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AACPA Of Rome, GA "The Connection ", 15 East 5th Avenue, Rome, GA (2026)

10/10/2026

Local Columnist WILLIE MAE SAMUEL: Don't play with Mother Nature
I remember in school we always had to pledge allegiance to the flag, and many of my students stood hesitantly or in a lackadaisical way, or weren’t willing to place their hand on their hearts. I would say, “Let’s do it. I kn ow you’re saying America has never been this America to you, and you are correct. But my statement to you is: let us make it so.”

Many asked, “How do we make it so?”

Sixty years ago, my answer was, and still is, “You make it so by, No. 1, getting out to vote.”

As we listen and look around at what is happening, it seems as if we are taking three steps backward in this country each day. And those steps backward are not all for the same reason.

Some are happy because there is that fear that people of color “are going to do to us what we’ve always done to them.” We saw that with President Obama; we saw people going to the gun store to buy weapons, assuming that Black people have the same nature that they do. And we don’t understand why they believe that. People of color have had many opportunities to do the same thing that was done to our forefathers and to some of us.

Then you have a group who truly believe, because it has been taught, it has been embedded in their psyche, that people of color are not human beings and therefore should not be treated as such. And there are those who will do anything — lie, steal, kill, become totally corrupt — to maintain the myth they deserve to be on top. There’s another group that’s just ignorant; they don’t know any better. That group has been brainwashed to look out the window instead of in the mirror and to blame others for their shortcomings. And then you’ve got some who are maladjusted, natural haters who feel powerful when they see others hurt. We have them in our midst, little people in school, who start out that way because that is what they have been told.

At first it was hard to understand, millions of people thinking we should go backwards, and then one day that voice in my head said, “No, all of those people do not think the same way.” The results are the same, but they don’t think the same way for the same reason. Some have been misled and are just plain ignorant. Some are fearful, and some just go along to get along or because it makes them feel powerful.

We cannot blame the Founding Fathers for setting things up for success. But they did not realize, as some of us are just realizing, that some people call themselves human beings yet want to believe other human beings are not worthy of being equal. That word “equal” bothers many people.

The sad thing about that is that Mother Nature always holds true. Some things man cannot change. I remember a commercial years ago, about butter, I think, and at the end the conclusion was, “Don’t mess with Mother Nature.” Mother Nature will win every time. So, to look at the composition of the world and conclude that it has to remain a majority Caucasian or Anglo is out of touch with reality. It seems to be speeding up in terms of composition and skin tone in this country, too. As skin tones get darker over time, America will be no exception.

At this point, America is trying to beat Mother Nature, but it will not be long before the leaders of this country and across the world will be women and people of color. Now, many of us will not witness it, but history will prove it.

Historians can go ahead and put it in the books as a fact. In the not-too-distant future, most leaders will be women and people of color.

Willie Mae Samuel is a playwright, founder and director of the African American Connection of the Performing Arts Inc. and a 2020 Heart of the Community Award recipient. She can be contacted at [email protected]. 💜

10/03/2026

Local Columnist WILLIE MAE SAMUEL: What about the children?
Some years ago, singer Yolanda Adams released the song “What About the Children?” Since then, and even before, many have wondered: what are we doing about the children? We all know, from our experience and observation, that they are imitators.

I was listening to a former student and church member who reminded us that, according to the word in Ephesians 5, we are imitators. And because Ephesians 5 encourages us to imitate Christ, those who consider themselves Christians are covered by the gospel.

What concerns me, though, is that we realize we are imitators, and we know that not only is the world watching us, but our children are watching us, even when we would hope not. They are watching, following, learning and imitating what we say. They are imitating what we do, where we go, and how we treat others.

What about the children of 2026, the people, and who we are following? I keep returning to Shakespeare’s King Lear. King Lear was greedy, selfish, arrogant, and possessed nearly every negative trait one could imagine. He lived that life before his three daughters. Later in life, he turns to his three daughters and asks them to confess their love for him. King Lear evidently did not realize that human beings are imitators.

Babies look at what we show them, what we say, and how we treat other people. I was thinking about my great-grandbaby. I had my great-grandbaby here for a day, and I was amazed at what she could do at 1 year old. I put various things in front of her, including bracelets, watches, and old jewelry. Believe it or not, Melina knew where to put the watches. She knew where to put the bracelet. She knew where to put every item I had put in front of her. And after sleeping all night, she got up the next morning and headed straight to where we had left those things overnight. She had learned to imitate, and we are all imitators.

