Matriarch's In My Life

Dear Oprah:

I recently watched the eulogy that you gave about Ms. Coretta Scott King. During your speech, you struck accord that opened my heart to the core of my family's history, and I think it's worth telling. During your speech you gave historical facts about Ms. King's contribution to the social, cultural, and spiritual aspects of life in the U.S.A. Every time you mentioned Coretta Scott King it was always inspirational, to say the least. Actually, your saying that she was a very strong black woman in her own right was what prompted me to write to you to tell you about some of the profoundly strong black women in my family that have been so important to me, to my brothers, and to our community a as whole.

My grandmother, Lucille Lee, was the spirit of the whole family. She and her husband Goon (that's what everyone called him), were truly the foundation on which our family was built. Unfortunately I never had a chance to meet him as he passed away when I was only two years old. They had 19kids, which twelve of them are women. My grandmother was a strong black woman in her own right as well if only the number of children she raised is any indication. My grandparents raised their kids in a small four-bedroom house on 12thstreet in Wheeling, West Virginia. As you well know, just providing the food, the clothing and everything else that comes with having a large family on a small budget is terribly difficult. I think what my grandmother passed down to my mom and her sisters was how to be strong and do whatever it takes to raise your family and how to go beyond the call of duty, as she did day in and day out.

My mother-in-law, Neilda Pitts, is included in this as well. She was raised as an only child by a sweet lady we call Mama Bert. She is also a strong black woman who raised eleven kids of her own with the help of her husband, Augustus Pitts. They have eight boys and three girls.

My mother, Roberta, who has been so supportive to me throughout my life, was married to a loving man by the name of Norman G. Hunter. They had three sons’ named David, Jose, and Troy.

My father, who retired from coal mining after 20 plus years of service, was also a mechanic by trade. If you ever needed something fixed everyone in the community knew they could call upon him. He passed away in 1992after a long bout with Alzheimer's disease and he suffered a brain aneurysm as well. During his illness, instead of putting him in a nursing home my mother turned our dining room into a make shift triage and had a nurse come to the house for several hours each day. She devoted all of her time and energy into taking care of him and making him as comfortable as possible, leaving no time for herself. After a long and valiant battle with his illness she passed away where he wanted to, and that was at home.

After his passing my mother moved into a one-bedroom apartment. She immersed herself into her work providing daycare around the clock. This didn't allow her any time to date or remarry after many years went by, and although we gave her our blessings, she refused to date and instead chose to remain faithful to her husband.

This is what I mean by being a strong black woman. Instead of focusing on herself, she focused on others by taking up the parenting role all over again and raising her eldest grandchild Brandie. She is now playing the parenting role once again by raising her grandson Tramone and granddaughter Brittney - and she is doing this all out of her one bed room apartment. While providing daycare is her main source of income, it is easy to see that she gets much more out of it than the money she makes, which isn't much. She could make more if she had a bigger place, and would like to, but she remains content with what she has and I admire her for that. I do hope she knows how much I truly appreciate her for everything she has done, not just for my brothers and me, but for her grandchildren as well. Even though she knows I love her, and I may not say it as much as I should, I don't think she'll ever know how much she truly means to me and how much I hope and pray that God blesses her with all her heart desires. She has been the inspiration and the light in my life, in so many lives, and the Lord knows she deserves it.

There are so many strong black women in my life that are so deserving of recognition, but the following are some of the other women that really stood out to me and made a huge difference in so many lives. They are my aunts: Constance Bell, Paula Lee, Ella Lee, Rosetta Bush,-Pamela Lee and Betty Ann Jenkins.-There are the reasons why I think these individuals really deserve some recognition, but mostly it's because of all the sacrifices they have made for their families. They all, somehow in their own right, helped shape the lives of others -meaning they played a very big role in raising their grandchildren and so many others that are not even related to them. These strong black women have taken on the role of parenting all over again. In a sense they put their golden years on hold for our kids. The dedication and the burden of helping us raise our kids is something they have taken in stride. They have sacrificed their freedom and so much more in order to do it, but they do it without complaint. Whether it's because we lack in certain areas, because we were locked up, or because we were just too lazy to get a job instead spending our time out on the streets - we have failed in so many ways as parents and they have always been there, without judgment, to pick up the slack. Maybe it's because they just don't want to see us fail or see the kids suffer because of it.

