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It’s Almost Passover

I've been trying to get to the writing for Part 4 of From the Delmar Archive to Bombingham, Alabama (Part 1, 2, 3), but it's been difficult to make the time these last couple of weeks. Now I'm on the first leg of Passover travels with Ruth and Aaron. We're spending the first part of the holiday at my mother's house in Delmar, NY and some of the last days of the holiday at my in-laws' in Cleveland, Ohio. I brought my (ailing) laptop with me so that I could keep up on work and correspondence—and so I can get some more work done on my blog. I'm half hoping I'll finish Part 4 before I return to Boston a week from now.

In Part 4, I'll be working out the broader context of Roosevelt Tatum's conviction for false testimony. I'll be discussing the political purposes that were behind his prosecution and conviction. I believe the final installment in this series will be Part 5, in which I plan to do some close reading of Roosevelt Tatum's testimonies. Literary analysis of Tatum's statements highlights some of the points I'm making in other ways, while I try to piece together this history with the primary and secondary sources I have available to me.

As usual, while I'm here at my mom's house, I'm sifting through the documents and objects that fill the house. This time I'm looking through some of the documents from Dad's work on Proportional Representation (PR) in New York City. In the late 1960s, there was a move, ultimately unsuccessful, to bring PR back as the method of electing the New York City Council members. PR was the method used for NYC Council elections from 1938 to 1949. In the early 1970s there was a successful campaign to change the New York City School Board Elections to PR. Both of these efforts were spearheaded by my father, who was Executive Director of the New York Proportional Representation Committee from 1969-1971 and Associate Director of the Special Unit for School Board Elections of the Board of Elections in the City of New York from 1970-1973. The work that he did around the NYC School Board elections was enormous. He used to refer to his 1973 testimony at the New York State Education Department Hearings on Community School Board Elections as his master's thesis. (For a description of the kind of PR that he worked to institute in NYC go here or here.) Before I can write fully about my dad's involvement in PR for NYC, there are many documents here in Delmar that I need to read and there's a lot more that I need to learn about this bit of NYC political history. Still I'm going to post a little from what I've been reading while I'm here on my Passover visit.

As I study my father's political life I've been interested in the diversity of his involvements and how they were related in his mind. In his resumé that I posted you can see that in the space of a few years in the late 1950s and early 1960s, he moved from organized labor, to the disarmament movement, to the Civil Rights Movement. Then he was doing state legislative work for the Liberal Party in the mid to late 1960s. An then the PR campaigns in the late 1960s and early 1970s.

One document that I found among the papers relating to the campaign to use PR in the NY City Council elections is a fact sheet, dated 1969 and titled "Proportional Representation (P.R.): A Proposal For Complete Representation In The New York City Council." In this 6 page pamphlet, which I presume my father wrote, there's a section called "P.R. And Civil Rights:"

P. R. is of special importance and usefulness for the advancement of civil rights. In the present transition to full and equal citizenship, in fact as well as in law, it means a great deal to the whole community, as well as to the people directly concerned, for Blacks and Puerto Ricans to be able to use their voice in government. This they can usually do, in district elections, only when they stay hived in "ghettoes" like Harlem and Bedford-Stuyvesant. But the dispersal of ghettoes to secure the integration of the community has been a major objective of the civil rights movement.

P.R. will make it possible for a minority candidate to live anywhere and get votes from anywhere in his borough, and if his supporters poll a sufficient minority of the borough's votes - e.g. something approaching a tenth in a ten member borough - he will be elected. Furthermore, P. R. Gives every voter a preferential vote so that if it cannot help elect his first choice, it can be used at full value for his second choice, or if necessary, his third or fourth. Thus nearly ever Black or Puerto Rican voter can help to elect either a trusted Black or Puerto Rican leader or some other candidate who understands his special problems. The last Council election gave us only 2 Black Councilmen out of 37 and one Puerto Rican.

Of course most voters who do not have the special problems of the ethnic minorities will not vote on ethnic lines, other considerations being of more interest to them, and they can all get representation on whatever basis they think best.

The amounts of support given to candidates of different parties are not likely to be greatly changed - they were not when we had P.R. before - for most voters could elect within their own parties candidates who appealed to them on other grounds as well. But if the parties did not offer candidates with a real appeal to the ethnic minorities, those minorities could elect independent candidates of their own who did appeal to them. (3)

This passage captures three important elements of my father's political interests. First, he believed deeply in the value of political process. Second, in PR, as well as in the disarmament movement, we see him drawn to political work that has the potential for broad appeal across various ideological lines. Third, and this follows from the first two observations, my father's political work was always driven by an idealistic yearning for radical social transformation. This was true when he was briefly a member of the Communist Party, USA in the late 40s. But it was also true after he broke with Communism and threw off the mantle of the revolution. For my father, being a Democratic Socialist meant working within the inherently conservative structures of existing political institutions and systems to bring about Utopia.

Another huge topic which I am nowhere near ready to approach is how my father came to Judaism from his life as a radical, secular Jewish Socialist [link on "Jew" is because of this]. This journey of his began in earnest in the 1970s. By the time I was growing up here, in Delmar, my dad's sense of himself as a religious man was fully formed. In the 80s and 90s, he loved quoting from a book by Michael Walzer, Exodus and Revolution. The book demonstrates that the Exodus from Egypt as recorded in the Torah has been the model for the four modern revolutions, the French, English, American and Russian. Walzer refers to Egypt by its Hebrew name, Mitzrayim, a word which literally means narrow place. I can't find Dad's copy of the book in the house right now, so I don't know if the quotation is accurate, but the way he always said it was that at the end of the book Walzer asks, "so what does all this mean?. . . Wherever you are it's probably Mitzrayim and you dream of a promised land. . . . and how do you get there? Organize . . ."

