Emmett Till: A reprint from my teaching blog

Just so you know, I'm quoting myself here.   This is a March 2012 post from my other blog, onepieceatatime.blogspot.com.   

Since then, I have been selected for the summer seminar, and I thought that this entry bears repeating.

Here's a link to Ms. Emmylou Harris singing  "My Name is Emmett Till."

Follow this link to Bob Dylan's 1963 lyrics for "The Death of Emmett Till."

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This could be the title for so many books about the Civil Rights Movement, but this time it's referring to The True Story of the Emmett Till Case, a book by Chris Crowe.   I had requested this book for our library years ago, but I actively avoided reading it.   I already knew young Emmett's story; I discovered it when I was nearly as old as he was when he drew his last breath.

I don't mind telling you that I was not a stellar student in middle school.   In 8th grade, I do remember charting facts about the Vietnam War and being fascinated by the Tinker v. DesMoines Supreme Court Case.   And then there was the quarterly poetry memorization requirement.   25 lines per quarter in 7th grade, 50 in 8th.   Oh, the dread with which I went to school those days in anticipation of standing before my peers, drawing a blank and perhaps fainting on the spot.   This medieval expectation was responsible for some of the most visceral memories of conducting research I've ever experienced.   I'm pretty certain that my English teacher did not plan for my new obsession, nor did she ever know about it.

Yes, we are getting to Emmett Till, but it started with the four little girls.   I was researching poet Dudley Randall in preparation for presenting "The Ballad of Birmingham."   The poem galloped along in a sing-song rhyme while recounting truly horrific circumstances.   These were the days of microfilm and microfiche, trips to the public and local college libraries and getting taxied around by my dad.   I don't remember talking to him about what I was sifting though.   When something of such great magnitude weighs on my mind, I usually get quiet and look for more information.   That meant Medgar Evers, Mickey Schwerner, Andrew Goodman and James Chaney.   Next was Emmett Till.

A black teen down from Chicago after his 8th grade year was visiting relatives near Money, Mississippi.   In what seems to be a case of teenage boy bravado, he took up a challenge from friends and tried to flirt with a young white woman working behind a store counter.   Till was later taken from his relatives' home in the middle of the night, tortured and murdered.  

Days after his disappearance a white teen found Till's body in the Tallahatchie River.   This is the image that I remember as I scanned the pages of Jet magazine.   Till's grieving mother, Mamie, made a chilling decision on behalf of a nation.   She insisted on an open casket funeral and allowed Jet to publish the photographs.   This was no ordinary open-casket.   Her child was nearly unrecognizable.   His body was almost doubled in size due to being under water for so long; his face was distorted from the vicious beating as well.   This was her child, and she wanted everyone to see him.  

Young Till is called "the boy who triggered the civil rights movement."   He predated Rosa Parks's act of civil disobedience, and it was Medgar Evers who assisted in finding witnesses for the case against Till's murderers.   Years later Evers would be shot on his front doorstep after arriving home from work while his children raced to the other side of the door to greet their father.  

Show me an 8th grader, and I'll show you someone who is very interested in justice.   These lessons came to me when I was ready to hear them, but as an adult, I didn't want to read about the case all over again.

If you read my earlier post about the summer seminar I've applied for, you'll remember that the course centers on Clarkesdale, Mississippi.   One of the required books is Getting Away With Murder: The True Story of the Emmett Till Case.   No, I haven't been selected yet, but I thought it was time that I faced that book.   It arrived a couple of weeks ago, but I still wasn't ready.   I wrapped it in a favorite flannel pillowcase and placed a heart milagro on top of it and slid it in a wooden drawer.   This may seem strange to you; it seemed strange to me too.   I got the book out today and read it quickly.   Yes, that photograph is in there, but I feel that the complex story was handled in a way that would reach most teens without frightening them away first.   The book is just over 120 pages and keeps a narrow focus.   Photographs add even more gravitas to Till's story.  