My question is: what about the children? Are we aware that someone is imitating us? Someone is imitating who we are, and is that going to be a good picture of what we want exemplified in our families, in our communities, in our churches, in our state, and in our world?

As Christ was talking with his disciples, the people he was teaching, he said, “Imitate who I’ve been; imitate what I’ve done; imitate how I have performed; imitate me.” I also remember, and I’m sure you do, that as we were children, adults would ask us, “When you grow up, who do you want to be like? What do you want to be?” Most of us would say, “Oh, I want to be the president,” or “I want to be a preacher like Minister Miller,” or “I want to be a teacher,” or “I want to be a doctor.” The children always had answers, and so my question now is: what are the children saying they want to be now? Who do the children want to be like? Would it be you?

Something is out of kilter, as Sojourner Truth said as she walked the Earth seeking truth; something is out of kilter. How do we, the adults in the room, put things back in order? Do the adults in the room want to put things back in order, or are we the ones who are pleased with the young people driving recklessly, and some getting killed in car accidents? Are we the ones who are saying life is not worth living and encouraging with our words young people to commit su***de? Are we the ones who are brandishing guns and aiming at homes and happy to see 11- and 10-year-olds being killed in their own yards? What are we doing? Are we doing anything? Are we saying anything? Are we praying about anything that might make our young people desire to live peacefully, as the Word says, with all people?

So, my question is: what are we doing about the children according to Philippians 4? The verse says, “Think on these things: things that are honorable, things that are truthful, things that are noble.”

At one time, these were the kinds of examples we wanted set before our children. Now there is so much irony and hypocrisy in our lives and in what we do. For example, we’ve gone through the libraries and pulled books from the shelves that deal with equality, love thy neighbor, and peace. We pull books from the shelves that deal with the reality of life, like race, gender, and s*x.

What about the children?

Willie Mae Samuel is a playwright, founder and director of the African American Connection of the Performing Arts Inc. and a 2020 Heart of the Community Award recipient. She can be contacted at [email protected]. 💜

09/26/2026

Local Columnist WILLIE MAE SAMUEL:
Walking with King Lear‘s flaws
For the past couple of months, books and plays I’ve read, and some I’ve taught, have resurfaced. William Shakespeare and some of his plays have come back to me, and I’m seeing a strong correlation with what’s happening around me, around us, around this country.

Some months ago, when there was so much to do about voting, I realized that many people don’t realize that it is not, as Shakespeare states, “Much Ado About Nothing”; it’s actually “much you do about something.” I want you all to know that most of what I write has nothing to do with what somebody else has said; it has to do with my experience in these 83 years of life. But somehow this week, William Shakespeare’s plays continue to ride with me emotionally and spiritually.

I asked my husband, “Did you read the play “King Lear” when you were in high school?” He said, “ No, I don’t think so. I heard the name, though.”

I am sure this is true of many, but as I examined King Lear’s character traits, I asked myself: Do we have friends and neighbors with King Lear’s traits walking among us even today? As I considered the characters in “King Lear,” I recognized many of their traits in my friends and neighbors.

Do we have some of the tragic flaws seen in King Lear, or some of the noble qualities exemplified by his daughter Cordelia? Cordelia’s dad, the king, didn’t understand himself and, as a result, didn’t understand his daughter, whom he claimed to love more than anything. However, when she said, “I cannot heave my heart into my mouth” to say words she didn’t mean, he didn’t understand where she was coming from. This is a parent who said that, out of all his three daughters, he loved Cordelia more, yet he didn’t understand who she was.

Cordelia was incapable of saying words that she did not mean, even if it cost her all of her fortunes, even if it cost her life, and it did; she could not recreate who she was in order to please a father who knew not who she was nor who he was.

I tend to ask people what they remember about their literary exposure in high school and/or college. Many of you read “King Lear” and Greek tragedies. In those plays, we have a character who is everything one could expect status-wise; however, he has a tragic flaw. Often, a tragic flaw comes in multiples. For example, an arrogant, haughty, obnoxious individual is usually wrapped up in one package. Usually, he turns out to be a narcissist, a man filled with excessive pride, and a man who becomes heartless in the process.

In “King Lear,” we have a powerful, seemingly upright king who gets some things confused; he wants and demands power, but he doesn’t understand how to use it or when to use it.

King Lear asks his three daughters to profess their love for him to him and the world. Two sisters say they love him more than they love space, liberty, etc., and are willing to play the game. Cordelia says she cannot “heave her heart into her mouth,” and she is exiled, leaving her with nothing in the kingdom.

