Jun '24 (edited) • General discussion
Poem by A.J. Smitherman-Entitled: The Tulsa Race Riot and Massacre
Welcome to all of the new members. I'm so excited to have you here on this special day. June 1st is a day of commemoration for those that lost everything including over 300 that lost their lives 103 years ago today. My great-grandfather A.J. Smitherman wrote an epic poem and Eulogy to the Martyrs entitled: The Tulsa Race Riot and Massacre.
Most have never seen the entire poem as only pieces of it are out there online and in publications.
I ask that rather than copy and paste the poem online, please invite people to join the group by sending them to BlackWallStreet100.com. Thank you all for your interest!
In honor of the 103rd Anniversary of the Tulsa Massacre, here is the poem along with a video of my cousin, reciting the Eulogy that follows the poem.
The Tulsa Race Riot and Massacre
by
A.J. SMITHERMAN
Whence those sounds in all directions
Firearms cracking everywhere;
Men and women all excited,
Cries of rioting fill the air.
Men with guns and ammunition,
Rushing madly to the fray,
Shooting, cursing, laughing, crying,
"Come on, boys, come on this way!"
"They are trying to lynch our comrade,
Without cause in law defi;
Get your guns and help defend him;
Let's protect him, win or die.”
'Twas the cry of Negro manhood,
Rallying to the cause of right,
Readying to suppress the lawless,
Anxious for a chance to fight.
So they marched against the mobbists
Gathered now about the jail,
While the sheriff stood there pleading,
Law and order to prevail.
Thus responding to their duty,
Like true soldiers that they were,
Black men face the lawless white men
Under duty's urgent spur.
Cries of "Let us have the nigger" "
Lynch him, kill him" came the shout,
And at once there came an answer
When a sharp report rang out--
"Stand back men, there'll be no lynching"
Black men cried, and not in fun Bang! Bang! Bang!
three quick shots followed,
And the battle had begun.
In the fusillade that followed,
Four white lynchers kissed the dust,
Many more fell badly wounded,
Victims of their hellish lust.
Quick they fled in all directions,
Panic stricken, filled with fear,
Leaving their intended victim,
As the news spread far and near.
Scattered now in great confusion
Filled with vengeance all anew
Leaders of the lynching party
Planned for something else to do.
"Blacks prevent a Negro's lynching"
Read a bold newspaper head,
In an extra night edition,
"Fifty Whites reported dead".
Rallied now with reinforcements Brave (?)
white men five thousand strong
Marched upon the Black defenders
With their usual battle song:
"Get the niggers" was their slogan,
"Kill them, burn them, set the pace.
Let them know that we are white men,
Teach them how to keep their place.
"Forward! March! ! command was given,
And the tread of feet was heard,
Marching on the Colored district,
In protest there came no word.
In the meantime rabid hoodlums
Now turned loose without restraint
Helped themselves to things of value
More than useless to complain.
Guns were taken by the hundreds,
Ammunition all in sight
Reign of murder, theft and plunder
Was the order of the night.
But our boys who learned the lesson
On the blood-stained soil of France,
How to fight on the defensive
Purposed not to take a chance.
Like a flash they came together,
Word was passed along the line:
"No white man must cross the border;
Shoot to kill and shoot in time!"
"Ready, Fire!" and then a volley
From the mob whose skins were white
"Give 'em hell, boys", cried the leader,
"Soon we'll put 'em all to flight".
But they got a warm reception
From black men who had no fear,
Who while fighting they were singing:
"Come on Boys, the Gang's all here."
Rapid firing guns were shooting,
Men were falling by the score,
'Till the white men quite defeated
Sent the word "We want no more."
Nine p.m. the trouble started,
Two a.m. the thing was done.
And the victory for the black men
Counted almost four to one.
Then the whites went into council,
Hoping to reprise their loss,
Planned the massacre that followed,
Dared to win at any cost.
June the First at 5 a.m.
Three long whistle Blast were heard,
Giving sign for concert action,
To that cold blood-thirsty herd.
At the signal from the whistle
Aerplanes were seen to fly,
Dropping bombs and high explosives,
Hell was falling from the sky!
On all sides the mob had gathered
Talking in excited tones,
With machine guns, ready mounted,
Trained upon a thousand homes.
Hark! the sounds of roaring battle
As they charged without relent ,
Shooting women, men and children,
Plying torches as they went.
Here and there the fight was waging
Never ceasing, not a pause,
Black men, like the ancient Trojans,
Fought and died to save a cause .
All night long a mother waited
For her husband to return,
Every minute filled with horror,
Less the worse she soon would learn.
“Children!” sadly called the mother
“Father's been away all night,
In the fray where duty calls him,
But we know he's in the right!”
(Dialogue)
“Mother, dear, I see them coming!
White men dressed in khaki brown!”
“Oh, dear son, all night I've worried,
I'm sick and tired, I must lie down.”
“Mother, look! They're coming nearer;
See, they're not a block away --
Oh let’s hide down in the basement,
Come on, mother, please I pray!”
To the basement they descended
Thinking that they might escape,
Hoping that some friend would find them
And make their rescue ere too late.
