Today, Explained - Missing Chapter

Episode Date: October 1, 2020

A forgotten protest movement in a seaside Florida town helped end legal segregation in the United States. Vox’s Ranjani Chakraborty explains. Transcript at vox.com/todayexplained. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit podcastchoices.com/adchoices

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BetMGM.com for terms and conditions. Must be 19 years of age or older to wager. Ontario only. Please play responsibly. If you have any questions or concerns about your gambling or someone close to you, please contact Connex Ontario at 1-866-531-2600 to speak to an advisor free of charge. BetMGM operates pursuant to an operating agreement with iGaming Ontario. It's Today Explained. I'm Sean Ramos for him. A few weeks back, President Trump announced a commission to promote what he calls patriotic education in the United States. We must clear away the twisted web of lies in our schools and classrooms and teach our children the magnificent truth about our country.

The president wants students to learn a pro-America curriculum. We want our sons and daughters to know that they are the citizens of the most exceptional nation in the history of the world. Funny thing is, a lot of historians would argue that the curriculum in the United States is already pretty pro-American. The existing curriculum already leaves out plenty of inconvenient truths and unflattering stories. The video team at Vox has an entire series dedicated to those stories. It's called Missing Chapter. It's hosted by our colleague Ranjini Chakraborty. And for today's show, we invited Ranjini over to dream up what a Missing Chapter podcast might sound like.

This is the story of a forgotten protest that paved the way to end institutional segregation in the southern United States. Maybe not a surprise considering the subject matter, but the episode features some strong language and you're going to hear about some violence, but let us know what you think of what you hear. You can tweet at me or at the show. I'm at Ramas Verm. The show is at today underscore explained, or you can send us an email. We're today explained at vox.com. Here's Ranjani. St. Augustine is a small scenic town on the coast of Northern Florida. Imagine brick-lined streets,

buildings with red Spanish tile, and miles of pristine beach dotted with palm trees. This is the town where Cynthia Mitchell Clark was born and raised. We would go to the beach, and there was usually a cookout. There were people playing ball and running around and just having a good time. It was a three-mile stretch of sandy beach, and there were bathhouses, a merry-go-round, and picnic tables to take in views of the Atlantic. A lot of adults would sit up top on the hill, and the children would play. It was well kept from what I remember. But again, too, I had nothing to compare it to

because I wasn't allowed to go to St. Augustine Beach. Back then, St. Augustine Beach was the whites-only beach. It was just a few miles north of where Cynthia and her family and other Black residents were allowed to swim. I knew without anyone really telling me that there were two different beaches, Butler's Beach and St. Augustine Beach. We knew where to go and where not to go. Cynthia didn't need a whites-only sign to know the rules, rules she had followed her entire life. That is, until one summer, when Cynthia and dozens of others decided to break them.

They waded into the water at St. Augustine Beach. It felt like I had one-up on those who didn't want us at the beach by saying, I'm here. I know you don't want me here, but I'm here. We thought it was going to be a peaceful day, peaceful demonstration. And somehow someone told them that we were at the beach. And that's when the violence started. This was the summer after Cynthia's 14th birthday.

This was the summer after Cynthia's 14th birthday. This was the summer of 1964. And do you have a sense now why civil rights leaders wanted to target St. Augustine during that spring and summer? Because St. Augustine was the most racist place that anyone could ever imagine. From the Vox Media Podcast Network, this is Missing Chapter. I'm Ranjini Chakraborty. Missing Chapter tells the stories that were deliberately left out of our history textbooks. Stories that reveal the truth about our past and where we might be headed. And if there's ever been a time to reckon with our past,

it's now. Forth Floyd! Forth Floyd! Forth Floyd! We have a Taylor! We have a Taylor! Taylor's up! Go shoot!

Justice for Jacob, thousands taking to the streets in Wisconsin this weekend, calling for an end to police brutality. Racial justice protests have forced cities across the country to rethink who we memorialize, what we celebrate, and why. These monuments are symbols of hatred. Cynthia's hometown, St. Augustine, Florida, is grappling with this too. It's, in fact, the nation's oldest city. Located on Florida's northeast coast in St. John's County.

