Remarks by Charles Doster at
Anniston Library ca. Sept 15, 2003
Before I start talking I want to make one comment. I’m going to quote Miller Sproull because it applies to Miller and it applies to me. “The events at the public library in Anniston in 1963 changed my life.”The email to which the above statement was attached (which I received just yesterday) included the following:
In a moment I’m going to demonstrate to you something about it.
My name is Charlie Doster. I’m a septuagenarian. I’ve been practicing law here for over 50 years. The integration of the library is so old now that I can call Maudine, Gordon. Bob and Leon by their first names and nobody’s gonna complain about it They call me by mine, too.
In 1963 I was one of the junior partners in the law firm one of the senior members of which came and complained to Charlie Martin about integrating the Baptist Church. Please don’t deny It, Charlie. I won’t believe it if you did . But to a certain extent, if that is not true, it certainly could’ve been true.
Maybe I’m guilty of that Shakespearean observation that “Some are born great; some achieve greatness and some [like me] have greatness thrust upon them.”
Since 1963 I have considered the question of “Why me?” I knew of few, if any, white people who were long on integration. Why did I not turn tail and say “This ain’t my fight.” There may be many answers to that. Let me tell you of some that have occurred to me.
(1) Integration of public facilities was the law of the land under the recent albeit unpopular rulings of the Supreme Court of the United States. As a lawyer I have some duty to see to compliance therewith. More importantly, to me at least, was that if a person has a right, then I feel a deep commitment to seeing that he is given the chance of exercising that right. And that applied to Rev. Reynolds and Rev. McClain.
(2) What could be so onerous about letting a black man read a book in the library? If there is any place where integration was of little consequence it was in a public library, including that of Anniston, Alabama.
(3) I dislike losing law suits. I knew that if we were sued we could delay for a while -maybe even a year - but we would clearly loose. And with the loss would come a federal injunction which I considered dangerous and degrading.
(3) Leonard Roberts was one of the Committee that asked us to integrate the Library. My respect for him led me to think that if Leonard said it was all right, it, in all probability, was all right.
(4) I’m a history buff. I knew of the caste system in India and I was aware of the fairly unanimous condemnation of their treatment of the “Untouchables.” I found it difficult to differentiate what “they” did to the “Untouchables” and what we were doing to the black citizens of our area. That might have been, in the minds of some, a stretch. But I worried about it.
(4) Not long before 1963 I had an experience that was new to me. The black folks that I knew were mostly servants, poorly educated and not to the manor born. Then I was sent by some client or other to talk to a black farmer. I don’t even remember his name or where he lived, although I think it was north of Jacksonville. He was distinguished, articulate, and so honest that it was like a bright light in the darkness. His home was clean and tastefully decorated. He was respectful but not obeisant. The legal question was about a land line and he had been in adverse possession for far longer than was necessary to acquire title from my client. It was his right. He said to me, essentially, “Mr. Doster I do not take another man’s land. I try to keep my reputation spotless. If there is a problem please bring me whatever it takes to clear it up. And I will cooperate without question.” I think he was the first black middle class person I had ever met. He made a great impression on me. I wish I could remember who he was. In short he was a gentleman such as I had been taught to recognize and respect. He probably doesn’t remember me much less know what an impression he made on me. I expect he would be most surprised to learn what I am reporting about his influence on me.
(5) Dr. Clanton Williams was the man’s name. “Clancy” had been a history professor at the University of Alabama, but was (in 1950) appointed the first President of the University of Houston. He was an advisor of sorts to a group of which I was and remain a member. Maybe I had chatted with him a dozen times. I never took any of his classes. He stopped by casually one evening just before leaving for Houston. Among other things he said something to us (maybe there were a dozen or so of us listening to him.) Remember that this was 50 plus years ago now and 12 or so years before 1963. What Clancy said still stirs my soul. “Gentlemen, at some point the history of the United States may be written as a footnote, thus: ‘In the latter part of the 18th Century a country came into being with the best policies of self government then known to civilization. They called it the United States of America. It lasted and flourished for several hundred years. Unfortunately it never learned to deal with its African population and consequently did not survive.’ “ Dr. Williams continued: “I hope that you gentlemen and your generation will in your time attempt, as best you can, to deal with that issue and prevent that footnote from being composed, much less written. My generation has found the problem insurmountable.” But wait: It did not happen! I have since inquired among some who might have been there but as far as I can ascertain I am the only one who heard Clancy. Or did I? I can tell you without fear of contradiction that I do not make it up. As I said, Clancy Williams’ words stirred my soul although they did not in 1963 dominate my current stream of consciousness.
It fell my lot several years before 1963 to become either the chairman of the board, or acting chairman of the board of the Anniston Public Library. Some 20 months before Sept., 1963 I had tried to get the library to adopt without publicity an integration resolution but for various and sundry reasons I won’t go into now I was unsuccessful in that. Suffice it to say we’d had this under discussion for some time.
This is a good time to introduce to you the Library Board. Harry Ayers had just retired from it and was replaced by Cody Hall. The other members were: Mrs. Lucien Lentz; Mr. Rudy Kemp; and Mr. Tom Turner. Mr. Turner and I are the only ones surviving today. All of them were courageous and determined. It was a fine group of people to work with. I was and remain proud of them.
