Emily Kadrich, an Arrowhead High School student who lives in Hartland WI, won honorable mention in the Council for Wisconsin Writers Young Writers Award contest for her short story, “Never Again: August 28, 1955”. She was introduced and presented with her honorable-mention certificate at the CWW Awards Banquet on May 11 at the Wisconsin Club in Milwaukee.
Here are Emily’s remarks about “Never Again: August 28, 1955”, followed by the story:
About this piece: For an assignment in a composition class I took last semester, we were assigned to write a short historical fiction story. Civil Rights has always been something that I have been passionate about. I decided to write about Emmett Till because I feel that his story was one of the first to ignite the difficult journey ahead for African-American citizens in the United States to gain equal rights in the nation. I feel that Emmett’s story should have greater emphasis in the education system, because his was a truly pivotal point in history. In my experience, it seems that when many young people hear his name, they respond by asking the question, “who?” This must change. The story is told through a phone call that his mother received when Emmett was murdered, who shows her utter heartbreak and anger throughout. Emmett’s mother wants to see Justice for her young son, as well as all the other young people just like him.
Never Again: August 28, 1955
August 28, 1955: The day my life flipped upside down. Unintelligible words were crying out of the bouncing telephone hanging from the cord at my side. Even louder was the sound of sobbing. I could feel myself slide down the side of the wall as I clutched onto my chest. It felt as if my heart had smashed into a million pieces. Thoughts deafened my ears: Never again would I see my baby walk through that door. Never again would he drive me crazy. Never again would he make me laugh uncontrollably from his crazy playin’. Fourteen years in this world were all he had–not nearly enough. The voices through the phone became louder. “Auntie Mamie! Auntie Mamie! Did you hear me? They killed him, Emmett’s dead.”
Our home of Chicago was not a place of equality, but it was nothing compared to southern folks’. This past summer, I decided to send Emmett down to Money, Mississippi, to spend some time with his uncle and cousins. I made sure he knew this wasn’t a time to mess around, especially because of his skin color. I talked ‘bout it every day, until I had him saying, “Mama I get it, no playin’!”
My baby was a joker. Anytime he had a chance to tease, he took it. Many understood, but I knew that the wrath of the south was great. I knew that just the color of his skin could get him in big trouble down in Money. Cracking a couple of jokes could create disaster.
I spent the next hours on the phone with my brother, Moses. I tried to grasp it all, but I kept fading in and out. I still couldn’t believe that what happened was a reality. I tried my hardest to listen to Moses.
“You know Emmett, that little prankster, always getting’ himself into somethin’. Yesterday morning him and my boys marched right out my front door, eager to meet up with some neighborhood friends. They all walked down to the general store there on the corner. The one owned by those white folks. About twenty minutes later, I heard them running back up my steps. I had no clue why they’d come back so early. My question was answered this morning as one of my boys explained the situation.
‘We were all standing outside the general store. The entire time we were walking down, Emmett wouldn’t stop bragging about the fancy white girl he’s got back in Chicago. We didn’t believe it. Standing inside the store was Ms. Carolyn Bryant. She was tending to the store herself. We dared Emmett, ´Well if you’re so smooth with all the ladies, why don’t you go in and do some sweet talking.´ Emmett was never one to let a dare go. He sauntered through the door. We all gazed in through the store window to see if he would really follow through. Emmett wandered around the store for a few minutes, and Ms. Bryant’s eyes stuck to Emmett like glue. They didn’t move from him for even a second. Emmett moved up to the counter and bought a candy bar. He walked towards the door. We all thought that he was about to chicken out. He ever so slightly turned over his shoulder, gave a little wave and said, “Bye, baby.” We gazed in disbelief, we didn’t think he’d have the audacity. We all ran back here. Not sure why, but it just felt like it was what we had to do.’
And now here I am, piecing together the pieces of this puzzle. At about two in the morning, two men came up to my porch and were pounding on my front door. I quickly ran down to see what was happening. They kept shouting, ‘You better let us in! Let us in right now! We want the boy!’
Mamie, I swear to God I tried with all my might to stop ‘em. But they just wouldn’t listen. They marched up the stairs, screaming his name over and over, yellin’ “We need to teach him a lesson, give him what he deserves!”
They picked the poor boy up and dragged him out into their damned pickup truck. I kept screaming and yelling, begging them to stop. They wouldn’t budge. I stood paralyzed in fear–shocked. Millions of thoughts ran through my head. What more was there left for me to do? I walked up to their big pickup truck, but it was too late. They had turned and gunned down the street with Emmett in the backseat. I stood and prayed. At that point, it felt like nothing I could do would help.
