Devil in the Grove: Thurgood Marshall, the Groveland Boys, and the Dawn of a New America

don’t know whether they were intellectually equipped enough to be on the juries.”
    Another of Hunter’s black witnesses stated, “I would put this county up against Jerusalem itself, and this is where I am going to stay until I die.” His sentiments were echoed by a sixty-four-year-old retired black man who had likewise spent his entire life in the county. Still, in his entire lifetime, as he admitted to Marshall under cross-examination, he had never before been inside a courtroom because he had never been called for jury duty.
    Marshall then asked, “You are head of the American Legion here, aren’t you?”
    “Yes, I am.”
    “Are there any white members of your American Legion post?”
    “No, sir, there aren’t, we have our own post,” the man answered. “We are all colored people, we have our own post to ourselves, because that is the way we want it.” Marshall’s lips were pursed, but he allowed Hunter’s witness to keep talking.
    “It could be the other way if we wanted to, I think,” the man stammered. “The only reason is we have one to ourselves like we have always wanted to have, and I am head of our post, and . . . what else do you want to know about it?”
    “That is all,” Marshall said, and turned his back to the witness.
    A “gentleman of the frock,” who, in the balcony, had attended to the testimonies of the elderly black men on Hunter’s witness list, remarked to a reporter, “Such folks I’d take great pleasure and dignity in sprinkling the dust over their remains.”
    Judge Truman Futch needed maybe five seconds to rule on Hunter’s objection to the admissibility of the Elmo Roper survey. “The objection is sustained,” Futch said. “The affidavit and the report is rejected.”
    Marshall was crushed, not only by the expenditure of seven thousand dollars for naught but also by the man-hours his team had spent in processing the research into evidence. Sheriff Willis McCall had run Roper researcher Louis Harris out of Lake County, and now Judge Futch had disposed of the research itself.
    During the lunch recess Marshall and the defense team assessed the damage. To their disadvantage, the trial was going forward in Marion County. It was a loss, for sure, but, as Akerman reminded Marshall, they could not reasonably expect very many wins, either with objections or in evidentiary rulings, with Judge Futch presiding. He and Hunter performed effectively as a team, and once the court had seated a jury mostly of the state’s choosing, a verdict against Irvin was almost assured. So, the best strategy for the defense was, as in the first trial, to establish on the record every possible grounds for reversal and wait for the court to err.
    In the hallway, before returning to the courtroom, Marshall was taking note of the numerous state troopers and deputies posted around the courthouse when the portly Jefferson J. Elliott came bounding toward him. Marshall had of course not forgotten Elliott’s role in the coroner’s inquest, and whitewash, following the shooting of the Groveland defendants, or Stetson Kennedy’s claim that the governor’s special investigator was a Klansman.
    “I’m here at the wish of the governor,” Elliott told Marshall as the two shook hands. Then, leaning in conspiratorially toward the NAACP special counsel, Elliott warned, “First thing is, you look out.” He had gotten Marshall’s attention.
    “You’ll see each guy that’s got this kind of a pin.” Elliott showed Marshall the pin in question, and explained, “They’re trying to get you.”
    “Who?” Marshall asked. “Willis McCall?”
    Elliott paused before he answered, his voice low. “No, the deputy is going to get you.”
    Marshall allowed himself a moment to absorb Elliott’s words. Four murders linked to Lake County law enforcement had already been committed since the Groveland Boys case had begun, not to mention the occurrences of death threats, beatings, a bombing, posses, and a high-speed car chase. Marshall did not doubt that his life might be in danger, and he could see that the governor might find it politically inconvenient if “our greatest civil rights lawyer” were to be assassinated in Florida. He had no reason not to take the special investigator’s warning seriously.
    “So go toward them, but not from them,” Elliott advised. Marshall expressed his appreciation for the words of caution.
    “Second,” Elliott said, after he’d walked Marshall out of anyone’s