American History Tellers - Civil Rights - New World A’Comin | 1

Episode Date: October 3, 2018

President Abraham Lincoln issued the Emancipation Proclamation on January 1, 1863, freeing the slaves in much of the South. But the road to freedom—true freedom—would take generations longer for most black Americans.In this new six-part series, we investigate their struggle, beginning in the heady post-war years of the Forties. Segregation was endemic; it was the law of the South, and the custom of the North and West. No black American escaped its demeaning and often violent grip. But in discovering the power of collective protest, civil rights activists began to make demands for basic equality in restaurants, the workplace and in schools. And as they racked up victories, excitement and determination built that this was a movement with momentum. Could they really do this? Could they make a change and finally—finally—fight off Jim Crow?Support us by supporting our sponsors!See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

Wondery Plus subscribers can binge new seasons of American History Tellers early and ad-free right now. Join Wondery Plus in the Wondery app or on Apple Podcasts. Imagine you're in Washington, D.C. on a rainy Saturday in April, 1943. You're 21, a junior at Howard University, one of the most prestigious historically black colleges in the nation. With all this rain, part of you wants nothing more to be inside. On an ordinary weekend afternoon, you might be at the movies, chatting with your friends in the dorm, or maybe getting ready for a night out. Instead, you and three of your classmates are walking silently in the dorm, or maybe getting ready for a night out. Instead, you and three of your classmates are walking silently in the rain. Your roommate, Ruth, is next to you. She's biting

her lip, lost in thought. Are you all right? She looks up, a bit startled. I guess so. It's just, well, what if they arrest us? I hope it won't come to that. But even if they do, they'll have to arrest all of us. You won't be alone. The others in the group nod quietly in agreement. The truth is, though, you're worried too. You stop at the corner, waiting for the traffic light to change. You can feel your heart start racing. We're almost there. Halfway up the block, you see the sign for the Little Palace Cafeteria. Standing underneath it is a young woman you recognize from your English class. She's holding a neatly lettered placard that reads,

Our brothers are fighting for you. Why can't we eat here? Washington, D.C. may not have a law mandating segregation, but that doesn't stop most restaurants, like the Little Palace, from refusing to serve black customers. You turn to your classmates. All right. It looks like the first group is already inside. Does everyone remember what to do? Ruth and the others nod once again. You grip the handle of the door and push it open. You can smell coffee, hamburgers, and cigarette smoke.

As you step inside out of the rain, you quickly spot the first group of students. They're sitting by themselves at one of the tables, their trays empty, textbooks open in front of them. Apart from their group and yours, everyone else in the cafeteria is white. A few customers have stopped their conversations and started to stare. Stepping forward, you join the line of patrons in front of the steam table and grab a tray. But before you can put any food on your plate, the restaurant manager blocks your path. You all need to leave. You know you can't eat here. You stop and look him directly in the eye. I see. Then I'll just wait here until I can. You take your empty tray and walk right

past him as his face flushes with red. You find a seat at one of the tables, put your tray down, and pull out your schoolwork. Ruth takes a seat beside you. As she sits down, a third group of students arrives. That's it. I'm calling the police. Ruth glances at you nervously. You stare straight ahead at your book, trying to concentrate even as your stomach starts to drop. A few minutes later, three police cars arrive. Four officers enter the cafeteria and speak to the manager while two others wait outside. The manager is getting more and more agitated, pointing angrily at you and the other students. Two of the officers approach the students seated near the front door and begin asking questions. You prepare yourself in case you're arrested.

You close your eyes for just a moment and offer a quick, heartfelt prayer. Lord, keep us safely in your hands. As you open your eyes, you see the officers leaving. The manager trails behind them, pleading with them to make an arrest, but to no avail. Ruth shoots you a look of relief. You smile back. The manager stomps back into the cafeteria, glaring angrily at your classmates. I'm not going to just watch you all sit here.