All the witnesses at the scene conclude this about the father: “He has ever but slenderly known himself in life.”

When King Lear makes this request, he is about 88 years old. He seems to be slipping a little mentally. When asked to confess her love for her dad, Cordelia says, “I am constitutionally incapable of playing the silly game, even though I am not able to heave my heart into my mouth, even though I lack that glue and oily art of saying things I don’t mean. All these things are true, and they’ve cost me; you disown me now, right? I am glad not to have such a tongue. I am glad not to be a person of casual dishonesty. I am glad to be a person who is willing to say what’s true and to stand, and to accept the price that comes for saying what’s true when I’m surrounded.”

When pressed or surrounded, would you be a Cordelia?

Willie Mae Samuel is a playwright, founder and director of the African American Connection of the Performing Arts Inc. and a 2020 Heart of the Community Award recipient. She can be contacted at [email protected]. 💜

09/19/2026

WILLIE MAE SAMUEL: Much ado about something, still

(In the summer of 1965, Willie Mae Samuel worked with Freedom Riders to get Black residents of her home county Allendale, South Carolina, registered to vote. It was a harrowing experience, and why she still pushes back against those who would call voting rights debates “much ado about nothing.” This is the final chapter of her tale.
Good and bad situations followed for many years after the Freedom Summer of 1965.)

My Aunt Cornelia continued to live in the same area until she died at 100 years and 6 months in 1993. Wade Smith, the mayor, lived not too far from her and they had remained close. In those days, there was a lot of forgiving and forgetting. He visited her often and brought his new wife to sit and talk with her on many hot summer days. He loved fishing and occasionally brought Aunt Tee fresh fish. I was responsible for caring for her long-distance for 35 years. Aunt Tee always told me who came calling on her.

The homes in this area were 25 miles from Allendale’s city limits, and by then there were no grocery stores nearby. One weekend, I was in South Carolina taking care of her shopping and cleaning her yard. Bless me, Wade came by for a visit with my Aunt Tee, not knowing I was there. We must both have put that horrific incident on the back burner, because we greeted each other as old friends. He invited me to come by and meet his new wife. I promised I would. He asked me about my mom, who had gone to live in Florida, and sent his good wishes to her.

Many years passed, and I never seemed to have time to sit and visit on the weekends when I was in South Carolina cleaning and shopping for my aunt. After she passed, I continued to keep her house for 20 years . One day during the week, I asked a friend to ride with me to Millett to check on the place. As we traveled, I shared with him some of my growing-up experiences there, especially the voting rights venture.

We made it to Millett early that morning, so I knew we had a little extra time. I did not think long or hard about the visit but — just after crossing the railroad tracks that we had flown over in the ‘56 Ford while being chased in 1965 — I decided to pull into Wade Smith’s driveway. I told my buddy Horace I just wanted to say hello to Wade. He said, “OK, I will stay in the car until you come back.”

I said, “OK, I will be right back.”

When I reached the door, it was open, and I could see through the screen door. that Wade was moving around in the kitchen. He saw me and smiled. “Come on in and have lunch with me,” he said. “I was just getting ready to have some cheese and crackers along with a Coca-Cola.”

I was caught off guard by the invitation and walked in without looking back. By then, he had pulled out my chair and his and was sitting down. We sat and ate some of that good old hoop cheese and talked about many things, but neither of us mentioned the horrific incident that happened during the stormy, heated summer of 1965.

After about half an hour, I remembered I was only supposed to say hello to Wade and let him know I was in town. I just knew Horace was an absolute nervous wreck outside in a strange area, with no stores, no cars passing, and pigs and chickens running around in the yard. I told Wade I enjoyed the lunch but had to go because I had company waiting in the car. He said he understood and told me to take the Coca-Cola with me, and I did. He walked me to the door and waved at Horace as I rushed to the car, apologies hanging on all sides of my mouth.

After I got in, Horace looked at me and said, “You got me sitting out here all this time in no man’s land while you are sitting in there eating cheese with the enemy.” We both laughed and could not stop until we drove the country block to Aunt Tee’s house.

We knew that expression carried an historical significance, but could not recall it at the time. We just kept laughing.

The story is from the Book of Judith in the Apocrypha. It is still in the Catholic Bible and remembered in a Hanukkah tradition.