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From the Delmar Archive to Bombingham, Alabama (Part 3)

My questions about how my dad ended up with Roosevelt Tatum's deposition were not all answered by the FBI file, but outlines of the story did emerge.

On May 11, 1963 at approximately 11:00 PM two bombs exploded on the property of A. D. and Naomi King. Following the explosions, Mr. and Mrs. King and their children fled the house without any injuries. The next day, on May 12, FBI agents made a routine neighborhood investigation. In their report Roosevelt Tatum stated that

he was seated on the porch at 820 12th Street, Ensley, and borrowed a match from EVA MAE MILLER. As he lighted the match to light a cigarette there was an explosion in front of the residence of Reverend KING about 150 feet from where he was seated. He ran toward the explosion after the passing of a few seconds and he had crossed the intersection of 12th Street and Avenue H and had almost reached the curb when a second explosion occurred. This explosion threw him back across the street and to the ground. En route from where he was seated to the intersection, a car passed very near him traveling east on 12th Street and he assumed it had passed in front of the KING residence at about the time of the first explosion. He noted that this car was a small American make car that he believed to be Corvair. He could not be sure of the color, but believed it was dark, possibly black. He did not notice anyone in the car or the number of persons that were in the car. He said he did not see the car after passing it while running toward the intersection. He did not recognize the car as one that he had seen previously.

He stated that he went into the KING house and got one of the small children. Mrs. KING was getting the other children out of the house at the time.

He stated that he was not aware of the cars that were parked in the vicinity and could not describe any of them. He did not observe any suspicious activities on the part of any persons prior to the time of the explosion. He stated that he did recall that Car #22 of the Birmingham Police Department was parked in front of Foster's Delicatessen, located at the corner of Avenue I and 12th Street. (Roosevelt Tatum. FBI HQ-0460048526. Prosecutive Summary Report, Names And Addresses Of Witnesses And Testimony Of Each, 12)

About six weeks later, on June 22, 1963 at around 9:00 AM, Roosevelt Tatum appeared at A. D. and Naomi King's house. By Tatum's own account,

I was crying and I told Rev. King that I had something in my heart and I wanted to tell somebody. . . . I have had this thing on my conscience since the date it happened, and I wanted to tell somebody about it so I would feel better. (19)

Since I first obtained Tatum's FBI file, I've learned that there are, in fact, two published accounts of these events surrounding the bombing of the King residence in Birmingham. The first is in Murder in Memphis: The FBI and the Assassination of Martin Luther King by Mark Lane and Dick Gregory, originally published as Code name Zorro in 1977. Around the time I received Tatum's file in the mail, a new book came out by Diane McWhorter, Carry Me Home: Birmingham, Alabama: The Climactic Battle of the Civil Rights Revolution. Both books provide valuable original research on these events, but neither book gives voice to Tatum himself. As far as I know the only available recorded accounts of these events that Tatum gave are in the four depositions he made—three to the FBI in Birmingham and in Washington and the additional one he made in Washington that I found among my father's papers. Given the previous unavailability of these statements, I will here reproduce the most fulsome account of what Roosevelt Tatum told A. D. King the morning of June 22—the statement he made to the FBI later the same day:

On the night of May 11, 1963, I was at a place called The Lounge on Avenue C between 17th and 18th Streets in Ensley from about 9:00 to 10:00 p.m. I left there about 10:00 p.m. and walked a short distance to get a Lee Cab. I did not recognize the driver of this cab. He drove me to the the Foster's Delicatessen which is on the corner of 12th Street and Avenue I, Ensley. The delicatessen faces Avenue I. I estimate I was at this place from 10:00 to 11:00 p.m. and was standing outside watching two men play checkers. One of the checker players was CHARLES HARPER. The other player is a young boy whose name I do not know, but I do know where he lives and I can point that out to Agents. There were several other men there with me watching the checker game. There must have been five or six of these men, and the only one I can name is a man named ARTHUR. I would estimate that about 11:05 p.m. Birmingham Police car No. 22 drove up in front of Foster's Delicatessen. There were two uniformed policemen in this car. I have seen these men almost every day but I can't call their names. I have been arrested several times and placed in Car 22 by the officers who work the shift from 3:00 to 11:00 p.m., but I do not recall that the officers who were in the car this night have ever arrested me. Car 22 is a four-door white Ford, but I do not know what year model. I would guess that it was a 1962 model.

As Car 22 drove up, I knew they would get me for being out after 11:00, so I left the place. I wish to state that I never did go inside the building which is the Foster's Delicatessen. I stayed out in front where they were playing checkers. After Car 22 arrived I left, walking toward 12th Street looking for a match. On 12th Street I turned toward Avenue H and walked over to the home of EVA MAE MILLER, who lives at 820 12th Street, Ensley. She was sitting on the front porch of her home, and I asked her for a match and sat down on her front porch and talked to her about two minutes. She started crying, saying that the next day was Mother's Day. The reason she was crying was because one of her youngsters had given her a handkerchief as a Mother's Day present and the rest of them had not given her anything. I know EVA MAE has at least three children. I left EVA MAE's porch and walked across 12th Street walking in the direction of Rev. A. D. KING's house. As I was approaching Avenue H, a police car came up Avenue H and turned left on 12th Street. As I saw this car approaching, I looked at the number on the car and it was Police Car No. 49. As I saw the car, I ducked behind a tree to keep from being arrested, as I knew they would pick me up after 11:00 p.m. As I stood behind the tree, I noticed that as the car stopped in front of Rev. KING's house on the far side of 12th Street, the driver of the police car tossed something out toward the house and that it landed near the sidewalk. It seemed to be something which was afire and looked like a firecracker sparkling. I then heard the driver of the car say, "The son of a bitch didn't hit the house." The other officer jumped out of the car on the other side and ran behind the police car toward Rev. KING's house. He crossed the sidewalk in front and passed the burning package that was first thrown out. He then got close to the house and tossed something else toward the house on the righthand [sic] side of the steps. He then ran back to the car, and as he got in the righthand [sic] side of the police car, they took off, and when they got about two houses away, the first bomb exploded.

