Searching for Emmett... The River Site

My visit to the Emmett Till Interpretive Center was informative but I knew there was more to the story. It was if I was being led somewhere else.

Peering through the large storefront glass of the Emmett Till Interpretive Center staring at the courthouse I noticed a large statue to the left.

I don't think I've ever noticed a confederate statue before. I'm sure I've seen them before but I don't think I ever really noticed one before. There it was, standing tall, and the courthouse staring directly at the Emmett Till Interpretive Center and the Emmett Till Interpretive Center staring right back.

The exhibits housed in the Interpretive Center told the story of the trial and the beginning of the Civil Rights Movement. The Sumner Courthouse where Till's accusers were tried still holds court.

The bullet-riddled River Site sign sat on a cold, concrete floor. Benjamin told us the sign had been replaced and gave us directions to the site.

"Benjamin", I asked, "is the barn still up?"

I'd read an article that said the barn where Till was tortured was still standing.

The barn where Till was tortured was STILL standing.

Benjamin hesitated for a moment and said "Yes ma'am."

That's where I needed to go. I needed to see that barn but first the River Site.

My cousin and I piled back in the car and synched my phone to the car's bluetooth so we could hear the directions.

We came upon a sign that said "Emmett Till Park".

It was just a small playground near a low income apartment complex. Clearly not what we were looking for.

We circled back and came upon another purple sign: King's Place. This was the first time I had heard of King's Place. This location is pivotal in the story of Emmett Till's death. First and foremost, names of supposed witnesses and the reporter who uncovered those individuals... James Hicks.

James Hicks. That name sounded familiar. Hicks was one of the reporters who covered the Little Rock Nine, James Meredith's Ole Miss enrollment and other stories tied to the Civil Rights Movement.

The marker read "Adjacent to this site was the store of J.W. Milam, one of Till's murderers."

We drove a little bit further and came upon a garden and yet another purple sign: Glendora Gin.

The old gin still stands. The gin where his killers grabbed a large fan and used it to weigh Till's body down in the river.

The site of such hatred now houses the Emmett Till Historic Intrepid Center. A place dedicated to telling the story of Till.

My cousin and I arrived shortly after the Center closed. Since we had driven so far we didn't want to miss the opportunity to connect with someone from the Center who could direct us to the River Site. We knew we were near but there were no street signs to direct us along the way and truth is we were lost and losing daylight.

In front of the Center was a small house and a garden. We didn't see any cars but clearly this garden was being tended to. It was full of squash, tomatoes, lettuce. Someone lived there and they would know what we were seeking.

I knocked on the door. No answer.

I knocked again. I could see a shadow emerging inside the house. An older Black woman answered the door. Her husband ran the center. "He's not here" she told us.

We asked her about the River Site and she said it's just cross the bridge. As I glanced toward the garden I saw a butterfly and an old pickup truck coming up the driveway.

It was her husband, Mr. Thomas. He spoke with such enthusiasm about the town he grew up in and how his father once worked on Milam's farm. Mr. Thomas' mother worked at the King Place juke joint and his father, Henry Lee Loggins, was a farmhand at Milam's farm which stood right next to the gin.

As we looked to our left, there stood another large purple marker marking Milam's house.

The house was long gone but the marker told a story neither myself nor my cousin had ever heard before. Milam and Bryant forced black employees - more than likely those farmhands - to wash his bloody truck, the same truck he had used to carry Till's body to the dump in the river. They burned Till's clothes in the backyard just steps away from the garden.

We could have sat and listened to Mr. Thomas for hours but the day was coming to an end and we had yet to reach the River Site.

Mr. Thomas pointed us to the River Site and told us how to get there.

I've crossed the Tallahatchie Bridge several times in my journeys in the South but this time felt different. It was as if my soul was being led somewhere.

Just cross the bridge and make the 1st right down a dirt road.

A pickup truck followed closely as we approached the bridge and tailed us across the bridge. Just as we were supposed to turn, he flashed his lights and sped quickly passing us. I got scared and purposely drove past the dirt road into a nearby driveway.

As he passed I saw that he was an older Black man and the fear that gripped me earlier lifted somewhat. In hindsight, I wonder if he was trying to let me know my turn was coming up.

We circled back and made the trek over the muddy, bumpy terrain with just the bumps of the road breaking the awkward silence. There were moments I just wanted to stop and turn around but I couldn't. I had to see it for myself.

There must have been a lot of hate to drive this far to hide your crime.

We kept driving...

and kept driving until finally we came upon the River Site sign. There it was as if the heavens had led us there.

This was the "new" sign and it was already shot up. The grass was high and kudzu and moss covered the trees. Mosquitoes and dragonflies buzzed by while crickets chirped. There was a deafening silence but nature seemed to scream.

I was paralyzed and couldn't step out of the car. My cousin wiped her tears and stepped out to snap a few pics.

Her son is 14. "I cannot imagine anything a child could do to make someone want to kill them" wiping tears from her cheeks.

This ground was sacred. I could feel the blood cry out. It was screaming. Screaming thru the injustice... the hate... screaming to tell us more.

There's more. The story I grew up hearing wasn't what was unfolding before my eyes. I needed to talk to Mr. Thomas one more time.