But, whatever the reason, their efforts have been heroic – and that's an understatement. In short, they have put their lives on hold and have taken up the role of raising kids all over again and neither I, nor anyone, could ever thank them or praise them enough.

This is what I mean when I say l have some very strong black women in my family. These women that I speak of haven't been on a vacation in who knows how long. They haven't even been able to go out and shop for themselves because they're always staking care of other people's kids. They're not able to do the things other women do, like go out to lunch, get their hair or nails done, or even get together socially. What they deserve is to go out and treat themselves like queens for a day. These women, I can honestly say, give so much of their time and money to others and yet they ask for nothing in return. This is another reason why I say they are truly strong black women.

On a side note, these women are also all excellent cooks in their own right. Each of them are famous for one recipe or another. The community we live in is not very big, so every time there is a function going on, yeah you guessed it, they call on these ladies to cook something. They cook for parties, church functions, weddings, funerals, ball games, you name it and they do it. And they do it out of the kindness of their hearts. They also pay for it out of their own pockets and, rarely if ever, get reimbursed.  I've thought about it for a long time and realize that our family is entirely too big and too talented to have never owned a business.  We are one of the oldest families in our community too. You know, I've been thinking that every great city should have a soul food restaurant. While my family has the mow-how, we simply don't have the means to open one up. I'm hoping that one day, the Lord will bless my family with the means to make this dream a reality because if anyone deserves it, it's these strong black women. I would like to see these women put everyone's problems aside and finally take time for themselves. Maybe they could plan a nice vacation together or just catch up on old times. But I'm afraid, knowing these women like I do, they never will.

In addition to my mother, grandmother, and aunts, I have also mentioned my beautiful, kindhearted, and talented mother-in-law and her name is Neilda Pitts. She is very dedicated to her family and her church. She has also taken on the role of extended parenting. I believe she was 61 years old when she took on the raising of her four grandchildren. She did this because one of her daughters got into some trouble. So instead of the state taking custody of them, she did. Not only did she raise them, but she also helped shape the lives of other kids as well as their parents. She put her and her husband's retirement on hold to help save others and what a miracle she has been. It is also worth mentioning that she has been a woman of God for the past forty plus years and, boy, can she sing! To hear this woman sing you would think she would have a few CD's out, but she says she is too busy (raising other people's children) to ever record a song. This women's voice is so strong that she doesn't even need music. Her voice is truly on par with, if not better than, some of the greats like Yolanda Adams and Shirley Caesar, and I'm not joking. Remember the show where you had the boy sing one song of Mariah Carey's songs? Well, she's that good. Oh man, how I wish you could hear her. After that show, I guess Mariah took him back to her studio and helped him write a song. Everyone in your audience fell in love with him and she ended up signing him to a contract. Something like that would be overwhelming to Neilda.  Anyway, I could use hundreds of sheets of paper telling you more about these wonderful, wonderful women but I think you get my point. Each and every one of these women is a hero, unsung heroes, plain and simple. Their lives have exemplified the meaning of altruism and their quiet self-sacrifice has not gone unnoticed. I only wish there was more I could do to honor these women, these strong black women, to let the world know how very important they are and how very proud, we all are, of them.

In closing, Oprah, I just want to let you know that you have been such a great role model and have had such a positive influence on so many people around the world. In addition to Coretta Scott King, just thinking of you and your story, your overcoming extreme adversity to achieve the successes that you have was ultimately the inspiration for me to take a closer look at those around me. I remember the story of an African diamond miner who, after years of unsuccessfully searching for diamonds far and wide, finally gave up and sold his little farm and moved away. Little did he know that, a few days later, the young man who bought the farm was standing in the stream that ran along the back of the old house and while looking down into the water, a shining object caught his eye.  The young man simply bent over and picked up one of the largest raw diamond ever discovered on the African continent and, it turns out, that little farm became the most productive diamond mine in history. If that old man had simply looked for his treasures in his own back yard, all of his dreams would have been fulfilled. But we often find ourselves looking elsewhere for something that is right in front of us, and unfortunately, never find it. Oprah, you have been the inspiration that has caused me to search in my own back yard and what I have found, leaves me speechless.

