Wading in for Equality

Clemon P. Jimerson strode onto the beach in Biloxi, Mississippi, decked out in a brand-new outfit. The 14-year-old had been so excited to go to the beach that day that he’d purchased new sandals, a new T-shirt, new swimming trunks, and a shiny new wristwatch for the occasion.

It was April 24, 1960, and Jimerson didn’t go just to sunbathe. He had arrived with 125 other Black Mississippians to take part in a protest, called a wade-in, to desegregate the Whites-only beaches of Harrison County. But his excitement was short-lived. A White mob would also show up that day—armed with deadly weapons.

“They had bats, they had billy clubs, they had brass knuckles, and wood logs,” recalls Jimerson, now 79. “There was a whole group of them, and they started heading down to the beach.”

Clemon P. Jimerson walked onto the beach in Biloxi, Mississippi, wearing a brand-new outfit. The 14-year-old had been so excited to go to the beach that day. He purchased new sandals, a new T-shirt, new swimming trunks, and a shiny new wristwatch for the occasion.

It was April 24, 1960, and Jimerson didn’t go just to sunbathe. He had arrived with 125 other Black Mississippians to take part in a protest. It was called a wade-in, to desegregate the Whites-only beaches of Harrison County. But his excitement was short-lived. A White mob would also show up that day. They were armed with deadly weapons.

“They had bats, they had billy clubs, they had brass knuckles, and wood logs,” recalls Jimerson, now 79. “There was a whole group of them, and they started heading down to the beach.”

The White rioters brutally attacked the Black protesters—while police officers stood by and watched. Several of the protesters suffered serious injuries, including bruised faces and broken teeth.

Today, 65 years after they began, the Biloxi wade-ins are often overlooked in the history of the civil rights movement. But, says J. Michael Butler, a history professor at Flagler College in St. Augustine, Florida, the wade-ins deserve recognition as some of the most important protests of the 1950s and 1960s.

“For the first time in Mississippi’s history, White people were willing to kill” participants in an anti-segregation  protest, Butler says, “and African Americans were prepared to die for the sake of racial equality.”

The White rioters brutally attacked the Black protesters. The police officers stood by and watched. Several of the protesters suffered serious injuries, including bruised faces and broken teeth.

The Biloxi wade-ins are often overlooked in the history of the civil rights movement. But, says J. Michael Butler, a history professor at Flagler College in St. Augustine, Florida, the wade-ins deserve recognition as some of the most important protests of the 1950s and 1960s.

“For the first time in Mississippi’s history, White people were willing to kill” participants in an anti-segregation protest, Butler says, “and African Americans were prepared to die for the sake of racial equality.”

Jimerson grew up at a time of rampant segregation. In 1954, the U.S. Supreme Court ruled in Brown v. Board of Education that “separate but equal” schools for White and Black students violated the Constitution, but Southern states fiercely resisted integration in all forms.

Many schools across the South, including in Biloxi, remained segregated. State and local officials upheld Jim Crow laws, which mandated separate public accommodations, such as restrooms and water fountains, for White and Black people. And White business owners plastered “Whites Only” signs on the windows of their restaurants, diners, and hotels. Those who dared challenge the status quo were often arrested or met with violence from White supremacist groups, such as the Ku Klux Klan.

In Biloxi, the beaches were perhaps the most egregious example of segregation. Federal taxpayer dollars had gone into creating and maintaining the 26-mile-long coastline along the Gulf of Mexico. And yet White property owners on the waterfront—backed by local officials and the police—routinely denied taxpaying Black citizens access to the shores.

“I always wanted to go to the beach,” says Jimerson. “I could see the injustices and wondered why things were the way they were. But that was Jim Crow. You either abide by it or they can attack you and pull you off the bus—and the next thing, you’re hanging from a tree.”

Jimerson grew up at a time of wide-spread segregation. In 1954, the U.S. Supreme Court ruled in Brown v. Board of Education that “separate but equal” schools for White and Black students violated the Constitution. But the Southern states were still fighting integration in all forms.

Many schools across the South, including in Biloxi, remained segregated. State and local officials still upheld Jim Crow laws. White and Black people were still forced to use separate public accommodations, such as restrooms and water fountains. And White business owners put “Whites Only” signs on the windows of their restaurants, diners, and hotels. Those who dared challenge these practices were often arrested or met with violence from White supremacist groups, such as the Ku Klux Klan.

