Emitt Till ~ by Nicole

Wyoming, 1955, in School

Everyone looked the same. We had identical hair and skin color. I was plopped down in my matching desk solving math problems in unison along with everybody else. I knew I was only ten years old, almost eleven, and I had this one question that was really bugging me; were we all the same? I knew my mom and dad weren't, for sure. They were park rangers for the Grand Teton National Park. The park had just opened, so they were thrilled. Mom and dad spent all day working hard, helping wildlife, stopping hunters from killing rare wildlife. The park even started trying this amazingly new thing called "recycling." Some people would send nasty letters in the mail accusing rangers of taking away their freedom or expressing their outrage over the protections for wildlife. Those letters didn't bother me; I thought every single thing my mom and dad did is fantastic.

The dreaded school day was finally over. The scorching summer sun scowled down at me as I raced home. Once I got there, I threw aside my schoolwork, and flopped down into the nearest seat, exhausted. "Hey, Dad, anything in the news?" I asked curiously.

He grinned, exposing every tooth in his mouth. "Some other rangers and I saved a young bat from the old visitor center!" For him, it was the best news in the world.

"That's great," I laughed, "anything else?"

Dad's smile vanished instantly. "Oh. Sure." He smacked the newspaper down onto our rickety breakfast table, causing it to quiver and shake. My eyes zoomed to the headline on the front cover, dead center, and in bold:


Dead Negro Found in Tallahatchie River

August, 34, 1955, Mississippi

The body of a 14-year-old Chicago Negro, Emmett Louis Till, showing marks of brutal beating, was found in the Tallahatchie River in Mississippi on August 31. Roy Bryant, 30, and J.W. Milan, 36, white half bothers, were accused of beating then killing him because the boy had whistled at Bryant's wife in their local grocery store with other Negro friends. A jury acquitted Bryant and Milan soon after.

Then there was a picture. A mother and her family sobbing, obviously in agony. A crowd with their heads hung low bordered an open casket that lightly cradled the body of Emmett Till. My gut clenched. Marks of severe beating sprung from the page into my eyes and mind. Emmett's skin was the richest color of chocolate. He wasn't anything like kids in my class, my neighbors, or the local people I see nearly every day. Never in my entire life had I seen anything like him. He was different, and dead because of it. The pieces of the puzzle all started coming together. He was beaten, murdered, and thrown in that coffin because of two men who had white skin, just like everybody I knew... and even me. If there were such injustices in the world, did they even exist in my own town. This couldn't have happened in America... not my comforting, responsible America... could it?
This article seemed so impossible to believe that at first I thought it must be a joke, but my dad's dead-serious face told me it wasn't. These confusing thoughts kept circulating through my mind like bees around sweet summer flowers.

Dad must have read the expression on my face. He set aside his morning coffee and stared deep into my eyes, but I think he reached my soul. "Racism," he declared. "It irritates me too. Don't worry, though. Where we are, and with our race, we'll be perfectly fine." He said this with a straight face, in fact it was almost blank. It just didn't make any sense. As dad said though, it wouldn't effect me.

But it did; it did exactly that. From then on, all I could think about was Emmett and the Till family. And to make matters worse, the next few weeks, he was everywhere. The same gruesome picture popped up repeatedly on the news on television; his face was plastered on front covers of newspapers, and his name would spill from radios- he seemed to be following me. Mom and Dad would be over in the kitchen and I could catch what they were saying from my room. They were chattering about how tragic his death was. He's dead and the murderers got away with it, I thought. If we can't bring back the dead, what can we do about it?

All I could think about was Emmett Till- all the time. Emmett's picture flickered to light in my head. I thought constantly of his battered, distorted body in his casket at the funeral. That picture was engraved in my mind; I would dream of it, and it would haunt me. It was if my mind was demanding that I pay attention. Emmett Till didn't deserve to die. I didn't think I would ever truly understand racism, but I was sure of one thing; I wanted- needed to do something about it.

