Concerning The Matter Of Lemuel Mills

(A Fictional Story based on the case of Emmett Till who was murdered in Mississippi in 1954)

The phone was ringing and he had just gotten out of the shower and was presently brushing his teeth. He couldn't help but see his reflection peering back at himself from the mirror looking as much like a mad man as one could want the toothpaste giving the impression that he was foaming at the mouth like a rabid dog.
He had a towel wrapped around his waist as he stood there as though an indigenous person on some exotic shore and the towel his native garment. He quickly reached over to the towel rack and grabbed one of the many face cloths the motel provided for their patrons and wiped the toothpaste from his mouth. The television was on in the sleeping quarters and Governor George Corley Wallace Junior was center stage sitting in his now ubiquitous wheelchair conducting some kind of press conference for the media. He couldn't help but hear his distinct voice through the open door of the bathroom remembering seeing and hearing him on old television reels and delivering a speech at his gubernatorial inauguration on January 14, 1963. It was a malicious speech directed at the Negro population of the state and a federal government he and his fellow whites in the state had determined was intent on race mixing. "In the name of the greatest people that ever trod the earth, I draw the line in the dust and toss the gauntlet before the feet of tyranny, and I say segregation now, segregation tomorrow, segregation forever!" he declared in a shrill southern drawl.
It was a dramatic delivery of a speech authored by Asa Carter who would years later assume the persona of "Little Tree" a man with an Indian background that was as much fiction as the man himself. Prior to this transformation he had authored a novel that Clint Eastwood would turn into gold on the silver screen. The novel was "Gone To Texas" but the cinematic version Eastwood created became "The Outlaw Josey Wells".
Wallace's declaration that he would do battle in the name of segregation brought an uproar of applause and cheers from the gathered crowd of whites bundled up in their winter garb defying the cold that engulfed the city of Montgomery.
Were he, a man with a mixed race heritage, in town at that time he would have never been able to rent this room at the Holiday Inn, but that was no more the state of Alabama had long ago changed. That change had come at a great cost to all concerned after a long battle with many victims. And perhaps Wallace himself had been a victim. But he wasn't certain since his potential assassin young Mr. Arthur Bremer who shot Wallace in the parking lot of a Laurel, Maryland grocery store on May 15, 1972 while giving an impromptu speech to a somewhat impressively large crowd of enthusiasts never revealed his motive for shooting him other than to say he had been intent to impress some teenage girl who lived on the same street as he in the city of Milwaukee, Wisconsin and that he had stalked a politician to kill to impress upon her his boldness and the extremes he was willing to go to secure her affection.
His first choice of a victim had been President Nixon but realized after briefly stalking him to several metropolitan areas that the phalange of secret service and the local police protecting him in these cities he would be campaigning for re-election in prevented him from getting close enough to use the handgun he had on his person at all times to commit the act.

It all sounded so much like John Hinckley and his desire to impress Jodie Foster which was the catalyst for his attempted assassination of Ronald Reagan. Both men had obviously been suffering from some mental deficiency for having thought any female would see the murder of another person, any person much less a governor or the President of the United States as a glorious sacrifice to an unrequited love these men held for them and would therefore embrace the whole idea and them as well.
He crossed the carpet over to the telephone beside the bed and picked it up.
"Hello?" he said as he took a seat on the bed. "Mr. Warren--is this Lancaster Warren?" the white southern voice on the other end asked. "Yes--yes this is Lannie Warren." he said.
"Mr. Warren this is Orville Kupp...." the voice began.
Remembering that this was the cameraman the production company had engaged to visually record his interview with Mr. Dewey he acknowledged that he knew who he was. "Oh yes how you doing Mr. Kupp I was expecting a call from you." "Yes sir I expect you were. I have bad news however sir." Kupp told him with something akin to sadness in his voice. "Bad news--what kind of bad news Mr. Kupp?" he asked with some concern. "I hate to tell you this sir, but circumstances dictate that I must." he said. "And what might that be Mr. Kupp?" he inquired.
"Well sir the interview won't be taking place." "And why is that Mr. Kupp has Mr. Dewey changed his mind?" he asked. "No sir quite the contrary, Mr. Dewey didn't change his mind, that was done by the good Lord." Kupp said. "How so?" he asked "Well sir Mr. Dewey died in his sleep last night--sad to say but that's a fact and no words will ever again come from him spoken or otherwise." Kupp explained.
Warren sat down on the bed devastated by the news. Dewey's interview was an integral part of the documentary the production company was presently doing research on. Dewey had interviewed the perpetrators of the murder of Lemuel Mills and had in their interview with him virtually confessed that they had indeed murdered the teenager.
They had done so knowing the fifth amendment to the constitution protected them from ever going on trial again having already been prosecuted in the August 1954 murder of Lemuel Mills and found not guilty by a jury of their peers who all knew were indeed very much their peers, just as much racists as they had been when they had killed sixteen year old Lemuel over a supposed flirtation with Caroline Wyatt who was most assuredly a white woman. They daily celebrated the deliverance of the double jeopardy clause in the fifth amendment of the US Constitution that once found not guilty that even a subsequent admission to being very much guilty couldn't bring the former charge back and them to the courthouse for further consideration.
They had boasted about having done the murder declaring that they had committed the crime to defend the honor of a fair maiden who had been insulted beyond measure and the insult demanded they do as they had done for Caroline had been the wife of Ray John Wyatt. And it had been incumbent upon Dexter Miller being Ray John's first cousin to assist him in such an act, albeit infamous, of southern chivalry.