A town that seems to love celebrating its history. This ancient city of 15,000 population is one of the state's leading tourist attractions. It's got a well-preserved fort, a Spanish colonial quarter, and Ponce de Leon's Fountain of Youth. The city is also home to an overlooked but key civil rights battle, when Cynthia and protesters like her waded into pools and beaches that should have been open to all. It's a movement missing from most history textbooks, and its participants are conspicuously absent among the monuments in St. Augustine. So on today's episode, we're recovering that history.

We'll see how a unique form of protest in the summer of 64 helped push a landmark civil rights bill into law. And we'll learn why today, that legislation still isn't enough. Back in 1964, Cynthia Mitchell-Clark was an outgoing kid. I was in anything and everything that existed in terms of organizations, especially at my school. I had to be where there was action. But at the time, St. Augustine was a pretty tough place to be a Black teenager. It wasn't just the beaches that were segregated. It was the lunch counters, the stores, the schools, the movie theaters. Many of us would go to the theater on Saturday, the movies. And in order to

get to the section where Black people had to sit, we had to go through an alley. And in that alley was where a lot of the stores would put their garbage. So we would go through that little alley, upstairs, sit in the balcony area. And that's where we had to watch the movie. Downstairs, which was white only, there had popcorn, they had drinks. We had to bring our own. Like the movie theater, the city itself was divided by the railroad. Most of the Black residents lived to the west of the tracks, including Cynthia, her mom, and her younger brother. But even in their own homes, Black residents faced

a constant threat. At night, we had to turn all of our lights out. My brother and I had to study in a closet. It was no more than two by three, if that. It was in the center of the house, and no one could see any lights from it, from the outside. If anyone had seen any lights, then the house would have been firebombed. There was one instance where my grandmother's house was shot in, about three shots, because she had lights on. Fortunately, she was in the back of the house, but that was typical. These firebombings, the shootings into people's homes at night, they came from white supremacist groups. There is evidence that Klan-inspired violence touched off one of the most vicious racial riots in recent history. KKK violence had been ramping up in St. Augustine.

In the months leading into the spring of 1964, a local Black activist named Robert Haling had been leading marches and rallies to desegregate the city. I feel it is incumbent upon the city officials and the state officials to make St. Augustine a glaring example of democracy at work. Cynthia's mom also got involved. So I became involved because my mother was involved, because my church was really the place where everyone would meet. After the mass meeting, there would be a march to the downtown area to what was called the Old Slave Market. And we marched singing freedom songs. Which side are you on?

Of course we shall overcome. As demonstrators march toward downtown, they clash with members of the KKK. And they line the street, shouting obscenities and throwing items at us. The tempo of violence increased rapidly in St. Augustine. The KKK, the KKK, the KKK, the KKK, the KKK, the KKK, the KKK, the KKK, the KKK, the KKK,

the KKK, the KKK, the KKK, the KKK, the KKK, the KKK, the KKK, the KKK, the KKK, the KKK, the KKK, the KKK, the KKK, the KKK, the KKK, the KKK, the KKK, the KKK, the KKK, the KKK, the KKK, the KKK, the KKK, the KKK, the KKK, the KKK, the KKK, the KKK, the KKK, the KKK, the KKK, the KKK, the KKK, the KKK, the KKK, the KKK, the KKK, the KKK, the KKK, the KKK,

the KKK, the KKK, the KKK, the KKK, the KKK, the KKK, the KKK, the KKK, the KKK, the KKK, the KKK, the KKK, the KKK, the KKK, the KKK, the KKK, the KKK, the KKK, the KKK, the KKK, the KKK, the KKK, the KKK, the KKK, the KKKaded in the streets, unmindful of the rain. Calling us every name they could think of, primarily nigger. Just spitting at us. That we white people are going to rise up for 140 million, folks!