For years before Horace died, we always found humor in his reaction and in my neglect that day when I sat and “ate cheese with the enemy.”

Willie Mae Samuel is a playwright, founder and director of the African American Connection of the Performing Arts Inc. and a 2020 Heart of the Community Award recipient. She can be contacted at [email protected]. 💜

09/12/2026

Local Columnist WILLIE MAE SAMUEL:
Much ado about something, part 3
In the summer of 1965 Willie Mae Samuel worked with Freedom Riders to convince Black residents of her home county Allendale, South Carolina, to register to vote. Local authorities slow-walked the paperwork, the group was arrested, jailed and chased by men with guns, but they didn’t give up:
The next morning we were all up bright and early. I heard a sound that wasn’t normal coming from the yard, so I stepped out onto the porch. My mom was following me, so we got out into the yard and there was this robust man in a truck. He yelled at me by name because in this town everybody knew everybody by name.

“Willie, I heard that you’ve been on my property talking to my people.”

There are certain times when one loses their mind and just can’t take it anymore. I told him, “Sir, those are not your people. And they have a right to know they can register to vote.” I was thinking the Johnson crew must have reported to Wade that we were on their property. Wade got out of the truck and came around to where I was standing. “Willie,” he said, “are you going to stay off my property and stop talking to my people?’”

That thing popped in again; we can call it insanity. I felt my mouth fly open. “Sir,” I repeated, “those are not your people and they have a right to know they can vote.” He lifted his hand to backhand me. My mom reached down to pick up something and said in no uncertain terms, “Hit her if you dare.” He changed his mind.

Then he went around to the driver’s side of the truck, got a gun from the seat and came back and asked me again. I gave him the same answer. He raised the gun, and at that moment my mom turned and ran toward the porch. Sanity returned and I knew where she was going. I did not care if Wade was aiming at my back, my head or anything. I turned to run after my mom, calling for my younger sisters not to let Mom get the gun.

Wade Smith was the mayor of Martin/Millett. I realized I was putting my mama in danger. I was running as fast as I could, yelling “Don’t let Mama get the gun,” with Wade following close behind me. When I got inside, Mom was already in the room where the guns were. We always had guns. We believed in the Second Amendment. She was in that room but my three younger sisters were holding her and the door so she couldn’t come back out. I forced the door open. When Mom saw that I was not hurt, she started to calm down.

That’s when I remembered that my 86-year-old aunt was spending time with us. Aunt Cornelia was in the family room, looking at Wade. They knew each other because, as I said, everybody knows everybody. She said, “Boy, what is wrong with you?”

He said, “Nealey, Ella’s children are coming onto my property and talking to my people. I’m sorry, Nealey, but I cannot allow her to let those children do that.” He tossed his gun onto the sofa next to Aunt Cornelia and sat beside her. She said, “Boy, that is my sister.” They engaged in a conversation, with her trying to understand why this man walked into her sister’s house with a gun, and him trying to get her to be OK with what he was doing.

I eased the gun from my Mom’s hand, put it down on the dresser and told her that I was alright. Then I went back into the family room. Wade stood up and turned to me, and asked that famous question again. I lost my mind again and gave him my same answer.

Anger at injustice can outweigh fear of dying.

At that time, Mom stepped out of the room, and the mayor asked, “Ella, are you going to keep your children away from my people?” Mama just said, “Did you hear what she said?” Then he picked up his gun and said, “Well, Ella, you borrowed my pump head, and I want it back. I want it back today.” He had decided to cut off our water supply.

But Wade was not aware that a man and his family had moved into the area from Arkansas, and they took a liking to Mom and her six children. Because of some problems she had finding a place to live, G.H. Mellon had built Mom a house — with an inside bathroom and running water. Most people in that area, even Whites, did not have running water. We didn’t brag about it. We just accepted it as a blessing. So Mom took the pump head off and returned it that evening to the general store that Wade and his dad owned.

The next day, the Freedom Riders Bill and Lance came back so we could go out again to talk to people. I shared with them what we had experienced and they were alarmed. They hustled my sisters and me into the car, all the while saying, “We’re going to go find a law enforcement officer.” They had done research before coming to the area, so they thought they knew where to find someone who would swear out a warrant for an individual who had threatened the lives of other people.

We arrived at this officer’s house and we shared with him what had happened. He looked at us and said, “If you all don’t get back in that car and get away from here, I’m going to arrest all of you.” Bill and Lance looked at each other with disbelief. But that officer was not about to do anything to Mayor Wade Smith. So we got in the car and went back, sharing our dissatisfaction and disappointment and making plans for the next day.

