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“Thank you, that’s very kind,” I started. “I’m so glad to meet you all. Mr. McMillian told me
he had a large family, but I didn’t expect so many of you to be here. I saw him today, and he
wants me to pass along his thanks and his gratitude to all of you for sticking by him. I hope
you know how much your support means. He has to wake up on death row every morning,
and that’s not easy. But he knows he’s not alone. He talks about you all the time.”
“Sit down, Mr. Stevenson,” someone shouted. I took a seat on an empty couch that seemed
to have been reserved for me and Minnie sat down beside me. Everyone else stood, facing me.
“We don’t have any money. We gave it all to the first lawyer,” called out one of the men.
“I understand that, and I won’t take a penny. I work for a nonprofit law office, and we
provide legal assistance at no cost to the people we represent,” I replied.
“Well, how do you pay the bills?” asked one young woman. People laughed at the question.
“We get donations from foundations and people who support our work.”
“Well, you get Johnny D home, and I’ll make all kinds of donations,” said another woman
slyly. People laughed and I smiled.
An older woman spoke up. It was Armelia Hand. “We don’t have much, Mr. Stevenson, but
you have someone we love in your care. Anything we have, you have. These people have
broken our hearts,” she said.
I began answering questions and listening to comments and testimonials about Walter, the
town, race, the police, the trial, and the way the whole family was now being treated by
people in the community. The hours passed, and I knew that I had probably exhausted
whatever helpful information could be obtained from Walter’s family, but folks still wanted to
talk. There seemed to be therapeutic relief in voicing their concerns to me. Before long I
heard some hopefulness in their questions and comments. I explained the appeals process and
talked about the kind of issues that were already apparent from the record. I began to feel
encouraged that some of the information I provided maybe eased their anxiety. We started to
joke some, and before I knew it I felt embraced in a way that energized me.
An older woman had given me a tall glass of sweet iced tea as I sat there listening and
responding to questions. I drank the first glass thirstily because I was a little nervous (the tea
was very good). The woman watched me drain the glass and smiled at me with a look of
great satisfaction. She quickly filled the glass, and no matter how much or how little I drank,
she minded my glass religiously the entire evening. After over three hours, Minnie grabbed
my hand and announced that they should let me go. It was close to midnight, and it would
take me at least two hours to get to Montgomery. I said my farewells and exchanged hugs
with practically everyone in the room before stepping out into the dark night.
December is rarely bitter cold in South Alabama during the day, but at night the
temperatures can drop, a dramatic reminder that it’s winter, even in the South. Without an
overcoat, I cranked up the heat for the long drive home after dropping Minnie and Jackie
back at their house. The meeting with the family had been inspiring. There were clearly a lot
of people who cared deeply about Walter and consequently cared about what I did and how I
could help. But it was also clear that people had been traumatized by what had happened.
Several of the people I met weren’t actually related but had been at the fish fry on the day of
the crime. They were so deeply disturbed by Walter’s conviction that they, too, had come
over when they heard that I was coming. They needed a place to share their hurt and
confusion.