You can't even--you can't even imagine what we went through.
I started at the age of 12. My first jail time was three days at the age of 12.
People in Americus and Sumter County have no idea what we went through because they didn't know.
They did not know and--and no one can talk about that stockade but these girls.
I knew that was bad.
Okay can we go here?
-Yes, ma'am. It's open. -Okay.
In the city, it was a--during that time was a very violent civil rights movement
that started and we were protesting as children.
My grandmother started taking me to mass meetings out in the country.
And going with her, I became very concerned about the issues.
Not being able to eat in restaurants, not being able to drink out the same water fountain.
Those type things were just injustices.
I was told about the mass meet. And I asked what is a mass meeting?
It's a gathering of people. We're gonna come together and we're gonna talk about the situation
that's going on right here in Sumter County, Americus, Georgia.
I attend the mass meetings for over a year before I--you know--went to jail.
-And how old were you in '63? -I was 13.
On the day that I was arrested, we was marching at the Martin Theatre.
There was a white side at the Martin Theatre and there was a black side.
They refused us of tickets to purchase.
Evidently the young lady who was selling the tickets must have called the police department.
All of a sudden, we had a rush of policemen coming down to that area.
The bathroom wasn't here. There was one toilet right here on the side,
and then there was a different shower here.
But this was our home.
I joined a demonstration over at Allen Chapel.
When we got there, we knelt down and prayed in front of the police station.
When we knelt down to pray, Chief Chambliss came out and asked us to disperse.
And we did not, so they herded us like cattle.
I thought we were going to jail in Americus.
No they sent us out of town to Dawson, Georgia.
Transfer truck, a 16-wheeler, waiting for us at the back of the jail.
And they put us on that transfer truck and we had to stand up all the way the Dawson.
But the moment they closed that back door, it was dark.
I couldn't see--we couldn't see one other other in that truck.
This was our home.
This is the first time I've been back. This is my first time back down here.
Even when Essence Magazine came, I didn't come.
-What's it like?
-It's all right, baby. It's all right. It's genuine.
Parents knew that we was in Dawson, but now you're moving us from Dawson.
Nobody know where we are. We didn't even know where we were.
So we were pushed in this dirty stockade--old stockade--that had been closed down for years and years
with no facility, no bed, and no water, no commode, no running commode.
We slept on the hard, cold cement floor.
When we got there, we were put in a sweat box overnight, with a 12-year-old there.
Can't understand it.
You know like you go to prison and--what they what they call it when they put you in the hole?
That's what this was.
It drained all the water from our bodies, and when we walked out the floor was full.
It was a pool of water on the floor.
Only one guy, an older gentleman, we called him Pops.
His last name we found out was Mr. Countryman.
That wore beat up overalls.
One of the girls was so small that guy would take her out.
He would take her over in the room with him and feed her.
Sandra. Okay, Sandra.
He would feed San and give her a little stuff and she'd come back and share.
And while she was there, Mr. Story--the dogcatcher--would come.
And he said, "Your parents need to know."
And so he went around on Sunday morning to the
parents' house and let the parents know where their kids were.
When I first came back, I still didn't shed no tears.
But my cousin Sandra, she come out there and she drive
down and sit on the lot out there.
And the workers used to come out there and check and make sure she was all right.
She says she feel like a piece of her was always left here.
One of the stockade young girls who was sitting on the floor in the picture that you see.
At the time, she did not know-- we did not know--know that she was pregnant.
She had no idea.
But today she has a healthy son who's a veteran. Thank God.
When we got out of the stockade, school had already started.
Nobody greeted us or had any kind of reception when we got out.
Everybody went back to their own little environment.
So we'd never talked to each other about it. We never said a word,
with nobody ever saying anything to make us feel like you know they were gonna
help us come up and come up to par.
I don't know--it's just--it's just something that look like it was just closed.
It was just closed and none of us--
everybody just shut down.
And my mom would just cry, cry because she was so worried about me.
And she would try to talk and everytime she would say ask me something,
I just run out of the house.
In fact, I'd go get under the house.
We want this to serve as a good lesson for our children all over the world.
Not just here locally. And I feel that--I feel like you know that nomination will
help us bring closure to some of the things that we've been searching for.