While I was obsessed with Emmit Till, the rest of the world continued on. Dad had sold his old, rusty, creaky car and a brand new, rocket red 1955 Chevy Bel Air had replaced it. I saw a red blur speed into our drive-way, tiny bits of gravel spewing everywhere. I heard the front screen door open then slam shut. We admired the new car until dinner time. It was just my mom, my dad, and me. Other than the clanking of silverware and the muffled chewing noises, all was silent. Once dinner was over, I asked my mom if I could go over to the local library.
I cruised over to the library on my bike. Our local library was the smallest library I had ever seen. There were only two couches and chairs in the entire place! Right as I walked in, a warm comforting feeling flowed through my body while I glanced around. The familiar dusty books kept me company as I searched for a book that might have contained something- anything about race in America. A little bit later, the kind librarian and I were flipping through every page of every book in the entire library! She was entirely confused as to why I would be interested in Emmett Till, or how I even knew about him. "It happened so far away. Why are you so worried about this?" she asked, but she took one look into my desperate eyes and could tell I was on a mission. It was frustrating because there was so little to find about racism in the 1950s.
"I think it's about time to close," the librarian said patiently, "and for you to go home."
"Okay! Well, thanks for helping." I hopped back on my bike. The sun tucked itself behind the Tetons, saying goodbye to Jackson for the day. I was riding home as I noticed this beautiful view, I realized that I didn't need to know any more information than that first article had. I raced home as the wind smacked my face and the thought stuck in my mind.

The battered screen door shut behind me as I hunted through through our recycling bin. The recycling was starting to catch on! Finally, I had found the old newspaper from weeks before, but I remembered it like yesterday; clear. I read it over and over, even though I had nearly memorized it.
The loud buzzing of the alarm clock startled me awake the next morning. As usual, I was dreading the early morning of a new Monday. Then I snapped out of the usual morning grog, remembering today was my first step in my plan. I changed into clothes, gobbled up my breakfast, grabbed my Emmett Till article, and ran out the door. "Bye, dad!"
I raced to school and got there just in time. The moment I walked in, people were already pulling out their items to share. Everyone was assigned to bring in an article each Monday morning to share with the class. This would be my most important homework assignment yet. All the other kids had normal articles, things that happened around Jackson, nothing out of the ordinary. Minutes dragged on by and nothing could compare to my article. The last name was called, and it was my turn to share. I took my spot near the chalkboard, centered in front of the class. I read the article aloud to the class. Eyes widened, jaws dropped, and some even clenched their teeth- I could tell they were mad. Once I had ended, almost every hand in the class shot up. And for the ones that hadn't raised their hand just blurted out questions.
"Who does something like that?"
"Why would something happen like that?"
"This can't be real!"
My classmates reacted similarly to me. Their reactions kept coming, like an explosion. Our teacher calmed everyone down and slowly we began to settle down to listen. She explained, "I have been thinking about doing a project of some sort, and this is the perfect topic to do it on." She explained that racism is a belief that ones idea or own race is superior to others. She explained that people show hatred toward others because of race, but also because of religion, beliefs, gender, and age. She asked us to describe times when we have felt hatred from another person due to a difference that was outside of our control. I was surprised that everyone had a story. I shared about the letters my parents were receiving just because they worked for the National Parks. Again I wondered, Why is there so much hate in the world? My classmates did too.

My teacher then told us about tolerance. She said that to be tolerant, we had to be interested in learning about others, understanding their points of view before passing judgment. "How can we build more tolerance in the world?" she asked. We brainstormed many ideas.

Weeks went by and my class and I worked harder and harder on our project. Our teacher spread the word and soon the entire school was working on it, too. As one, my school and I completed our project. One day after school, I raced home. Dad was reading the newspaper at the kitchen table. "Hey dad. Any news?"
Dad smiled the greatest smile yet and smacked the newspaper down onto our rickety breakfast table, causing it to quiver and shake. My eyes zoomed to the headline on the front cover, dead center, and in bold:
Elementary Helps Out!
Students take on racism by spreading tolerance in their own community. Posters fill the hallways of Elementary school, teaching kids from Kindergarten to 5th grade to be equal and respect other races, gender and religion. "It's okay to be different!" exclaims Elementary school's 5th grade teacher. Town surveys say this is one huge step toward building tolerance throughout the world. The students' goal is reached!


Then there was a picture in our hallway. Bright colors splashed all over: colors of race, religion, and gender - all coming together.


At the funeral, Mamie Till made one strong decision to leave Emmett's casket open. "Let the world see what I have seen," she exclaimed. And so we did.

By ~ Nicole