The summer was almost over. Work was calling me and the last year of college was calling Bill and Lance. Those two Freedom Riders had come with a purpose and a determination. I do not recall our goodbyes.

To be continued ...

Willie Mae Samuel is a playwright, founder and director of the African American Connection of the Performing Arts Inc. and a 2020 Heart of the Community Award recipient. She can be contacted at [email protected]. 💜

09/05/2026

Local Columnist Willie Mae Samuel:
Much ado about something, Part 2
In the summer of 1965 Willie Mae Samuel worked with with Freedom Riders to convince Black residents of her home county of Allendale in South Carolina to register to vote. After being slow-walked by authorities, they converged on the courthouse and refused to leave until they were put on the rolls. Instead, they were arrested:
There were too many of us to fit in their vehicles so the police officers told us to line up and walk to the jailhouse. We hadn’t registered, and we definitely hadn’t voted, but we were feeling a little accomplished. We held hands and started singing the freedom song as we marched toward the Allendale County Jail.

We had about a mile and a half to go. As we walked and sang, we noticed another crowd was following behind us. These were the ones who had walked out of the courthouse when the police chief said to leave or go to jail, and earlier, when community leader Mutt Jones said we should not disturb the peace. They were having second thoughts about what they had done.

The policemen walking with us stayed between them and our group. The followers were trying hard to come and mix in with us, but the police were serious. They knew they didn’t have enough room for us plus the others.

We were locked in a big, open area fenced with barbed wire, and those who were following behind came to the gate and began shaking it, saying, “Let us in. We want to go to jail too.” At this point, we were upset with them and yelled back. We called them yellow-bellied snakes and used some ugly names for deserting us, but it didn’t stop them from shaking the gate.

After about an hour or so, the policemen came back out and put us in various cells, about eight or nine of us in each. The Freedom Riders Bill and Lance and some of my friends realized that we were doing this for an important purpose. Some of the others were not quite sure, as if they might’ve got caught up in things. A few younger ones began to cry to get out. My youngest sister was 16.

There were also some much older people. Sister Pinky Johnson and her husband, Rev. Richard Johnson, were in that group, along with Leon Ingram, Mrs. Roberta Edwards, and quite a few others. For the life of me, I cannot remember the conversations that were held. I believe everyone just used that time to center down.

We stayed in the cells for a couple of hours, and then an announcement came over the loudspeaker: “You all are released. You may leave now.” My younger sisters and I knew our mom would be outside waiting for us, all night if necessary. We went home in a quiet mood. I’m not sure where Lance and Bill were. They were staying in town, and we didn’t see them again that night.

We rested that night and planned to continue canvassing the homes in the area. The next day, we went to visit a family whose house was on US 125. Most of the time, we did not go into the houses. We stayed on the porch or out in the yard — somewhere in the open, for our protection. On this particular day, we were on the porch, and Bill and I sensed danger. It seemed like Bill’s ears shot up. I can’t remember right now what Lance did; he was the quiet, contemplative one. Bill was the more talkative, engaging one, but we all could communicate, and we did for the summer of 1965.

We knew by the sound of that truck that something was about to happen. There was a kind of foreboding. As the truck passed the house, we could see the rage and anger on the driver’s face. We jumped in our car and all four doors were still open when we hit the freeway. Bill was an excellent driver. He was from New York, but he could drive on those country, sandy roads in South Carolina.

We saw the men jump out of the truck and go into their house to get their weapons. They came rushing out, hoping we would still be on that family’s porch. Then they were in the truck, pursuing us. Bill was driving as fast as the car could go. Someone asked where we could go. We knew my mom was at work, and so was most everybody else. My mind was racing to come up with an answer. I said, “Bill, keep driving in the same direction, to Josh Smith’s house.”

Our cousin Josh was a railroad worker who got off work at 4 o’clock, and it wasn’t 4 o’clock yet so I knew he wasn’t at home. I told Bill which turns to make. We had to cross the railroad tracks and get on a sandy dirt road. I don’t know if you’ve ever ridden on a dirt road, but that’s not a road on which to speed. Bill jumped the tracks in my mom’s little ‘56 Ford and floored it, with sand and dust flying every way. It spun all the way around, but he straightened it up and stomped the pedal again. About a mile down the road we got to Josh Smith and Altha’s house, which was turned a particular way. You could go to the back and anyone at the front wouldn’t be able to see was was going on there.