Warren rubbed his head. "Well I guess this was a wasted trip for me--I'll call the production company and explain the situation. I have no doubt they will still compensate you despite this having taken place." he said just in case Kupp thought the death of the onetime journalist had thrown a monkey wrench into their contract with him. "Oh Mr. Warren I have no doubt of that. Listen I have gotten you access to Mr. Dewey's papers however." Kupp informed him.
Warren stood up now and removed the towel and tossed it on the bed.
"You did--and how did you manage to do that?" he asked. "Well to be honest with you I received a call from his widow and she assured me she would give us access to them. She says there is information on the interview he did with Wyatt and his cousin. She says that we might come by and perhaps make copies of them for your perusal."
Warren sighed with relief with that information knowing he could at least salvage something of Dewey's conversation with the murderers to present on the production, whose preliminary title was "Overcoming Hate" and throughout it's two hour feature would chronicle the struggle of African Americans to gain the equality the US Constitution had professed for all men of whatever race, but denied to them all during the nation's existence and in some respects even unto this year of 1985.
"When should we go by there?" he asked Kupp.
"Well sir Mr. Dewey's funeral isn't for a couple of days and despite her having friends and family coming about to extend their condolences she would be willing to speak with us this afternoon and hand the papers over to us. She says we can take them from her residence and have them reproduced at one of the local printers and perhaps go over them on the evening. She insists however that we return them on the morrow. She wants them returned as soon as possible so that she might return them to where she kept them safely from those who would still like to destroy them out of a sense of allegiance to Wyatt, and Miller even though as you probably know are by now both deceased." Kupp further explained. "No I hadn't ever heard that--it was my understanding they had just disappeared." "So what do you think Mr. Warren?" Kupp now asked.
"At least it's something." Warren said. "Better than nuthin' I'd say sir. I'm sure the producer can use some file footage of Mr. Dewey and find a performer who can do a reasonable imitation of his voice quoting his words. That I'm sure will suffice as a substitute for the gentleman as he recounts the interview he had with those two SOBs."
"It will have to suffice Mr. Kupp. Where should I meet you?" Warren now asked him.
"Well sir my home isn't far from the Holiday Inn and if you want I could meet you out front around lunchtime. We'll go to lunch and afterward I'll give Mrs. Dewey a call, we're going over around one which she is in approval of. It would be my pleasure to buy lunch I'm very familiar with your work and it would be an honor to dine with you." he said rather generously. "I'm flattered Mr. Kupp and it would also be a pleasure to dine with you--frankly I didn't expect such graciousness down here." he told the man.
"Oh Mr. Warren you're in the new south now. I might sound like some character out of one of Faulkner's novels, but I assure you there are quite a few enlightened natives down here now. There are still some though who would like it to be like it was back then, but they are for the most part looked upon with disdain. Why even Governor Wallace has done a 360 as far as his attitude toward our African American citizens. "Truth be known he wouldn't be governor yet again if not their having cast their votes for him." Kupp informed him.
"I must tell you Mr. Kupp I am cynical as far as Governor Wallace is concerned, but will take your word as far as it goes." "That is as it may be sir, but I honestly think he has shed all remnants of his racist past--I think being confined to that wheel chair has, if anything, gone a long way to make him see his fellow man in a different light. You know he has even candidly told some that he behaved the way he did back then simply because he realized that in order to have a political future in this
state he had to embrace a racists philosophy. He was said to tell a compatriot after losing a particularly contentious and nasty campaign wherein his opponent was constantly intimating that he was sympathetic with Negro ambitions as far as civil rights was concerned that he would never get out-n*****ed again. And he certainly lived up to that commitment I'm sure
you'll agree. But now believe it or not he's even good friends with Bobby Ford the celebrated black mayor of Tuskegee."
"He looks rather frail I must admit. And I've read that he and Ford have a very cordial relationship." Warren said. "Then it's settled Governor Wallace is now an icon of racial harmony." Kupp said with a hint of sarcasm.
"I will meet you out front of the inn in a couple of hours then." he then declared.
"How shall I know you?" Warren asked him. "I'm a carrot top sir, probably have the orangest hair this side of the Mississippi and besides that I'm very familiar with you. I not only have read some of your scholarly endeavors I have also seen your photograph and seen you on television." Kupp informed him. "I believe that the racists would have in their day described you by the antiquated term that is utilized to connote a sense of inferiority in the listener as a "mulatto"." Kupp said obviously intended to let Warren know he had consumed his seldom read scholarly treatise upon the subject of words that had been created in far more egregious times and added to the language for the sole purpose, he suspected, to demean those they were used to describe. Among these words were "miscegenation", a word recommend for usage by Thomas Jefferson a man who had no problem at engaging in the behavior the word aptly refers to. Mulatto had a Portugese/French Creole quality to it, but despite any romantic connotations, was also a word calculated to insult always being used in a context all to familiar to scientific minds who observe such things, used to describe some sub species and in this case a human. A hybrid of the Caucasian and Negroid races, not really one or the other. In other words a nobody, and one neither race was each to his own, eager to claim. No matter that many noted individuals had been the result of that which such sexual congress created, people such as the Dumas' Pere and son and others such people as Queen Charlotte, wife of George III, Francis Coleridge Taylor poet, Frederick Douglas champion of slaves, as well as Prince Hall of Masonic fame and educator Booker T. Washington. And yet they weren't completely white and thus in some's opinion still deservedly reviled.
"I'm impressed Mr. Kupp. Few people have indicated they have read that rant considering it appeared in an obscure publication that covers such mundane topics." he stated with some pride.
