POLITICAL NOTES: Mississippi's Militants

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The clouds hung low and heavy over the barnlike white (and for whites only) schoolhouse at Barnes, in Mississippi's rural Leake County. To the Barnes school-house one recent, showery, steaming day came four lawyers and an editor, all candidates for the nomination for governor on the Democratic ticket (the only one that counts) in next week's primary. In their speeches the five candidates all went straight to the point. This was no great accomplishment, since in Mississippi, in 1955, there is only one real political point: school segregation.

"The Darkest Cloud." First up to speak was Attorney General James Plemon Coleman Jr., the massive (6 ft. 2 in., 235 Ibs.) son of a Choctaw County cotton grower. "We will keep the schoolhouses open and we will keep the races separate and we will not keep the state in an uproar," he said.

Then came Lawyer Ross Barnett, a native of Standing Pine. "I cannot serve as governor," cried Barnett, "without the help of Almighty God and the confidence and support of the people of Mississippi. Humility before God and my fellow man is my guide. Segregation is the most serious problem which confronts the people of Mississippi. It is the darkest cloud which has been over us since Reconstruction . . . We shall maintain segregation ... so long as I am governor."

After an hour out for lunch (chicken salad, cowpeas and applesauce), the third speaker arose. He was Fielding L. Wright, who came out of Rolling Fork in the Delta country to become governor of Mississippi (in 1946) and Dixiecrat candidate for Vice President in 1948. Pointing to his longtime record in behalf of white supremacy, Wright adopted an I-told-you-so tone. Said he: "I started eight years ago trying to warn the people of the South what was taking place ... I warned you . . . They will destroy the sovereign states, and no longer will we live under a confederation of sovereign states. Then we will live as vassals to some federal system, and the Supreme Court will tell you how to run your private lives."

Wright's peroration passed almost unnoticed, since all eyes were suddenly directed to the arrival of a flame-red, air-conditioned Buick out of which flounced Mrs. Mary Tulula ("Militant Mary") Cain, a solidly constructed 50-year-old, who edits the weekly Summit Sun. One of seven children of a railway maintenance supervisor, Mary Cain was born in a railroad camp car and has never stopped rolling ("Never seems to get tired," says her husband, a filling-station operator). Mrs. Cain made her opponents' language seem almost tolerant.

"Nine Nincompoops." "Why fight law cases all the way to the Supreme Court?" demanded Militant Mary of her lawyer opponents. "What do we have when we get there but nine nincompoops? The only thing the Supreme Court has the right to dictate to us is on the 14th Amendment.

If we don't have laws, then we can't violate 'em. If we have equal school facilities but no laws, then we can't violate 'em.