Folks, we're closing early today. Everybody just needs to get out. You and the other customers slowly gather your belongings and make your way to the door. As you're leaving, Ruth looks over her shoulder at the manager and smiles. See you Monday. Have you ever wondered who created that bottle of sriracha that's living in your fridge? Or why nearly every house in America has at least one game of Monopoly?

Introducing The Best Idea Yet, a brand new podcast about the surprising origin stories of the products you're obsessed with. Listen to The Best Idea Yet on the Wondery app or wherever you get your podcasts. I'm Sachi Cole. And I'm Sarah Hagee. And we're the hosts of Scamfluencers, a weekly podcast from Wondery that takes you along the twists and turns of the most infamous scams of all time, the impact on victims, and what's left once the facade falls away. Follow Scamfluencers on the Wondery app or wherever you get your podcasts. From Wondery, I'm Lindsey Graham, and this is American History Tellers. Our history, your story. On our show, we'll take you to the events, the times, and the people that shaped America and Americans, our values, our struggles, and our dreams. We'll put you in the shoes of everyday

citizens as history was being made, and we'll show you how the events of the times affected them, their families, and affects you now. When the Little Palace reopened on Monday, the picket lines had grown. On Tuesday, the students returned again. By the end of the day, the restaurant began serving Black customers for the first time. The protesters were jubilant. Most of them hadn't expected to win this confrontation. Those same students went on to desegregate several other restaurants in Washington over the next year, and they had discovered something. They realized that despite segregation's long and tenacious hold on America, a new world might be on the horizon. But there was a long road ahead. But a rising chorus of voices demanded change more powerfully and urgently than ever before.

A movement for Black freedom was taking shape in the United States. Over the next three decades, it would challenge and change the nations in ways that few other movements in our history had ever done. This is the story of America's Civil Rights Era. Over the next six episodes, we'll explore the emergence and evolution of the civil rights movement in the United States. You'll hear about the events, ideas, and individuals that shaped one of the most powerful protest movements in American history. This is Part One, New World Accommon.

America was a starkly segregated nation as it entered the 1940s. In the South, Jim Crow reigned, a blend of law, custom, and violence that limited the rights and opportunities black citizens could enjoy and regulated social contact between white and black people. If you were born in a hospital, it was a segregated one. You grew up in a segregated neighborhood, attended a segregated school, played in segregated parks, rode Jim Crow buses and trains, attended a segregated church, and would eventually be buried in a segregated cemetery.

If you were black, you might pass your life without voting, serving on a jury, or even hearing a white person address you as Mr. or Mrs. White supremacy flowed and flourished in nearly every corner of the American South. But it wasn't just a Southern problem. As civil rights activists would point out again and again throughout the 20th century, the North and West practiced their own brand of racial exclusion. Though the rules and customs might be different, Black citizens faced discrimination in workplaces, neighborhoods, schools, and businesses all across America. In the North

and South, civil rights activists of all races had fought back against these conditions since the late 19th century. For decades, they tried to secure full citizenship rights and the chance at a better life for all Americans. But in the 1940s, as World War II approached and then arrived, a new mass movement took shape. While the students at Howard and other activists across the country challenged segregation in cafeterias, stores, and on public transportation, another key focus was jobs. The emphasis on employment made a lot of sense to Black communities. After all, America's economy was finally coming to life again after the tribulations of the Great Depression. In 1940 and 1941, preparations for war and a massive federal investment in defense industries

had helped shake loose the Depression-era rust and put the company's factories back to work. Previously idle plants now churned out bombers, military vehicles, and munitions at a blistering pace. With all this productivity came steady paychecks. For many Americans, it was the first time in more than a decade when that was possible. But African Americans found themselves locked out of this economic surge. More than half of all defense contractors refused to hire any black workers at all. Those who did still discriminated in other ways. Black employees made up a tiny fraction of the defense workforce and were usually clustered in only the hardest, most dangerous, or least stable jobs. Seeing these