"I am a very curious man with an intellectual bent Mr. Warren and especially so as it relates to the history of my most beloved southern soil. I wish to know it all, the beauty and the sorrow that is as thick as the water in the atmosphere when summer rolls around. We are a wonderful people down here who have a propensity to follow the worse angels of our nature that the Great Emancipator eluded to in his second inaugural address." Kupp said with the flare of a very sound and kind individual that was in its way inspirational, and yet at the same time reminded one of the pomposity and false piety that is often prevalent in that which is the south. "If your hair is as distinguishable as you have described it then I guess we won't have any problem recognizing each other." Warren said now to get off the subject of his racial background. "Most assuredly." Kupp said.
And now they hung up and the naked Warren went to the dresser in the room and the walk in closet and gathered his clothes together prepared to dress for the day ahead of them. Once he was dressed he sat back down on the bed and called the number of the company that was behind the production "Overcoming Hate" and informed them of the demise of the late Mr. Thomas R. Dewey freelance journalist and investigative reporter for such magazines as Time, Look, and the New Yorker. He was a former Pulitzer Prize winner and considered the equal of such formidable southern journalists as Hodding Carter, John Sigenthaler, and Tom Wicker.
After his discussion with the production company and securing an agreement from them to continue on with his mission and secure the paperwork in Mrs. Dewey's possession he hung up and reached the decision to go downstairs to the inn's restaurant and have a good hot cup of coffee and read the local paper and perhaps the New York Times or the Chicago Tribune if on offer until the time came that he would exit the establishment and make his way out to the front of the inn and meeting Mr. Kupp. He sat at the counter in the little restaurant his brief case close by him drinking coffee and reading the local news and as well observing the various other people gathered there looking perhaps with to much intensity for someone he had imagined still called the south home and retained the same sentiments of those he had through his reading of history come to loath. But he had sat there for over a half hour and not seen one person who might remind him of Bull Connor dispensing orders to his policemen to bust these n*****'s heads and drive all their commie allies from the glorious state of Alabama. All he encountered were polite and deferential to him nodding good morning and inquiring after his health.
His initial research on this state after accepting this assignment revealed to him that throughout the tumultuous times before and following the murder of Lemuel Mills it seemed that the only man in the state that was admired in the least by all parties concerned was a gentleman perennially sporting a hound's tooth hat, the now three years deceased Paul "Bear" Bryant. The whites mostly for his winning tradition and black residents because of the rumor that Bear was more than willing to recruit black athletes to the Alabama football program and even more so inclined to start them over a white boy should the black player prove to be the more proficient at the position they might be in competition for.
It was well known that he had wanted to integrate his Texas A&M squad which was his team prior to coming to work at Alabama and had demonstrated such a desire when he had told Texas A&M officials that. "We'll be the last football team in the Southwest Conference to integrate. Then that's where we're going to finish in football." He had even scheduled Alabama's season opener in 1970 against a Southern Cal team led by the black All-American fullback Sam Cunningham in anticipation of the Crimson Tide taking it on the chin because of their lack of black athletes. And such was the case Alabama lost the game by the lopsided score of 42-21. All black high school players in the state who had gained a reputation as a Spartan player in whatever athletic endeavor they were involved in had been lured away by northern or western schools not the least bit shy about stocking their teams with endless numbers of colored boys. These universities had arrived upon the decision that the only colors they were interested in enhancing were the school's colors which in turn would enthrall their alumnus and bring much needed revenue to the school's coffers from various booster clubs. The bottom line was all that mattered to these folks. It was the money they might attract that was the most essential thing and if it should at the same time cause national observers to ascertain that they were assisting in bringing equality to the nation all the better.
He gave up on discovering a Klan member there about and finished up the rest of the coffee and pastry that he had ordered. The waitress a middle-aged white woman noticed that he was emptying the cup and came over with a fresh pot of the dark liquid in her hand. "Would you like another cup sir?" she asked him looking over her bi-focals. It was true that the south had earned its reputation as a place well versed in manners. The lady was at least twenty years his senior, but still felt it was necessary to address him as sir. "Perhaps just a little ma'am." he responded with equal graciousness. "I'm very familiar with you sir." she said directing his attention to his name which he had emblazoned on his briefcase indicating who he was should his luggage disappear and his briefcase having been included with it, which sometimes it was. Sometimes it remained in the bowels of the plane and was lost as was the wont of the airlines. And he had it put there also just in case he should misplace it during his travel. He kept transcripts of his research and interviews in there, interviews he had conducted in his research as a journalist and prolific writer of history and all things historical.
"You are--I'm not use to a layman recognizing my name." he told her. "I'm no layman sir unless of course you're referring to my knowledge of the good book and experience as a purveyor of the word of God. But as one current on the affairs of the nation I am quite up to snuff on that and have seen your byline numerous times. My brother Mitchell is always reciting your latest work as that of a keen intellect. Just wait until he hears I've served you coffee in this humble establishment." the waitress now informed him.

He smiled at her as he took a sip from the fresh coffee she had poured into his cup. "I should think this would require an autograph Mr. Lancaster Warren." the lady now said to him.
"By all means." he said placing the cup back onto the counter. "Hold on." she now said and looking below the counter fetched what was obviously an autograph book. A book specifically designed to hold autographs of celebrities that one might encounter in their life. She pushed it across to him at the counter. He withdrew a pen from his shirt pocket and turning to a page in the book prepared to write some cogent words of wisdom for her and Mitchell. He had seen the names of other noted individuals in it, but was reluctant to ask after them.
"If you don't mind please write it to Louella and Mitchell--Mitchell is my brother's name, the one who is so enamored of your writing style. He'll just flip knowing I got him the autograph of Lancaster Warren one of the most famous African American writers in the nation." she said with what could only be described as enthusiasm. "You flatter me Louella and if you should give me your brother's address I would be glad to send him a copy of my next article or perhaps one of my books." he said now.