They would knock out all of the streetlights, so you were marching in the dark. Cynthia remembers one night when her mom went out to protest and a photographer was there covering the event for a black newspaper. The next day, on the front page of that newspaper, Cynthia spotted a picture. A woman in a familiar black and white dress. And it was my mother. She had been hit with a bottle on her leg, so she had a cut on her leg from that bottle. And it was like that almost every night somebody came back bleeding. There were people who were beaten so badly until you couldn't recognize them.

You knew that something would happen to you or someone else. It was just inevitable. And you prepare yourself for it and move on. Cynthia and her entire community marched and rallied and sat in for months. But St. Augustine resisted change. And as the KKK was getting more and more violent, local movement leadership decided they needed help. They called on the Southern Christian Leadership Conference, the SCLC, and its president. The Reverend Martin Luther King Jr. And when Dr. King came to the city, that's when the movement really took off. The Negroes of St. Augustine, Florida, and those that have come in from other communities

and their allies in the white community are determined to march the streets of this city until the walls of segregation come crumbling down. At the time, King was trying to get Congress to pass the 1964 Civil Rights Act. It would prohibit discrimination based on race, religion, sex, or national origin. And it would ban segregation in all places of public accommodation. Restaurants, theaters, hotels. It would mean the beginning of the end for Jim Crow. The problem was it was stuck in the Senate in this record-long filibuster,

and King thought that a national spotlight on the racism in St. Augustine might help convince Congress to push the bill into law. So the SCLC descended on the city with a bunch of activists from all over the South, including J.T. Johnson. I'm just a young man trying to do good things. J.T. is now 82. But back in 1964, he was just 26 years old and living in his hometown, Albany, Georgia. Albany had its own local movement. Sitting in at lunch counters, marching at night, just trying to integrate things that were segregated.

In June of 64, the SCLC asked JT to go to St. Augustine. In addition to the marches and boycotts, the activists there were starting to use a new tactic, wait-ins. Just as sit-ins targeted segregated lunch counters, wait-ins targeted segregated pools and beaches, like the Whites Only Beach in St. Augustine that Cynthia had to steer clear of as a kid. Activists would go to these beaches and pools and literally wait or swim in the water. This particular kind of protest had already gotten attention on the beaches of cities like Biloxi, Fort Lauderdale, and Chicago. A lot of white people fiercely opposed integrating pools and beaches. The idea of the races mixing in the water, in the same water, in bathing suits,

that played on very racist justifications for Jim Crow. The threat of contamination and the threat of Black sexuality. So wait-ins were a really provocative form of protest, especially in a Southern segregated beach town like St. Augustine. But the SCLC was determined, and lucky for them, JT had a helpful skill. See, I learned how to swim in the Flint River. And I used to slip off with some friends. We'd go to that river, we'd go swimming and do everything.

At a time when Black people were often excluded from beaches and pools, JT was doing something quietly radical. We had swimming lessons. We taught young kids in the mornings and older people at night. Not long after JT arrived in St. Augustine, Dr. King and other SCLC leaders like Ralph Abernathy picked a target, the Monson Motor Lodge. The Monson was this posh downtown hotel, ringed by palm trees, and it was whites only. In a city that relied heavily on tourism, it had been a longtime target of integration activists.

So it's no surprise the SCLC chose this site. They started with a sit-in on a Thursday in June. The day of the sit-in, King and the other activists walked up the steps and tried to get lunch at the hotel restaurant.

But... They wouldn't allow him to come in. The Associated Press was there that day, cameras rolling. What are you prepared to do now, Dr. King? Well, we will stand here in a nonviolent, peaceful manner and protest what we feel is a blatant injustice.

Reverend King, I'd like to prevail on you and on behalf of... In the AP footage, you can see the manager of the Monson Motor Lodge, James Brock. He's a balding white guy in glasses and a suit. He's a fixture in the town's tourism industry, the president of the Florida Hotel and Motel Association. Mr. Brock, he didn't want to sit down. He just, he was a staunch segregationist. Brock stands right in the front door, telling King he's not welcome. I encourage your nonviolent army to peacefully solicit some other property other than mine.