conditions, a group of longtime labor organizers and political activists spearheaded by union leader A. Philip Randolph in New York City call for a new strategy, what Randolph described as an all-out, bold, and total effort, a demonstration of colossal proportions. They plan to gather more than 100,000 Black Americans to march on Washington, D.C. in July of 1941. There, they would demand that President Franklin Delano Roosevelt put an end to discrimination in defense industries and federal employment. But the White House paid little attention to the proposed march in those early days. Civil rights activists had never attempted anything quite like this before, and the response was overwhelming. The March on Washington Committee

quickly garnered a mass following. Financed by sale of 10-cent buttons and donations and church collection plates across the country, the march tapped into the belief within Black communities that access to good jobs was the key to social and political equality. The march was an opportunity that was too important to miss. The marchers insisted upon their right to be full participants in the nation's workforce. As the march's statement of purpose declared, We are citizens. We have won our citizenship by every test that can be applied. For this our country, we have worked, and in defense of this government, we have offered our lives. We march as Americans, seeking that equality of opportunity which is the boast of this democracy.

The White House continued to ignore the march organizers throughout the spring of 1941, convinced that a mass movement of this kind could never materialize. But in June of that year, with a march scheduled just a few weeks later, President Roosevelt grew increasingly concerned that this was more than just impassioned rhetoric. The march might actually happen. Roosevelt insisted on a meeting with Randolph. The president also requested the presence of Walter White, one of the march's most prominent supporters and the leader of the nation's largest civil rights organization, the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People, or the NAACP.

They met at the White House on June 18th, just 12 days before the march was supposed to happen. Randolph and White entered the room outnumbered. Roosevelt was flanked by Secretary of War Henry Stimson, Secretary of the Navy Frank Knox, the President of General Motors William Knudson, and three other prominent federal officials. The President tried his best to get Randolph to call off the march, but Randolph and White rejected the vague promises that Roosevelt offered in return. For the march organizers, to meet their demands, nothing less than an executive order would suffice. The president was adamant. Cancel the march and then we can talk. Randolph refused to budge. By this point, the president was fuming. The room descended into silence.

Randolph had to make a difficult calculation. Should he risk making an enemy of the man just elected to his third term as president of the United States? Or should he sacrifice the power of a mass protest built through months of hard work for nothing more than political promises? Randolph knew his answer. He politely told the president that without an executive order, he should expect 100,000 visitors to Washington in July. Six days later, Roosevelt issued Executive Order 8802. It declared that there shall be no discrimination in the employment of workers in defense industries or government because of race, creed, color, or national origin. Roosevelt also formed an agency called the Fair Employment Practice Committee,

or FEPC, to help enforce his order. This was not a cure-all. Discrimination would continue, but it was an important step. No presidential administration since the aftermath of the Civil War nearly 80 years earlier had taken action like this to ensure the civil rights of African Americans. Randolph canceled the march after achieving this victory, but the movement was in motion. March supporters had demonstrated the power of collective action and imaginative organizing to create change. In fact, the organization itself, now called the March on Washington Movement, would continue mobilizing Black communities over the next few years. Though the figureheads of this activism were men like Randolph and White, much of the work was spearheaded by Black women. They played a crucial but underappreciated role in building the movement.

E. Pauline Myers was an experienced activist who took over as executive secretary of the organization and became the group's longest-serving national staffer. She planned mass meetings, helped build a network of grassroots local chapters, wrote pamphlets on the use of nonviolent protests, and lobbied legislators to enforce fair employment laws. She helped the March on Washington movement keep pressure on Roosevelt's administration, earning praise from her colleagues as a courageous, efficient, and dynamic organizer. The work of men and women like Myers and Randolph helped inspire further protests, like the one at the Little Palace Cafeteria two years later in 1943. They all understood that there was much more work to be done.

Imagine you're in Mobile, Alabama, in May 1943. It's a Tuesday morning. You're on your way to start a long shift at the Alabama Dry Dock and Shipbuilding Company. This morning, it took you an extra 15 minutes to help your wife get the kids off to school. And that whistle means you're running late. Just a few years ago, only a thousand people had jobs here, and business was barely limping along. But now, the harbor is working around the clock. Almost 30,000 men and more than a few women punch in and out of the Alabama dry dock gates every day. And nearly 7,000 of those workers,

including you, are black. As you hurry up to the gates, you spot your friend James. You can tell he's excited about something. What's got you smiling like that this morning? You know I've been wanting this promotion. Well, I'm pretty sure it's going to happen soon. To be a welder? Look, we both know you can do the work. But you know as well as I do, they're never going to let a black man have a job as good as that here. Doesn't matter what the federal government says.

