We Had Sneakers, They Had Guns: The Kids Who Fought for Civil Rights in Mississippi

Sixteen. Durrough

126 s i x t e e n Durrough during the months I had been back home, an ambitious fund-raising effort was undertaken in the North to build a community center for the black community in Ruleville. Triggered by Linda Davis’s family in Illinois and our efforts in Connecticut and Boston, the drive had been successful , and I was eager to discuss the project with Mayor Durrough when I returned in 1965. Rising, he turned to face me where I stood just inside his office door. The sentinel face was unchanged by the year. The salt-and-pepper hair, a little longer, seemed grayer. His chin was down, creasing the jowl that matched the small paunch of his stomach. His eyes were careful as he regarded me over the horn-rimmed glasses. “Sugarman,” he said. “How are you, Mayor?” We shook hands briefly, and he motioned me to a chair. Heavily, he eased into his own behind the desk. “I’m pleased you remembered me,” I said. “It’s been almost a whole year.” With a fugitive half-smile, he pulled open his desk drawer. He lifted a sheaf of stapled newspaper clippings and waved them next to his ear. “Oh, I keep up with you.” The voice was toneless. His eyes narrowed, and his mouth was tight. I squinted across the desk and recognized that the top clipping was from my hometown newspaper. It was a news story about our fund-raising efforts for a community center in the Sanctified Quarter of Ruleville. A satisfied smile spread as he watched me intently. “Yeah. People send me things, and I manage to know something about you.” Durrough   |   127 “Well, that’s fine. Then we don’t have to talk about me,” I said. “I don’t know a thing about you. I’ve come down here to see what’s been happening in Ruleville over the year.” His voice was chilly, and for the first time a smile creased his face. “A citizen up your way wrote this office that a damn Jew was coming down here with four thousand dollars for a community center for the niggers. That about right, Sugarman?” I laughed. “He was wrong, Mayor. It’s six thousand dollars. I’ve been doing a lot of talking up there in Connecticut about your Ruleville, so the folks up home have been working very hard.” I studied the flushed face across the desk. “And so have the folks up in Boston, and the folks out in Illinois. It’s six thousand dollars.” 32. Three ladies from the Sanctified Quarter. “This little light of mine, I’m gonna let it shine!” 128   |   Return to the Delta Durrough shifted in his seat, stooping to open a drawer. He took out a subdivision map of Ruleville and laid it flat on the desk. “You’ll be interested in this,” he said curtly. His finger pointed out the land that had been acquired for the center. “They want to build here.” “I know,” I said. “I hope you’re pleased about it. They need it over in the quarter. It should be good for the town.” He shrugged. “They can do anything they want. I’m not against it. But look here.” One finger rested on the acquired land, and the other hand swept across the town expanse. “The land they got is a far spot from most of the Negro community. I think a center should be closer to the heart of the quarter.” His stubby finger moved to the cotton field that lay along the highway. “This land is adjacent to the Negro high school. I think I could get the town to acquire it and swap land with the center people. Don’t you agree it would be a better location?” He leaned back and waited for my reply. “I can see your point, Mayor, but I don’t have anything to do with it. That’s the business of the Ruleville Community Center Trust. I think you ought to talk with some of the officers of the center . . . Mr. McDonald, Mr. Foster, Linda Davis, Charles McLaurin. After all, they raised nine hundred dollars for that land among the folks in the quarter. We outsiders are only interested in helping them get a building up.” He was plainly annoyed and started to fold up the map. “I talked to Foster. They don’t want...