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

earshot, “the judge and the governor have been on the telephone” and a deal, approved by Fuller Warren, was on the table: if Irvin were to plead guilty, the governor would ensure that the defendant would receive a life sentence.
    “Well,” Marshall said, “I can’t decide that. Irvin will have to decide it.” Elliott agreed.
    To Marshall and Greenberg—in light of their own dispiriting assessment of the defense’s chances given the venue, the judge, and the state attorney in the case—a deal that guaranteed to spare Irvin’s life sounded like a good one. It was also exactly the “cautious” kind of approach that disgusted Franklin Williams. “It shocked me,” Williams later commented, that Marshall had even considered such a deal. “I would never have discussed it with them. It struck me whether Thurgood himself was not sure whether they were innocent or guilty. I would never have told them that. I would have said, ‘No way you will plead guilty. We will fight this thing to the end.’ ”
    Marshall, in fact, was beyond cautious. He was fearful. Just one year before, the Martinsville Seven had eaten their last meals at the Virginia State Penitentiary. The NAACP had won the battle against the Civil Rights Congress—and Marshall against his communist adversary, William Patterson—to appeal the case of the seven young black men who had been convicted of raping a white woman. The win left nothing to be savored; every appeal had failed. On February 2, 1951, the first four of the Martinsville Seven were executed at fifteen-minute intervals in Virginia state’s electric chair. The remaining three were electrocuted over the next forty-eight hours. Marshall had no doubt that as sure as the state of Virginia had killed seven men on a rape conviction, and as sure as Willis McCall had shot dead the alleged rapist Ernest Thomas and convicted rapist Samuel Shepherd before they’d had a chance to explore all the legal avenues open to them, the state of Florida would sentence Walter Irvin to death. Franklin Williams might indeed be shocked by Thurgood’s willingness to place the deal before Irvin and his family, but Marshall had lost too many clients to the electric chair to deny a defendant, even one who clearly was not guilty, the rare opportunity to spare his life with a guilty plea.
    Marshall and Greenberg discussed Elliott’s proposition further with Akerman and Perkins, and the four lawyers decided to take up the matter with Jesse Hunter. The state attorney confirmed both that the deal was legitimate and that Truman Futch was prepared to honor it. Marshall sent for Irvin’s family.
    Present at the courthouse were Irvin’s brother-in-law, James Shepherd (Samuel’s brother), and his mother, Dellia, “a heavy woman in a dark dress, green scarf and run-down brown shoes,” who had hitchhiked the sixty miles from Groveland to Ocala that morning. As much to them as to Walter, Marshall explained the governor’s offer, which, he noted, had been acknowledged and agreed to by the prosecutor and trial judge. The room fell silent.
    Then: “Well, you got the case reversed once,” Irvin said.
    “Yeah, but eventually they can’t find that . . . ” Marshall let his voice trail off. “Odds are,” he resumed, “that they’ll convict you. And Futch the judge, he sure as hell will give you the death penalty, so it’s up to you.”
    The decision was Irvin’s, but both Marshall and Greenberg “clearly implied that [they] hoped he’d accept the deal,” because “something might turn up someday to win his freedom.”
    Irvin set his eyes on Marshall, then his mother. He considered the back of his hand. “Well,” he said, “I guess I’ve got to make up my mind.”
    He drew his mother and James over to the side of the room. The three of them spoke in hushed tones. Greenberg and Marshall remained silent. It wasn’t much more than a minute before Irvin, then his mother and James, turned to face Marshall.
    “I guess this is the only way out,” Irvin said.
    Marshall shrugged. “Well, it’s up to you.”
    “What do I have to do?”
    “Nothing. Just stand up there and when they say, ‘Are you guilty or not guilty,’ you say, I’m guilty.” To clarify, to make certain that Irvin knew exactly what his guilty plea would mean, Marshall added, “That you raped that woman.”
    “That I raped that whore?” Irvin was shaking his head. “I didn’t. And I’m not going to say so.” He had made his