At that point I left my place behind the tree and ran toward Rev. KING's house. I crossed Avenue H and when I was standing on the corner next to KING's residence, the second bomb went off, knocking me back across Avenue H in the same direction that I had come. I hit in the middle of the street of Avenue H. I did not lie there long but got up and ran toward the back of KING's residence to see if I could help anybody. I ran up to a fence which is back of the KING residence, and as I arrived there, Rev. and Mrs. KING both were coming out of the house with at least two children. Mrs. KING had one child in her arms, and she handed that child to me across the fence. Rev. KING had the other child with him. I do not recall whether he was walking the child or carrying the child. The first I remember after I took the child, I noticed that Rev. KING and his wife were crossing the fence and I helped Mrs. KING over the fence. I then went back across Avenue H on the opposide [sic] side of the street from KING's residence. About that time, which I would say would be between 5 and 10 minutes after the bombing, I noticed Car No. 49 returned to the scene. Both of the officers got out of Car 49 and went up to talk to Rev. KING. A few minutes later several police cars arrived and also motorcycle policemen and a paddy wagon. Some policeman who seemed to be in charge and was in uniform also came up to talk to Rev. KING. He may have been a Sergeant.

By this time, there was a large number of Negro people around and they were getting pretty angry. They wanted to fight the police or anybody they got their hands on. I stayed on Avenue H on the side of the street opposite Rev. KING's house until about 3:00 a.m. that morning. There were a number of Negroes throwing bricks and rocks. After people in the crowd started throwing rocks and bricks, I noticed a county sheriff's car and one of them got out. I saw him get hit on the side of the head with some object. He then got back in the car and all four men in the Sheriff's car left the scene.

I was still standing on the opposite side of the Avenue H at the time I heard another explosion. I ran over to my house at 1109 Avenue J to see if the church which is across the street from me might have been bombed. St. James Baptist Church is located across the street from my home. When I saw that no bomb had gone off, I returned to the scene of the KING residence. I learned the next day that the last explosion I heard was the one which occurred in downtown Birmingham at the Gaston Motel.

I would estimate that Car No. 49 stayed at the scene near the KING residence until about 4:00 a.m. In fact, several police cars remained there because their tires had been cut by Negroes.

After the second explosion and I landed in the street, as I was getting up I noticed that CHARLES HARPER who was playing checkers at Foster's Delicatessen a few minutes before. CHARLES HARPER was also knocked over by the blast as I saw him when I was getting up. I don't know what happened to CHARLES HARPER after I started toward the KING's [sic] to see if I could help anybody. As I saw CHARLES HARPER getting up, I also saw Police Car No. 22 turn right onto 12th Street off of Avenue I and head away from the scene of KING's residence. I did not see car No. 22 again that night and did not see them until about 6:00 a.m. on May 12, 1963. At that time they were patrolling in the vicinity of the KING house.

After I looked after the KING children, I went across to the home of CHARLES HARPER and would estimate this to be about 3:30 a.m. All of the brick throwing and commotion had quieted down by that time. I sat on CHARLES HARPER's front porch and talked to him, his mother, his sister and his brother-in-law. The brother-in-law of CHARLES HARPER is JIMMY WILLIS. We call CHARLES HARPER's mother by the name of "Bunch" and I call CHARLES' sister by the name of "Snook." I was at the CHARLES HARPER's house when they finally got the tires fixed on Car No. 49 and I believe it was driven from the scene about 4:00 a.m. I stated CHARLES' home until daybreak. CHARLES HARPER lives in the same block as EVA MAE MILLER and on the same side of 12th Street. I can point these places out to Agents.

At about daybreak I went to my own home to eat. I never did go to the scene of the Gaston Motel bombing. After I ate, I went back in the vicinity of KING's residence an stayed there most of Sunday. I was interviewed by FBI Agents about noon on Sunday at the home of ROSIE JOHNSON, 824 12th Street, Ensley. I did not tell these Agents about seeing Car No. 49 because I was afraid that policemen would beat me up or probably kill me. I did tell the other Agents that I recalled seeing Car No. 22 parked in front of Foster's Delicatessen at the corner of Avenue I and 12th Street. At the time I was interviewed by FBI Agents, I told them that a car passed very near to me traveling east on 12th Street toward Avenue F, and I assumed that that car had passed in front of the KING residence. There were several people who said something about this car and described it as a Corvair car. I described this car to Agents as a dark American-make compact car, believed to be a dark Corvair, possibly black.