We were called on by Phil Noble and Rev. Bob McClain and Rev. Nimrod Q. Reynolds and (I remember most specifically) Leonard Roberts. I adored, respected and admired Leonard as much as anybody I guess I ever knew except maybe my wife, my father and my progeny. They came to call on the library board and said we’re gonna do some integrating. We are members of a Committee that the City Commission has appointed and we want the library in on it.
In response the Library Board wrote the City Commission a letter saying in substance: “If you’ll support it, we’ll go along with it.” We knew that Jack Suggs, then Police Commissioner, who’s essentially a very fine man and I’m willing to defend that if you want me to at a later time, was not for integrating anything. He was going to oppose it. We knew that. We knew exactly where he stood. A Right To Read (a book written about this and other Alabama library integrations), says flatly that a resolution was adopted by the City Commission approving the integration of the Library. It was not. I haven’t read or gone over all of the minutes but no such resolution was adopted by the City Commission. Weeks later I got a letter from a very courageous man whose name was Miller Sproull. Miller’s letter said “If the library board elects to integrate the library, a majority of the City Council will support the library board.” I took it to the library board, and the library board adopted the resolution. The die was cast.
We made so damn many mistakes that it’s just plain embarrassing. We said it was going to be effective September 15th. We should have said it was effective September 15, 1935. We never should have announced it in advance. We did it on a Sunday when every member of the Ku Klux Klan didn’t have a damn thing to do except make trouble for everybody else. We let it be known to certain people, we had to – the City Commission among others – well then it got to the police force and from there to the Klan but I can’t prove that. The only thing we did right was we selected the right Sunday. It was the same Sunday that four pretty little innocent black children were killed by a bomb in a church in Birmingham, AL thus
getting us off the front page of some of the papers in the United States of America. I’m not bragging about that but it was the only thing that went well for us.
Of course, you all know that Mr. McClain, Rev. Bob McClain and Rev. Nimrod Quintus Reynolds came to integrate the Library on September 15, 1963. They were met by the Klan. They were beaten. Beaten with clubs and chains within an inch of their lives. A gun was fired, its bullet narrowly missing Bob McLain. They ran and they got out. Fortunately they survived but Mr. Reynolds was in bed for a long, long time. A week or longer I guess. Mr. McClain was able to get up and move around some.
The next day, the library board had met and a lot of other things had gone on that evening.
We went to pay a call on Mr. Reynolds to express our sympathy and then the President of the United States called us. We were out at Mr. Reynolds’ house and they said the President of the United States is on the phone at Miller Sproull’s house. My inclination was: Let’s get the hell out of here and go! Somebody, some idiot in the bunch, said “Let’s have a prayer before we go”. I started to argue with him but I didn’t have the nerve and we stayed and had a 3 minute prayer that seemed like 45 minutes.
Frank Crow, the policeman, drove us out to Miller Sproull’s house right through the middle of town at 85 miles an hour. I’d never been so scared in my life. I talked to John F. Kennedy, the President of the United States and we got some very calming words from him. I knew he wasn’t going to be able to solve our problems but at any rate I thought maybe the black folks would get the idea that we were taking them seriously and that’s one of the things we did. But of course it was a joy, a privilege to have been able to talk to the President of the United States.
The next day we took Rev. Smitherman and Rev. McClain into the library. There never was any question about that’s what we were going to do. And if we did anything right, that was it. This may have been my original idea but whoever suggested it, there was no dissent. This was our finest hour. Incidentally, it seemed like they stayed in the Library for a week. I wanted so bad to get them out of that library and avoid another “incident.” But they read every book in the library. I was “antsy.”
Then I started making speeches. I made speeches to a half a dozen churches, the Kiwanis Club and the Rotary club and I said, and maybe this isn’t the way you think I should have handled it but if you agree or if you disagree that’s fine. I said, “I’m not going to ask y’all to support integration, but I am going to ask you to condemn hoodlumism in this town, in your town, in my town and at my library”. And almost every one of them went along. Everybody in this town turned against that gangsterism or hoodlumism or whatever you want to call it. That was a successful thing. Without the support of the leadership of Anniston we were lost.
A 22 year old girl who was head of the staff of the library and acting Librarian. Her name was Ann Everett. A fine lady but we don’t know where she is. And incidentally we don’t know where anybody is who was on the staff of the library at that time. Nobody. Isn’t that amazing? It’s just been 40 years. And this lady is 65 years old, probably still around somewhere. But we don’t know where she is. At any rate, I felt like she needed some help. So essentially I would go to my office from 8 to 9 and then I would go to the library from 9 o’clock until the library closed.
Now you want to know why or how this changed my life? I thought my job was going to be in jeopardy. It turns out my partners, none of whom would approve of the integration of the library, supported me. I was not sure they would; I never asked them to, but they never turned on me. None of the Library Board ever flinched but we all wondered whether or when we might be tarred and feathered and run out of town on a rail. Or beat up by the Klan. Would all or a substantial number of my clients leave for greener fields? How would jurymen view me?