Like I said before, I already knew this story, but here's something that I did not know.   At the time of jury selection, "Mississippi state law required that only registered male voters who were at least twenty-one years old and could read and write were eligible for jury duty.   Even though 63 percent of the residents of Tallahatchie County were Black, the pool of prospective jurors contained only white men because Tallahatchie County has no Black registered voters" (79).   Although I had studied the events surrounding the Voting Rights Act, I never made the connection that the right to vote also impacts jury selection in a very basic way.

Now that our 8th grade social studies is civics, not world geography, I look forward to compiling a unit on the Civil Rights Movement.   The way that so many young people affected widespread social change should be inspirational for most teens.   As adults, we already know that social justice starts with just one person "being the change."   It's good to introduce this idea to teenagers while they are hungry and idealistic.   Sure, some of the battles they may take on will seem to lack "great social import," but they are advocates in training.   This will be the foundation of thought for the defining moments in their future when they will have to choose a side that represents their idea of integrity.

Chris Crowe's non-fiction book I mentioned was actually a collection of his research for writing Mississippi Trial, 1955, a piece of historical fiction.   I have not read it yet as I prefer my history to be as factual as possible, but it comes highly recommended by a self-proclaimed reluctant teen reader.   Okay, sometimes she says she "hates" reading, but I prefer to assume that's hyperbolic.

And don't miss A Wreath for Emmett Till.   It's a spellbinding masterpiece.

Georgia Peaches and Pinto Beans

Paula's Pintos on the Porch

Last Saturday I am tried a recipe from one of my favorite Georgia girls.   It's Paula Deen's Slow Cooker Pinto Beans.   Miraculously, I remembered to put the dry pound of pintos into water last night, so they were ready for me this morning.   There's not much to the recipe in the way of human effort.   My crock pot was the one on duty for lunch.   I'll have to admit that it's the first time I've used Streak O' Lean for anything at all.   After the first hour of cooking those beans on high, I decided to move the Crock Pot to the front porch.   It's the kind of day that anything heating up the house was unwelcome, no matter how delicious the smell.

We ate the beans about an hour earlier than the recommended cooking time, and they were tasty.   Cheap.  Easy.   The kind of recipe that you could put together in a hotel room, if you had a mind to.   Once the summer heats up, I think I'll continue exploring slow cooker recipes that can happen on the front porch.   I'll just have to make a special big ol' necklace with a note attached, so I remember that something's doing out there.

And while I've never been a huge fan of the Allman Brothers, I'm listened to their Winterland concert from 1973, courtesy of Wolfgang's Vault, and thought about changing my mind.   I will say this for those guys.   They sure did offer lots of bathroom breaks, um instrumental jamming, during concerts.

Macon, Georgia is also responsible for giving us Little Richard and Otis Redding...no small contribution to my general happiness right there.

Tupelo and Muscle Shoals

I spent a great portion of yesterday looking at my itinerary, pinning some websites that I needed to visit later on Pinterest and charting my way home.

I joined AAA for the first time in my adult life and was a little sad to see that the TripTiks are now on line.   Truth be told, I was looking forward to flipping through those maps like my grandfather and father did as we put more road miles behind us.   The convenience of having the program accessible from my computer outweighs nostalgia though.

A road trip to Disney Word. Hiya, Grandpa!

RV trip to Gettysburg. There's Grandma!

Since we could be in the neighborhood with a few minor adjustments, I angled to stay a night in Tupelo on the way home.

Sure, I'm a fan of the King, but mainly I'm interested in his persona and the way that people respond to him and his memory.   Unfortunately, it'll be a Sunday morning when we're there, so his childhood home and the hardware store where he bought his first guitar will be closed.   On the other hand, a quiet drive with some of his gospel music playing in the truck seems like an okay way to get on the road to Muscle Shoals.