Oprah, thank you for all you were, all you are and all you've done. There are really no words that could adequately convey the sincere gratitude I have when I think of how your example has shown me, shown us all, that our dreams can become realities - no matter where we're from, what we've done, or who we are. You've shown us all that anything is possible, and for that, L we, the world, will be forever in your debt. Most of all, however, I know in my heart that if it were not for people like you and Coretta Scott King, I would have never taken a closer look at those around me and may have never really considered the many strong black women in my own life, in my own back yard. This would have been most tragic, because like the old farmer, I may have never noticed so many, many true diamonds in the rough.

Again Oprah, thank you for opening my eyes!

Most Sincerely,

David A. Lee

 March 24, 2006

Bobby Wade: Wheeling's Trayvon Martin 46 Year Ago

 

Tucked away in obscure corners of our cerebral, is that thing-to-do-list we all have.  On that list are things like, taking a cruise, starting a family-tree, riding a horse or running a 10k race.   Sadly, many of us… for whatever reason don’t visit that corner very often.  

One item on my “list” is to tell the real story behind the 1971 death of Robert Lee (Bobby) Wade, Jr.  Writing about this tragedy has been on the back-burner for some time, but two events transpired which made me visit my corner and move it to the forefront;  the Trayvon Martin murder and a self-published book written by former Wheeling, West Virginia police Chief Arthur McKenzie.  The media coverage of Trayvon started me thinking more and more about Bobby’s death and the justice he and his family never received.  Reading how indifferent the Sanford, Florida police department and prosecutors’ office treated the death of this young black teenager I said then, “what’s new?!"  They displayed the same attitude in Bobby’s death. The difference being the Wheeling police killed Bobby Wade.

The impetus to put pen-to-paper was when I read the chief’s tell-all-memoir, All Facts, No Fiction:  Excerpts from over 50 Years of Public Service.  One recollection he writes about is the mass arrest of 17 black youths. He holds the incident up as one of his crowning police actions during his stint as Chief of Police.  Of course, he omits the constitutional violations and physical abuse he and his officers carried out during those unwarranted arrests. It was this abuse that precipitated Bobby’s demise.

His account of what took place on Chapline Street that New Year’s weekend some forty-six years ago is self-serving, factually erroneous and laden with unadulterated lies.  The memoir should have been titled:  Some facts, a lot of fiction.    The only good thing I took away from this work is the answer to a long sought question…. Why was the Civil Disturbance Unit (CDU) called out for such run of the mill incidents in 1971?  I found that answer below; second sentence of the last paragraph on page 52 from his book….

All Facts, No Fiction: Excerpts from over 50 Years of Public Service

Everyone clamors for change, but when change come the clamoring stops and the complaining begins. Change in the Wheeling PO was no different, but we forged ahead.

In early 1970 I created a Civil Disturbance Unit (CDU) made up of twenty-five young volunteer officers. We trained these men in crowd control, crowd disbursement, the isolation of leaders in a riot, weapons use, etc., and the u it was provided with the best equipment then available. We had the full cooperation often Prosecutor's Office, Judges, the Department of Alcohol, Tobacco, and Firearms, and two college Professors. This proved to be a real morale booster.

One incident involving the CDU occurred on January, 1971 when three groups of young black men decided they would create some havoc by trying to set fire to the West Liberty College Downtown Center located at 15th and Jacob Streets, set fire to the Sears store located at 10th and Chapline Streets, and stop traffic on upper Chapline Street by throwing bricks at passing vehicles.

When we got the call at headquarters I immediately called out the CDU, dispatching half of the team to the top of Chapline Street and the other ha f with me to 10th Street. That deployment had the bulk of the participants between us. I took a bullhorn and advised everyone to disburse peacefully, or be arrested. The group started throwing rocks and beer bottles at us and shouting profanities, so we began moving in from both directions, all the while advising the people to break up and go home. When we reached the center of the group, it had decreased in size as some had taken our advice and gone home. But the instigator, a loud mouth trouble maker named Farmer Lee, who came from a family of eighteen, was not to be denied. With the first name of "Farmer," I could understand why he was probably always upset. Farmer jumped in my face screaming and shaking his fist. To calm him down, Officer Ed McGannon, a no-nonsense officer, stepped up and with his nightstick, knocked him cold. We arrested Farmer and sixteen others and put them all in jail.