It's true. Of the company's 7,000 Black employees, not a single one has been hired or promoted to skilled labor positions in spite of the company's desperate need to fill them. Six months ago, after years of protests from local community leaders, the newly created FEPC investigated discrimination at the company. The agency went on to issue a directive ordering Alabama Dry Dock to upgrade qualified

black workers into skilled positions. For half a year, though, the company still hasn't budged. But James is smiling, like a man with a secret just waiting to bust out. You know, on any other day, I might have agreed with you. But wouldn't you know it, 12 black welders just finished up the night shift. First of us they've ever upgraded. Come on now, don't mess with me. God's honest truth. Company told them when they showed up for their shift that they had been promoted. Just saw one of the fellas as he punched out a minute ago. You should have seen the smile he had on. I figure now that they're willing to promote us, I've got just as good a shot as anybody. James turns to you with a grin and winks.

Come on now, don't make me late. I got a grin and winks. As you enter the gates, you're still trying to wrap your head around the news. Maybe James is mistaken or exaggerating. Or maybe something really is changing. Maybe that thing you're feeling is the unfamiliar tug of hope pulling on you as you walk into the yard and turn the corner toward one of the docks. But just like that, it's gone. Ahead of you is a group of more than a hundred white workers. A number of them are holding bricks, pipes, and clubs. You can see they've already surrounded a half dozen black men. They're being held down as men in the mob kick and swing wildly. You look to escape, but they've

already spotted you. Worse still, 20 men come rushing in from the other direction, leaving you trapped. You can see the fear in James' eyes. You feel the adrenaline and sick, queasy drop of your stomach as you realize there's nowhere to go. The mob closes in, and James spins around to confront one man, who swings a wrench full force at his right temple. Suddenly, he falls limp to the ground. At this point, all you can think is that you've got to survive this. You've got to make it home to your family. You see a

narrow split in the crowd and sprint through it, ducking the punches thrown at you. You search for some place to hide, to wait this out until help comes. The 1943 riot in the Mobile shipyards raged on for hours. An estimated 4,000 white workers participated in the violence, and it ultimately took the deployment of U.S. Army troops from a nearby post to stop the mob. More than 50 black laborers were injured, many of them severely. The Mobile riot and other incidents like it that summer drew condemnation from across the country. The Washington Post called the violence in Mobile one of the ugly splotches on our national record, on the validity of our war aims. Even the local

press on the Alabama Gulf Coast called the mob's work an ugly spectacle that was igniting a dynamite fuse for Hitler and his Axis partners. But in spite of the outcry and growing wave of civil rights activism, it was clear that white supremacy's grip remained strong. Even in places where the hiring or promotion of Black workers did not result in violence, work stoppages known as hate strikes were frequent. White laborers throughout the country often chose to go out on strike rather than work alongside African American men and women in war industries. But despite these setbacks, there was a renewed hope

and a growing urgency in Black communities during the early 1940s. It had driven Randolph's bold stand at the White House. It had sent the student protesters at Howard out into the streets. And there was promise of more to come. After all, with the future of democracy at stake, America was fighting a war. Are you in trouble with the law? Need a lawyer who will fight like hell to keep you out of jail? We defend and we fight just like you'd want your own children defended. Whether you're facing a drug charge, caught up on a murder rap, accused of committing war crimes, look no further than Paul Bergeron.

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free right now by joining Wondery Plus in the Wondery app or on Apple Podcasts. In the Pacific Ocean, halfway between Peru and New Zealand, lies a tiny volcanic island. It's a little-known British territory called Pitcairn, and it harboured a deep, dark scandal.

