Based on actual events from Mississippi's Civil Rights Movement, Justice for Ella is a story of two women-one black, one white-who fought and won against seemingly insurmountable meanness. For Ella Gaston and Jewell McMahan, the fight was about justice, in a time and place when it was rarely bestowed on either black people or women. On a Sunday afternoon in 1959 in Shuqualak, Mississippi, Ella and her husband Nelse were arrested in front of their children and hauled off to the notorious Noxubee County Jail. The Gastons were simply in the wrong place at the wrong time-caught up in a manhunt for Nelse's cousin who had allegedly beaten up the city marshal. The court appearances and legal wrangling that followed resulted in Ella's being found guilty of intimidating an officer and the all-white Mississippi Supreme Court reversing and remanding her conviction on grounds of racial prejudice in testimony-a first. To avoid retrial, Ella and Jewell engaged in multiple cat-and-mouse games that placed Ella "sick" in the hospital, Jewell standing guard, and would-be tormenters at bay. Eventually, the women prevailed, Ella remained free, and the story faded away into obscurity-until now. Justice for Ella tells just one of hundreds of stories experienced by nameless foot soldiers who risked everything so that all Mississippians could live as first class citizens in the Land of the Free. It is a story that needed to be told. Justice for Ella A Story That Needed to be Told By Pam Johnson iUniverse LLC Copyright © 2014 Pam Johnson All rights reserved. ISBN: 978-1-4917-3043-0 Contents Acknowledgments, ix, Prologue, xiii, Justice for Ella, 1, Ella's Story, 4, Jewell's Story, 31, The Incident, 61, The Trial, 126, Ella Gaston v. State of Mississippi, 173, Epilogue, 199, Author's Notes, 213, Selected Resources, 231, Appendix - The Decision, 235, CHAPTER 1 JUSTICE FOR ELLA Driving While Black Shuqualak, Mississippi-February 22, 1959, 3:00 p.m. "Nelse! What's wrong?" Ella whispered. He'd been slowing down and watching the rearview mirror. She could see blinking red lights reflecting off the dashboard. "I don't know," Nelse said, carefully pulling his shiny green and white Ford Fairlane over to the shoulder. Their four children in back sat quiet as baby birds in a disturbed nest. Within seconds, the Gaston family found themselves surrounded by white men with badges, guns, nightsticks, and nasty attitudes. Nelse rolled down his window far enough to hear one of them yell, "Get out, nigger!" As soon as Nelse's feet hit the ground, the officer dragged him to the back of the car, out of his family's sight. "Put your hands up!" they could hear the officer shouting. "I said put your hands up, nigger!" The distinctive sound of fist on flesh came next, and the car heaved as Nelse fell against it. He was on the ground, and all four officers were scrambling against gravel on asphalt to get a lick in. The family could hear their grunts and curses. "Stop it! Quit!" a white man's voice shouted, and the thudding commotion ceased. Pulled to his feet, scraped and bleeding, Nelse was handcuffed behind his back. He was weaving a little where he stood, and a welt on his forehead stuck out like a hen egg. "What's in the trunk, nigger?" "Nothing." "Aw, you gonna lie now?" "There's nothing in there, man." "Well, we're fixin' to find out." "Wait, man! Wait! Get the key out of the ignition! Don't tear up my car, man!" It was too late. The hacking had already started as a broad-shouldered officer tore off the Continental Kit with a tire iron and jimmied open the trunk for a look inside. "You were right, nigger. Nothing. How 'bout that?" The passengers could hear chuckling and one or two loud guffaws. "Be still, children," Ella ordered. She took a deep breath, straightened her shoulders, and stepped out of the car. "What's wrong? Why are you doing this to my husband?" "Shut up, nigger," a skinny officer said, grabbing her by the arm. "Come on over here, and we'll see what kind of trouble you're in, gal." He spun her around and slammed her head and face into the car while he pressed against her, running his hands along the length of her body and eventually slapping a set of handcuffs on her slim wrists. The skinny one checked her all over one more time. Her blouse had lost a button by the time he was done. Ella was silent. So was Nelse as he watched. "Let's get them outta here," a uniformed one muttered. As the couple was shoved into the back of the patrol car, Ella looked over her shoulder and shouted to her children, "Call Hermene! Tell her to call Mrs. Mac!" Then they were gone — red lights flashing, tires spinning, and sirens blaring. Only the men in tan uniforms and the four children in the backseat of the Ford Fairlane were left on the road in front of the big white house that belonged to Pete Flora. After a twenty-minute ride up Highway 45, the patrol car whipped into the graveled back parking lot of the Noxu