The next day in court, they all received fines, and some were released to the custody of their parents. ¹This one incident and others proved to the city administration and some of the carping citizens the worth of the unit.   This unit continued for some time after my departure from the force until some know-nothing disbanded the unit. The unit was again reorganized some years later and heralded as the new chief idea.

52

1emphasis are mine

When I read that sentence it finally dawned on me…. Chief McKenzie was being pressured to justify the establishment and cost of the CDU, so he elevated minor incidences to make them appear as major and out of control. 

The following excerpts from newspaper reports and the Human Rights Commission hearing testimony are examples of just how low the bar was set to justify the degree of an incident that called for such a heavy-handed response.

Chief McKenzie’s Newspaper interview

Monday, January 4, 1971 The Intelligencer

“….Chief McKenzie said Sunday morning that the incident followed an altercation between a ‘handfuls of youths’ near the YWCA on Chapline Street, at 10:30 pm.  At 12:30am Lt. Donald Keyser alerted all patrolmen that two white men had their cars ‘rocked’ at Lane 7 and Chapline Street.  Patrolmen were then sent to the area, armed with shotguns after an unconfirmed report that white men may be headed ‘for the hill area’ again”

Human Right Commission hearing police Chief Arthur McKenzie

February 3, 1971 Wheeling News Register

“…two white men came to police headquarters and said Negro youths at Tenth and Chapline Streets had thrown rocks and broken their car windows, McKenzie said.  The two men were asked to fill out a report but one said “to hell with it. We’ll take care of it ourselves.” The chief said.

“….got a report that several youths on Chapline Street had roll tires down the hill and there was garbage piled on the street.

Human Right Commission testimony of Raymond A Harvey, president We Exist

February 2, 1971 Wheeling News Register

“… that weekend incident was called a racial conflict by the newspapers. Only one race was involved he said, adding that the only whites he saw there were policemen.”

“…….he said he asked Chief McKenzie and City Manager Charles Steele why the police were up there in such numbers and he quoted McKenzie as saying there were rocks and bottles thrown and Christmas trees thrown into the street.”

“….the police had the attitude “we’ve got all this new equipment and we are prepared to use it.”

These are incidences that were so “out of control” that the police had to come out in full riot gear.  Those of us arrested and community leaders weren’t the only ones questioning the police’s overreaction.  Several weeks before the Human Rights Commission hearing, the Executive Director spoke of his apprehensions for the rationale to deploy such forces.  By doing so he raised the ire of the City Manager.

Human Right Commission testimony of Wheeling City Manager, Charles Steele

Wheeling News Register February 3, 1971

“….Steele lashed out at Commission Executive Director Carl Glatt for making statements some weeks ago to a Wheeling civic club warning of a ‘chaotic situation which did in fact not exist’.”

So, it’s with this backdrop, I begin Bobby’s story.

Tickets in hand, the three of us sat in the waiting room of the Greyhound Bus station  talking excitingly about our futures… looking forward to seeing the big city and experiencing different cultures.  It was December 18, 1967 and we were ready to see the world.  It was hard to believe this day had finally arrived.   Neither I, Bobby Wade nor William (Will) Taylor had travelled this far before from our hometown of Wheeling, West Virginia.

The first leg of our journey would take us to the Seafarer’s International Union in Brooklyn, New York.   From there we would travel to The Seafarers School of Seamanship in Piney Point, Maryland, and upon completion of our Merchant Marine training, off to see the world.  A few days prior our home town Sunday newspaper did a full page story on us. The headline read; From the Mountains to the Seas.  We were just three of the 75 young men from around the country on our way to becoming U.S. Merchant Mariner’s. Forty-five days later the three of us finished training with the designation of Ordinary Seamen.  Our first destinations took me to the Far East, Will to the Netherlands, and Bobby shipped to the Orient.   Though we all came home periodically, it seemed never to be at the same time. It would be years before I’d see either one of them again.

It’s January 2, 1971 four years later.   Excitement was in the air this day. Michael and Pete Turner were celebrating their twenty-first birthday with a party that evening, and those in our clique were looking forward to it.   I had not sailed for over a year. What kept me on land so-to-speak was my community activist work and position with the Legal Aid Program of Northern W V.  Both of which were insightful, challenging and fulfilling.  These experiences coupled with my travels; gave me hope in the possibility for change in the community. So much so, that in the summer of 1970 several of us joined the Black Nationalist Party and establishment the Afro-Set in Wheeling.  Our presences created a mindset that changed the way we viewed ourselves and our community. 

