Nobody Said Amen by Tracy Sugarman Read Free Book Online

Rider, Mr. Mayor. He’s deacon of his church, seventy-one years old, and never been out of Shiloh. Tells me he played with Senator Tildon when he was a boy, picking cotton at Tildon’s place. His daddy did shares there.”
    “For a Yankee reporter, you seem to know a hell of a lot about this Delta Nigra.”
    Mendelsohn stood and carefully picked up his jacket. “You learn a lot when you visit someone’s home town.”
    Burroughs wheeled in his chair, extricating a dusty ledger from the shelf. “You came by to sign the register?” He shoved the register brusquely across the desk. “Just sign your name and your company. Newsweek you said on the phone?”
    The reporter signed the register, shoving it back to the mayor when he was done. “That’s right. Newsweek magazine.”
    Burroughs squinted at the signature. “Mendelsohn. Not a name I ever saw before.” He leaned back in his chair. “What kind of name is Mendelsohn?”
    “Well, it’s an all-right name. It was my father’s name, Mr. Mayor.”
    “Not a name you see down here. Never saw it in Iwo Jima.” He leaned forward, elbows on the desk. His face was flushed. “Never saw it at the VFW.” His voice was hoarse. “Never saw it at the Legion Hall, Mendelsohn.”
    “Not a name that kind of slides off your tongue, Mr. Mayor? Well, maybe you need a title to remember it. I was Lieutenant Mendelsohn on D-Day at Utah Beach. And my cousin, Major Buddy Mendelsohn? He was killed with the 101st Airborne right behind my beach on D+ 2. Maybe that would have caught your attention way back before you didn’t see any Mendelsohns on Iwo Jima. Or at the Shiloh VFW. Too bad there aren’t any Mendelsohns down here in the Delta.” He smiled. “Until now, of course.”
    “Until now, of course,” said Burroughs.
    Mendelsohn waited a beat and then sat back down on the chair. Very deliberately he took out his notebook and unscrewed his pen. “Enough about me, Mayor Burroughs. I’d rather talk about you. And about Shiloh. And about those three civil rights kids, Goodman, Schwerner, and Chaney who disappeared over in Neshoba two nights ago. They were heading to Shiloh.”
    Burroughs rose from his chair, walked to the window, and silently stared out. “I’ll bet you would, Mendelsohn.” When he turned back, his face was angry. “Three more victims of the Savage South for Newsweek , huh? You just lookin’ for a story about trouble down here, aren’t you? ’Spect this redneck mayor to help you? Well, Lieutenant, you came to the wrong place.” He returned to his desk and sat down heavily in the chair. “Last time we had trouble down here was two years ago when some outside agitators, like those three you just mentioned, came into Shiloh and shot up some Nigra homes in order to get money and publicity up North.” He snorted. “Worked, too. Gotta hand it to ’em. All the Yankee papers and networks were competin’ to see who could vilify us the most. And your magazine did a photograph essay showin’ those poor, mistreated darkies.” He pulled out a stapled sheaf of papers from a desk drawer and dropped it in front of Mendelsohn. “You’ll find it right on top. Just about broke your heart, Mendelsohn.”
    “So the disappearance of those three civil rights kids was just an accident, Mr. Mayor? I’m real interested in the answer because I was with those boys just before they arrived in Mississippi, and my magazine, the one you save so carefully, is not interested in bullshit.”
    “No. I don’t think their disappearance is an accident. I’m like J. Edgar Hoover who thinks they rushed off to Cuba so they can laugh at us. Mr. Hoover just bullshit too?”
    “You shouldn’t ask that of a Washington reporter. So your quote is that there is no trouble to report?”
    “That’s right. You can quote me. Mayor Roland Burroughs says there is no trouble in Shiloh, and we’re not going to stand for any bein’ brought here. Our Nigras are good people. We know them and