"If you'll autograph that too I'll be glad to--Mitchell will have an infarction when I tell him this." she said gushing. And so after she had written down Mitchell's address they carried on a friendly conversation until Orville Kupp came up behind him and tapped him on the shoulder.
Warren looked at his watch momentarily and saw that it was almost a quarter to one way past the time that he and the photographer/cameraman had agreed to rendezvous to go and keep the appointment that Mrs. Dewey had agreed to.
He swivelled on the counter stool and saw before him a man with a thick head of red hair and a beard that was just as ablaze as the hair that covered his scalp. The color of it was somewhat overwhelming and especially so for a man who most often hung around people with hair the texture of his and always in the same color very, very black. A black person's hair was like the first Model T Fords you can have any color you want as long as its black. Or so it was quoted as being Henry Ford's response to a question as to why the automobile was only in that color.
Kupp was dressed in a casual summer coat that was light blue the color of the sky and wearing a red Banlon shirt beneath it. He wore khaki trousers and penny loafers and had no socks on. He had several expensive cameras draped around his neck of which the only one he recognized was a Nikon and somewhat costly if he recalled.
He was no photographic aficionado not the least bit proficient at taking pictures and thus had always utilized someone of Kupp's caliber as an assistant when on a freelance assignment that called for extensive photography and if it was in a combat zone that had encounters which demanded pictures to archive the carnage. He also liked to have the photographer along as well as a hedge against insurances companies that would often dispute any accidental death that he could suffer and which would make them the one responsible to compensate his wife and children. Hopefully the photographer may record the event of his death and if not then at least stand as a witness as to what had befallen him. If he should have been killed covering a fire fight or something such as that between competing belligerents his contract called for the news agency that had employed him to innumerate his wife and children. Otherwise his insurance covered all other contingencies.
"Ah Mr. Kupp I presume?" Warren said extending his right hand to greet him. "A pleasure sir--I didn't see you outside and suspected you may be in here having recalled your having written that you are an inveterate coffee drinker." Kupp explained as he shook his hand. "I try to always make it decaff to be able to sleep." Warren said. "A wise decision I would wager." Kupp replied.
"Shall we go sir?" Kupp now asked. "Yes--yes I think we should...." he looked at his wrist watch yet again and seeing that it was almost now ten minutes to one o'clock p.m. said. "I'm of a mind that we won't be able to have lunch." "Yes sir I had to pick up something at the cleaners I had completely forgotten all about it." Kupp said then. "Quite alright Mr. Kupp. I guess we should go then huh? I would hate to be late and perhaps cause Mrs. Dewey to change her mind." Warren declared.
"Certainly sir, but it's not that far we'll make it in mere minutes. As you've probably deduced Hellerton, Alabama is not a very large town at all." Kupp indicated.
He headed for the exit and Warren followed close behind after taking up his briefcase and extending a hardy goodbye to the waitress Louella and assuring her Mitchell would hear from him.

There was static on the recording but the volume was such that every word could be heard and easily understood. "Tommy transferred this from a reel to reel he was going to make when interviewing those wretched men." said Thomas Dewey's widow. "At first they didn't object to the recording, but when Wyatt's, and Miller's attorney cautioned them from making any recordings they refused to go on if Tommy insisted on recording their voices during the entire session. He finally did talk Miller into allowing him to keep this statement he made at the beginning of the session. He had to pay him for it, but insisted that Miller had admitted to nothing really and had simply given a manifesto of how he felt. Miller was taken with that, that he had given a manifesto like you know the "Communist Manifesto" represented the words of Karl Marx. Well he thought that made him some kind of philosopher you know and said hell why not." the elderly lady explained to the two men seated on her couch among a lot of flowers that sat in vases on various tables throughout the room and holding cards extending their grief at the death of a kind and generous man and Pulitzer Prize winner as well, which Thomas R. Dewey was. "Yes ma'am--you sure you don't mind us listening to it right now--I mean your late husband is no doubt going to be heard on it and could cause you to suffer further distress due to his having passed?" Orville Kupp reminded the widow. "Oh tish tosh young man I've come to terms with my dear Tommy's having gone. I am not sad as to it since he was suffering greatly every day from the oppressive life old age had inflicted him with. I only hope that I shall join him soon. And besides that I'm going to visit with my neighbor while you go over it."
"Thank you ma'am." said Lannie Warren.
The lady now rose up from her floral print easy chair and looking at them excused herself to go next door and see her friend and neighbor Mrs. Odell. "When you gentlemen get through you can gather up whatever you need and anything else I've shown you that peaks your interest and be on your way until tomorrow when I expect you to bring it back. You can just leave the recorder there on the table." she said to them. "Yes ma'am we will do just that. I'm certain Mr. Warren and his employer would willingly compensate you for access to this stuff." Kupp now said looking to Warren for affirmation of that statement. "Oh yes--yes I'm certain they would if you would only issue your expectation to myself so that I can relate it to them." he said.
The old lady who moved with some distress clearly the result of her own encroaching old age waved at the two young men. "I wouldn't accept it even if it was required in order for you to use this material. This is a duty for me, a duty that is sanctioned by the good Lord." she said with evangelical fervor. "Very well Mrs. Dewey I am heartened by your response." said Warren.
"Should we lock the door behind us?" asked Orville Kupp. "No sir I'm only going to sit on the porch with my friend while you're here. I only do so to give you some privacy so you might communicate without the interference of my presence. And too gentlemen that telephone has been ringing off the hook since my poor Thomas's demise our acquaintances eager to render their condolences. But I must tell you repeating the same thing over and over can become a toilsome thing after awhile. Don't think that it will disturb you however, I've muted the damn bell so that it won't ring." she assured them.
