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PROLOGUE: In the Office of Registrar Luther Cox: “How Many Bubbles in a Bar of Soap?”
- University Press of Mississippi
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Z 3 Z prologue In The OffICe Of regIsTrar LuTher COx “How Many Bubbles in a Bar of Soap?” Black citizens of Forrest County, Mississippi, never knew what would hapZ pen when they went in to try to register to vote during the time Luther Cox was in charge. But they could be almost certain they would leave unregistered. The women who worked for Luther Cox formed a protective buffer for the registrar, just as they did later for Lynd. “He’s not in, he’s not available” became a familiar refrain—though Cox might be standing at the back of the office. For black applicants, Luther M. Cox, Jr., was the state of Mississippi. A oneZtime department store bookkeeper and deputy sheriff, a combat infanZ tryman in World War I, Cox had been Forrest County’s circuit clerk and registrar of voters since 1935. And Luther Cox was no longer content with what the crafters of the Mississippi Constitution had written in 1890. Vernon Dahmer had been registered in the 1940s, but when a reregistraZ tion was ordered in 1949, a deputy clerk was in the process of making out his new registration card when Luther Cox called Dahmer out into the hall and told him he could not reregister. Dahmer kept going back to try. State law authorized a registrar only to determine whether applicants could read a section of the Mississippi ConZ stitution, or, if unable to read, interpret a section read to them. Luther Cox also questioned applicants about the “due process of law.” Dahmer did not know what the phrase meant. He failed the registrar’s test and left with an “air of rejection.”1 Cox had another question he liked to ask wouldZbe black registrants: “How many bubbles in a bar of soap?” Some fifty times Richard Boyd tried.2 Boyd worked at the Hercules PowZ der Company, Hattiesburg’s major employer. Monday was his day off. Just Prologue: In the Office of registrar Luther Cox Z 4 Z about every Monday for two years, Boyd went to Luther Cox’s office in the courthouse to try to register. Finally, in February 1954, Boyd had the chance to talk to Cox. “I’ll tell you why it’s important to me,” he told the registrar. “I go to statewide meetZ ings of the Worshipful Masters of Masonic Lodges. I’m asked each time if I’m registered to vote, and I’m embarrassed to have to keep saying I’m not.” Cox muttered that “those niggers in Jackson” should mind their own business, but he told Boyd to come back the next week. Finally, Cox let him sign the book. In 1950, fifteen resolute leaders of Forrest County’s black community, Dahmer included, brought suit against Cox for his administration of the voting laws. They were not waiting for outside help, governmental or priZ vate. U.S. district judge Sidney Mize dismissed the action, and the U.S. Court of Appeals for the Fifth Circuit declined to act until state adminZ istrative appeals were exhausted. A federal grand jury presentation based largely on the testimony of teacher Addie Burger was made by the local United States Attorney at the direction of the Civil Rights Section of the Justice Department’s Criminal Division. But the grand jury refused to inZ dict Luther Cox. The futility of attempting to deal with voting discriminaZ tion with inadequate federal criminal statutes and hostile white jurors was apparent. About 10 a.m. Friday, April 11, 1952, nine black applicants were back again at Luther Cox’s office. This group included the Reverend Wayne Kelly Pittman and Savannah Davis, who previously had been asked both how many bubbles were in a bar of soap and what the due process of law was. The same two white women behind the counter who’d been registering white people said they couldn’t register Reverend Pittman, Savannah Davis, and the others; they would have to come back when Mr. Cox was there. One black woman, Florine Love, waited another twenty minutes, and Cox finally appeared. But all he told her was that he wouldn’t register her, and she should go to see T. Price Dale, the lawyer for the fifteen black plaintiffs. But these nine black men and women prepared affidavits about their expeZ riences, which were sent to the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People (NAACP). At a time when SNCC, the Congress of RaZ cial Equality (CORE), and...