Jackson Free Press

We weren't stopping at every convenience store in West Jackson. Todd and I were primarily distributing the Jackson Free Press to beauty and barbershops, barbecue spots, libraries and nightclubs—places where West Jacksonians like to congregate and, hopefully, look through magazines. Besides, it was raining torrents, and stopping in front of a strip of businesses made our task a little more efficient and a little less water-logged. But the tiny store at the southwest corner of Jackson State looked too charming to pass up. Plus, it was probably the kind of place that JSU students stop into constantly for coffee and snacks. It would be perfect for the Jackson Free Press.

I walked in smiling brightly and repeated my spiel to the handsome African-American 30-something man behind the counter: "This is a new magazine that covers all of Jackson, and we'd like to leave a stack here if you don't mind." He looked interested and darted around the counter as I peered around for local weeklies and didn't see any. "Sure, we'd love to," he said brightly. I handed him the stack and ran back to the Toyota to get a rack. When I walked back in the door, he was holding the magazine and looking at me with a mixture of surprise and curiosity.

"My grandfather was involved with a newspaper with a name like that," he said. "It was called the Mississippi Free Press."

I caught my breath. "Who was your grandfather?"

"R.L.T. Smith."

I swallowed, feeling my tears trying to well up. I hoped he would appreciate what I was about to say.

"We chose the name to pay homage to the Mississippi Free Press and what they were trying to do then. We mean it respectfully; we know they had a tougher row to hoe. But our goals are similar." The businessman—Royce Smith, as I would soon learn—also seemed to be blinking back tears as he flipped through the magazine. "I can't believe it," he said, choking a bit. "I can't wait to tell my brother."

Rev. Robert L. T. Smith, too, owned a Jackson grocery store in the early 1960s. He was also a preacher and pivotal force in the Civil Rights Movement in Mississippi. A daring man whose Jackson home was often fired into by fleeing bigots, Smith was the first black man to run for Congress since Reconstruction ended and Jim Crow began. Bob Moses, the leader of Mississippi Freedom Summer in 1964 and now an algebra teacher at Lanier High School, was his campaign manager. "Smith's son minded the store while his father and Moses spent the winter and early spring traveling by car up and down Highway 51, the main route between Jackson and New Orleans, campaigning in any piney-woods church, general store, or Masonic Lodge that would provide a soapbox for the Reverend Smith to stand upon," wrote Seth Cagin and Philip Dray in their book "We Are Not Afraid." Moses and Smith were arrested here in Jackson for trying to integrate the whites-only visitors' gallery at the state Legislature. And they won a ruling by the Federal Communications Commission giving black candidates equal airtime in Jackson.

Much of their message was spread by the Mississippi Free Press, a newspaper that Medgar Evers dreamed up that became a multiracial effort to tell the truth, no matter who it offended, in the state. White attorney Bill Higgs helped fund it; white publisher Hazel Brannon Smith published it in Lexington. At the time, the media here was completely controlled by segregationists, giving the White Citizens Council special sections and fueling race hatred. Meantime, the Free Press came along and tried to tell stories people needed to hear, stories that would, hopefully, draw together people who didn't know they shared common goals. For instance, it was used to disseminate information about a boycott of segregationist businesses. Owning a copy was grounds for state sedition charges. Every possible attempt was made to censor the multiracial news effort.

Obviously, these are different times, and we do not face the same challenges. A primary goal of this magazine is to go where no recent Jackson publication has gone before, geographically and otherwise. It's hard for me to express how serious our team is about this goal. When I came back here in June 2001, I found a city filled with an amalgam of wonderful people, unbelievable music and writers and poets, an inferiority complex the size of the Superdome, a bruised legacy from our segregated past—and way too little civic pride. Some of the people who have moved to suburbia may not want to live in an integrated, cohesive Jackson community—a real city—but a whole bunch of Jackson residents do. So do the ones moving in from other places who recognize the city's potential and are willing to help it grow into a city that rivals, or surpasses, cities like Austin or Memphis. We believe a good local magazine can help tremendously to build that community.

But it won't build anything if it isn't readily available to all readers. A city magazine must reach the entire city in a way that no other publication currently does. So after our first issue came off the presses, Todd and I loaded several thousand into the back of our old Toyota Tercel and headed west from our office on East Fortification. We spent two days finding distribution spots where most other publications don't bother to go. And, along the way, we met Royce Smith, who liked that I knew his grandfather was a hero for us all, and understands what we're trying to do and why we want to do it. We're simply trying to pick up where others left off and serve as a voice in a diverse, vibrant community—the same vision Royce's grandfather must have had. He helped pave the way for us to do this now.

The Jackson Free Press can never pretend to be as important as the Mississippi Free Press was when Royce's grandfather was running for Congress and getting shot at. But we'll do our damnedest to live up to the legacy of the name we honor.

Wish us luck. Better yet, help us.

Donna Ladd is editor-in-chief of the Jackson Free Press.