Once again they thanked her as she went to her screen door and exited the living room of her modest home. As she dismounted the steps Lancaster Warren pressed the play button on the tape recorder. After more static the voice of the recently deceased Thomas R. Dewey came alive. "The date is November 19, 1954 and the voice you're about to hear is that of Dexter Albert Miller of Exum, Alabama. Present also is Ray John Wyatt Mr. Miller's first cousin and one time co-defendant in the murder of Lemuel Mills. Misters Wyatt and Miller were acquitted of said charges in October of 1954 which was just this past month. The following is Mr. Miller's statement as to why anything concerning Lemuel Mills occurred between the three of them on the date of his death in August of this same year. Now Mr. Miller take this microphone and speak clearly into it. Yes, yes sir that's it. Yes sir just whenever you're ready just begin."
There was the sound of some extemporaneous noise somewhere in the room and then the clearing of a voice, a cough, and then the voice of Dexter Miller came on the tape. "Well what the hell else could we've done--I mean he was pure hopeless. I ain't no bully, ain't never hurt a n***** in my whole life. I like coloreds for the most part--in their place--I knows how to work 'em. But we just decided it was time a few people around here were put on notice. As long as I live and breath and can do anything about it no n***** is goin' to vote where I reside. If we allowed 'em to do that they'd control the whole blasted Jew guv'ment. They ain't going to school with my younguns either. And if a n***** gets close to mentioning sex with a white woman well then he's done got sick of livin'. I'm likely to kill him on the spot havin' ideas like that. And if it ain't me it'll be somebody else. Me and my people fought for this country and we got some rights. I stood there in that barn and I heard that boy throw that poison at me, and I, just you know, made it up in my mind. "Chicago boy" I sez. "I'm sick and tired of 'em--I'm tired of them Christ killin' Jews sendin' your boys down here and stirrin' up trouble for white people. Damn you, I'm gonna make an example of you--just so's everybody can know where me and mine stand!" Miller's voice went dead then. Within a few seconds Dewey's voice was back on the tape. "Is that it Mr. Miller, is that all you wish to say?" he asked the man.
"Yes--yes sir Mr. Dewey that's all I got to say." Miller said. And then the tape went completely dead.
Lancaster Warren and Orville Kupp looked at each other astounded at what they had heard. Taking up a copy of a Look magazine mixed with the material before them and dated shortly after the interview Kupp found a photograph of Miller when he was giving the interview. The photo showed him sitting at the kind of a table you would expect to see in an attorney's office where a witness might be giving a sworn affidavit on some contentious issue, and fiddling with the reel to reel tape recorder Thomas had brought to the meeting and which was the device used to record the statement that he had just recited.

He was a man with a creased face and a ruddy complexion obviously someone who had labored in difficult jobs his whole life. He had a cigarette hanging from his lips and his eyes were squinted closed as if in defiance to the smoke that was wafting from the cigarette and assaulting his vision. Down from him at the same table but so out of focus one could not really ascertain what he looked like or if he in anyway resembled his cousin was Ray John Wyatt, who because he was considered the least articulate of the two had taken a secondary role in the situation. Ray John Wyatt, though the aggrieved party as far as the black teen was concerned, had gladly assumed this stance in the tragedy and let his first cousin do all the talking. Underneath the photo was verbatim the statement he had made and the date of the interview November 19, 1954. "What do you think Mr. Kupp?" Warren asked the photographer whose outrage was most apparent on his face.
"The fool deserves just what that poor young man got from him and his idiot cousin." Kupp said and at that moment dabbed at a tear that was inexorably trickling down the right cheek of his face.
"I know that's not really justice, but it's the only justice these two could understand and frankly what I think they both deserve. I'm sure you agree." Kupp now said. "I'd like to do it myself." Warren admitted. "I would too." Kupp exclaimed.
They continued on for another hour going over Thomas Dewey's notes. "I wonder if Mr. Dewey ever got ribbed by his fellow liberals about his name?" Warren said as he began to close the folder and put away the information which they had been given access to. He reached over now to make room for it in his briefcase. "I think he may well have--I think that's why he never grew a mustache for fear someone would suggest he was trying to look similar to his namesake in the Republican Party." Kupp said with a chuckle. "No doubt the embarrassment Dewey suffered at blowing that election to Harry Truman had something to do with it also." Warren suggested. "I should think it would be obvious." Kupp agreed.
They made their way onto the porch of the Dewey home and Kupp looked over to the two elderly women who sat in a swing on the porch next door and signaled to the widow of Mr. Dewey that they were about to depart. Mrs. Dewey stood up and after exchanging a few words with her friend went into the yard and made her way to the two younger men who stood in the walkway of her home and awaited her arrival.
After turning around and once more waving to her neighbor and friend Mrs. Dewey came over and stood beside them on her lawn. "Well now you gentlemen are apparently done I suppose?" she said.
They nodded simultaneously. "Yes ma'am we are and once again let me express my deep appreciation for this. And rest assured after I photocopy this I'll return it promptly in the morning" Warren now said. "You're quite welcome young man and I hope my husband's work has gone a long way to clarify the matter for you." she said offering her hand to him.

That statement confused him--what she meant by it he did not quite know. He hadn't had any involvement in the case having only been born in the year this all took place. It was true of course that he hailed from Chicago which was the hometown of the murdered teenager and that he was the offspring of a white female and a black man, but beyond that not connected to the case in anyway save but for being a journalist involved in a production recounting it for a documentary that was to be featured on public television. He didn't respond to any allusion she may have been making he wasn't cognizant of merely nodding his head appreciatively and taking her hand and politely shaking it.