On this date, June 22, 1963, I went to Rev. KING's house at about 9:00 a.m. I was crying and told Rev. KING that I had something in my heart and I wanted to tell somebody. I did tell Rev. KING that the car that did the bombing was Birmingham Police Car No. 49. He told me he would prefer to have me talk to the FBI, and he then called the FBI Office. I don't know what time Rev. KING actually called the FBI Office, but I did wait around his house until the FBI agents arrived. I then went to the FBI Office where I was interviewed by Agents GRAYBILL and MC FALL, and I then dictated this statement to a stenographer in the FBI Office. I have had this thing on my conscience since the date it happened, and I wanted to tell somebody about it so I would feel better.

I cannot describe the officers I saw in Car No. 49, but it is possible I may be able to recognize them if I see them again.

No one has told me to say the things that are in this statement. It is the absolute truth and I would swear it on the Bible. While I was at Rev. KING's home, he did not tell me what to say or talk to me about this thing. There was a white man there named GREENBERG, but he did not talk to me to tell me what to say. I repeat that no one has told me to tell the FBI the things I have said in this statement. I feel sure the officers in Car No. 49 did not see me on that night. (14-19. All-caps in original.)

Three days later, on June 25, 1963, Roosevelt Tatum was in Washington DC, flown there by A. D. King and my father. In Washington, Tatum was interviewed in the office of King's County, NY Congressman Emanuel Celler, a liberal Democrat who played a key role in passing the 1964 Civil Rights Act. Later the same day, Tatum was interviewed by Assistant Attorney General Burke Marshall and by Special Agents assigned to the Civil Rights Section of the General Investigative Division of the FBI.

My father was involved in the leadership of the Liberal Party of New York from around 1955 through the late 1980s. One of his friends from the Liberal Party whom I interviewed a few years ago asserted that the audience with Congressman Celler would have been obtained because of my father's Liberal Party connections. In any event, Celler's office must have been where Tatum gave the deposition I found among my father's papers. For reasons that may already be apparent, I'm speculating that my father and A. D. King brought Roosevelt Tatum to Congressman Celler's office to make an official record of Tatum's allegations outside of the local and federal halls of the Department of Justice. In Part 2 of this series, A. D. King and my father had wanted to avoid having Tatum testify to the FBI behind closed doors. It seems they continued to be concerned that interviews with FBI agents, presumably also behind closed doors, would not be the best conditions for Tatum to testify under. (Look here for an example of why Civil Rights activists may have distrusted the FBI.) I suspect the idea may have been for my father to hold on to the deposition in case it were needed to countermand another version of the story. And herein ends the record of his involvement in this case. What follows is sad and disturbing.

Stay tuned for Part 4.

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Name: ROOSEVELT TATUM
Race: Negro
Sex: Male
Address: 1109 Avenue J, Ensley, Birmingham, Alabama
Date of Birth: February 18, 1924
Place of Birth: Docena, Alabama
Height: 6'0"
Weight: 155 pounds
Hair: Black, curly
Eyes: Brown
Education: Graduate of Westfield High School, Birmingham, Alabama, and attended Miles College for three years studying sociology.
Military Service: U. S. Navy, April 28, 1943, until March, 1946, as Steward's Mate 3/C, Navy Service # unrecalled
Arrest Record: Several arrests for drunk but has served no penitentiary time.
Scars and Marks: Index finger of right hand amputated; First joint of little finger, right hand, amputated.
Parents: Deceased
Brothers: JESSE E. TATUM, address unknown, New York City, New York, NATHANIEL BOWLES, resides in Edgewater section, Birmingham Alabama
Common Law Wife: LILLIE MAE COOPER (Claims LILLIE MAE COOPER abandoned him in November, 1962. Current interview with her indicates this is not true.)
Children: JAMES BERNARD COOPER, age 6, SHELIA QUISELLA COOPER, age 4, ROOSEVELT TATUM, JR., age 1
Occupation: Roller, Choctaw Incoporated, 35 34ths Street, Ensley, Birmingham, Alabama
(Roosevelt Tatum. FBI HQ-0460048526, 20)

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Oy Vey! My Narrative Prose Is Killing Me

I've always preferred poetry to novels. I read novels, but not nearly as many as a doctoral candidate in English ought to. I've read even fewer memoirs than I have novels, and the memoir is really the form I am working in. I know a lot about writing poetry and about writing expository prose, but I know almost nothing about how to write narrative prose. I know how to read it critically and analytically, but that's not the same as a practitioner's understanding of technique. A lot of the time in these narrative sketches I've started writing, I'm just guessing where I should shift from the present to past, whether I should be sticking to simple tenses or allowing the play of perfect tenses, when I should show emotional engagement with my material and when I should step back and be more disinterested. Of course no one can really tell me how and when to do these and other things as I write this stuff—I'll learn a lot by doing—but I need to see how other writers manage these things.

Anybody have a good memoir to recommend? I can't promise to read every suggestion I get (I'm really slow and I'm taking care of my 13 month old all day), but I'd like to get a list memoirs going. I'm especially interested in memoirs that might have some resonance with what I'm doing here, either in subject or in some other way. If you can tell me a little about the book, that would be great, too. Click on "comments" and tell me what to read.

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From the Delmar Archive to Bombingham, Alabama (Part 2)

Late in 2000 I had many FOIPA requests out to the FBI. I was getting some documents back as well as many replies that no documents were found. When I did get documents, it sometimes seemed like there should be more information than was declassified for my request, and always there were many deletions. Now it was time to learn about appeal letters. I was consulting with Peter, my parents' lawyer, who has professional experience with FOIPA requests, but at a certain point he thought I might want to contact a lawyer and journalist named Michael Ravnitzky about some of my questions.