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In the Pitcairn Trials I'll be uncovering a story of abuse and the fight for justice that has brought a unique, lonely Pacific island to the brink of extinction. Listen to the Pitcairn Trials exclusively on Wondery+. Join Wondery in the Wondery app, Apple Podcasts, or Spotify. The bombing of Pearl Harbor in December of 1941 had plunged the United States into war. Soon the nation was fighting in Europe and the Pacific. In the face of this massive conflict, America had taken up the mantle of the world's last, best hope for the survival of democracy.

But as the March on Washington movement had pointed out, the practice of democracy in the United States had its limits, especially when it came to race. Even as President Roosevelt championed America's role as the great arsenal of democracy in World War II, Jim Crow segregation thrived. In fact, as the United States went off to war, America fought, as it had in World War I, with a segregated military. During the war, African Americans in the armed forces were confined to segregated units, separate facilities, and subjected to extensive discrimination both in the service and the communities that neighboring military bases in the United States.

In the Army, black officers were never permitted to outrank the white officers who sometimes commanded black units, while the Navy prohibited black officers entirely. African Americans in the Navy could only serve as messmen or stewards. Nurses and women's auxiliary units were segregated as well. The military even insisted that the Red Cross segregate or outright reject African American blood donors, despite the fact that it was a black physician named Dr. Charles Drew who had helped develop modern blood transfusion procedures

and helped oversee the Red Cross's blood bank program. So black citizens confronted an important question as the war took shape. How could they fight and sacrifice for the cause of freedom and democracy without also insisting that it exist in their own country? For many, the simple answer was that they could not. Both fights would have to go on simultaneously. Not long after the war began, a young cafeteria worker named James Thompson wrote to a popular black newspaper and gave an enduring name to this feeling. Thompson described the struggle that he and others faced with a demand for uncritical patriotism. He urged black Americans not to blindly adopt

the popular V for Victory slogan popping up around the nation. Instead, he asked for something else. Adopt the double V for a double victory. The first V for victory over enemies from without. The second V for victory over enemies from within. For surely, those who perpetrate these ugly prejudices here are seeking to destroy our democratic form of government just as the Axis forces. By taking on both causes, Thompson insisted, America could become united as never before and become truly the home of democracy.

And so, the Double V Campaign was born. Embraced by African American activists and communities throughout the nation, the Double V became a rallying cry. It symbolized renewed protest efforts for equal treatment and full citizenship rights. These, they argued, were a necessary part of achieving victory in the war abroad and in realizing America's ultimate goal of a world that was more just and more free. As the war continued, this fight for racial justice at home took on a variety of forms. There were campaigns to expand and ensure access to the ballot. Groups like the March on Washington movement helped secure more job opportunities, both in private industry and in the federal government.

Black communities and white allies also flocked to civil rights groups like the NAACP, whose membership increased from about 55,000 before the war to more than 500,000 by the war's end. Or they founded new organizations like the Congress of Racial Equality, which began in Chicago in 1942. The group would remain a steady force in civil rights organizing over the next three decades. Continued pressure also led to some expansion of opportunities for African Americans in the military. While the armed forces remained segregated throughout the war, within a year after Pearl Harbor, every branch of the military began accepting African Americans for general service, and by 1944, the Navy had commissioned its first Black officers. In the end, roughly one million Black men and women enlisted in the armed forces during the war. Having served their country,

many of them would return determined to exercise the freedoms that were their birthright. They would help lead the way in a new generation of protests. America waited out World War II's last tense hours. At the White House came the President's historic announcement, August 14, 1945. I have received this afternoon a message from the Japanese government. I deem this the unconditional surrender of Japan. But when the war came to a close in August 1945, there was no guarantee that the gains that had been made would hold in times of peace. How successful would the campaign for victory over racism, the second half

of the double V, really be? Black communities' fears were well-founded. After the First World War, returning Black veterans had faced a rising tide of violence back home. In 1919, a number of Black soldiers had been attacked or lynched upon returning home. The Ku Klux Klan had experienced a mass resurgence, and campaigns of mob violence had targeted African Americans in cities like Knoxville, Tennessee, Chicago, Omaha, and even the nation's capital. Would the same fate be awaiting Black communities after World War II? In February 1946, just months after the war ended, two events seemed to confirm those fears. The first happened in South Carolina.