Kupp was smiling at her and seemingly adjusting his head for some reason. He had his hand at the back of his head and moving it around. And then he noticed something, something that now made him become suspicious of Kupp, something askew about him.
He was wearing a wig. The red hair was a wig. A very good wig he determined, but a wig nevertheless. It had fit him well, but now something was wrong with it and he was having to adjust it. No doubt the beard was phony too. Now that he thought about it you could easily see that the hair and the beard were phony if only you would look very closely at it. It reminded him of the type that was used when movies were made. Reasonable enough to pass muster for a film, but after close examination would reveal the difference it was to an actual head of hair and beard. What was this all about he wondered. He quickly decided he wouldn't let on he was wary of him just now however, he would let Kupp continue the charade to a point and then he would spring it on him. When he was around others who could protect him just in case Kupp had criminal intentions as far as he was concerned.
He moved on to the passenger side of the vehicle that Kupp had brought him here in and stood there awaiting him. He remained there not entering just yet. Kupp remained with Mrs. Dewey for now and seemed to be in an animated conversation with her, something far different than a simple thank you and farewell. The journalist in him told him that they were far more acquainted than either had let on when they had first arrived. And then he handed him an envelope she had withdrawn from a pocket of the apron she still wore. He looked at it briefly and then slipped it inside his coat pocket.
He finally withdrew from the encounter with the elderly lady and returned to his vehicle.
"Well what should we do now Mr. Warren?" he asked as he opened the driver's door.
"I thought you were going to buy me lunch?" Lannie asked. "Oh yeah--I plum near forgot that. I apologize for that oversight. What would you like my expense account could afford us a pretty good meal?" he said with a laugh. "What would you like to have--that is if you've got any particular preference?" Kupp asked him. "Nothing in particular--to be honest I'm not that hungry, but thought I'd disappoint you if I didn't afford you the opportunity to fulfill your promise." Warren said giving him a hint of a smile. "Yes indeed I certainly wouldn't want to appear to be someone who made false promises." he said as he strapped himself in behind the wheel of the Honda. "I'm sure--you wouldn't want to seem like someone who is a phony." Warren said then looking at him his paradoxical smile still obvious.
Kupp didn't know how to take the comment and his face reflected that as he started up the car and they pulled away from the curb of the street. "So how about we just stop at one of the fast food joints--a McDonald's or a Hardee's, or even a Burger King if you'd prefer?" Kupp asked as they maneuvered through the community. "Anyone of them will be fine just as long as we have some company." Warren said suspiciously his demeanor now somewhat standoffish as far as Kupp was concerned.
They drove in silence now until finally Kupp arrived at the entrance of a McDonald's and pulled in. "You want to go through the drive-in or go inside?" the cameraman asked.
"Let's go inside--I'd feel better if we go inside." Warren replied.
They exited the car and moved to the door of the restaurant. Warren was behind Kupp and eyeing his every move and listening intently to what he might have to say hoping he would reveal the motive for his wearing a disguise. It had to be a disguise unless he was wearing the red hair on his head and face because he was cursed with some kind of scar he wasn't willing to expose. But Warren was skeptical of that because there was nothing outwardly revealing anything, any trauma he'd gone through to cause such scars. If that was the case wouldn't there be something else no matter how subtle, something else about him to reveal such? Why would it just be on his head and face and so easily hidden from public view? Anyone who had suffered something bad enough to cause such a thing would, by his measure reveal it. Or perhaps it had caused some psychotic dilemma in him that made him think perhaps he was so unattractive that thus he was compelled to wear the wig and the phony beard to hide it.
They made their way to the counter and each of them ordered a burger, fries and a medium size soda. After Kupp had paid for the meals they made their way to the back of the establishment. After they were seated at a booth and had begun to eat Warren thought to start asking him some probing questions, but not so probing that the man would realize he had grown suspicious of him. "What was Mrs. Dewey telling you there as we were leaving?" he asked. "What do you mean?" Kupp asked.
There were several people inside, mostly teenagers it seemed loudly talking with each other carrying on like one would expect teens to carry on no matter what part of the nation they hailed from. Warren took a drink of the soda and looked at him with a suspicion equal to that he had just so recently developed of him. "Nothing in particular--she was interested in you, curious about you if you really must know." he said. "What do you mean?" he asked taken aback somewhat by the statement. "Well she wanted to know if you were the Lancaster Warren we had thought you were--the one that Mr. Dewey would hope that you were." Kupp said. "What other Lancaster Warren could I be?" he asked putting down the burger now and putting a fry in his mouth.

He was looking intently at Kupp now, intently enough that Kupp reached a conclusion. "I checked you out Mr. Warren--I even went to Chicago myself and checked you out from there." he admitted.
"Well frankly sir there are several dozen Lancaster Warrens in and around the Chicago metropolitan area and believe it or not five of them, including yourself, are men of letters." Kupp said then taking another drink of his soda. "So why would that interest Mr. Dewey Mr. Kupp--if that is your name sir?" Warren said as he finished eating what he wanted of the meal. He stood up abruptly and took the tray that the food sat on and the near empty drink cup and walked slowly to the nearest trash container and slipped the remains into it. He replaced the tray and rejoined the man at the booth.
"What is behind that inquiry sir?" Kupp asked.
"I have to confess sir I have a tendency to think people who wear disguises are not who they purport to be." he said. "Oh you noticed huh?" "Yes I did." Warren confessed.