Will Taylor was still at sea. He had not been home for a couple of years.  Bobby though had been home on shore leave for a few months. His plans were to spend time with the family, and make sure his mom was okay before leaving again at the end of February. 

Born September 20, 1951, he was the second son and second oldest child in a family of nine…. three brothers and five sisters whom he helps support.  Though Bobby was a small man in stature ( standing about 5 feet 5 inches), growing up in the Lincoln Homes Housing Project, his peers discovered early on that his size was not indicative of his courage.  He would not hesitate to step to you win or lose.  He cared deeply for his family, had a big heart and took pride in the fact that he was able to contribute to his family’s welfare.  His easy demeanor drew you to him. He was a fun person to be around.  One couldn’t help but like him… the ladies certainly did. 

What made this January different than last years was the lack of snow. It was over cast, dreary and freezing, thanks to the frigid air coming off the Ohio River. The winds whipped around, and in between houses, sometimes making howling sounds as it traverse its way through the alleys.  Trails of condense breath laid in the wake of those braving the cold as they scurried for their destination and hopefully warmth.  The weather was also an indication that the Turner’s house was going to be wall to wall tonight.  During this time they lived on Chapline Street, about five doors up from the American Legion Post 89, and across the street from the Pythian Building which housed the Palm Garden… my uncle Ben Hagood’s lounge and pool hall. 

It was eight o’clock as I headed for the party. I had just left the pool hall after spending several hours playing pool with Bobby.  He was to catch up with me later.   The Temptation’s song; ‘Ball of Confusion’, filled the stairwell as several of us made our way to the second floor apartment. From the sounds you knew people were having a good time. As we entered voices in unison yelled, “…close the door, you’re letting the hawk in!”  It was just too cold to be outside for any length of time, which is why people hopped between the party, the Legion and the Palm Garden.

A couple of  hours into the party word begin to circulate that the police were gathering north on Chapline Street, up by the steps going to Lincoln School… south at the intersection of Eleventh and Chapline streets by the YWCA… west on Lane D, which runs behind the Pythian Building, and east on Morrows Alley.  Curious, some of us went to widows, others, myself included; left the party to see what was happening.  People were also exiting the Legion and Palm Garden to see this unusual police display.  As reported, police dressed in full riot gear had gathered at both end of the block. They had formed horizontal lines across the street, standing shoulder to shoulder with night sticks and shotguns at the ready. A bullhorn could be heard from the intersection though what was being said was inaudible. When the police started moving in from the north and south, it was obvious that the noise from the bullhorn was to move in.   At this point, I crossed the street to the Pythian Building and descended the stairs pass the Palm Garden to the pool hall.  Bobby was still there so I crossed the room to where he stood.  The police activities outside was also the topic of conversation there.  Why the police build up? What’s their motive?  Some were saying it was because of a fight that had taken place out front earlier. Others argued it was the bottles and rocks that had been thrown at cars that evening.  Some believed it must be something altogether different, because neither would bring the police out in riot gear. Having no idea ourselves we listened to the debate for a while then the two of us headed upstairs.

When we stepped out onto the sidewalk police officers stuck shotguns in our faces. About this time, Police Chief Arthur McKenzie, with bullhorn under arm, was standing in front of us. I said, “How are you doing Art?” He said; “Okay, Farmer.” I said; “What’s all the guns for, you going to shoot somebody?” He said; “No I’m just going to start making arrests.” He then pointed to me and said; “put cuffs on this man”, and started pointing out different individuals, as well as Bobby.

An officer put me in a choke-hold with his night stick, while another did the handcuffing. I was taken to the ground and kicked in the groin by Officer Clark Gable.  At the same time Officers Donald Coyne threw Bobby facedown, put cuffs on him, lifted him up by those cuffs and dragged him 15 yards to the cruiser.  

From the backseat of the cruiser the scene was chaotic. The police were yelling for people to clear the street, but at the same time arresting those attempting to follow their commands, and those they deemed not moving fast enough. They even began stopping cars and pulling people out of them.  Some would break away and run, with officers in hot pursuit. Others stood their ground and demanded an explanation, but police felt no obligation to explain anything to anyone.  From the way the police scanned through the crowd and arrested only certain individuals told me they had a list. Obviously, Bobby and I were on that list.

