Free Pillar of Fire by Taylor Branch Page B

sticky local fears of Negro St. Augustine, the adults agitated and goaded themselves over their paralysis until one night the pastor of First Baptist Church froze up inside while presiding over an NAACP chapter meeting—remaining dysfunctional, as though struck dumb—and when none of the usual professionals came forward, Roscoe Halyard “volunteered” Fannie Fulwood into the chair. Her credentials were lifelong service and a strong belief in memorials for redress, but Dr. Robert Hayling, as youth adviser of her NAACP chapter, pushed aggressively from behind in keeping with a lesson from Henry Thomas: that it was difficult for confrontation to be taken seriously amid old hometown ties, and that the spark of extraordinary personal challenge was more likely to ignite among strangers. As the new Negro dentist in St. Augustine, Hayling did not see a life’s story behind most faces in town. He thought a few picket lines were just the thing to shake these people out of their first-name illusions.
    The threat of pickets stirred up the negotiations at Fannie Fulwood’s house, opening to Johnson’s aide Reedy some of the internal politics on both sides. From New York, Roy Wilkins called to remind his St. Augustine branch that no picketing proposals had been cleared through NAACP channels, which were nearly as centralized and formal as the FBI’s, and that pickets could cause an “international incident” owing to the presence of the Spanish ambassador. Loyalists spoke up for Wilkins and the tested chain of command, but Hayling’s supporters grumbled about how the NAACP “national boys” were always telling them what to do, posing as the pilots of a finely tuned national policy machine even though the only telephone in their statewide Florida NAACP office had been disconnected many months ago for failure to pay a $159 phone bill. Pickets were simple. All they needed were a handful of brave people, some cardboard, and unobjectionable American messages. What could be wrong with that?
    For Reedy, the scandalous threat of Negro pickets actually gained leverage on the white side of town to secure Johnson’s most visible pledge of an integrated banquet. When the whites also agreed to hold a special City Commission meeting the very next day on the more lasting segregation issues beyond the banquet, such as the “colored” signs and the all-white city library, Reedy leaned on the NAACP members to give up the pickets for the deal. Almost immediately, he had to shift direction again to offset a wave of trepidation that ran through some of Fulwood’s colleagues. Exactly who would be willing to go now that the banquet was more than a bargaining issue? A lack of suitable clothing and other deferential excuses welled up, along with the fear of lost jobs. Some told Reedy of receiving phone threats already. They knew there could be no more sensitive breach of segregation than a banquet at the Ponce de León Hotel, the double-towered Moorish castle built almost on the scale of the Alhambra by Henry Flagler—partner of the original John D. Rockefeller and pioneer tycoon of Florida fantasy. The first Negroes to present themselves there as guests instead of doormen would make themselves as conspicuous as the Ponce itself.
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    M ARTIN L UTHER K ING himself would come to St. Augustine for bloody demonstrations in the coming year, but those cataclysms could scarcely match the quiet ripples of intimidation before this banquet. Katherine Twine, an NAACP stalwart who would lead four teams to jail in 1964, took off her best evening dress, unable to go. Her husband, Henry, a postman whom everyone called simply Twine, agreed to escort Fannie Fulwood from the rendezvous point. They mustered only ten volunteers for a motorcade of apprehension to the hotel, where Reedy, true to his promise, met them outside. The Vice President’s assistant guided them through the palm gardens and Spanish