"And what was it that gave it away?" he asked. "I saw you adjusting it back at the Dewey's place." he said. "Durn I knew I had done something wrong--believe it or not this is the top of the line. In fact I got it from a friend of mine that is a professional make up guy for the movies. He assured me I could fool anybody with them. I guess I fit the darn thing wrong before I went to meet you. He told me I should keep it on most of the time to avoid such a thing, but the heat down here makes one inclined to not do so." he said. "What I want to know is why the charade--you better come clean sir or I'm afraid I will have to end our association right here. I'm tempted to call the police to be honest with you. Are you connected with someone out to sabotage this entire deal?" Warren said standing up his intention to find another way back to his room at the Holiday Inn.
Kupp raised a hand and motioned for the journalist to sit back down. "Please Mr. Warren sit back down. I assure you I mean you no harm. It's just that we had to make sure you were the same Warren we hoped you would be." he said. "Who sir--who besides yourself had to be sure of who I was?" Warren demanded to know as he returned to the seat across from him. "I would prefer we discuss this back in the privacy of your room sir. I don't wish we should discuss this here in public." Kupp said. "I don't know if I want to be in a location where there aren't others around sir. After all this is still Alabama and there are still elements down here in the south who object to people like me--especially people like me if you understand what I mean." he said. "I understand sir, but please you are mistaken." Kupp said as he finished with his lunch. He stood up and slid out of the booth picking up his tray and went to the container and disposed of the trash on the tray. And now Warren was on his feet as well. He joined Kupp near the container. "This is all so vague Mr. Kupp--is it Kupp--is that your real name?" he asked in a near whisper.
The cameraman turned toward him. "No sir it's not Kupp--I admit you have discovered--how did you describe it--my charade." he confessed. "I refuse to leave with you until you reveal to me your real identity. Show me something that--that reveals your real identity." Warren said.
"Please sir let's just go to your room and we'll discuss this thoroughly?"
"I want to see some ID first!" "Outside--I'll show you when we're back in the car okay." he insisted.
As they prepared to enter the car Kupp--or whoever he was removed his wallet and removed what appeared to be a driver's license. Once seated he handed it over to the journalist.
"Here." he said.
Warren looked at it. And there he saw that his name was Coen-Dewey. "Your name is Coen-Dewey, Lawrence Coen-Dewey?" he asked astonished. "Are you kin to the Deweys?" he asked.
"Yes--the truth of the matter sir is that I'm their grandson." the cameraman admitted.
"Their grandson--I never knew the Dewey's had any children sir much less a grandson."
Warren said. "Well they've never advertised it, I really just found out they were my grandparents several years ago. I'm their grandson out of wedlock. Their late son--or should I say Mr. Dewey's late son was my father, but at the time of my birth he was not a Dewey." he said.
"And why was that?" Warren asked as Kupp/Coen-Dewey started up the vehicle and began maneuvering out of the lot. "Well sir Mr. Dewey was not married at the time of my father's birth."
"Even if that is the case sir why does it compel you to wear a disguise?" "I suspect you would know that sir being an investigative reporter." the man said. "You're the same as me--you're of a mixed race heritage." came Warren's answer. "How perceptive." Kupp said pulling the wig completely off and revealing a head of hair that was very dark and somewhat kinky like a black person's. "I am not only a product of mixed race, but of mixed ethnicity as."
"If not for this I my hair and this nose I could like pass for a white Gentile. Most times I just keep my head shaved, but I have been letting it grow of late in anticipation of this encounter. And just like my father I'm illegitimate. He was the result of a liaison between my grandfather and a Jewish woman who was an immigrant and a servant as well.
When the Dewey family lived in Atlanta they didn't employ Negroes as servants, but instead some newly arrived Jewish immigrants. I don't think it was because they were necessarily anti-black because my grandfather said the judge, his father was a judge, and his mother were very liberal white people then. I guess it's all relative though considering the times.
However they were pretty run of the mill southern folk to hear him tell it and couldn't tolerate having no illegitimate grandson and by a Jewish girl from Lithuania that barely spoke the King's English. They took care of him of course. And he was a wild one up to the night he was murdered in 1958. He was a big aficionado of Jazz music and my mother was a singer in one of the clubs he patronized. "
By this time they were back at the Holiday Inn. "Who murdered him?" Warren asked as Kupp pulled into a parking space. He pushed the car into park and once more donned the hair piece.
"Are you going to continue to wear that thing?" he asked the other man now.
"Yes sir--I don't want someone who saw me with you earlier to see us now and me sans it. What would they think if they recognized us?" he asked as he looked in the mirror adjusting it. "Frankly I don't care--I have to tell you sir I'm still somewhat cynical of you in the face of this." Warren said taking hold of the material from the backseat and opening the passenger door. "I have something for you Mr. Warren--something for you to read." Kupp said removing the letter from his pocket that Mrs. Dewey had handed to him.
He held it there in front of Warren like some kind of prize. Looking at it he could see his name was printed across the face of the envelope in neat block letters. "Whose it from?" he asked.
"Who do you think?" Kupp asked. "Well considering what you've told me and where we just came from I'd venture to say it is from Thomas Dewey." he answered. "Again very perceptive." Kupp said as Warren took it from him. "I don't think you ever said who was responsible for your father's murder?" Warren said as he made it to the pavement outside the car. Kupp was finished with the hair piece then and now exited the car himself. He looked across the roof of the Honda at the other man with a knowing look. "You know who did that--Mr. Warren I'm pretty sure you know what's in that letter too without even opening it." he said then. "Misters Miller and Wyatt I would propose is who murdered your father, but I couldn't imagine what else is in the letter." Warren said as he started off.
Kupp left the driver's door of the car himself. He raced around it and caught up with the journalist as he reached the stairs that led to his room on the second floor of the inn.