When we arrived at the city lockup there were already half a dozen people in the holding cage. I was searched, then uncuffed and locked in the cage.  When Bobby was brought in he had a grimacing look on his face. A noticeable limp, and his blood stained pants at the knees, denoted the injuries from being dragged. Officer Donald Coyne, a red headed man and known in the community as hostile toward people of color, began searching him. When he got to Bobby’s knees he purposely patted them more forcefully.  Bobby cussed under his breath, spun around and with his head and shoulder rammed the officer and drove him into the wall.  The room erupted in shouts and cheers. Officer Coyne turned red with anger, took out his police revolver, and with the butt of it, proceeded to beat Bobby viciously about the head while he was still cuffed from behind. Our shouting and threats prompted the other officers to step in and stop Officer Coyne’s assault.  Bobby was uncuffed and thrown into the cage with the rest us. Our cries to get him medical help were ignored. He suffered throughout the night with a swollen and bloody head. 

None of us had a clue as to why we were arrested.  The bottles and rock that had been thrown at cars earlier in the evening had nothing to do with those of us they had in custody.   We were all either at the birthday party, the American Legion, the Palm Garden or home until leaving for the party.  One person in uniform was home on leave from the Air Force and he too was arrested.  Was he out there throwing objects at cars in his uniform? The following morning the city newspaper listed the names of the arrested, reporting we were charged with disorderly conduct and resisting arrest. To justify the beating of Bobby he was also charged with assaulting a police officer.

George E Lee, 20 of 174 12^th St Wheeling,

Oscar Brown, 19 of Vineyard Hills,

James Hudson, 21 of St. Clairsville, OH,

James Cruse, 18 of Vineyard Hills,

Robert Wade, 19 of Lincoln Homes,

Robert H. Anderson, 22 of Bellaire, OH,

Edward C. Reed 18, 759 Vineyard Hills,

Lee E. Pearson 23, of 1919 Chapline St, 

Allen Jay Manns 23, U.S. Air Force,

Gerald L. Saunders 24, of Vineyard Hills,

Pamela Paige 18, of 181 Seventeenth St Wheeling.

Five teenagers:

A 17 year old juvenile of Mrs. Norma Jean Sinclair of Jacob St;

17 year old son of Robert and Jean Paige of 181 Seventeenth St,

A 16 year old boy of Marie Terry, Vineyard Hills; another 17 year old boy living with his aunt and uncle Doldrige and Dorothy Harrison, and a 17 year boy of Clara Walden.

The community was outraged and demanded our release and a full investigation. On Monday, January 4, 1971 all were released from custody on bail or on their own recognizance. Bobby’s family took him to receive medical treatment that day. He was diagnosed with a concussion and fracture skull.  Over the next 5 days he struggled to deal with unbearable head pain. The prescribed medicine did very little to bring relief. His mother spoke of finding him in fetal positions at times with his head buried in pillows. The severity of the pain was such that beads of sweat would run down his face.  A dark room would help at times, but every day he was a man preoccupied with finding moments of tranquility from the constant headaches. 

Pain or no pain it would not stand in the way of his seeking to bring those responsible for his injuries to justice. Bobby, like us all, felt the police showed a degree of disrespect like never before by invading our community, and that we could not let stand.  The racial slurs and physical abuse at the hands of law enforcement displayed an arrogant assurance that they could do so with impunity. And understandably, he was angry about what happened to him personally.  At a Tuesday, January 5 news conference he recited his illegal arrest, his beating at the hands of Officer Donald Coyne while handcuffed, and the injuries he sustained. The media was not interested in his plight.  Reporting of the incident was slanted. The city newspapers were complicit in pushing the racial disturbance lie and trying to tie the January 5 fire-bombing of the A&P and other venues to those of us arrested that night. 