When I googled Michael Ravnitzky I found Secret No More, a long index of FBI files that Ravnitzky has declassified through thousands of FOIA requests. Once a requester gets documents released, others can obtain the same documents without going through the same process of search requests. You can simply request the declassified documents by file number, and they arrive in the mail in as few as three or four months—this compared to the year's wait, or considerably longer, that is typical when one makes a new request for previously unreleased documents. Secret No More explains that the website list is "drawn from information Ravnitzky has developed about 'exceptional' files—historic, notable, high-profile, or otherwise interesting cases."

Immediately I combed through the index, letter by letter. All sorts of interesting files were there—David Dubinsky, Billie Holiday, March On Washington, Committee for a sane nuclear policy (SANE), and many more that might be worth requesting. Near the top of the T's, a name I wouldn't have thought to look for: Tatum, Roosevelt. File number HQ-0460048526. How many Roosevelt Tatums could there be?

On November 14, 2000 I made a new FOIA request to the FBI, this time for 18 of the declassified files listed on Secret No More, including the one regarding Roosevelt Tatum. On March 26, 2001 I received the Tatum file in the mail. In my correspondence with the FBI, I always ask that all mail from them be directed to Peter, which he then forwards to me. Tearing open the big envelope from his law practice, I saw the familiar, generic FBI cover letter. 189 preprocessed pages. Peter had tagged a half a dozen of them with yellow post-its, marked "Reference to Paul Greenberg." I turned to one of the flagged pages and read:

ROOSEVELT TATUM, 1100 Avenue J, Ensley, Birmingham, was interviewed May 12, 1963, by Agents and stated that he was in the vicinity of the KING residence at the time the explosions took place at the KING residence on May 11, 1963. He advised he was unaware of cars that were parked in the vicinity and could not describe any of them. He, likewise, stated he did not observe any suspicious activities on the part of any persons prior to the time of the explosion.

Subsequently, on June 22, 1963, Reverend A. D. W. King telephonically contacted the FBI Office in Birmingham, stating that he had at his home at that time a man who had seen the bombers the night of May 11, 1963. Special Agents GERALD O. GRAYBILL and BYRON E. McFALL went to the KING residence, where they found Reverend A. D. W. KING, a white man by the name of PAUL GREENBERG, and Reverend KING's secretary. In addition, there were six or eight unidentified people in and around the house. Reverend A. D. W. KING stated that ROOSEVELT TATUM, who was in the home at the time, had indicated that he saw two Birmingham Policemen in car 49 bomb his residence. TATUM confirmed this. At that point PAUL GREENBERG, who said he was connected with the Southern Christian Leadership Conference, asked how soon publicity could be released. He was told that the FBI was strictly a fact-finding agency, that the Agents were present solely for the purpose of obtaining the facts; and it was indicated to him that any premature publicity might only tend to jeopardize the investigation.

At that point Reverend KING, Mrs. KING, and GREENBERG stated they assumed TATUM would be interviewed in their presence. Special Agent McFALL, who was assigned this matter, immediately sized up the situation and noted that this constituted an obvious attempt on the part of Reverend A. D. W. KING and his associates to have the FBI conduct an official interview in a press conference atmosphere, so that the results would be immediately publicized, and that in addition to this, it would not be possible to intelligently conduct an interview under those circumstances. Special Agent McFALL thereupon made an immediate decision and tactfully, but most firmly, informed the Reverend A. D. W. KING that it would not be possible to conduct the interview with others present at that place, but that in order to properly obtain the facts it would be necessary to request Mr. TATUM to accompany Agents to the office, where the interview could be conducted in a quiet atmosphere with more privacy. TATUM readily agreed to this, and he was then taken to the FBI Office, where he was interviewed on that date and furnished Agents with a signed statement. Special Agent GRAYBILL, a first office Agent, was with McFALL essentially to act as a witness. (Roosevelt Tatum. FBI HQ-0460048526. SAC, Birmingham to Director, FBI. "ROOSEVELT TATUM, FRAUD AGAINST THE GOVERNMENT, RECOMMENDATION FOR COMMENDATIONS," 1-2. All-caps in original, boldface added.)

Definitely looks like the same Roosevelt Tatum, and there was Dad right in the middle of things. I'd always known he did Civil Rights work for the SCLC in Birmingham, but the only concrete thing I'd ever heard about was the benefit concert he helped organize at Miles College (more on that later). I'm pretty sure Dad was the first person I ever heard call the city Bombingham, but he never said anything about his involvement in the investigation of one of the bombings there—not to me and not to my mother.

What was this case actually all about? How did Roosevelt Tatum end up making a deposition about all of this in Washington, DC? What exactly was my father's role in all of this? I also had to wonder what my father was doing at A. D. King's house before Roosevelt Tatum showed up that day in June, 1963? Had he been involved in Project C earlier that spring?

