[Granville-Hough] 11 May 2009 - 20 Jul 2005 - Lynching

[Trustees and Executors for Granville W. Hough]

Lynching.

This is a hard, hard story to write because it deals with Grandpa Jim 
Richardson’s experiences when the last lynching of a black man took 
place in Smith County. It is an explanation of why Grandpa Jim never 
took part in public events and never went to Raleigh when he could send 
someone else. It involves an experience so painful to him that he broke 
down and cried when he told it to me. I do not know how many times he 
told the story, but I’m sure not many. He was not one to cry.
A known, hard-working, and honorable young black man had been accused of 
raping a white girl he had known all his life. The families were 
well-known as old residents. They had gotten along for generations. 
There were no explanations, and the young man was in the county jail at 
Raleigh. Feeling in such cases ran high, and lynchings in similar 
situations were commonplace all across the South. The popular sentiment 
in Smith County was that the modern thing to do was to lynch the young 
man without a trial. That would keep the niggers in their place and let 
them know once more who was boss.
Brother Dan Moulder and other ministers thought differently. They argued 
from the pulpit and privately that the young man should be heard and 
tried, just the same as a white man would be under similar 
circumstances. The accused might indeed be hanged if a judge and jury 
agreed, but he would have had benefit of trial and counsel. Brother Dan 
Moulder got together all the Baptist deacons from his churches (and 
other ministers did the same with their elders and supporters) and went 
to Raleigh to support the Sheriff if he needed help. They had heard 
rumors of the planned lynching on a specific day.
At first the nervous Sheriff accepted their help and they gathered on 
the street to the jail. At the planned time, a huge, drunken and armed 
mob arrived in Raleigh and moved toward the jail. The ministers and 
deacons gave their pleas for justice through law. The mob jeered them 
down, and pointed their guns at them. The Sheriff looked at the mob of 
armed and angry white men and recognized them as his supporters. He had 
an immediate change of heart. His excuse, as given later, was that, as 
Sheriff, he would have to hang the man; so why not let the mob do it for 
him? He would also not be responsible for one deputy being hurt in 
protecting a nigger who would be hung anyway. He gave the jail keys to 
the mob leaders.
The mob had the nigger, but it also came to the mob leaders that they 
had this passel of nigger-loving preachers and deacons. Let’s teach them 
a lesson, too. So they dragged the victim and herded the preachers and 
deacons to the tree or whatever was used for the hanging. They then 
called for the accused to admit his guilt, which he did. According to 
Grandpa Jim, the young black made a remarkable statement. Yes, he was 
guilty. Yes, he knew he would be hanged. Yes, he had known the young 
woman and had grown up with her as a neighbor from childhood. Yes, he 
had always loved her and no one else. Yes, he knew under Mississippi law 
they could not marry or have any sexual relationship. But, he saw her 
this one day and was overcome with lust. Yes, he did the deed, and he 
apologized to her, to her family, and to his own family. Yes, he was 
ready to die. Then he was hung, and the hemmed in ministers and deacons 
could only watch as he kicked and choked to his death. That was the end 
of the story as told by Grandpa Jim. (The confession reminds one of 
reports from long-ago victims of Hollywood, CA, date rapes by one young 
actor named Ronald Reagan.)
I asked no questions. It was too embarrassing. I do not remember how the 
discussion arose. I do not know the year of the lynching, the Sheriff’s 
name, or the names of the mob leaders, if they were mentioned. I do not 
know whether my father, Lisha Hough, also a deacon, was present. Brother 
Dan Moulder never mentioned the subject from the pulpit that I heard. I 
never heard anyone else give an eyewitness account. But it is a recorded 
fact that the lynching took place, and I have seen the year, though I do 
not recall it. 1915 sort of comes to mind, but it could be far off.
The effect on Grandpa Jim was that he withdrew from all public affairs. 
He took part in no political campaigns. He served on no juries. He 
offered no public prayers in church. He avoided Raleigh and other Smith 
County towns where he might encounter members of the mob. He did all his 
business in Magee, Simpson County, and by some freak arrangement, not 
his own, got his mail from Mount Olive, in Covington County. He said 
nothing whatsoever about it in daily affairs, but he must have been 
profoundly affected by what the young black man had said as he faced 
death. He could not see what could be done to achieve justice for black 
people. He did make two somewhat cryptic observations: (one about a 
trouble-maker member of our church who was making a fuss about the black 
community) “It seems like a white man who is discredited in the white 
community then tries to run the black community,” and “Maybe the best 
thing a white man can do for the black community is to stay out of it.”
I did not observe, but I am aware of one situation where Grandpa Jim 
acted on his convictions. A black man named Otis Berry had applied in 
Magee to Grandpa to sharecrop some of his land and, for some reason, 
Grandpa agreed. Otis was from a black community called Skiffer Ridge, 
near the Simpson and Jeff Davis County line, not far from where Thomas 
Sullivan and his sons had lived in the 1820 decade. Otis had asked if 
there were black schools, and Grandpa told him yes, he had heard there 
was a school about a mile away. Otis moved into the tenant house and 
proved to be an effective, hard worker. Then when school time came, he 
could find no school. Grandpa was alarmed, and went to see the man who 
had maintained the school. This was “old man” Hinds Womack, who had 
several negro tenants. When he got to the Womack place, he was told by 
white employees that “old man” Hinds had changed his mind and did not 
want niggers to have any learning. Grandpa just asked one question: 
“Where is Old Hinds?”
No one knows what transpired when Grandpa Jim found Old Hinds. Hinds 
Womack, like Grandpa Jim, had no education and had to learn to read and 
write on his own. Each knew what it must have been like for the black 
families. When Grandpa came home, old Hinds had agreed that one of his 
extra houses would be the schoolhouse, and that he would pay his share 
of the teacher’s salary. So it was that Otis Berry’s children went to 
school while they share-cropped for Grandpa. They proved to be bright 
and diligent students. (note: this incident took place after we joined 
Grandpa, so we saw Grandpa Jim drive away to see Old Hinds. He had long 
since ceased to drive, could barely see, had no driving license, and 
could hardly get in and out of a car. We were very anxious till we saw 
him coming back. This was the last time I ever saw him drive a car.)
Back to the basic subject: What do you know about lynchings of black 
people in the South? Specifically in Smith County? Why did not white 
people stop them? How did white people feel about them? I learned a 
little about those questions at age 16 from Grandpa Jim Richardson.