“Mother, please let me phone Daddy
Oh, if Dad was only here!
I know Dad would make ‘em leave us!”
“Poor little darlings, have no fear.”
“Let us trust the heavenly Father,
If your shot make no outcry;
If I'm shot console each other --
More than this I scarce could die!”
“Quiet, children, do not murmur!
Come to me,” the mother called,
“If they learn that we are in here,
They will surely kill us all.”
Fondly she caressed her children,
And to eat she said farewell,
Kneeling then they prayed together,
Feeling pangs is no tongue can tell.
PRAYER
“Father, God of all creation,
Do not leave us thus to die;
Oh, dear Savior, spare these dear ones;
Let this danger pass us by.”
Once more they caressed each other,
Mother, children, all in tears;
But, thank God, there's room for courage
“Till the last hope disappears!
Strangely mingling with their sorrow
As they faced apparent doom,
Came the soft, sweet strains of music,
Pealing forth, “One Day in June.”
Music has its many virtues,
Plays it's part with young and old,
Sometimes soothes the aching heart, but
Not the anguish of the soul.
Bent on murder, out for plunder,
Hoodlums on their mission gay,
Pausing just inside the parlor,
Set the phonograph to play,
Thus “they” stood there, heartsick, speechless,
Hearing plainly every sound,
Heard the fiends cry out “All ready”
Saw the coal oil trickle down.
Then they heard the roaring blazes
When the torch had been applied,
Soon they heard the following timber,
“Oh, we're lost!” the mother cried.
Through the smoke and almost stifled,
Groping gasping for their breath,
Mother saved herself and children,
From a cruel and fiery death.
Not alone their home was burning,
Not alone they suffered so,
Clouds of smoke ascending skyward,
Told the awful tales of woe.
Picture now a quaint old cottage,
Gray with age and whether wear,
Like the aged couple in it- -
Man and wife who knelt in prayer.
In they rushed-- the mob-- the cowards!
“Get out, niggers, quick!” they said,
Then a flash from two revolvers,
And their victims laid there dead.
Fifty years they’d lived together,
Loyal, faithful, every day,
As defying death to part them,
Hand-in-hand the two now lay.
Through the streets we all were driven
At the point of sword or gun,
To detention camps provided
‘Ere the massacre had begun.
In the ballparks, in the churches,
In the halls the throngs were packed.
Women men and little children,
Scarcely clothing on their backs.
Some were sick and some were dying,
Some in sorrow some in mirth,
Women suffering from excitement,
Prematurely giving birth.
In the state of terrible horror
Standing out in bold relief,
Was the work of Red Cross women,
Working silently in grief.
From their eyes the tears were welling,
Tears of sorrow and regret,
Trying their best to soothe affliction,
Which their brothers had beset.
CONCLUSION
You have heard the awful story,
How it made the world see red,
When the Huns invaded Belgium,
On the strength of might, ‘tis said.
But such crimes against the Negro
In these proud United States,
Meet the plaudits of the masses
Even burnings at the stakes.
Tulsa with her teeming millions
Paid the toll for racial strife,
But her black men want to victory,
With their blood they paid the price.
Nobly they had stopped the lynching,
Taught a lesson for all time,
Saved a man the court has since found
innocent of any crime.
Though they fought the sacrificial
Fight, with banners flying high,
Yet the thing of more importance
Is the way they fought--and why!
Eulogy to the Tulsa martyrs
If I could stand in the midst of the dead bodies of those brave black man who fell in the Tulsa riot and massacre, as martyrs to the greatest cause it has ever been human privilege to espouse,
I would lift my eyes and adoration and gratitude to the great God of the universe who gave us their being and my boys to their fellow man throughout this Broad land and on behalf of a grateful race pay homage to their blessed memory by the way have a eulogy it may well be said that because of them, the hope of our race looms brighter in the world has been made some better;
Not because they lived in it but because they died as they did true martyrs to a sacred cause! Fighting against overwhelming odds, and without hope of surviving the conflict, these men gave their all that a great principle might try amp, it is better to fight, and die if need be, then to live, if to live means to compromise manhood there is no choice for a man who is a man, no matter what the rounds of life may hold, nor how sweet the unveiled future may appear, but to fight, when contumelie is the sting and is biting die, if perchance he cannot win.
Tis the honor and glory of any man to give his all for the things he holds dear. Sleep! Sleep on, my fallen comrades, even beyond the veil of death, in the consciousness that you have contributed a full measure to the cause of human justice, you're active beings we have no more these, and all that in them was, you freely gave on the altar of human sacrifice but your spirits abide yet with us a glorious inspiration to 12 million kindred souls and their posterity to unborn generations who shall ever cherish your memory and emulate them noble example you have left us sleep! Sleep on, brave souls, and may God give peace to your ashes!
6
0 comments
Poem by A.J. Smitherman-Entitled: The Tulsa Race Riot and Massacre
powered by
skool.com/black-wall-street-university-2991
This community/podcast explores how we can create a new Black Wall Street utilizing AI/technology. We can learn from our history, REGENERATE & BUILD!
Suggested communities
Powered by