The particular document I quote from, above, is dated November 21, 1963; it calls the matter a case concerning fraud against the government. Tatum's allegations regarding the Birmingham Police are being recounted here in the course of recommending commendations for the agents involved in the Tatum case. At the end of the narrative, one commendation is recommended for the agent (name blacked out) who conducted the neighborhood investigation following the bombing of the Kings' home. The unnamed Special Agent gets praise for "facilitating subsequent inquiries which were necessary to prove the falsity of statements made by one Roosevelt Tatum to Special Agents of the FBI" (4). Special Agent McFall also gets recommended for a letter of commendation

for the excellent judgment displayed in making an immediate decision to tactfully interview Roosevelt Tatum under conditions which were most favorable to the Bureau on June 22, 1963, the detailed and exceptionally methodical fashion in which he developed witnesses under adverse conditions to show that Tatum made a false statement to FBI Agents, and his generally over-all performance on the case [sic], which resulted in the successful conclusion and confession of the defendant. (4)

What happened with all of this? Was Tatum really lying? Some of the turns of phrase in this recommendation for commendation made me wonder a little. Why, in the narrative, does it say that "Tatum readily agreed" to be interviewed without the presence of the Kings and my father? The language seems a little over-interested in showing Tatum's cooperation was not coerced in any way. I also wonder why, in the praise of Special Agent McFall, he "developed" rather than simply "found" witnesses. Perhaps developing a witness is part of the professional jargon in the investigative professions. Nonetheless, I wonder.

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FOIA / FOIPA Clarification

A friend of mine pointed out that in my Innaugural post, my link to the National Security Archive for information about the Freedom of Information and Privacy Acts (FOIPA) opens a page titled How to Make a FOIA Request. I added some confusion to the discrepancy by calling FOIPA the Freedom of Information and Privacy Act. There are two acts, the Freedom of Information Act and the Privacy Act. When one uses the FOIPA acronym, one is referring to the Freedom of Information and Privacy Acts (in the plural). (This error in my original post will have been corrected by the time you read this.) The Freedom of Information Act allows any person to request any agency record, barring certain exemptions. The Privacy Act allows an individual request only his own record, barring certain exemptions and within certain parameters. (Follow the link for each act to learn about the the exemptions and parameters governing requests under either act.) The two acts overlap, and the procedures for requesting information under these two acts are basically the same. When my mother requested my father's FBI file, it was actually under the Privacy Act, given her status as his widow. Usually when I make requests for documents, I say I am doing so under the Freedom of Information and Privacy Acts, thereby covering all the bases. At some point, I will post some information on the ins and outs of making FOIPA requests. Right now I'm working on follow up posts to Part 1 of From the Delmar Archive to Bombingham, Alabama. It looks like there will be at least two more parts to the story.

Many thanks to everyone who has given me feedback, including proofreading and link checking! (The dead links in my blog list should all work now.)

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Resume

[This is one of my father's resumes from around 1974.]

Paul Greenberg
Born Brooklyn, New York December 22, 1927
Married, three children
New York City Public Schools
Columbia University School of General Studies 1953-6
United States Army honorable discharge June, 1952

1952-1956 Public Affairs Editor Keystone Publications. Wrote, edited and selected material on government affairs.

1957-1960 Assistant President United Furniture Workers of America AFL-CIO. Research and Publications Director, Legislative Representative, Director of Committee on Political Education.

1960-1962 Executive Director Greater New York Committee for a Sane Nuclear Policy. Program development, community organization and legislative work on state and national levels.

1962-1963 Special Assistant to the President Southern Christian Leadership Conference. Directed voter registration programs, legislative activity on state and national levels.

1964-1968 Assistant to Executive Director and Legislative Representative Liberal Party of New York State. Local organization, legislative representation on local, state and national levels.

1967 Executive Staff New York State Constitutional Convention.

1968 Research Associate Joint Legislative Committee on Consumer Protection.

1969-1971 Executive Director Proportional Representation Committee. Public education and political action. Legislative activity on local and state levels.

1970 On leave form [sic] Proportional Representation Committee to become Associate Director of Special Unit for School Board Elections of the Board of Elections in the City of New York.

1972-1974 Special Assistant for Legislation and Government Relations New York City Health and Hospitals Corporation. Represented corporation at local, state and national legislatures, developed legislative program and represented corporation at government agencies.

1973 On leave from corporation to become Director of Special Unit For School Board Elections of the Board of Elections in the City of New York.

Present Full time cunsultant [sic] to the New York State Charter Revision Commission for New York City.

References on request.

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From the Delmar Archive to Bombingham, Alabama (Part 1)

Sometimes I call my mother's house in Delmar, NY The Delmar Archive. This is the same house we moved to in the summer of 1975, the house where I lived from age 6 until I went to college. For the first five or six years after my father died it seemed like every time I went to Delmar for a visit there would be some new discovery—a photograph, a group of papers, a rolodex—that was yet another unimagined window into his past. The most amazing occasion of such findings was early on, probably in the first year after Dad died. Mom was concerned that we needed to start getting Dad's papers in order. She was particularly concerned about the file boxes in the basement. I went down into the basement and hauled up two cardboard file drawers that were bursting apart with their contents. I pulled them open or apart and in no particular order were early 1960s fliers for Civil Rights Movement rallies; a late 1950s photograph of Dad in a dressing room with Louis Armstrong (yes! Louis Armstrong) and Ethel Newton, Frankie's widow; Liberal Party of New York political platforms from assorted years (probably written by him); fliers for disarmament rallies; documents from the early 1970s campaign, led by Dad and George Hallet, to change the NYC School Board elections to a system of proportional representation; materials from havurah movement retreats from the late 70s and early 80s; a NYC white pages from 1974; autobiographical writings, and on and on and on. The items were not filed but stuffed into the file boxes, their importance to Dad or to history acknowledged and their existence largely forgotten.