Right after September 16th, a bunch of Klansmen would come in and out of the library; in and out, in and out; we knew which ones they were. We didn’t know their names but we recognized their clothes and, of course, we knew they couldn’t read. I had to get rid of them. So one day about a week or so after September 16 I saw an elderly gentleman sitting in the library. In my mind a light came on and I said “Ah, I’ve got the idea.” “Jerry, would you please come in here?” I was speaking to Jerry the policeman and I said “We’ve got a new rule; the board’s just adopted it or is gonna adopt it at the next meeting, but you may start enforcing it right now. Identify everybody in this library; if they don’t have a card, walk them to door and tell them they can come back tomorrow but they can’t sit here and read a book if they don’t have a library card. Start with that man right over there. I knew him very well. He probably was in his late sixties. Well dressed. Distinguished. He was an elderly gentleman, but he was a gentleman. Jerry walked over to him – “Let me see your identification, mister”(and I’d told Jerry to make sure everybody in the room heard him). He says “Sure.” He hands Jerry his card, his driver’s license. “Do you have a library card?” “No sir.” He said “Well I’m sorry but my instructions are that you’ve got to leave. You can come back tomorrow and apply for a library card but right now my instructions are to show you to the door.” Jerry takes him by the arm and leads him out of the library.
I saw the old gentleman eight years later and I screwed up my courage and I said, “Mike, I’ve got a story to tell you. I want you to understand what I did to you and why I did it”. His name was Colonel Michael Halloran. Loyd you’ll remember him. Three years before Mike had been the Commanding Officer at Ft. McClellan. And I knew he wasn’t going to give Jerry any trouble and so I picked on him. And I remember his comment, (and I hope you’ll forgive the verbiage) his comment was this: “Goddamn you, Doster, I have been thrown out of bars and taverns and cat houses and whore houses all over the world but this is the only time I was ever thrown out of a library.”
My ruse was successful. The threat of identification ran the klansmen out of the library. That was my purpose. They left the library but they were still watching us. And we knew it. I could feel it. I could feel it in my marrow and in my whatever. Then somebody called me and said, “They’re watching you from Woodmen of the World.” Catty-cornered across the street there was then an old building. It’s a parking lot now I guess, but in its upper floors was a Woodman of the World Office. The YMCA was in that building at the time or, if it wasn’t, it had been. I picked up the telephone and I called Jack Suggs. As you know Jack Suggs was not for integrating anything. He was against it but I had to have confidence in our police force and that it would not betray us. If I had to do that again I would make the same call. It may have been very dangerous and risky but Jack proved to be trustworthy.
I said “Jack they’re watching me from the Woodmen of the World.” Jack said “Hang up this phone I’ll call you back on a secure one.” Boom. He called me back in just a minute and said “Tell me about it” and I told him about it. He somehow cleaned out the Woodmen of the World. I think this was about six weeks after that awful Sunday of September 15, but it was several weeks. I stayed down there a long time. I didn’t earn 20 cents during that time I guess. But just a few days later I could see the pressure was off and you know what I did? I went back to the practice of law and I’ve been in it a long time.
I’m sorry I took so much time to tell that story. I find it distressingly easy to remember. At the same time I suggest that the Library Board, not I, did a workmanlike job in a time when the issue not popular and the pressure was great. Fortunately courage, perseverance and determination were not only required but readily available.
[A]bout all I have to say on the subject is in the attachment [see above statement] which I prepared for delivery during the 40th Anniversary of the “Incident at the Library.”A final word for this post. I am grateful to Charlie Doster for what he did back in the early 1960s, and for his allowing me to use his words in this space. RKS
Well, I might add this. On Monday, September 16th the day after the Incident at the Library, some of us, with the approval of all interested persons, brought Mr. McClain with Rev. Smitherman into the Library with police protection. Once the concept was suggested there was no dissent from it. Had we not done that we might have precipitated a race riot in Anniston.
A very brilliant Episcopal priest gave a series of lectures here 10 years or more back. His subject was Jesus’ Disciples. When speaking of Judas he reminded us that he was the villain of the crucifixion of Jesus, abhorred and vilified by Christians everywhere. He is given almost as much credit for the death of Jesus as those who nailed him to the cross. But, that priest then posed this hypothesis: Suppose Judas had come to Jesus, even while on the cross itself, and said, “Lord, I have sinned. I have done you a terrible wrong and I am so terribly sorry. I do not deserve it, Lord, but please forgive me.” In that case the whole story would have been written differently. Judas would have thereby become a hero in the estimation of Christians from then on. Maybe you and maybe even I might not agree that he deserved such adulation but that is the way it would have been perceived.
With some humility may I suggest that the Library Board, the Human Rights Commission, Mayor Dear, and Commissioner Miller Sproull would have been similarly vilified had we not done on Monday, September 16, 1963 that which we did do. Maybe we do not deserve the credit for what we did but we clearly would have deserved the criticism had we not done it. Is the comparison with Judas apt?
Mr. Stewart, I have had the above on my mind for a long time but this is the first time I have committed it to paper.
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