Lynching In Duluth Short Story
Lynchings In Duluth Creative Writing I was woken up suddenly by my mother shaking me. “Come on Elmer”, she whispered, “we have to go!” Naturally, I was surprised and confused. “Where are we going mom”, I asked. “We are going downtown to partake in a little rally”, she responded. After a little more encouraging I eventually got up and began getting ready for the day. I came downstairs to see my sister, mom, and dad all waiting for me. They had all dressed as if this was a formal occasion, which I found odd, but disregarded it. We all piled into our 1917 Ford Model T and started the trek downtown. On our way, I saw lots of white people starting to fill the streets, yelling and holding signs that read things like “Lynch Those Blacks” or “What
…show more content…
if She Was Your Sister?”. Once our car had reached main street I noticed just how many people had come down for this rally. There was lots of commotion that seemed to be happening down by the police station. We found parking at a restaurant near the river, than began to walk over to where the commotion was happening. Once we arrived at what I now realized must have been some sort of enraged mob, I could truly start to feel the energy that this amount of people had.
All types of white people were in this mob, white women, white children, and white men. We walked towards where the heart of the mob must have been, and through all of the commotion, I got separated from my family. “MOM”, I called out. “DAD”, I shouted even louder, though my voice was drowned out in the crowd. Over the noise of a thousand voices, I heard some say “those blacks deserve to die”, or “think about that poor girl”. I started to get scared, and pushed through the crowd, hoping that I would bump into my mom or dad. Unknowingly, though, I ended up in the front lines of the mob, in the front of the police station. I was handed a brick by a stranger and told “hey kid, throw this brick at that window”, while he pointed at one of the first floor windows. Eventually, I put together the pieces. All these people were yelling about lynching some blacks,and how a girl had been violated. I came to the conclusion that these black men had been arrested for raping a young white girl, and were being held at the police station jail. Upon coming to this realization, I dropped the brick in disgust. I was completely against killing anyone in cold blood, no matter what they had done. Overwhelmed by the angry energy of all these white men who towered over me, and losing my parents, I started to cry. Suddenly I felt a hand on my shoulder. I spun around as fast as a bolt of lightning, only to be relieved to see my dad standing there. He pulled my back, and right then the crowd seemed to surge forward. It seemed as if they had breached the defenses of the police and were now storming through the station. My dad pulled me over to the outskirts of the crowd, and witnessed that in no time the mob exited the station, with 3 black men in their
custody.
My dad dragged me over to where the black men were the black men were seemingly being taken. I watched as one by one the black men were brought op to the light pole, and hung by their necks until there was no sign of life left in them. Once all three were dead, there was a rush of activity. People were getting in position to have their picture taken. My dad suddenly left my side, and jumped into the picture. “One, two, three”, I heard, then there was a sudden flash of light, and the picture was taken. After that, people lingered around the scene until eventually the national guard arrived to break up the mob. On the car ride home, no one spoke and the mood was somber. It gave me the feeling that maybe my family was guilty of what happened. About a week later when I went to the drug store in town, I noticed something. That picture my father had posed for was on pictures, mugs, and shirts. Whoever took that picture was trying to make a profit off of this tragic event, and it disgusted me. That is the story of my experience at the Duluth Lynchings, and how my father was unknowingly embedded in history forever.
if She Was Your Sister?”. Once our car had reached main street I noticed just how many people had come down for this rally. There was lots of commotion that seemed to be happening down by the police station. We found parking at a restaurant near the river, than began to walk over to where the commotion was happening. Once we arrived at what I now realized must have been some sort of enraged mob, I could truly start to feel the energy that this amount of people had.
All types of white people were in this mob, white women, white children, and white men. We walked towards where the heart of the mob must have been, and through all of the commotion, I got separated from my family. “MOM”, I called out. “DAD”, I shouted even louder, though my voice was drowned out in the crowd. Over the noise of a thousand voices, I heard some say “those blacks deserve to die”, or “think about that poor girl”. I started to get scared, and pushed through the crowd, hoping that I would bump into my mom or dad. Unknowingly, though, I ended up in the front lines of the mob, in the front of the police station. I was handed a brick by a stranger and told “hey kid, throw this brick at that window”, while he pointed at one of the first floor windows. Eventually, I put together the pieces. All these people were yelling about lynching some blacks,and how a girl had been violated. I came to the conclusion that these black men had been arrested for raping a young white girl, and were being held at the police station jail. Upon coming to this realization, I dropped the brick in disgust. I was completely against killing anyone in cold blood, no matter what they had done. Overwhelmed by the angry energy of all these white men who towered over me, and losing my parents, I started to cry. Suddenly I felt a hand on my shoulder. I spun around as fast as a bolt of lightning, only to be relieved to see my dad standing there. He pulled my back, and right then the crowd seemed to surge forward. It seemed as if they had breached the defenses of the police and were now storming through the station. My dad pulled me over to the outskirts of the crowd, and witnessed that in no time the mob exited the station, with 3 black men in their
custody.
My dad dragged me over to where the black men were the black men were seemingly being taken. I watched as one by one the black men were brought op to the light pole, and hung by their necks until there was no sign of life left in them. Once all three were dead, there was a rush of activity. People were getting in position to have their picture taken. My dad suddenly left my side, and jumped into the picture. “One, two, three”, I heard, then there was a sudden flash of light, and the picture was taken. After that, people lingered around the scene until eventually the national guard arrived to break up the mob. On the car ride home, no one spoke and the mood was somber. It gave me the feeling that maybe my family was guilty of what happened. About a week later when I went to the drug store in town, I noticed something. That picture my father had posed for was on pictures, mugs, and shirts. Whoever took that picture was trying to make a profit off of this tragic event, and it disgusted me. That is the story of my experience at the Duluth Lynchings, and how my father was unknowingly embedded in history forever.