At one time that photo of Dad with Louis and Ethel must have been a prized possession. After all, Paul Greenberg was the guy who almost never bragged about specific things he had done for the political movements he was so dedicated to, but who never missed an opportunity to tell you about which jazz musicians he'd known. A highlight of his trip to Israel with my mother in 1981 was that he walked into the lobby of one of the hotels they were staying in on their tour of the country and there was Diz, who looked up in Dad's direction and said, "Paul?" It had been decades since they'd crossed paths. There was the story of Jerry Newman's after hours recording of Frank and Art Tatum and how Dad came to work for Jerry and got his own copy of the recording. There were stories about Pee Wee Russell. Why hadn't I ever heard the one about how Dad met Louis Armstrong? Why Dad hadn't framed that photo or at least bragged that he'd once had it is an odd mystery to me.

The contents of those cardboard file drawers will be the basis for many blog entries, but so far the most remarkable story is about a six page typescript that I found in a thin manilla folder marked Civil Rights, six pages of legal size typing paper, watermarked "Executive Onion Skin" in large italics and "Rag Content" in smaller roman caps. The typescript was some kind of official deposition signed by Roosevelt Tatum on June 27, 1963 and notarized by a notary public in the District of Columbia.

Running down along the double red line that makes the left margin are alternating Q's and A's. On page 1, after some questions establishing Roosevelt Tatum's full name and age and place of residence and place of work:

Q. Do you go to church?

A. Yes, different churches.

Q. Are you a member of A. D. King's Church?

A. No. I am not a Baptist

A. D. King was MLK's brother, also a reverend. He lived in Birmingham and was active in the Civil Rights Movement there. When A. D. King and his wife Naomi came to NYC, probably later that summer of 1963, my father and my mother took them sight seeing around New York and its environs. Their rounds included a trip to Coney Island. King wanted to ride the Cyclone so the two couples got in line and boarded the famous ride. When it was all over, my mother and King both looked quite ill. Standing together back on the tarmac, King looked at my mother queasily and said, "that ride turned you black and me white."

On page 2 the questions and answers got more interesting:

Q. Sometime during the month of May did something happen to you that was unusual —never happened before?

A. The most unusual thing was being in the bombing.

I started reading more quickly. On page 3:

Q. How many people were in the car?

A. Two. They were wearing police uniforms —Light blue shirts an dark pants.

Q. Did you see anyone of these people do any thing?

A. The one on the right got out the car, walked behind the car, up to King's front porch, stooped over and lit a package on the right hand corner in some bushes. The one who laid the package ran back to the car. As they pulled off the driver threw another package across the sidewalk on the lawn and it went off. I got from behind the tree and ran toward the front porch. As I reached the lawn, the second bomb went off and knocked me back across the street, then I jumped up and ran to the back of the house. When I reached the back fence, Rev. King and his wife and three children were at the back fence trying to get over. I grabbed one of the children and helped Mrs. King across the fence and I went across the street. Police car #49 returned to the scene.

In the rest of Tatum's statement, he tells how on Sunday morning, May 12, 1963, the next day after the bombing, some members of the local FBI took a statement from him when they were looking house to house for witnesses. At that time, Tatum told the Federal agents that he was the first one on the scene and that he saw a black Corvette with two occupants driving away when he got there. He did not claim to have seen the occupants of the Corvette throw anything onto the Kings' property. Tatum then tells that on Saturday, June 22, he returned to A. D. and Naomi King's house to divulge what he actually saw on Saturday night, May 11. After telling this to King, Tatum made a second statement to the FBI, recanting his former testimony in favor of what he claimed he really saw. It is not clear to whom he is making the statement regarding the Birmingham policemen in the deposition. The questioner is not identified. (Roosevelt Tatum, Deposition. June 27, 1963. Estate of Paul Greenberg.)

What on earth was this document doing among my father's papers? My mother knew nothing about it. Peter, my parents' lawyer, didn't know anything about it either. That this was information about a bombing in which the Birmingham Police were implicated made me a little frantic. I wondered if Peter should hold onto the deposition, but in the end he didn't think it was necessary. We filed Tatum's deposition with the other Civil Rights Movement documents we were finding. I continued to wonder about the events I'd read about. I tried some internet research and some library research but could not find much more about Roosevelt Tatum. Soon my many FOIPA requests were underway. The notarized typescript from June 27, 1963 drifted out of mind.

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No Turning Back

I just switched my settings to make this blog public. Mum is no longer the word. Feel free to point others this way.

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Frank Gets Lucky

1.

Six years Sammy Price's mother handed towels at
Jimmy Ryan's hustling for tips. Then
one night she was on the bandstand
still in her work clothes suddenly
a blues singer—

Mean blues fairies stuck their forks in me
Made me moan and groan in misery—

and Frank like a circus bear
under the glaring lights—

2.

But on the trumpet,
like a night thrush: it was
a way of walking, talking.
Had it in his soul.
If Frank saw a secretary
typing fast—
that's her solo—

3.

He saw
his own life—

New York, 1939: The 3 Deuces,
The Onyx —

Or in Chinatown,
where a hardhat tried to play him
for a nickel—calling
Christmas gift
Christmas gift

He looked up as it fell—
the girders
strung with lights

Or on Swing Street,
where a guy in uniform buys him
a whiskey because
"his color doesn't matter
when he plays"—

4.

He couldn't keep quiet.
Sammy's mother under the lights,
her amazing voice
filling the house.
They dragged her out to sing but still paid her
to clean the crap house.