As you know, I've unfortunately... King didn't budge, so St. Augustine police arrested him, Ralph Abernathy, and more than a dozen others that afternoon. So we decided that we was going to do something different. We thought, well, maybe was going to do something different. We thought, well, maybe we ought to do something at the swimming pool down there. Out front, the Monson Motor Lodge had a large, kidney-shaped pool. A perfect place for a wade-in.

But first, they needed volunteers. Well, nobody said anything, so I told them, you know, I'll lead this demonstration. It's fine with me. But I didn't have a bathing suit. My good friend said, well, I got one you could use. They set a date for the following week. The SCLC had big plans for the Monson that day. Today, trouble under a noon sun. Negroes and white rabbis marched to a segregated hotel, were met by the manager with these results. More than a dozen rabbis joined Black protesters around the hotel to try to form a prayer circle. But as they start to pray, Brock shouts them down.

You're all on property and you're over the prayer. You're all on property and I'm ordering you to leave here. Two of the white protesters checked into the Monson. But the white men had invited other Negroes to be their guests in the swimming pool. But JT knew the hotel wouldn't let a Black patron in through the front doors, much less in the locker room. So he put on his borrowed bathing suit and a volunteer drove him and four other Black demonstrators into downtown St. Augustine. They dropped us off right in front of the Monson Hotel. And he snuck into the hotel.

He jumped out of the car over the hedges and into the pool. Brock was enraged. He walked out of the hotel and over to the edge of the pool. Then-manager James Brock told him to get off his private property. JT and his friends refused, so Brock picked up a cleaning pole. He started with his pole, the cleaning pole, and tried to heal us with that and called us the N-word. And we should go back where we come from.

We was agitated and all kinds of things like that. When that didn't work, Brock resorted to a shocking form of violence. So he went back in his room and got some acid and started pouring that in there. Two jugs of hydrochloric acid, one in each hand. James Brock tossed cleaning chemicals inside the pool in an effort to get the Negroes to leave. As the acid hits the water, the pool starts to bubble. The protesters clutched each other in fear. Brock followed them as they fled across the pool. Were you expecting that sort of reaction, that violence?

When you demonstrate, you don't worry about what's going to happen. You're trying to make a point. There was not a lot of fear in the movement. The Lord had taken all the fear out of our hearts. JT and the other demonstrators weren't burned by the acid, but they didn't leave unscathed. The sheriffs jumped into the pool and they finally drug us out of the pool and put us in jail. He arrived dripping wet in just his bathing suit. And that was a problem. It was about time for dinner, so they wouldn't feed me because I didn't have on any clothes, they say. So I said, well, you know, you didn't allow me to get my stuff, you know. We decided that we would fast and nobody would eat. And we didn't for three or four days there. While JT and the others sat in jail, their protest went viral. That moment, James Brock pouring acid into the pool

full of young black and white swimmers, it was put on newscasts, newspapers, and magazines all across the country. Today, that photo is missing from most history textbooks. It certainly wasn't in mine. But to historians who study the civil rights era, it's pretty well known. Let me pull it up myself.

We talked to one, Andrew Carl, who teaches at UVA. It's an indication of how iconic it is, that it like fills out as you start typing. The thing about that image that always sticks with me and with anyone who's ever seen it is just how casual that manager is as he's dumping acid into the pool and how that's contrasted with those who are in the pool, who are clutching each other and screaming in terror. It's just something that I think anyone who's ever seen that image could not get it out of their head. And as news of the weigh-in spread,

that image certainly stuck with the most powerful man in the country. Yesterday in the swimming pool in St. Augustine, they jumped in and police jumped in, their clothes on, they started pouring acid in the pool. Coming up, the St. Augustine weigh-ins got the attention of President Lyndon B. Johnson. But when those weigh-ins moved from the pool to the beach, it led to one of St. Augustine's most violent nights yet. That's after the break. Support for today explained comes from Ramp. Ramp is the corporate card and spend management software designed to help you save time and put money back in your pocket. Ramp says they give finance teams unprecedented control and insight into company spend. With Ramp, you're able to issue cards to every employee with limits and restrictions