I didn’t sleep at all last night, I kept waiting for them to come swinging back in. But there was nothing. I called the police–any extra help would be great help. All of the sudden this morning the phone rang, it was the officers calling. They had said that a fisherman found a body washed up on the side of the Tallahatchie River, and they needed me to come and see if it was Emmett.
I drove down to the bank in a panic, I had no idea what to expect. I was trembling as I walked towards the body. Except when I stood over the body, I couldn’t even tell if it was really a person. It was a young, black boy, but the face was gone, so mangled and swollen. Nothing about it would have helped me identify it. They asked me to search closer. On his hand, I found a ring engraved, “ET”. It was Emmett. His body was there, but it wasn’t him. I couldn’t do anything besides stare. I want those men to serve their lives for what they did. They killed 14-year-old boy for what? Nothing about this is ever going to make sense. Mamie, they killed him, Mamie, your baby’s dead.”
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The police down in Money kept calling. They wanted me to come down and bury Emmett there. I told them that was the last place I wanted my baby buried. They kept telling me that it would be better to just cover it up and move on; it would bring too much attention to the case. But isn’t that what was needed? In a case of such racial division, what was more necessary than anything was to have people see what had happened. If Emmett had been white or if Carolyn had been black, what would have happened then? I assume that the actions would just be considered playful. Emmett would have been told his actions were wrong, but the blame would have been put on the idea that he was simply a young, troublemaker of a boy. However, because of the color of his skin, Emmett was murdered. Roy Bryant and J.W. Milam, fully grown men, murdered my baby. I wouldn’t have Emmett be laid to rest in the place where such hate resided. I demanded they send him back to me, back home. Moses had told me that Emmett looked nothing like himself, but nothing could have ever prepared me for what I saw. When went to see his body after he arrived at the train station, I collapsed onto the floor. The only words I cry out were, “Lord, take my soul.”
Emmett was unrecognizable. His eyes hung out. His ear was severed. He had an abundance of missing teeth. The only thing that was left was that ring of his. I wanted no mother to ever have to know the pain of having a child taken from her. I had no clue how to process it, but I did know that something had to be done. The world needed to see the horrific act committed against my son by the Mississippian white men. On the day of the service, I made the decision to have his casket open. At my little church on the south side of Chicago, Emmett’s mangled body was the center of all attention. Over 50,000 people saw his body with their own eyes. I hoped it would give people a chance to understand how disgraceful this act was. I left his casket open so that people could see my baby’s poor body and think, never again.
Jet magazine snapped a shot of his casket and posted it on the front cover. Across the country, people shuddered. Everyone wanted justice for Emmett. But it was difficult. So difficult knowing that in a world filled with such divide, that a little African-American boy whose life was ended for reasons that seem incomprehensible, may not ever see that justice.
On a steamy September morning, I marched right into that courthouse in Money. I stared his killers in the eyes, they appeared as if they didn’t have an ounce of guilt. Moses walked up to the stand, and identified the men without a second thought. It was them, I felt it deep in me. I sat on the edge of my seat the entire trial.
I watched as the all-white jury went into the deliberation room. They came out two hours later. Both of them were found not guilty. The room went silent. I stood up and walked out of the courtroom, determined that if even though the men weren’t found guilty in the courtroom, the world would be sure they were.
No one should ever have to experience the pain of losing a child. I lost mine because two people had so much hate in their heart they didn’t know what to do with it. As a society, it should engraved in our minds that such hate against anyone for their origin, race, or who they are is unacceptable. A person is a person, no matter the color of their skin. Our differences are what make the world the wonderful place it has the potential to be. What happened to Emmett is an example of how hateful people can be. It took a 14-year-old boy being brutally murdered in order for a conversation to be sparked the nation. Why did it take that long? It should never have happened in the first place. To me, it will never seem as if any good would come from this situation, but would become the catalyst in the movement that would change the way our nation treated one another. Together, we have to learn how crucial acceptance is to the functioning of our society. What was done to Emmett has no justification. On August 28, 1955, the greatest injustice was done to my baby. And on September 23, 1955, another injustice was done when the head juror looked the judge in the eyes and declared the men not guilty. But we all will remember. Justice for Emmett should not have been seen as something far fetched. Justice for all, regardless of the color of one’s skin, should be guaranteed. On September 23, 1955, the court did not provide justice for Emmett, but Emmett’s life will forever represent the change that needs to occur. Together we need to come together to make this world a place where justice for Emmett isn’t seen as absurd, but rather a world where everyone is equal, no matter the color of one’s skin.