Matthew Van Meter - Deep Delta Justice: A Black Teen, His Lawyer, and Their Groundbreaking Battle for Civil Rights in the South

T HE EARLY AFTERNOON of October 18, 1966, was a picture of ideal fall in southern Louisiana. Songbirds and waterfowl navigated invisible eddies, while from across the levee came the diesel-engine throb of ships making their way down the last few miles of the Mississippi River.

Two black boys trudged out of Boothville-Venice High School. Bert Grant and Bernard St. Ann were cousins, and they stuck together for safety. On the first day of school that year, they had been among seventy-eight black students who had walked through an angry throng of white neighbors to break segregations stranglehold on their school district.

Both boys were in seventh grade, although someone watching them make their way home from school that day might have said they didnt look like it. Grant was confident and athletic, and he towered over St. Ann, who was small and timid despite being two years older.

As they approached the Little Fish barroom, they heard voices behind them, laughing and egging one another on.

Hey! shouted one voice, over the others. Whats yalls names?

Grant and St. Ann walked faster. The laughter grew.

I said, whats you alls names?

Grant turned and saw four white boys. He recognized a couple of them; they had jumped him that day in the bathroom. He didnt know what to do. St. Ann slunk behind him. The white boys were crossing the road towards them and smirking.

* * *

Gary Duncan was exhausted. After a long week working a tugboat on the Mississippi River, he had jumped straight into his car, not even bothering to change out of his uniform. He had gotten off work at noon, and he wanted to go on up to New Orleans to visit his wife, who had just given birth to their first child. But he hadnt wanted to make the trip without a spare tire, so he was driving back to Boothville-Venice with his cousin, which was not what he wanted to be doing.

As he passed the Little Fish bar, Gary saw six boys gathered up on the far side of the highway, four white and two black. He recognized the black boys as his nephew Bert and cousin Bernard. Something wasnt right. He stopped the car and backed up to them.

Gary took stock of the scene. At nineteen, he wasnt much older than the boys he was looking at. Until just a few years ago, he had been in school himselfthe Negro school a ways up the road.

The six boys parted slightly as his car pulled up, and Gary could see that none of them had been fighting. Still, he didnt like that Bert and Bernard were outnumbered, and he couldnt imagine that the interaction was friendly. Bernard had spit on his shirt and looked shaken. Gary got out of the car.

Whats wrong, Bert? he asked.

These boys want to fight us, replied his nephew.

No, countered one of the white boys. We just want to know their name.

Well, dont you suppose you could ask him his name? Gary said to the boy. He waved Bert and Bernard towards the car: Come on, yall get in the car.

As his nephew and cousin walked behind him, Gary turned to the curly-haired white boy who glared defiantly as the others standing around him averted their eyes. He recognized Herman Landry. He knew the Landrys, so he was shocked to see the anger in this childs eyes.

Do you want to know my name? Gary said, an edge creeping into his voice.

Sure.

Can you read?

Yeah.

Gary stepped towards the boy and looked down at himLandry was a foot shorter than he was. He pointed to the embroidered name tag on his green uniform and asked flatly, You still want to know it?

Landry did not look, but spat, Yeah.

Gary stood for a second, his finger still touching the stitched letters on his breast. Landry met his gaze with hard eyes. Neither one spoke a word as the tension between them quivered and then slackened. Gary turned back to his car, which Bert and Bernard were climbing into.

He heard Landrys voice whisper low behind him.

Hes a real smart nigger, aint he?

Blood surged in Garys head, and he spun around. What did you say?

Youre a smart nigger, aint you?

Gary squared himself to Landry and then took a breath.

You best run along home now, he said, reaching out to the boys arm in a gesture that was both conciliatory and finalthe conversation was over.

* * *

The moment that Garys hand came into contact with Landrys arm marked the beginning of one of the most importantand improbablecriminal cases in American history. Garys gesture that day would put a crack in the dam that strained to hold back racial strife in his community. And, just as surprisingly, it would help dismantle the infrastructure of white supremacy that had strangled that community for centuries.

The next two years would contain a lifes worth of plot twists for Gary. His legal odyssey would take him from his tiny hometown to the Supreme Court of the United States; at stake would be the function of civil rights lawyers in the South and the fundamental right to a trial by jury.

* * *

Gary and Landry locked eyes for a moment as they touched. Then the boy withdrew his arm as if bitten by a snake, and Gary turned and strode back to the car.

As he was walking away, he heard Landry mutter, My people can put you in jail for that.

Gary, ignoring the threat, drove back down the road.