"You're quite right sir--damn you are sharp aren't you?"
"As a tack sir." Warren said giving him a sly smile as he started up the stairs.
Kupp followed him as he went. After reaching the half way point Warren turned around and looked at Kupp with a stern expression. "I still fail to see how this involves me." he said as he stood there somewhat stiffly. "It's in the letter sir. Once you read it you'll understand everything." Kupp told him.
Kupp sat on the bed with the television on low and not really paying attention to the nature program that was on about wild animals in the snow covered terrain of northern Alaska. At the moment a pack of wolves were busily devouring the carcass of an elk they had brought down in the snow that would likely come up to a man's hip. They went at it eagerly every so often the Alpha Male snapping at a subordinate that got to close to his position at the carcass.
Within five minutes or so Warren exited the bathroom where he had went to read the letter that Thomas Dewey had composed for him. "Why should I believe this--how does he know that Lemuel Mills was my father?" he asked folding the two pages that it was typed on. "He had it investigated--and also the fact that it was the declaration of a man that knew he was dying. Why would he write it to you if it wasn't true? He didn't know you. He knew of you of course, but he didn't know you."
"And what does he expect of me?" "He felt that would be up to you sir. He thought you might be inclined as I am to want to get some justice for what they did." Kupp said. "What do you mean by that?" Warren asked him but having pretty much assumed what that meant. "Kill 'em--we should kill 'em Lannie--can I call you that Mr. Warren?" "Kill 'em--you expect me to commit murder sir?" he asked sitting down on the edge of the bed. "It wouldn't be murder sir--it would be justice." Kupp insisted. And besides that you don't even know where they are."
"Oh but I do Lannie--I do indeed know where they are. Stay right there and I'll be right back."
Kupp said standing up. "Let me get something from my car." he now said making his way to the door of the room.
Within ten minutes he returned with what appeared to be two white uniforms draped in plastic and what he had certainly retrieved from the dry cleaners. They appeared to be something like what a doctor or nurse or even an orderly in some kind of medical facility might wear. "I've got one for each of us." he said smiling at the man who he hoped would be his ally in the venture he had in mind.

THREE WEEKS LATER:
Lancaster Warren and his wife Ellen an attractive blonde woman sat on the couch in the living room of their home in Chicago, Illinois watching the end of the CBS Evening News with Dan Rather in anticipation of his just finished documentary pertaining to the Civil Rights Movement from years past that was scheduled to air on the local Public Television Network once the news broadcast was finished. Their two children a boy and a girl named Errol and Melody six and four respectively could be heard in the background busily playing in their play room down the hallway of the house. On their television screen Dan Rather looking dapper and ever the professional finally came to the last story of the night.
"And finally our last story of the evening. The bodies of two men who were residents of an assisted living facility in the town of Hellerton, Alabama and had disappeared from there three weeks ago were discovered in the Escambia River in the southeast of Alabama this morning. The river which lies to the rear of the facility and was said to be a place where the residents of said facility liked to go to commune with nature was the last place the two men were known to have been.
The bodies of each man was found with a cinder block attached to their neck, and which apparently weighed them down and caused them to drown in the river. They were ostensibly identified as William and Lucas Murphy who were cousins from the nearby community of Exum, Alabama. But new information turns out that this is false. The two men were cousins, but their names evidently was not Murphy.
They were actually John Ray Wyatt, and Dexter Albert Miller who in October 1954 were acquitted for the murder of Lemuel Mills a sixteen year old black teenager who was visiting relatives in Alabama at the time. According to witnesses at the time Wyatt and his cousin became outraged that Mills had supposedly insulted Mr. Wyatt's young wife Caroline. He was said to have whistled at the woman and told her he had a small son with a white girl in the city of Chicago. The two men had been in hiding since 1958 and residents of the facility the past several years due to illness that had plagued them in their old age.
They had been in hiding since 1958 perhaps the first example of individuals in the witness protection program. They were forced to do so in the wake of an article written that year they alleged due to the impact of an article by Thomas R. Dewey a Pulitzer Prize winning journalist who had interviewed them four years prior surrounding the murder of the black teenager. The article they said that forced them into hiding surrounded the murder of a young man from the city of Atlanta, Georgia and was the scion of family of Jewish business people. Dewey had written that the two men were likely the main suspects in the death of the young man and that it had been prompted by how he had portrayed them in the article pertaining to the death of the black teen Lemuel Mills.
Dewey had never revealed why they would murder the young Jewish man as retaliation toward him or his own relationship with the Jewish man. Foul play is suspected however since the two men were obviously weighed down by the cinder blocks and due to the condition of the two bodies. The FBI Special Agent from the city of Birmingham, Alabama Ed Palmer has confirmed they are investigating. It is known that the Jewsh man's family in Atlanta are well known Zionist activists and have contributed a great deal of money to Jewish Charities in Atlanta and Israel.
They were last seen being wheeled down the walkway from the facility that led to the river by two orderlies that had shaven heads and according to some appeared to be Jewish. There have been rumors of connections to the Israeli Intelligence Service the Mossad. Agent Palmer has dismissed such speculation, but maintains it may well be related to the death of the black teenager in 1954 whose body was discovered in the same river badly beaten and having cinder blocks to weigh his own body down. Now let's go to our reporter on the scene Fred Graham CBS legal correspondent."
"Aren't those the two men in the documentary you just did?" Ellen asked looking at her husband. Her husband looked at her his face revealing what may have been described as one of surprise. "Yes they are--that's sure some coincidence isn't it?" he said as he rubbed his scalp which he had recently shaved. He noted that his hair was growing back quite nicely now.

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