Sergeant Isaac Woodard had just completed four years of service in the Army. The young combat veteran, still in uniform, was on a long bus ride from Georgia to reunite with his wife in North Carolina. During a stop in South Carolina, the bus driver picked a fight, threatening him for not retaking his seat fast enough. Their argument continued until the next stop, where the driver called in local law enforcement. The Batesburg, South Carolina, chief of police and his deputy responded. Almost immediately, they arrested Woodard and began a vicious series of beatings that continued all the way back to the local jail. A Batesburg jail cell was the last thing

that Sergeant Woodard ever saw. Officers permanently blinded him that night with the butt end of a nightstick, leaving him barely alive. It took Woodard three months to emerge from a South Carolina veterans hospital. When the NAACP publicized the details of Woodard's trauma that summer, it sparked a wave of outrage and appeals for justice. The Batesburg police chief was eventually prosecuted by the U.S.

Department of Justice. An all-white jury exonerated him in 30 minutes. But even before the American public learned the fate of Woodard and his abusers, newspapers carried ominous reports of another incident, this one in Murray County, Tennessee. Imagine that you're an 18-year-old man in the town of Columbia, about 45 miles southwest of Nashville. You live in a black section of town called The Bottom. Monday evenings here are usually pretty quiet, but tonight is even quieter than normal, which is surprising. Earlier today, a 19-year-old black Navy veteran named James Stevenson got into a fight with a young white man after the white man threatened his mother, Gladys. When the two men fell through

a window during the scuffle, the white man was injured. James and Gladys were arrested and charged with attempted murder. And then the mob came. Armed men poured into downtown Columbia from across the county, seeking to lynch James and Gladys. The sheriff turned them away, but that doesn't mean the threat is over. When the mob is in a frenzy, just about any black target will do. You were just five years old the last time a man was lynched in Maury County, but the terrible stories have stayed with you. You can tell the men you're standing with now have similar memories. Here, outside on the street corner, nothing would give away the fear in each of you, except all you can smell is nervous sweat, and every one of you

is uneasily running a thumb over the handle of a gun. A young man comes running toward your group. The mob's coming this way! As he hurries away, one of the older men in your group raises his pistol above his head, pointing toward the lone streetlight. And suddenly, you're plunged into darkness. You and the other men move slowly inside an empty storefront nearby, trying not to lose your footing in the night. Pretty soon, all you can hear is the

six of you breathing. Then, from the next street over, gunshots. A few moments later, the same young man from before comes to the door, out of breath. It's me. Don't shoot. Don't shoot. You all lower your guns. Your hands are shaking so hard you almost drop yours. What happened? There's gonna be trouble now. What do you mean? The mob was coming right down 8th Street. We told them to stop, that we didn't want any trouble, but a few of them kept on coming and we fired. Are they dead? No, no, they're alive, but the men they had up front were police. The weight of it sucks the air right out of the room. The man next to you quietly curses. You all know what this news means.

There's going to be more violence tonight. Now it's just a question of how bad things will get from here. The violence in Columbia came in the early morning hours. Hundreds of Tennessee Highway Patrol officers and the Tennessee State Guard called in as reinforcements, surrounded the downtown Black Business District, and then moved in. Though no one died that night, the officers began firing into buildings at random and beating any Black residents they encountered. By daybreak, they had destroyed every Black-owned business along the first block of 8th Street and arrested more than 100 Black men and women. Two of those arrested would

die while in custody. The events in Columbia and in Batesburg, South Carolina were part of a larger pattern of violence that confronted black citizens in the wake of World War II. To many, the hope inspired by the Double V campaign seemed to be slipping away. But a new wave of activism was actually growing. One that would battle back against the resurgence of white supremacy, mounting challenges to segregation throughout the country and winning new allies in the struggle for racial justice. Campaigns for desegregation and the assertion of civil rights flourished. Protests challenged discrimination in schools, buses, trains, and voting booths.

