Clarence Thomas - My Grandfathers Son

To my mother, Leola Williams,

who gave me life;

my grandparents Myers and Christine Anderson,

who taught me how to live;

and my brother, Myers Lee Thomas,

whom I loved

Title Page

Dedication

Preface

2. As Good as Us

3. The Corridor

4. No Room at the Top

5. The Golden Handcuffs

6. A Question of Will

7. Son, Stand Up

8. Approaching the Bench

9. Invitation to a Lynching

10. Going to Meet the Man

Photo Section

About the Author

Praise for My Grandfathers Son

Copyright

About the Publisher

In the course of writing this book, I spent far too many solitary hours facing blank pages, digging through dusty boxes full of half-forgotten files, and plowing up long-untilled parts of my past. It was a new experience, and a strange one. Id never been in the habit of looking back at the portion of life that Id already lived. Most of the time, I needed all my strength to deal with the life I was then living, with all of its uncertainties, doubts, and fears. I had no idea how it would turn out. Now I knowup to a point. It is the story of an ordinary man to whom extraordinary things happened. Putting it down on paper forced me to suffer old hurts, endure old pains, and revisit old doubts. At times I was surprised by how fresh my feelings still were.

Difficult though it was to relive the past, at least I no longer had to endure the insecurity of my early years. In those days I had nothing to go on but hope, and often not nearly enough of that. I didnt know then, as I know now, that I had learned in childhood everything I needed to negotiate the challenges and difficulties that lay ahead. You never know that at the time. All you can do is put one foot in front of the other and play the hand that youre dealt, as my grandfather so often said. Thats what I did: I did my best and hoped for the best, too often fearing that I was getting the worst. In fact, though, I got everything I needed. Much of it came from two people, my grandfather and grandmother, who gave me what I needed to endure and, eventually, to prosper. They are the glue that held together the disparate pieces of my life, and holds them together to this day.

You will read about my grandparents here, along with some of the other people I met along the way. Only a few of their names will be familiar to you, and many others I have regretfully left unnamed, in the interest of brevity. Most of the people Ive known, and nearly all of the important ones, are anything but famous. Yet their story is my story: their struggles in the face of futility, their perseverance through accumulated injustices, their resilience in the face of broken promises and dashed dreams, their hopefulness in the face of impenetrable bigotry, and their unrequited love for a country that often seemed to reject them at every turn.

Part of the reason for wanting to tell my story was to bear witness to what these people did for me, though I also wanted to leave behind an accurate record of my own life as I remember it. Only the man who makes the voyage, William F. Buckley Jr., has said, can speak truly about it. Parts of my voyage have already been written about by other people, but some of what theyve written has been untrue, at times grossly so, and I didnt want to leave the telling to those with careless hands or malicious hearts. Rightly or wrongly, I have an abiding faith that my story will someday be important to someone, and so I have done my best to speak truly in these pages about my family, my friends, and myself.

I VE ACCOMPLISHED LITTLE in my life without the help of others. This book is no different. I mostly worked on it alone, but I couldnt have done that work without Gods help and the support of a long list of caring people. Always at the top of the list is Virginia, my best friend and wife, who did without my company for long stretches of writing time, endured my grumpiness as I grew weary from my protracted labors, and read each successive version of countless drafts, offering insightful editorial suggestions and boundless support. I would not have had the strength to undertake or complete this endeavor without her love.

I acknowledge with eternal gratitude Tim Duggan, my editor, who faithfully shepherded My Grandfathers Son into print. Terry Teachout, who trimmed the clutter of kudzu from my manuscript, knew almost intuitively what I was trying to say and helped me say it more clearly; in the process I lost many words, converted a manuscript into a book, and gained a friend. I also thank Sam Thernstrom, whose detailed and painstaking edits of the original manuscript were invaluable. Throughout the long process of writing, he was a calming voice of encouragement. I am grateful to Lynn Chu, my agent, who brought these three men to me, along with so many other good things.

I also acknowledge with deep appreciation the assistance of the following people who helped me at various points during the writing of My Grandfathers Son:

Mark Paoletta was steadfast in his support and friendship, and was always ready to do whatever was necessary to be helpful, whether digging up some obscure detail or reading drafts for accuracy. Erik Jaffe also provided invaluable assistance and advice throughout this long process. Patricia Evans at the Supreme Court Library worked tirelessly to track down even the most obscure facts and documents based on my faintest recollections. Nancy Montweiler went beyond the call of duty to assemble and provide me with all of the Daily Labor Reports coverage of the Equal Employment Opportunity Commission during my tenure at that agency. Andrea Meinberg and Nicholas Matlach spent countless hours making digital copies of and restoring old photographs. Many others responded graciously when called upon to help locate documents or photos, including Jonas Jordan (photographer) of Savannah, Susan Lee of the Savannah Public Library, Michael Jordan of the Savannah History Museum (Coastal Heritage Society), Betty Purdy of the Chancery for the Diocese of Savannah, Jeff Walker of the Bethesda Home for Boys, Steve Bisson of the Savannah Morning News, Jewell Anderson of the Georgia Historical Society, Dr. Barbara Fertig of Armstrong Atlantic State University, Kim Cumber and Michael Southern of the State Archives of North Carolina, George Labonte of the Worcester Telegram, and the helpful staff of the Donalsonville News.

Many friends, acquaintances, and strangers have supported me with boundless supplies of prayers, kind words, and peace. I could never have continued to work for as long and as steadily as I did without the serenity I drew from them. I thank each of them from the bottom of my heart, along with family members, nuns, neighbors, teachers, and friends Ive met along the way who taught me by their example or took the time to counsel me. They are too numerous to list, but Im no less grateful for their help.

I am forever indebted to my son, Jamal, who gave me a reason to live when I thought I had none. By being mature and trustworthy beyond his years, he made it possible for me to do more than I thought I could. Jamal has always been a better son than I deserved. I have loved him since I first set eyes on him, and will do so until my last breath.

When Mark Martin, my great-nephew, came to live with Virginia and me at the age of six, we did for him what my grandparents had done for my brother and me at roughly the same age and under very similar circumstances. Raising Mark was part of what inspired me to write this book. Hes been a constant source of insight into my relationship with my grandfather, and it is my hope that he benefits as much from being raised by us as I did from being raised by my grandparents.