In Biloxi, the beaches were perhaps the biggest example of segregation. Federal taxpayer dollars had gone into creating and maintaining the 26-mile-long coastline along the Gulf of Mexico. But taxpaying Black citizens were denied access to the shore by White property owners. Local officials and the police supported the White business owners.

“I always wanted to go to the beach,” says Jimerson. “I could see the injustices and wondered why things were the way they were. But that was Jim Crow. You either abide by it or they can attack you and pull you off the bus—and the next thing, you’re hanging from a tree.”

Despite the risks, one man had the courage to challenge the injustices. His name was Gilbert R. Mason, and he was a Black doctor in Biloxi. On May 14, 1959, Mason led a group of family members and neighbors into the water for the first wade-in.

A White police officer called the swimmers to shore and ordered them to leave. The next day, Mason went to the police station to ask why they’d been thrown off the beach. He was confronted by Biloxi’s mayor, who simply warned him: “If you go back down there again, we’re going to arrest you. That’s all there is.”

That didn’t stop Mason. In October, he and other Black Biloxi residents presented a petition to the County Board of Supervisors, demanding equal access to the beach. When the board asked Mason if he would settle for a segregated portion, he replied that they wanted to use “every damn inch of it.”

The next day, Biloxi’s Daily Herald ran an article on that meeting, thrusting the issue into the spotlight—and putting a target on Mason’s back. He received death threats, and two others who’d signed the petition were fired from their jobs by their White employers.

Mason refused to back down. He organized another protest for April 17, 1960. But when he pulled up to the lighthouse that day, he found himself all alone. Undeterred, he plunged into the water by himself.

After 10 minutes, a police officer arrested Mason. But news of his demonstration began to spread. As he would later write in his memoir, that day would “turn out to be the last time I had to go swimming alone.”

Despite the risks, one man had the courage to challenge the injustices.
His name was Gilbert R. Mason. He was a Black doctor in Biloxi. On May 14, 1959, Mason led a group of family members and neighbors into the water for the first wade-in.

A White police officer called the swimmers to shore and ordered them to leave. The next day, Mason went to the police station to ask why they’d been thrown off the beach. He was warned by Biloxi’s mayor: “If you go back down there again, we’re going to arrest you. That’s all there is.”

That didn’t stop Mason. In October, he and other Black Biloxi residents presented a petition to the County Board of Supervisors. They demanded equal access to the beach. When the board asked Mason if he would settle for a segregated portion, he replied that they wanted to use “every damn inch of it.”

The next day, Biloxi’s Daily Herald ran an article on that meeting, bringing the issue into the spotlight. Mason now had a target on his back. He received death threats, and two others who’d signed the petition were fired from their jobs by their White employers.

Mason refused to back down. He organized another protest for April 17, 1960. But he found himself all alone when he pulled up to the lighthouse. It did not stop him from going into the water by himself.

After 10 minutes, a police officer arrested Mason. But news of his demonstration began to spread. As he would later write in his memoir, that day would “turn out to be the last time I had to go swimming alone.”

Jimerson was among those who caught wind of Mason’s arrest.
Along with his mother, stepfather, uncle, and sister, he decided to join the next wade-in, which Mason had planned for Easter Sunday, April 24.

That morning, they convened with more than 100 others at a Black-owned funeral home in Biloxi. There, Mason instructed the group on how to take nonviolent direct action—telling them to get rid of anything resembling a weapon—before they made their way to the beach.

At 1 p.m., the protesters stepped onto the sand, carrying their beach umbrellas and towels. Jimerson stripped down to his bathing suit. Then he went swimming, while other members of the group sunbathed, picnicked, and played softball on the shore.

“It was just a nice, wonderful time,” recalls Jimerson.

But it didn’t stay that way for long. From the water, Jimerson watched a White mob descend on the beach. Then he witnessed one of the White rioters snatch a softball bat out of the hands of a Black protester and begin beating him with it.

Jimerson was among those who caught wind of Mason’s arrest. Along with his mother, stepfather, uncle, and sister, he decided to join the next wade-in. It was planned for Easter Sunday, April 24.

That morning, they met with more than 100 others at a Black-owned funeral home in Biloxi. There, Mason instructed the group on how to take nonviolent direct action. He told them to get rid of anything that looked like a weapon. Then they made their way to the beach.

At 1 p.m., the protesters stepped onto the sand, carrying their beach umbrellas and towels. Jimerson stripped down to his bathing suit. Then he went swimming. Other members of the group sunbathed, picnicked, and played softball on the shore.

“It was just a nice, wonderful time,” recalls Jimerson.