The followers in the truck didn’t know about the back side, so they got in the front yard and turned around, kicking up dirt and dust. Calling us names and making threats, they headed back to H. E. Johnson Plantation.

We were on the backside of my cousin’s house, and as I said earlier, Josh Smith didn’t bother anybody, but he was definitely not up to date on voting, registration, and that sort of civic duty; he was not a part of this movement.

We breathed a sigh of relief. We were not ready to give up, but we decided not to visit any more homes on that plantation.

To be continued ...

Willie Mae Samuel is a playwright, founder and director of the African American Connection of the Performing Arts Inc. and a 2020 Heart of the Community Award recipient. She can be contacted at [email protected]. 💜

08/29/2026

Local Columnist WILLIE MAE SAMUEL:
Much ado about something

For some, this discussion about voting, voters’ rights and registering to vote may seem like much ado about nothing. But for those of us who have experienced being excluded and denied the right to even register, it is much ado about something.

I’m reminded of the time I graduated from college in 1965 and decided to use that summer to join forces with those in my community who were denied the opportunity to register and to vote.

Allendale County, South Carolina, is one of the poorest, most racist areas in the country, despite the fact that the county is predominantly black. That summer, I was connected with two Freedom Riders, William Leue and Lance Nelson, who were White and from New York. Our mission was to visit the homes of people who were unaware that the Civil Rights Act had been passed and they could go to the courthouse to register.

I had grown up in that area and knew all the families. Each day, Bill, Lance, my two younger sisters and I would visit various homes to explain the law and that we would set a day for us all to go to the courthouse to register together.

Four weeks passed, and we had gathered a good number of people. On the first Monday of July 1965, we lined up at 9 a.m. at the courthouse door. The registrar opened the door at 9:05 a.m. and allowed one resident in. Around noon that individual was brought back and let out. Then we were told the office would be closed until 1 p.m. so we would need to come back then. At 1 p.m., the registrar let in one individual, who was escorted out at 5 p.m. and we were told that the office was closed for the day.

That continued daily. We would return to our homes some 20-plus miles away get prepared to return the next day. After a month of that, we had about eight residents registered to vote.

We realized that was not going to work and held a meeting at a church in Allendale, and then another at Mount Hope Baptist Church in the county. At this point, more people were hearing about what was happening and wanted to be involved in community work and carry out their civic responsibilities. The crowd was growing. Older people were beginning to join the movement. We had to come up with a plan or strategy to bring about change.

Our leaders, Bill and Lance, were with us every step of the way. I am not sure what training the Freedom Riders had, but we had heard about the danger in other states and cities. James Chaney, Andrew Goodman and Michael Schwerner were killed in Mississippi by members of the Ku Klux Klan with the help of local law enforcement. But Bill and Lance, who were a year younger than I was, were ready to accept whatever fate we faced.

At the called meeting, quite a few were ready to take action. We agreed that when the registrar tried to lock the door again, the first person in line was to step inside, and all would follow.

That Monday, the line of people flowed in like a river, filling every corner of that registration area, and everyone stood quietly. The rule was that, if there was no talking, law enforcement would not know who the leader was and everything would have to be directed at the entire group.

I remember it as uncomfortably quiet. Policemen rushed in with their weapons drawn, and one said: “OK, you know that you’re breaking the law. You are going to be under arrest unless you leave now.” About 10 people got up and left. That fear got to them. But the rest of us were still in there, being quiet.

Shortly after that, a couple more policemen came in with a man who, I guess, you could consider a Black community leader. They introduced him as Mutt Jones. The chief of police told Mutt he wanted him to talk to us and “let them know that we want peace in this town and that they should not be rocking the boat.”

Some in the group knew him as a civic leader; most of us from the county didn’t know Mutt Jones from Sam Hill, but he spoke to all of us. And after he finished, there were about 15 or 20 who walked out with him. Then the police chief said it was our last chance to “leave unless you want to go to jail,” and left.

We were still there, quiet as church mice, realizing we had passed the test and would not let fear or the thought of the next consequence make us back away from the cheese before us.

The policemen were still gathered on the other side of the room, though, and one of them asked his partner how they would get all of us to jail. “Hell,” the other officer replied, “we’ll just let them walk.”

To be continued next week...

Willie Mae Samuel is a playwright, founder and director of the African American Connection of the Performing Arts Inc. and a 2020 Heart of the Community Award recipient. She can be contacted at [email protected]. 💜

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