Yes.   I want to see the first and second music studios noted for that certain sound.   Current owner and operator Noel Webster describes the Sheffield studio as being, "kinda like a church."   If you can spare five minutes, check out this video.   It will show you the red oak beams that run under the floor, making the space sensitive to all of the delicious vibrations of live music.   It's why Lynyrd Skynyrd frontman Ronnie Van Zant never wore shoes, according to Webster.   You will also be able to hear clips from a variety of popular music recorded there.   This includes portions of one of my all-time favorite albums: Sticky Fingers.   You know, the Rolling Stones...those guys.

If you want to get started with an album that was recorded completely at this historic studio, may I recommend Etta James?   "At Last" is a tremendous song, but I prefer the more soulful tunes belted out by a feisty lady sometimes clad in what can only be described as a librarian sweater over a dress.   Ms. Etta knew how to work it out.   Here's a sample from Tell Mama: the Complete Muscle Shoals Sessions.

My favorite record store. American Oldies/ Newport News, VA

Sweet Potato Biscuits & Alabama Shakes

What the world needs now is more orange.

Good morning!   I have a hot batch of sweet potato biscuits to share.   It's another recipe from Martha Hall Foose's cookbook Screen Doors and Sweet Tea.  

This recipe was quick and easy.   Even so, I made a rookie mistake that I haven't made since I was a little kid who turned a Chef Boyardee pizza into a Frisbee at the babysitter's house.   I put the first batch of biscuits in before the oven was done preheating.   Dang.  

Sweet Potato Biscuits!

Even so, the sweet little darlings came out okay...just a little brown on the bottom.   An ice cream scoop will help you measure out the portions evenly, and some parchment paper will make clean-up simple.   No rolling of the dough...these are drop biscuits.

While you are baking, why not listen to Alabama Shakes on Pandora?   They're from Athens, Alabama and make for good kitchen music.   The other songs that Pandora picks for the mix are a sweet match.   Try the song below to see if they pass your taste test.

Blues From the Delta/ William Ferris

Since I have a cooking-from-scratch hangover, it's Farm Fresh paninis, Northern Neck ginger ale, leftover three-bean salad, Betty Crocker walnut brownies (with chopped pecans added in) and vanilla ice cream for dinner.   I settled into bed to work on my required reading and promptly fell asleep for a half hour.  

Now I'm awake to tell you about a book I finished earlier this year as part of the syllabus, since I didn't get very far with today's selection.   First, let me say that I have strong biases when it comes to the music that I enjoy.   Words, in general, I need to have words in my songs.   I understand that computers are used to mix music, but I don't want to hear their heavy footprints in the way of letting a vocalist hit certain inhuman notes and blending the band into a tasteless background hum.   I'm not a musician, so I don't have the appreciation for classical music that I should.   And I'm not working it out on the dance floor, so techno has got to go.   Which brings me to...

That's how I like my music.   Thank goodness for people like Alan Lomax and William Ferris who had the sense to capture and preserve roots music.   Ferris spent his time traveling to new places, making new relationships and documenting traditional sounds.   He talks about the hard lives of black sharecroppers and the stories of Chicago's money trees that lured Mississippians north.

Ferris also explores the fact that, "Music was one of the few avenues to success available for blacks, and because blues records were sold to black audiences, recording success reflected how well a singer expressed the feelings of his or her audience.   The blues singer became  a spokesman for the black community" (9).    

Ferris writes about being a white outsider who needed to develop a rapport with the locals in order to gain access to the musicians and their blues.   This allowed the men to speak freely about sometimes contentious relationships with white men, and those stories are included here.

I'm partial to the section on the male/female call and response songs because I like some rowdy sass sometimes.   It makes me think of Joe Tex and Carla Thomas carrying on in Stax's "The Same Things it Took to Get Me".  

I also enjoyed the historical context of the "one strand on the wall".   If you want your own, Jack White will show you how, but you don't need to plug yours into an amp.