and automate expense reporting so you can stop wasting time at the end of every month. And now you can get $250 when you join Ramp. You can go to ramp.com slash explained, ramp.com slash explained, R-A-M-P dot com slash explained. Cards issued by Sutton Bank. Member FDIC. Terms and conditions apply. That awful scene at the Monson Motor Lodge was broadcast around the world,

and President Lyndon B. Johnson was worried. The party of the people will not fail the trust of the people. At the time, LBJ was in California, making the rounds at political events in the Bay Area. And our first trust is victory itself on November the 3rd, and that's what we're going to have. But he saw those images from St. Augustine, and he called an advisor from his hotel in San Francisco. For Johnson, this wasn't just a domestic problem. It was a global one. Our whole foreign policy and everything else go to hell over this. The summer of 1964 was the height of the Cold War, just a few years after the Berlin Wall went up,

not too long after the Cuban Missile Crisis, and just as the Vietnam War was ramping up. Part of the Cold War pitch for American democracy was freedom and tolerance, so a photo like the one from the Monson Motor Lodge was really bad PR for the U.S. LBJ was worried that the Soviets might use it to their advantage, especially because the 1964 Civil Rights Act was still stuck in Congress. Johnson hoped protests like the ones in St. Augustine would finally get Congress on board, that the Civil Rights Bill to get decency and fairness and justice. I think what really got to the country was that asset that they put in the pool on us. That picture there had a lot to do with the Civil Rights Bill. Just as Martin Luther King Jr. had hoped, the scenes in St. Augustine struck a chord

with the American people. And on June 19, 1964, just one day after the wait-in at the Monson Motor Lodge, the Senate finally passed the Civil Rights Bill. J.T. heard the news in jail. Yes, we started singing and praying. Ain't gonna let nobody turn us around. That was what our main song was. Which side are you on?

These songs are songs of inspiration. But the bill still had to pass the House. So once JT and the others got out of jail, they continued to fight. They teamed up with locals to stage more wait-ins, this time at the beach. 14-year-old Cynthia Clark, the one who had to study in her closet, had been marching and rallying all summer with her mom. So Hosea Williams, a close associate of Dr. King, recruited Cynthia and other young people to join him at one particular protest. Reverend Hosea Williams called my mother and asked her if I could go with some of the kids down to St. Augustine Beach. And she said, OK, don't let anything happen to my daughter.

Reverend Williams promised. So with dozens of other protesters, Cynthia walked on to St. Augustine Beach, the white beach, for the first time. And we were out in the water, just playing in the water. There were no white beachgoers in sight. The demonstrators figured they'd be left alone. And then all of a sudden, someone turned around and looked up on the bank and saw, it seemed to have been at least 50 to 75 young white males without shirts on and either trunks on or shorts.

And then all of a sudden when they realized we saw them, they came running down the bank. They were throwing their fists left and right. We thought it was going to be a peaceful day, a peaceful demonstration. No one expected this group of young white males to line the banks and then come running down like a herd, a herd of animals and just hitting people, knocking them. No one expected that. When I got past them and ran to the car with Reverend Jose Williams, someone said, somebody hit your nose. I said, no, somebody just slapped me. That was all. I'm okay. Cynthia didn't feel anything until she looked in a mirror.

And that's when I saw my nose was to the side. So then when Reverend Williams looked at it, he just said, Oh, Lord. Oh, your mama's going to kill me. Your mama's going to kill me. He kept saying that. She didn't want you to go. And I begged her, and look what happened. Oh, she's going to kill me. There would be no more protests for Cynthia that summer. Those weigh-ins sparked a wave of violence that consumed the city. On the night of June 25th, 1964, the fuse burned down and the racial bomb exploded. St. Augustine was the scene of a frightening riot.