The color line fell on the playing fields and the battlefields, as Major League Baseball, integrated in 1947 in a long-standing effort to desegregate the military, finally succeeded in 1948. Never again would the United States go off to war with a Jim Crow army. The men and women who saw themselves as part of a blossoming civil rights movement were not going down without a fight. This is the emergency broadcast system.

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Wondery Plus in the Wondery app, Apple Podcasts, or Spotify. In November 1991, media tycoon Robert Maxwell mysteriously vanished from his luxury yacht in the Canary Islands. But it wasn't just his body that would come to the surface in the days that followed. It soon emerged that Robert's business was on the brink of collapse, and behind his facade of wealth and success was a litany of bad investments, mounting debt, and multi-million dollar fraud. Hi, I'm Lindsey Graham, the host of Wondery Show Business Movers. We tell the true stories of business leaders who risked it all, the critical moments that defined their journey, and the ideas that transformed the way we live our lives. In our latest series, a young refugee

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You can listen ad-free on the Amazon Music or Wondery app. Imagine you're a 50-year-old grandmother from a small town in Oklahoma. It's early evening and you're on the road with three generations of your family in the car. Your granddaughter is asleep on the back seat. One of your three daughters is at the wheel. It's an unseasonably cool fall evening in 1947. The unexpected chill makes your tired joints, tight muscles ache, especially on a bumpy road. But tonight is special. Your daughter looks over

her shoulder at the back seat. Mama, why don't you go ahead and save us some seats? I'll wake her up, see if I can't get the dress smoothed out a little. I swear that girl will wrinkle up anything I put her in. You were the same way at her age as I recall. Don't be too long now. You had to convince your daughter to drive with you this far. Coming two towns over across these roads on a work night is not exactly convenient. It's no small thing for you either. You've got work in the morning, cleaning and cooking in the home of the same

white family your mother, rest her soul, had worked for. But this past weekend, you heard your granddaughter, precocious and all of about eight years old, declare loudly that she wants to be a lawyer when she grows up. And you knew you had to bring her here tonight. You move slowly through the crowd of people, more folks here than the church had seen on a Thursday night in quite some time. You find a bit of space in one of the pews and take your seat. Your daughter and granddaughter join you a short while later. After a few moments more, the speakers for tonight's program file into the seats near the pulpit. Among them is a tall, slender woman looking straight out into the crowd. You look at your family and lean over. I wanted you to see

this, to hear her speak. This young lady is going to the University of Oklahoma. She's going to be a lawyer, and she's going to fight the whole state in order to do it. A few moments later, the young woman stands to address the crowd. admitted that I was qualified in every respect except one. My race. Upon being refused on this ground, I could not and would not let the matter drop. You look over at your granddaughter. She is spellbound, with a stare that can only be described as wonder.

Written in her face, you can see something. A sense of possibility. This thing she is dreaming of might one day be real. The young woman at the pulpit was Ada Louise Sipuel Fisher, who sued the University of Oklahoma for refusing her admission to the state's flagship law school because of her race. With the help of local lawyers and the legal staff of the NAACP, her case would go all the way to the U.S. Supreme Court in 1948. She would win, eventually becoming the first African American to attend the university. Civil rights organizations, especially the NAACP, launched new legal efforts to overturn various

forms of race prejudice. And crucially, it was African American women like Ada Fisher who routinely stood at the heart of these cases, leading the way in contesting the discrimination they faced whether it was in education, transportation, or housing. With women like Fisher as the majority of their clients, NAACP lawyers returned to the Supreme Court again and again, and they won. Repeatedly. Bit by bit, they chipped away at the legal foundations of Jim Crow. These challenges weren't only in the South, either. In fact, one of the key battles was unfolding in neighborhoods throughout the North. One of the major transformations brought on by

World War II had been a mass migration of African Americans out of the rural South and into cities of the North and West. But as Black communities in Chicago, Detroit, Los Angeles, or New York continued to grow, one of the most urgent difficulties they faced was finding adequate housing. Not only was there a general housing shortage in the 1940s, but racial discrimination made finding a decent place to live especially hard for African Americans. Banks, realtors, federal housing agencies, and white neighborhood organizations all united to enforce an extensive pattern of exclusion. Civil rights activists believed that access to good housing was critical to the future of Black communities after World War II. So the NAACP and local lawyers in a number of major American cities attacked one particularly widespread tool of housing discrimination, the racial restrictive covenant.