On Friday, January 8, 1971 six days after he was viciously beaten his struggle to stop the pain ended in his mother’s living room.  It was early evening.  Home at the time with Bobby was his mother Mrs. Geraldine, his 10 year old sister Lolita and his friend Marvin “Jug Head” Paige.  Mrs. Geraldine and Lolita were in the kitchen.  Worried over her son’s lack of appetite, she got up that day determined to make his favorite fried chicken. She knew this would get him to the table.   Jug Head was sitting in the living room where he also had a clear view into the kitchen.  Bobby, forever restless, was pacing up and down the hall leading to the bedrooms.  He finally sat on the couch. Cradling his head in his hands, and immediately begins rocking back and forth in an attempt to ease the pain.  From between the cushion and couch he produced a .32 caliber handgun and pointed it to his head. He looked at Jug Head, removed the gun from his head and put it in his waist band. Before Jug Head could question him, he took it out once again and begins to raise it.   Jug Head sensed that Bobby was resolute. Not knowing what to do, he hollered out…“Mrs. Geraldine, Bobby got a gun…!”

W

hen I heard about it I rushed to be at his mother’s side.  My heart went out to Mrs. Geraldine and the family. This should have never happened. Bobby was an innocent by stander. No one should have gone to jail that evening… and Bobby certainly did not deserve to be brutalized by the police.

The coroner ruled the shooting was “accidental”. The autopsy showed that Bobby was hemorrhaging from the brain, brought on by use of a blunt force object.  With his mothers’ permission, the Afro-Set conducted the funeral ceremony and members served as pallbearers.  We laid his body to rest at the Greenwood Cemetery in his birth place of Bellaire, Ohio.

The West Virginia Human rights Commission announced on January 29, 1971 that it would conduct public hearings. Inquires covered four areas:

·         Unemployment or underemployment of  black youth in the Wheeling area;

·         Alleged lack of recreational facilities;

·         Alleged substandard and inadequate housing;

·         Alleged police abuses

·         Alleged inadequacy of area-wide community relations programs.

The Commission did what it was created to do…provide cover. This is evident from the following conclusions;

Russell Van Cleve, Chairman April 8, 1971

Report to the West Virginia Human Rights Commission of the Public hearing in Wheeling On February 1, 2, 3, 1971 Relative to the Racial Tension Situation in Wheeling on the Weekend of January 2, 1971

“…There were many contradictions as to the facts of each incident which occurred the weekend of January 2, 1971. The black spokesmen were united in accusations that the police "over-reacted to by turning out 'n force, armed with an excess of riot equipment to quell minor disturbances in the black community which could have been resolved more peaceably by more diplomatic and less threatening police action. The police, on the other hand, explained the escalating tensions of that weekend resulted from acts of violence, disregard and disrespect for routine police instructions, followed by profanity, bottle-throwing, and aggressive acts aimed at the police which could only be handled by increased strength and more direct police action.”

“…. The Hearing Commissioners have concluded that much of the testimony dealt with criminal matters which would require a great deal of follow-up investigation outside the official responsibility and capability of the West Virginia Human rights Commission.  This applies not only to the allegations related to the fire bombings but the entire accusations and defensiveness related to the violence and vandalism that occurred during the racial disturbance on the weekend of January 2, 1971. It was felt no constructive purpose would be served by delving into such particular facts when the hearing itself revealed large problems area for which the community might take a constructive action on a united front.”

Our trials began in city court on January 21, 1971.  The first five defendants scheduled to appear where myself, James (Jimmy Jake) Cruse, Robert H. Anderson, Edward C. (JR) Reed, and Robert (Bobby) Wade Jr.  The City Solicitor attempted to have Bobby’s name removed from the trial because he was deceased.  Our attorney, H. John Rogers argued that his family had the right to clear his name….that Bobby still deserved his day in court and should remain as the fifth defendant.  The judge agreed, and after a tumultuous trial, and to no one’s surprise, we were all found guilty and levied fines. Not wanting a repeat of our trial, the other 12 defendant’s charges were dropped.  Our convictions were appealed and eventually overturned.   The only avenue left to hold the police accountable would be via civil law suit.  The attorney representing the family promised to pursue their grievances but nothing ever came to fruition. 

I came to terms a long time ago that Officer Donald Coyne may never answer for what he did to Robert ‘Bobby’ Wade. I know that Arthur McKenzie will never admit that he had alternative motives for activating the Civil Disturbance Unit nor will he answer for his role in setting the stage that caused Bobby to be arrested.   But I take comfort in having given Bobby a voice again.  No longer is there one side to the story.  And his family can also take comfort in knowing that a light now shines on those responsible.

George (Farmer) Lee