Scores of people were injured, 19 hospitalized. But the Wait-Ins in St. Augustine swayed the nation and kept pressure on Congress. Congress passes the most sweeping civil rights bill ever to be written into the law. Five hours after the House passes the measure, the Civil Rights Act of 1964 is signed at the White House by President Johnson. This Civil Rights Act is a challenge to all of us to go to work in our communities and our states, in our homes and in our hearts, to eliminate the last vestiges of injustice in our beloved country. Looking back, did you think to yourself at all that you

played a small part in getting that bill signed? Absolutely. Absolutely. I felt good about what I had done. I felt good about what my family had done because I know we made a difference. Now, in this summer of 1964, the civil rights bill is the law of the land. In the words of the president, it restricts no one's freedom so long as he respects the rights of others. That law is considered one of the most important achievements of the civil rights movement. It paved the way to finally end Jim Crow. Today, more than half a century later, when J.T. Johnson visits St. Augustine,

he walks through the front door of the Monson Motor Lodge. I stayed at that hotel. It's a Hilton. That's where I live when I go to St. Augustine. I go in the pool and swim around it. It brings back memories. The hotel has even found a way to commemorate what happened there in the summer of 64. As you go in the front door of the pool and right to the left, they have stuff about Dr. King.

And then they have markers at the pool, in the water, and stuff around the edges about what happened. And yet? Normally when I go in it, I'm in there with some people who knew nothing about it. About the weigh-in or how JT's protest helped pass the Civil Rights Act. And we share our story and I tell them about this fool and what happened. I was surprised after years

a lot of folks never knew anything about St. Augustine. But you could hear about Birmingham, Albany, but never St. Augustine. We tend to say, you know, if we don't know our history, we're bound to repeat it. I try to share it with my grandsons now. So they will have an understanding of what people went through in order to allow them to go to the beaches,

to go to any restaurant they want to, or, you know, do whatever they want to do. But despite all those changes, to this day, Cynthia still doesn't feel welcome in her hometown. Some things that happen to you as a child, you just don't let go of it. A few years after her historic protest, she left for college and never moved back. I visit St. Augustine now, and I still have an eerie feeling because their element is still there of people who don't want Black people there. Have you ever gone to St. Augustine Beach since that day in 64?

No, I haven't. And I don't swim. I was going to learn how to swim, but after that incident, I have never learned how't swim. I was going to learn how to swim, but after that incident, I have never learned how to swim. The fight for access to public recreation isn't actually over. After the Civil Rights Act

and integration became law, there was a backlash. White people were treated to the suburbs and private resorts. Many cities decided to close down their public pools and beaches instead of integrating. All across the country and up through today, beaches and pools remain deeply contested spaces. I'm going to tell you one more time, get your ass out of here. contested spaces. Black teens in Texas attacked while trying to enjoy a day at the pool. And I heard this lady, she was like, what are all these Black kids doing here? She's like, I'm scared they might do something to my child. Black kids at a Pennsylvania day camp

barred from entering a private club. A statement from the club president says there was a concern a lot of kids would change the complexion and atmosphere of the club. A Black family harassed for using a hotel pool during their stay. I proved that I have a room here with my kids. So because I'm the only Black person here in this pool, they want to question me. Now that I know what happened in St. Augustine, the racial conflicts of today feel like deja vu. I'm ordering you to leave here. You're not here on private property. I'm ordering you to go on private property. Thank you. Vox's video team. You can find much more of their work at youtube.com slash Vox. That includes a video version of today's episode. And a reminder that we want to know what you thought

of today's episode. Hit me up. I'm at Ramasvaram on Twitter. Hit up Today Explained on Twitter at today underscore explained or send us an email todayexplained at vox.com. Today's episode was edited by Amy Drozdovska and Robin Amer with mixing and original score by Hannes Brown. It was produced by our dear friend Jillian Weinberger, who just this week gave birth to a beautiful baby boy named Isaac. Welcome to the world, Isaac. You've already made it better. The Today Explained team includes Amina Als-Saidi, Will Reed, Halima Shah, Muj, Zaydi, and Noam Hassenfeld, who contributes original music. Afim Shapiro is our engineer.

Golda Arthur is the supervising producer. And Liz Kelly Nelson is Vox's editorial director of podcasts. Extra help this week from Bird Pinkerton and Cecilia Lay. Much more music from the original Breakmaster Cylinder today explained as part of the Vox Media Podcast Network.