But it didn’t stay that way for long. From the water, Jimerson saw a White mob head toward the beach. Then he witnessed one of the White rioters snatch a softball bat out of the hands of a Black protester and begin beating him with it.

The mob spotted Jimerson too. They chased him out of the water and across the highway, where an older White teenager backed him up against a fence. Jimerson’s only option was to “say a prayer” and “ball my fist.”

He threw a punch and missed, but the force of his swing sent his assailant and himself stumbling to the ground. When Jimerson got up, he went one way, and, thankfully, the other teenager went the other.

Jimerson made it home safely, only to realize that he’d left his new wristwatch and clothes down on the beach. He went back with his stepfather to look for them, but all they found were White men patrolling the sand—and a heap of belongings engulfed in flames.

“My stepfather looked at me and said, ‘We can get you a new watch and clothing, but we can’t get you another life,’” recalls Jimerson.

That evening, Mason treated the injured protesters as violence raged throughout the city. Eight Black men and two White men suffered gunshot wounds, according to an article in The New York Times, which called it “the worst racial riot in Mississippi history.” By sunrise, police had arrested 22 Black people and only 2 White people.

The mob spotted Jimerson too. They chased him out of the water. He ran across the highway, where an older White teenager backed him up against a fence. Jimerson’s only option was to “say a prayer” and “ball my fist.”

He threw a punch and missed. The force of his swing sent his assailant and himself stumbling to the ground. When Jimerson got up, he ran one way, and, thankfully, the other teenager went the other.

Jimerson made it home safely. He then realized that he’d left his new wristwatch and clothes down on the beach. He went back with his stepfather to look for them. When they got there, all they found were White men patrolling the sand and a pile of belongings on fire.

“My stepfather looked at me and said, ‘We can get you a new watch and clothing, but we can’t get you another life,’” recalls Jimerson.

That evening, Mason treated the injured protesters as violence raged throughout the city. Eight Black men and two White men suffered gunshot wounds, according to an article in The New York Times. The article went on to call it “the worst racial riot in Mississippi history.” By sunrise, police had arrested 22 Black people and only 2 White people.

The horrific events captured the nation’s attention, inspiring wade-ins at other segregated beaches—from Texas to New Jersey. On May 17, 1960, the U.S. Justice Department took up the Biloxi protesters’ cause, suing Harrison County for denying Black citizens access to federally funded beaches.

It would take years for that case to weave its way through the courts. In the meantime, Mason would return to the beach in 1963 with 70 others for one final wade-in. Once again, they were greeted by a crowd of White rioters. They set Mason’s car on fire, and he and 70 others were arrested for “trespassing.” But this time, the police prevented physical violence.

The horrific events captured the nation’s attention. Wade-ins were held at other segregated beaches from Texas to New Jersey. On May 17, 1960, the U.S. Justice Department took up the Biloxi protesters’ cause, suing Harrison County for denying Black citizens access to federally funded beaches.

It would take years for that case to make its way through the courts. In the meantime, Mason would return to the beach in 1963 with 70 others for one final wade-in. Once again, they were greeted by a crowd of White rioters. They set Mason’s car on fire. He and 70 others were arrested for “trespassing.” But this time, the police prevented physical violence.

Finally, in 1968, a judge ruled in favor of integrating the beaches. At long last, the waters off the coast of Mississippi were open to all, regardless of skin color.

But today, 65 years after the demonstrations began, they’re not often mentioned in the same breath as other monumental civil rights protests, such as the Greensboro sit-ins and the Montgomery bus boycott.

Jimerson often returns to the same beach where, as a teenager, he came up against the violent mob—only now he brings his grandchildren.

“It just brings me tears, joy, and happiness to go back and see my grandchild playing with his White friend on the beach,” says Jimerson. Looking back on the protests, he adds, “I just think it was the grace of God that put me in that position at the age of 14.”

Finally, in 1968, a judge ruled in favor of integrating the beaches. Finally, the waters off the coast of Mississippi were open to all, regardless of skin color.

But today, the wade-ins aren’t mentioned as much as other monumental civil rights protests, such as the Greensboro sit-ins and the Montgomery bus boycott.

Jimerson often returns to the same beach where, as a teenager, he came up against the violent mob. Now he brings his grandchildren.

“It just brings me tears, joy, and happiness to go back and see my grandchild playing with his White friend on the beach,” says Jimerson. Looking back on the protests, he adds, “I just think it was the grace of God that put me in that position at the age of 14.”