Said it
right on the mike—

And when he knocked out
the serviceman
Pete Brown, Maxine Sullivan,
John Kirby
all rushed down from the stage—

But I remember Frank
crying and crying
I didn't do him any good
I didn't do him any good

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Inaugural

I was born in 1969 when my father was 41. From about age 18 to age 36 (1945-1963) he was directly involved in many of the political struggles that shaped the American left—labor, disarmament, civil rights. From about age 14 to age 41(1941-1969), my father had close relationships with some of the finest jazz musicians of the swing era—Pee Wee Russell, Max Kaminsky, Rex Stewart and, especially, Frankie Newton. In the years following my birth, my father continued to be active politically and remained a passionate jazz listener, but the formative experiences that he felt defined him were moving further into the past.

By the time I was growing up and could hear about my father's earlier, exciting experiences, they had an air of unreality about them. In the suburbs of Albany, NY, talk about Minton's and the Cafe Society or about labor or nuclear arms or civil rights activism seemed exotic. People Dad knew and worked with were names in History. At my public high school there was just the smallest handful of African-American students. At home, just a mile away from school, the Reverend Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. was simply Martin, my dad's old boss. My father also was not one for keeping track of details or keeping chronologies straight. His memories were all in soft focus, warmed in the glow of his nostalgia.

I started researching my father's life and times by accident, through my interest in his friend, mentor and musical hero Frankie Newton. Newton was a great trumpet player who had a cult following in the late 1930s and early to mid 1940s and now is mostly forgotten in the history of jazz. Twenty-one years older than my father, Newton was an intellectual and a leftist and a kind, sensitive man. In 1944, when my father was 17 and living with his mother in Brighton, MA, he ran away to NYC and showed up on Frankie's doorstep. Frankie took him in and they lived together for a while. Frankie was a father and a brother, a friend and a teacher to my father. My father, who never finished high school or college, used to say, "living with Frank was better than ten college educations."

After my father died in 1997, I picked up his hobby of collecting Frankie Newton's recordings. As I learned more about the music I became increasingly curious about the man. I found there was very little biographical information about Frankie Newton. I had had the good foresight to interview my dad about Frankie back in 1991, during the summer I was living at home after college graduation. I went back and listened to the tape of our interview. I wanted to remember my father's stories and hear his voice again.

1998 and 1999. Any night. 1:30 AM. I'm lying on my stomach on the study floor. I'm transcribing bits and pieces from my interview with my father about Frankie Newton. I'm looking for narrative details and for language that can go into the poems I've been writing. Pages and pages of draft material pile up. I want to know more about Frankie Newton. Knowing Frankie's life and music becomes an important way to know my father.

Also in 1999. My mother receives documents she'd requested from the FBI under the Freedom of Information and Privacy Acts—my father's FBIi file. The documents include valuable information about Dad's activities in the late 1950s but little else. Nothing about his union work, nothing about his work for SANE in the early 1960s, nothing about his work as a high level employee of the Southern Christian Leadership Conference. My father was on queue to go before the Senate's Dodd Committee on Internal Security, so the FBI was investigating his political affiliations to verify that he truly was no longer a communist. In the late 1940s he'd briefly been a member of the CP with Frankie Newton but broke with the party after one or two years. Ever after, Dad viewed himself as a democratic socialist and an avowed anti-communist.

After the initial results from my mother's FOIPA request to the FBI, my parent's lawyer broadens the scope of the request in hopes of getting more information. I somehow get the idea that I could request documents regarding people and organizations my father had had associations with, that the right requests might turn up further information on his activities or, at the very least, more historical background and other leads for research. I start making such requests in connection with my father and in connection with Frankie Newton. Soon I am tracking over sixty requests through different stages of the FBI FOIPA bureaucracy.

October, 2000. I get married to Ruth.

Did I mention I'm also working on a doctorate in English and American literature? I moved to Boston in 1994, got my masters degree in 1995 and have been here since, slowly progressing towards my Ph.D.

February, 2001. One of the few surviving friends of Frankie Newton agrees to an interview with me—in San Francisco. Friends start asking me if I'm writing a book. I hadn't actually considered why I'm doing what I'm doing. My friends are right. I am writing a book.

Summer, 2002. I force myself to stop researching Paul Greenberg and Frankie Newton so I can finish the proposal for my dissertation project. I submit the 40 page document to the departmental committee in the fall.

January, 2003. The graduate committee rejects my dissertation proposal in its current form. (Yes, they took an awful long time to read it and tell me.)

February, 2003. My son Aaron is born and I become a stay at home dad while Ruth works 9 to 5. I work evenings tutoring boys and girls for their bar and bat mitzvahs. I have a few thousand pages of FBI documents from my FOIPA requests stuffed into two of our bookcases. The bookcases now also have special sections for jazz history, Civil Rights Movement and other political history relating to the American left. I have notes from interviews with some of Dad's associates. I have timelines and organization lists. I've visited jazz research facilities to listen to unreleased Frankie Newton recordings and read old press clippings.

February, 2004. I've been ready to start serious work on a book about my father's life and times for two years. I have still more documents, more notes, more research leads. There are people I need to interview who are not getting any younger. In the last year of being with my son during the days and working evenings, my reading has slowed. I'm doing very little writing of any kind, except for e-mail. Mostly I'm reading news on the web in snatches while I feed Aaron and watch him play. I discover weblogs.

March, 2004. I've been following Jeanne D'arc's discussion of the recent events in Haiti. Her blog posts move from basic puzelment about what has happened in Haiti to palpable obsession. This is something I like about her blog—the way she uses the format and it's technologies as a critical tool. And then it hits me. I could use a blog to work on this project about my father's life and times. In a blog I can work on my material bit by bit, from the inside out, categorize and organize as I go.

Enter HungryBlues.

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