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Show Evokes Rights Struggle

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By BARBARA ROUTEN, Tribune correspondent

Published: January 30, 2008

BRANDON - Bob Devin Jones' portrayal of Harry T. Moore, civil-rights activist, executive director of the NAACP of Florida and generally considered America's first civil-rights martyr, attracted more than 40 local residents Jan. 13 to the Brandon Regional Library.

Many were curious to learn about a man whose name and story they did not know.

News of the one-man show also brought back memories for a Seffner resident, Leola Williams Butler, whose personal history was shaped by the brutal murder of Moore and his wife, Harriette, on Christmas night in 1951.

Butler and her husband, the Rev. Elton Butler, sat in the front row at a presentation sponsored by the Florida Humanities Council. During the question-and-answer period that followed Jones' stirring monologue, Butler said she was a fourth-grade student in 1951 at Washington Elementary School in Riviera Beach, where Harriette Moore taught her sister, Claudia Williams Spradley.

Some sources indicate that Harriette Moore taught in Lake Park from 1948 to 1951. Lake Park is near Riviera Beach, close enough for someone unfamiliar with the area to confuse the delineations between the two, like Brandon and Seffner. Butler said emphatically, "No black children went to school in Lake Park. Even children from Jupiter had to go all the way to Riviera Beach to go to school."

"I'd see Mrs. Moore on the campus," Butler said. "I was only 8. ... I thought she was pretty and nice!"

Harry and Harriette Moore were murdered in 1951, when a bomb exploded at their home. Investigators suspected it was a hate crime because of Harry Moore's groundbreaking work in registering black voters, investigating lynchings and police brutality and fighting for equal education for blacks and whites.

Was she aware of the murders when they happened? "Oh, yes, yes, without a doubt! Sometimes my sister and I mention things about it. ... We all knew her house was burned and that a bomb killed them."

After the assassination, the school held an assembly program. "We had to wear white dresses. I don't remember what was said, but the program was to honor Harriette Moore.

"Adults were very uneasy. Mother told us we had to stay together. She had to know where we were at all times. ... Our parents kept us pretty close. We were normal kids, we got to run around and play, but she always wanted to know where we were.

"We learned early how to - how can I say this?" Butler said, pausing to collect a memory. She used a story to explain.

"You know the Kress and McCrory five-and-dime stores? There was a little, independent five-and-dime like them in Riviera Beach. Behind a little island of registers, you could walk straight through.

"One time as a little child, I was busy looking around at things, and I wandered through, past the registers. I wasn't touching anything, just looking, and an older white woman yelled, 'You'd better get out of there before you get yourself in trouble and end up in jail!'

"We lived in an era when you'd have to be real careful not to do things that would get the white community enraged. ... Nonetheless, I had a good childhood."

Over time, there was a transformation. "I can't look back and say that that moment the Moores' murder changed me, but maybe it did," Butler said. "In my life, I wound up being part of the changes. I joined the NAACP as a child member. As a teenager, I was part of the lunch counter sit-ins and getting the pool integrated.

"I went on the Freedom Train to the march in Washington." Butler was speaking of being present for the August 1963 "I Have A Dream" speech in Washington, D.C. by the Rev. Martin Luther King Jr.

"It's been a good life. I'm not naive - there are still things that I see, I still feel the sting of things.

"My mother was a domestic worker for a doctor and his wife and their two children. The two girls were the same ages as my sister and me. We had a great relationship, a unique one. We'd go with our mother to their house, and we'd play with the girls.

"Their mother was an alcoholic, and so, many times, my mother would bring the girls to our house and feed them dinner. We'd play, and then she would take them back home. We were very close.

"Over the years, we lost track of them. When I, one of about 20 black students, entered the Palm Beach Community College nursing program, I recognized Margaret, the girl my age, in a group of white girls."

At this point, Butler's words tumbled faster, and the pitch of her voice rose. "I didn't know she would be there!" she said. "She didn't know I'd be there, either. I was so excited to see her, I called her name - that's the kind of relationship we had."

Butler quietly continued, "I guess I embarrassed her." She paused slightly, and then, with a trace of tears in her voice, said, "She turned her back on me."

A moment of silence followed. Her pain was palpable and contagious.

"But we all have sad memories, don't we? I've just learned to laugh about things and let them go.

"A lot of our paths make us who we are today. I was blessed with a wonderful husband and four wonderful children. Our oldest son, Brian Butler, graduated from college in the ROTC program and just retired from the Army as a lieutenant colonel. Our daughter, Lisa Brooks, teaches at Brandon High School. She's the main reason we moved here three and a half years ago. Our other daughter, Angela Butler, is in Japan and works for the Department of Defense. Our youngest son, Elton Stefan Butler, is a nurse, married with children, in Palm Beach County."

Moore's passion led the charge in the war against discrimination. Butler's life is living proof of the victory.

Send news and photos of community interest to Barbara Routen at The Tampa Tribune, 505 W. Robertson St., Brandon FL 33511, e-mail neighbors@tampabay .rr.com or call (813) 657-4531

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