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Congressional Gold Medal Recipient
Rev.Joseph A. De Laine
Rev. Joseph Armstrong De Laine, Sr.
After 45 Years, S.C. Pioneer Of Civil Rights Is Cleared By Sue Anne Pressley Washington Post Staff Writer
Wednesday, October 11, 2000 Forty-five years after his alleged crime and more than 25 years after his death, the Rev. Joseph Armstrong DeLaine--a civil rights pioneer whose early work led to the desegregation of America's public schools--was cleared of all charges today by state officials here in a bittersweet and emotional ceremony. DeLaine, who died in 1974, was never able to return to his home state after he was forced to leave in 1955, facing charges of assault and battery with intent to kill stemming from his defense of his home against whites angered by his civil rights activities. Although he went on to lead churches in New York, he never overcame his homesickness for the state that continued to fight to extradite him, and his family remains forever scarred by the episode--and frustrated by the general lack of credit accorded the minister and educator in history books. For the state of South Carolina, which has suffered a black eye in recent years over the flying of the Confederate battle flag at the statehouse in Columbia and the resulting statewide boycott by the NAACP, the day marked something of an atonement for the past and, some say, an overdue recognition of the state's contribution to the modern civil rights movement. Several times over the decades, the family and various politicians had tried to get the warrant against DeLaine removed, only to hit a wall of resistance, which finally crumbled this year when a reconfigured state pardons and parole board under Gov. Jim Hodges (D) granted a symbolic pardon. "The Rev. J.A. DeLaine stirred up trouble with a capital T," said state Rep. Alex Harvin (D), who petitioned the board for two years to clear the case. "When he had to leave, he was virtually a man without a country. He couldn't go back home. That was the whole purpose, I believe, a way to get him out of town and keep him out, keep him from ever crossing the South Carolina state line again." DeLaine, a tall, distinguished-looking man emboldened by his belief that black children deserved a first-rate education, was the leader of the black community here in Clarendon County, an impoverished farming area about 100 miles east of Columbia. Beginning in 1949, he worked with local families who petitioned the school board to provide buses for black students and to improve facilities. A year later, the parents sued to end segregation in Briggs v. Elliott, one of five cases that led to the landmark 1954 U.S. Supreme Court ruling in Brown v. Board of Education. Because of their stand, many of the parents lost their jobs, their homes and the ability to receive credit at local stores. The DeLaine home burned to the ground under mysterious circumstances, as local firefighters watched, saying it was not in their jurisdiction because it lay just outside the city limits. DeLaine received frequent death threats, and after the AME church reassigned him to neighboring Florence County, the troubles escalated. Three days before the incident, DeLaine received a letter telling him if he did not leave the area, he would meet the same fate as the "Negrow postmaster" in 1896, a reference to a case in which the postmaster and his young son were burned to death. At a rally by the White Citizens Council across from the DeLaine home, a speaker described the minister with a racial slur and said that DeLaine "started the desegregation mess in Summerton and . . . lives right across the street." On the night of Oct. 10, 1955, exactly 45 years ago to the day, night-riders fired shots at the DeLaine home, and DeLaine fired back--but only, he said, to mark the vehicle the assailants were using. He left the state for good that night. Today's ceremony, which drew a crowd of about 250 state and local officials, high school students and involved residents, was held on the steps of the old Summerton High School, the then-all-white school the black students would have attended had desegregation been enacted. "It does take time, sometimes, for justice to prevail," said W.H. DuBose, a historian who has researched and written about the case for years and dug up the decades-old warrant at the Florence County courthouse. "We're here to celebrate justice today." For DeLaine's two sons, J.A. Jr. and Brumit, the ceremony brought a measure of satisfaction and closure. But they regretted, they said, that neither their father nor their mother, Mattie, who died in December, lived long enough to witness the vindication. "As far as the shooting, yes, my father talked about it. In terms of passing judgment, he never did," said J.A. DeLaine Jr., 67, a retired marketing and advertising executive who lives in Charlotte. "He was never the type to do that. He had no fear of going back and turning himself in in later years, and fighting it out in court. But we had dread fears. I was the main block--personally, I never wanted him to return to the state. I didn't trust the officials. I felt if he was arrested, bodily harm would come to him." After Annie Gibson, the only surviving signer of the original petition to desegregate the state's schools, added her name, she was fired from her job as a motel maid, she said. She and her husband also were forced to move from the farm they leased from a white landlord; they were told they could stay only if Gibson removed her name. "My husband said, 'No, we've signed it--let's see it through,' " said Gibson, 90, who received special recognition today. "We had four children in school, and they didn't have the facilities they needed. It just wasn't right." Sarah Ragin-Williams was a teenager when her father, Hazel, a painter, signed the petition. "It was a different kind of thing for the black families to do, let's put it that way," said Ragin-Williams, a retired New York City transit worker who lives outside Columbia. "They had no choice but to stick their necks out. It was kind of scary. It wasn't like we were afraid to go out of the house, and I don't believe my daddy ever received a death threat, but we were hit where it hurt--economically." Although history books give DeLaine and his story only a fleeting mention at best, his sons said he was happy to see the gains brought about in part by his contribution. "He seems not to have gotten his rightful place in history, but I think a lot of people who made great contributions have not gotten the recognition they deserve," said Brumit DeLaine, a retired school administrator from Charlotte. "If he were still here, he'd probably feel good about getting his name cleared, and probably in the back of his mind, he would say, 'It's about time.' "
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