Restrictive covenants were legal agreements created by white homeowners and home builders that prohibited African Americans and members of other racial and ethnic groups from living in certain neighborhoods. And by the mid-1940s, these agreements seemed to be everywhere. In 1948, the NAACP went back to the Supreme Court shortly after arguing Ada Fisher's law school case. They represented six Black families who had purchased homes with restrictive covenants and were now being evicted by their white neighbors. One of the most exciting developments in the case came when the Department of Justice decided to argue alongside the NAACP's lawyers in the Supreme Court, supporting the rights of the Black homeowners. It was an unprecedented move by Attorney General Tom Clark, and it played a key role in securing the NAACP's victory.

Of course, housing segregation was far too deeply entrenched to be stopped by a single court case. Still, the case itself helped to strengthen a growing relationship between civil rights organizations like the NAACP and the executive branch of the federal government under new president Harry Truman. That relationship would become critical to the success of future campaigns. Truman was an unlikely ally for civil rights advocates. He'd been added as vice president to Roosevelt's re-election ticket in 1944, partly to appease Southern voters who believed that Truman would temper Roosevelt's civil rights agenda. But by the end of 1946, a little more than a year into his presidency, Truman no longer seemed like the impediment to change that segregationists had hoped he would be.

Reports of the violence against Isaac Woodard and other Black veterans in particular had genuinely shocked the president into action. Steadily, Truman began to offer his support to civil rights activists. He ordered the Department of Justice to investigate incidents of racial violence in the South. He established a new commission to recommend changes in federal civil rights policies, he ordered the desegregation of the U.S. military and advocated for new civil rights legislation. In a speech from the steps of the Lincoln Memorial during the summer of 1947, Truman told the annual conference of the NAACP that he believed the future would indeed be different. It is my deep conviction that we have reached a turning point in the long history of our country's efforts to guarantee freedom and equality to all our citizens. We cannot wait another decade or another generation to remedy these evils.

We must work as never before to cure them now. Civil rights activists were encouraged by the president's support, but they understood that political winds shifted easily. It would take an unyielding struggle on their part to ensure that progress actually took place. It would be up to them to carry the fight forward. So they redoubled their efforts in the years ahead. By the early 1950s,

this movement that Black communities and their allies had been building for more than a decade would begin to make new and remarkable strides. Many of the freedoms that they had been desperately fighting for now seemed within reach. On the next episode of American History Tellers, civil rights activists fighting Jim Crow schools win a landmark Supreme Court victory, while in Montgomery, Alabama, a bus boycott stuns segregationists and inspires new hope for the movement's future. If you like American History Tellers, you can binge all episodes early and ad-free right now by joining Wondery Plus in the Wondery app or on Apple Podcasts.

Prime members can listen ad-free on Amazon Music. And before you go, tell us about yourself by filling out a short survey at wondery.com slash survey. From Wondery, this is American History Tellers. American History Tellers is hosted, sound designed, and edited by me, Lindsey Graham, for Airship. Additional production assistance by Derek Behrens. This episode is written by Jeffrey Gonda. Edited by Jan Chien. Edited and produced by Jenny Lauer.

Produced by George Lavender. Our executive producer is Marshall Louis. Created by Hernán López for Wondery. Wondery. Dracula, the ancient vampire who terrorizes Victorian London. Blood and garlic, bats and crucifixes. Even if you haven't read the book, you think you know the story. One of the incredible things about Dracula is that not only is it this wonderful snapshot of the 19th century, but it also has so much resonance today.

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