There's tension between blues and gospel music, solo and band performances, old and new blues musicians, men and women, black and white and humankind and nature.   In addition to broader stories, Ferris recounts his visits with a handful of blues performers and transcribes the lyrics and conversations of interviews as well as house party performances.   This technique brings the reader right inside the experience that Ferris is enjoying firsthand.

If you think you want to be a blues performer, Mr. Ferris would want you to know that you better be quick on the draw.   Blues lyrics should be flexible and impromptu in order to please the audience at hand.   But if people are trying to dance because your audience is no longer a house party but a big venue, you've got to make that happen by playing the recorded and familiar version.

Now listen up to Howlin' Wolf to see if you've got what it takes.

Screen Doors and Sweet Tea, Sunday Night

As a credit to Martha Hall Foose, author of Screen Doors and Sweet Tea, tonight's meal made it to my boyfriend's list of all-time favorites.

Along with the 3 Bean Salad and Blue Cheese Pecan Bread I made earlier, I added Crispy Baby Reds with parsley and dill salt (page 164) and Paper Sack Catfish (page 129).   I will have to say that I have never been more precious with a potato recipe.   Indeed, there is one step where I failed.   After boiling the potatoes, I was to spoon them into a baking dish, one at a time, and coat with olive oil.   Sorry, Martha, I did small batches instead.

I'm sure that they would have been even better if I followed the recipe exactly, but I had to move on to the next step, so I could get my catfish in the oven.   The catfish was some of the best I remember having and I got to use some dill from our garden, but I will use a bigger baking sheet next time.   My paper sacks were dripping olive oil over the sides and onto the floor before I got wise to the sitchyation.   It's best to get fillets of a similar size and as close to the ones that the recipe calls for (6 ounces) as possible.   It's mighty difficult to judge doneness from the other side of the paper bag, so I'll never be the hostess with the dramatic reveal of slicing the paper bags open at the table.   I did the optional addition of  blanched asparagus beneath the catfish and prosciutto on top.   I forgot to add the pepper before cooking, but that didn't ruin the evening.   Butcher's twine, by the way, is on the baking aisle, next to the spices at Farm Fresh, if you need to know.

All in all, it was a tasty meal, but the recipes I chose to put together made for a heavy plate.   If I had to do it all over again, I would add in a fresh fruit salad and not have the bread and potatoes...just one or the other.   So far, this cookbook has delivered the goods, and I look forward to telling you about other test runs.   Perhaps something from the Mailbox Happy Hour section next?

Screen Doors and Sweet Tea, Sunday Afternoon

Outside the kitchen screen door, the next door neighbor's cat is sprawled out in the shade next to the water bowl that we keep for her.   The front screen door is propped open where my boyfriend is trying to capture the beauty of a wildflower plucked from one of our tiny gardens.   On the airwaves is Nick Waterhouse and KEXP.   A gentle breeze is flowing through the house while the oven is set to 375 for some first-time bread baking.

I'm no stranger to dessert breads and cornbread, but this recipe was for Blue Cheese Pecan Bread (page 180) from Martha Hall Foose's cookbook Screen Doors and Sweet Tea.   It's one of those cut the butter in and knock on the bottom to tell if the bread's ready kinda recipes.  

For a first effort, it turned out better than edible, good enough to share with neighbors.   Both the next door neighbors were away, so two-doors-down Mr. Herman got a slice.

Right now, the good ol' stand-by Three Bean Salad (page 62) is marinating in the fridge.   I substituted a red pepper because I had one on hand and added the optional can of artichoke hearts.   We were able to use some onions from our garden that had bolted and were ready to pluck.   I'll be able to tell you how it turned out tomorrow.

Tonight I'll make Paper Sack Catfish and Crispy Baby Reds, and I'll get back to you on how that went.

Foose recommends some zydeco to go with your bean salad.

Lissen here.

So what does this have to do with my Delta State class in July?   Well, there's the required reading, and there's the extra reading that I've picked up-- like cookbooks.   Foose was born and raised in the Mississippi Delta, so how else could I kick off a reading marathon?