Teachers march became example of civil disobedience
Lawrence Huggins talks about the Selma Teachers March in January 1965 at his home in Selma, Ala. on Tuesday January 27, 2015. (Mickey Welsh / Montgomery Advertiser)
SELMA -- They had a lot to lose, including their jobs, on that chilly January afternoon 50 years ago as they began walking toward the Dallas County Courthouse.
More than 100 black teachers marched two-by-two on the sidewalk in a test of constitutional law and the right of peaceful assembly.
They already knew that Jim Clark, the "high sheriff" of Dallas County, had his own way of dealing with demonstrators. He let them know time and again that he was "the law."
Each of the teachers depended on their paychecks and pensions when they retired. The last thing they needed was losing their livelihood.
Thousands of young students, many of whom had been arrested for taking part in voting rights demonstrations in previous weeks, were thrilled to see their teachers put their jobs on the line to make an important point.
Voting rights protests in Selma had initially been led by activist groups known as "outside agitators." Their aim ostensibly was to test the waters of civil disobedience in a nonviolent way. It didn't always end that way.
Selma, known as the "Queen City of the Black Belt," is the largest town in the rural region, but only 300 black residents were listed on voter rolls in 1965. Dallas County's population at the time was nearly 50,000.
The number of black voters was deliberately kept low by white registration officials who knew that thousands of new black voters would eventually cost them their job.
The teachers' march on Jan. 22, 1965, was a milestone of sorts and occurred not long after the arrival of the Rev. Martin Luther King Jr., and staff members from the Southern Christian Leadership Conference.
Among the marchers were Lawrence and Dorothea Huggins, who were physical education teachers at R.B. Hudson, Selma's segregated high school.
Lawrence Huggins, an Army veteran and future postal employee, wasn't afraid of Clark or what kind of reception he might receive at the courthouse.
"I could still remember hearing my students saying as they walked by: 'Coach, I'm gonna get you your freedom' as they got ready to demonstrate," said Huggins, who will be 80 this spring.
When the teachers got to the courthouse, march leader F.D. Reese called the roll and informed Huggins he needed to be in the front as director of the group's "political action committee."
"I had never heard of that before, but I was ready," said Huggins, who climbed the steps with Reese and other leaders.
Lawrence Huggins talks about the Bloody Sunday and the Selma to Montgomery March at his home in Selma, Ala. on Tuesday January 27, 2015. (Mickey Welsh / Montgomery Advertiser)
It wasn't long before Clark emerged and announced that the teachers were "coming up here to make a mockery out of the courthouse."
The sheriff also told the teachers that the voter registration office wasn't "open" — a ploy used in the past to dissuade black residents trying to become voters.
At that point, Clark began pushing Huggins and others down the steps to the sidewalk. When they dusted themselves off and climbed the steps again, the sheriff used his baton to push them back down.
"That's when he began jabbing me in the stomach with that thing," said Huggins. "He said he'd arrest all of us if we didn't leave."
Clark didn't know a thing about the toothbrushes brought along by the marchers. They were ready to go to jail and planned to make bond in time to return to school the following Monday.
At about that time, Clark was yanked inside the courthouse to have a "chat" with county officials about legal consequences, leading Huggins to say: "From what we heard, Clark was asked 'Watcha gonna do with the 7,000 students?' "
It proved to be a question that didn't take long to answer. Jailing more than 100 respected teachers and jeopardizing classes wasn't what county officials wanted to see.
"We felt at that time that we had made our point by marching to the courthouse, so we went back to where we started at Brown Chapel," said Huggins. "I think they found out just how much influence we had with the students and the community."
The "teachers march," as it became known, also produced one of the most memorable comments of the protest with King aide Andrew Young saying "It was the most significant march since the Birmingham movement."
Selma historian Alston Fitts said the teachers march was courage personified because "They had families to support, mortgages to pay. For them, to demonstrate would be like putting their heads in the lion's mouth."
As the years passed, the teachers' demonstration was overlooked by historians and called the "forgotten march." That was one reason surviving veterans got together recently. It was their way of saying they weren't ashamed of what they did.
A few weeks later, Lawrence and Dorothea were on the Edmund Pettus Bridge when Alabama State Troopers rushed at them, firing tear gas canisters and using batons to scatter them. It became known as Bloody Sunday.
"I was in the front group and knew what tear gas could do to you because of my military training," said Huggins, who was aware that the gas would rise so he and others stayed low, rushed to a park below the bridge and avoided serious injuries.
Since Bloody Sunday, Huggins has become concerned over the number of people claiming to have been on the bridge that day. It would be an understatement to say he doesn't like it, either.
Lawrence Huggins talks about the death of Jimmie Lee Jackson and the Selma to Montgomery March at his home in Selma, Ala. on Tuesday January 27, 2015. (Mickey Welsh / Montgomery Advertiser)
"Some have used what happened for a different reason than mine," he said. "I did what I did because it had to be done and I wasn't out for financial gain. As memories fade and people die, you'd find some enhancing their position in the movement," he said.
Last month, the House and the Senate unanimously approved bills to award Congressional Gold Medals to thousands who marched on Bloody Sunday, Turnaround Tuesday and the final, successful 54-mile march from Selma to Montgomery in Alabama. It is expected to be followed by ceremony at the Capitol in the coming weeks.
"If it comes, it comes," he said, adding that so many people are claiming to be voting rights veterans that "they may not have enough gold to make all those medals."
The medals represent the highest civilian award possible in the United States.
Huggins and Dorothea aren't waiting for a medal and they aren't losing any sleep, either. They don't have to present any proof about their participation in one of America's most historic human rights movements. It's because they were there.