. There were 2,000 marchers, including religious leaders from across the country. However, a restraining order had been issued by a Federal Judge, and Dr. King, afraid that if he violated the order, he would subject the marchers to more violence and arrest, knelt and prayed, and the marchers returned to Selma, avoiding confrontation. That night, three white ministers were attacked by Klansmen in Selma, resulting in the death of Rev. James Reeb.
The next two weeks reshaped the country. President Lyndon B. Johnson called a joint session of Congress, delivered his historic speech declaring “we shall overcome,” and introduced the voting rights bill. The Federal Judge ruled that the marchers had the right to march, and the third march started on March 21, with US Army and National Guard protection.
Some time in mid-March, the Executive Board of AFSCME was meeting in Wisconsin, together with the union’s senior staff. I was now part of the union’s junior staff, and was left behind. I do not remember the exact date, but while the Board was in Wisconsin, a phone call came from Dr. King to President Wurf. Jerry’s secretary directed the call to me since everyone else in any position of authority was out of the office. It was clear that Dr. King was calling everyone in his Rolodex to get them to come to Montgomery for the culmination of the third march, estimated to be around March 24. Dr. King wanted tens of thousands of people from across the country to be there. I assured him that I would be in touch with President Wurf, and that certainly either President Wurf or someone he would designate, would be present.
I called Jerry, and left a message that I had to speak to him about a very urgent matter. He called back at the end of the day, and I explained that Dr. King had called, and that a third Selma to Montgomery march will take place, and that he would like to have tens of thousands of people in Montgomery to join the marchers. I explained that I would like to let Dr. King know that AFSCME will participate. He thought for a moment, and said, of course we will send somebody. Then he said, I’ll bet you would like to go. I said there is nothing more I would like. Jerry then replied, I’ll be sending Elwood.
So I did not make it to Montgomery.
(Epilogue: Soon after, I started looking for another job, and was fortunate to connect with the US Commission on Civil Rights. Turns out that the Commission, which was created in 1957, gave the denial of voting rights its highest priority. It conducted hearings in 1958 and 1959, throughout the south, and issued reports that affirmed what everybody knew, which helped shape the 1965 voting rights act. I spent the next 21 years with the Commission, dealing with every aspect of civil rights: education, employment, housing, equal justice etc. And here we are in 2015, still struggling with inequities in education, jobs, and housing, and especially the treatment of black men by white officers, and the devious efforts by state legislatures to make voting more difficult for certain groups.)
6-12-15
(Prologue: The following is what happens if you think too long about a piece of history that you want to write about. The 50th anniversary of the Selma to Montgomery March brought to mind my involvement in the request from Dr. King for AFSCME’s participation. But being who I am, instead of just telling that story, everything, no matter how remotely related, came spilling out. Rather than edit it, here it is.)
On Sunday March 8, 2015, America commemorated the 50th anniversary of the Selma to Montgomery March for Voting Rights, and for a while, 50 years ago, I thought I might be participating in that march, representing the American Federation of State, County and Municipal Employees (AFSCME).
The 10 years preceding the march were exciting and instructive ones for me, as were the years that followed. In 1955, I was in the US Army, stationed at Camp Gordon, Georgia, having been transferred from Camp Rucker, Alabama, giving me a first hand look at the segregated south. The Army had been desegregated in 1948, which made southern Army camps integrated islands in a segregated sea. Most of us in my unit were white and had been drafted. At each camp to which I had been assigned, a large proportion of the non-commissioned officers were black and had enlisted, a big change from the pre-World War II armed forces.
The Augusta bus service, which I seldom used, required blacks to sit in the back. My first experience: Several of us got on at the Camp Gordon bus stop to go into town. There was a black soldier with us. We sat down together, and the bus driver told the black soldier, who was from New Jersey, to move to the back. He was incredulous, and stared at the driver, who repeated his order. We all got off the bus together. He never took the bus after that.
On February 29, 1956, I received my discharge. I had made friends with several Augustans. They knew me as a New York Jew, pro-labor and pro-civil rights. Touchingly, they asked me to stay, and take part in helping to change the segregated world in which they lived. Instead, we returned to New York, and after a year, moved from a very changed Fox Street in the Bronx—changed from majority Jewish to majority Puerto Rican and black—to an integrated Sterling Place in Crown Heights Brooklyn.
From 1956 to 1962, I worked for the Jewish Labor Committee. My job was to fight discrimination and advance civil rights among unions. We helped unions set up civil rights committees, prepared educational materials, taught at union summer schools, developed coalitions of labor and civil rights groups. When southern states were being called upon to implement the Supreme Court’s school desegregation decision, I worked with the Virginia AFL-CIO getting it to accept the decision, and not participate in the state’s “massive resistance.” Part of my job was to staff the NYC AFL-CIO’s Civil Rights Committee, which was chaired by the manager of the Laundry Workers Joint Board. In 1962 he offered me the job of education director of the union, and I accepted. The overwhelming majority of our members were black and Puerto Rican. It was in my capacity as the laundry workers union education director that I worked as a volunteer for the 1963 March on Washington for Jobs and Freedom, and organized our participation, sending five buses of laundry workers to the march.
