The NAACP, Martin Luther King Jr., and South Carolina's unique situation
Simkins discusses the changing nature of the civil rights movement from the mid-1950s into the 1960s. In particular, Simkins again addresses the changing leadership of the NAACP and its role within the movement. Here, she argues that the NAACP never fully embraced the broader shift in the movement as Martin Luther King Jr. became a discernible leader. In addition, she specifically addresses the situation in South Carolina, where there seemed to be less violence surrounding the movement. Overall, her comments here are revealing of differences within the movement and its leadership and regional variations within the South.
Citing this Excerpt
Oral History Interview with Modjeska Simkins, July 28, 1976. Interview G-0056-2. Southern Oral History Program Collection (#4007) in the Southern Oral History Program Collection, Southern Historical Collection, Wilson Library, University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill.
Full Text of the Excerpt
- JACQUELYN HALL:
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How did the NAACP respond at the beginning of the sit-in movement? Did
they support the students, or did they hold back? Was Hinton
still…? When did Hinton go out?
- MODJESKA SIMKINS:
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I don't remember, but he must have gone out in about 1960, I guess. I
don't remember.
We used to have huge mass meetings here about the sit-ins; NAACP inspired
those, along with Citizens' Committee. Sometimes the local branch of
NAACP—very seldom, but sometimes the Citizens' Committee
would work up a community meeting, as a kind of coordination meeting
where we would ask other groups to be co-sponsors. We always gave the
NAACP invitations to do that, whether they did or not. But after I went
out as secretary and this new gentleman I DeQuincey Newman was in,
sometimes they didn't seem interested in any movement unless they
started it. That's one of the characteristics of NAACP: if they can't
spearhead a movement they just don't like to bother with it much,
because they want the credit for everything that's done. I talked to Roy
Wilkins after the—there's something there that I can't quite
perhaps explain to you, but it would be found, I'm almost sure, in the
Waring papers—that after the—first stage in the
Clarendon case some other phase of that case was to be brought, some
type of appeal or something or another step in that case. And the NAACP
dragged its feet a long time during that period. Thurgood Marshall was
apparently fighting hard to get on the federal court; it seems like he
became obsessed with getting on the federal court. Now this was Waring's
opinion, as I understood it on one occasion when I was visiting them. So
he was so anxious to get on federal court that the
NAACP didn't push this federal case as it should for finishing off the
Clarendon picture. So I was in New York. If the situation is not
exceptional I always go into Newark airport; I don't like to go into
those big airports. So I was down at the Newark airport awaiting my
plane, and I called Roy and told him that—this is the last
conversation I ever had with Roy Wilkins… I told him,
"Roy, you know and I know that we were taught in school that
nature abhors a vacuum." I said, "Now you all have
just about abandoned the people that were pressured in the Clarendon
case, and people are losing faith in NAACP in South Carolina. Now if you
don't watch out something is going to move in to fill this vacuum that
you are creating, because if it can be felt in South Carolina I'm sure
it's felt other places." I didn't get much of an answer out of
him; we did talk for a good little while. And I begged him to kind of,
you know, whip up the feeling again in connection with the Clarendon
case, because everybody's attention was focused on Clarendon at that
time. It didn't do any good; I know it didn't, because Roy doesn't
listen to anybody. He's a man unto himself.
So then the next thing we heard was the name of Martin Luther King. That
was about 1960; I imagine that was 1959 or '60 I called Roy. But I do
know that just after King was first heard of in Montgomery he was
invited to Columbia by, I think, Mr. I.S. Leevy, a businessman here who
worked early in the effort like I did to try to get the two party
system, as I explained to you the other day. And Martin Luther King came
through here and spoke in Columbia. He was just barely known at that
time, but Mr. Leevyhad heard of him and he said, "I want that
man to come to Columbia." And he invited him here and, I think,
paid all his expenses. And he stopped up at the motel that I owned.
The next thing we heard was the Martin Luther King
movement. Now, you know NAACP never properly regarded and respected and
loved Martin Luther King. They would get in the marches sometimes and go
to the things he had, but they'd wait 'til everybody got stuck with the
hot prods and dogs biting them and beat over the head and knocked in the
what-you-call-them and all like that. Then they'd come and march in in
the victory march, you see: that's the picture I have of it.
- JACQUELYN HALL:
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I've wondered why. In the other Deep South states SOLC just moved into
that vacuum.
- MODJESKA SIMKINS:
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They did.
- JACQUELYN HALL:
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Why didn't it happen in South Carolina as much?
- MODJESKA SIMKINS:
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Well, as I told you the other day, this state is different. I told you
the other day this state is very different—not the power
structure. The power structure has a velvet-covered nailed fist, and I
think they felt, you see… They did have the primary case in
Texas, but it never got the hot fight that we had. You see, this thing
got so hot here that Judge Waring told the Democratic Party on one
occasion that he was going to jail them if they trespassed on his
decision concerning participation in the party functions. His words were
that he'd "put them in jail." And the power structure
knew that we would move out towards the federal courts. We never had
anybody whipped and shot at in this state except they shot in Hinton's
house out here; they shot at his home. They shot in my motel. But now
this widespread… I think when my sister was …
running the case against Carolina they threw a bomb in my brother's
yard. She said they used to put rotten eggs and body wastes in her
mailbox. But they didn't start up the road to our home out in the
country because they knew she had that .38 up there,
and she didn't mind if… She'd shoot it off every now and
then anyway. I asked her one day, I said, "Why do
you…?" She said, "I shoot my. 38 off. I go
up on the sleeping porch upstairs and shoot it off every now and
then," she said. "And when I shoot it off, you can
hear it echoing all around through the woods, wow, wow, wow, wow,
wow." I said, "Rebecca, why do you do that?"
"I want them to know I'm still up on this hill." They
didn't start up. They didn't put one track through the field to start up
to the house.
But now this wholesale nightriding and all that mess, we didn't have it
in South Carolina. Now the stuff is right down, it's right there under
the surface a little bit, but they knew we would go to court. I remember
sending out a directive to our branches when we first got to register.
And some of them were talking about how they weren't going to do this
and weren't going to do that on these little registration committees. I
wrote this thing out, and then I put a P.S. on there and said,
"Be sure you go to register. Take two people with you so that
you will be prepared to make an affadavit"—and some
other big-talking stuff I put on there. And then I sent a copy to each
of the counties where the registration would take place, to the
registration boards. And they knew we were ready to move, see. We were
using Hitler's old fear technique too. We learned how to use that: you
know, just get your bluff in first. A lot of it was bluff, but it
worked. It's just like when a pack of them go to march on a home or
something or other. If you shoot one of them they all run like a pack of
dogs. They shot in our home in Eldorado, (Ark.) and my Daddy hit one of
them and that was the end of that, see.