In December 1964, I went to work for AFSCME in Washington D.C. as education director, having been offered the job by its President, Jerry Wurf. I was aware that he would be a difficult person to work for, but I also knew that were few labor leaders as committed to organizing workers, and to advancing civil rights. He was very close to Jim Farmer of CORE, and three years later, would be linked with Dr. King as a result of the Memphis Sanitation Workers strike.
In February 1965, Jerry decided to create a new position of director of education and research, and designated the current director of education (me) and the longtime director of research, as assistant directors. He had hired Elwood Taub, who had held a similar joint position with the Woodworkers Union. Very quickly, my relationshjp with Taub became strained.
Along with most concerned people, I had been following the developments on the civil rights front in the fight for voting rights for some time: Freedom Summer 1964, the efforts of CORE, SCLC and SNCC to get blacks registered to vote, the killing of Schwerner, Goodman and Cheney in Mississippi.
The long-time campaign for the franchise for black Americans had been building. In January 1965, Dr. King came to Selma. In February, he was jailed, and noted that there are more Negroes in jail with him in Selma than there are on the voting rolls. Repeated attempts by blacks to register were rebuffed. In February, Jimmy Lee Jackson was shot and killed by an Alabama State trooper while participating in a peaceful voting rights demonstration.
To give national attention to the struggle, the decision was made to march from Selma to Montgomery. The date set for the march was Sunday March 7, 1965. There were over 600 participants, and people watching on TV saw the brutality of the State Troopers, the local police led by Sheriff Jim Clark, and the mob, as the marchers tried to cross the Edmund Pettus bridge on what has come to be known as ”Bloody Sunday.” The marchers were attacked with clubs and tear gas. John Lewis received a fractured skull. Troopers on horseback chased the marchers as they tried to escape. Police were beating the people who had retreated, choking from tear gas.
A second march was scheduled, to be led by Dr. King, on Tuesday March 9. There were 2,000 marchers, including religious leaders from across the country. However, a restraining order had been issued by a Federal Judge, and Dr. King, afraid that if he violated the order, he would subject the marchers to more violence and arrest, knelt and prayed, and the marchers returned to Selma, avoiding confrontation. That night, three white ministers were attacked by Klansmen in Selma, resulting in the death of Rev. James Reeb.
The next two weeks reshaped the country. President Lyndon B. Johnson called a joint session of Congress, delivered his historic speech declaring “we shall overcome,” and introduced the voting rights bill. The Federal Judge ruled that the marchers had the right to march, and the third march started on March 21, with US Army and National Guard protection.
Some time in mid-March, the Executive Board of AFSCME was meeting in Wisconsin, together with the union’s senior staff. I was now part of the union’s junior staff, and was left behind. I do not remember the exact date, but while the Board was in Wisconsin, a phone call came from Dr. King to President Wurf. Jerry’s secretary directed the call to me since everyone else in any position of authority was out of the office. It was clear that Dr. King was calling everyone in his Rolodex to get them to come to Montgomery for the culmination of the third march, estimated to be around March 24. Dr. King wanted tens of thousands of people from across the country to be there. I assured him that I would be in touch with President Wurf, and that certainly either President Wurf or someone he would designate, would be present.
I called Jerry, and left a message that I had to speak to him about a very urgent matter. He called back at the end of the day, and I explained that Dr. King had called, and that a third Selma to Montgomery march will take place, and that he would like to have tens of thousands of people in Montgomery to join the marchers. I explained that I would like to let Dr. King know that AFSCME will participate. He thought for a moment, and said, of course we will send somebody. Then he said, I’ll bet you would like to go. I said there is nothing more I would like. Jerry then replied, I’ll be sending Elwood.
So I did not make it to Montgomery.
(Epilogue: Soon after, I started looking for another job, and was fortunate to connect with the US Commission on Civil Rights. Turns out that the Commission, which was created in 1957, gave the denial of voting rights its highest priority. It conducted hearings in 1958 and 1959, throughout the south, and issued reports that affirmed what everybody knew, which helped shape the 1965 voting rights act. I spent the next 21 years with the Commission, dealing with every aspect of civil rights: education, employment, housing, equal justice etc. And here we are in 2015, still struggling with inequities in education, jobs, and housing, and especially the treatment of black men by white officers, and the devious efforts by state legislatures to make voting more difficult for certain groups.)
6-12-15
Original Format
application/msword
Collection
Citation
Jacob Schlitt, “Selma, Civil Rights, and Me,” Autobiographical stories & other writing by Jacob Schlitt, accessed April 23, 2025, https://tsirlson.omeka.net/items/show/351.