Defiant Growing up in the Jim Crow South

Review by Booklist Review

In 1988, author Wade Hudson founded a publishing company with his wife, Cheryl Hudson, to provide the books for Black children and young adults that he wished he'd had as a young Black boy growing up in Mansfield, Louisiana. This admirable memoir is a welcome addition to those works. Hudson begins by recounting how, shortly after finishing university, he finds himself in solitary confinement in a Baton Rouge jail, accused of conspiracy to murder the mayor and other officials; he was falsely targeted because of his civil rights activism and leadership of an organization that helped Black kids. He then flashes back to his 1950s and '60s childhood, playing football and baseball and idolizing icons like Jackie Robinson. He loved writing poetry and short stories but never imagined becoming a writer because he thought that was only for white people. He recalls how civil rights activists of the time inspired his own activism, and his explanation of his desperate plan to avoid the Vietnam War draft is especially riveting. Hudson effectively draws parallels between current civil rights protests, like Colin Kaepernick's taking a knee, to historical events, showing readers that today's protests are a continuation of the social rights protests of the past. With his compelling memoir, Hudson will inspire young readers to emulate his ideals and accomplishments.

From Booklist, Copyright (c) American Library Association. Used with permission.

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Review by Publisher's Weekly Review

In this absorbing, conversational memoir, writer and cofounder of Just Us Books Hudson (b. 1946) begins in media res, starting with his jailing over fabricated evidence "a little more than five years" after moving from Mansfield, La., to attend Southern University in Baton Rouge, where he and fellow community activists attempt to "deal with conditions in the Black community caused principally by racism and discrimination." From there, Hudson jumps further back to his youth, detailing childhood "shenanigans" with his close-knit family as well as personal reflections on significant events, such as how the successes of Jackie Robinson and other Black athletes encouraged Black youth to consider sports stardom a viable dream. The colloquial narrative effectively offers a glimpse into a segregated civil rights--era Southern experience, while gently surveying figures in Hudson's community. On his father serving in WWII, Hudson writes gracefully, "My father had risked his life for democracy, but, for him, freedom remained just a stale hope, a wishful thought, an unfulfilled dream." Adroitly providing cultural references and historical context, Hudson traces his life through young adulthood, discussing his education and involvement in the civil rights movement within a powerful framework and conclusion. Front matter features a preface; back matter includes an afterword, notes, sources, and a timeline. Ages 10--up. (Oct.)

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Review by School Library Journal Review

Gr 9 Up--The author, publisher, and civil rights activist spent his formative years in Mansfield, Louisiana. Nicknamed Brother, Hudson was introduced to leadership at an early age as he began to organize baseball teams, plays, and other projects. The adults in his life saw this natural ability and began to encourage him to hone these skills. While his life was filled with family, faith, and love, Hudson was slowly becoming aware of the injustices inflicted on his community. He noticed the ways Jim Crow laws impacted the lives of his friends and family and wondered why. His desire for progress led him to create the civil rights organization S.O.U.L (Society for Opportunity, Unity, and Leadership). The organization and the police's response to it would lead Hudson to a life of activism. This memoir offers a snapshot of a community enriched by love and chained by systemic racism. VERDICT A great pick for public and school libraries looking for firsthand accounts of the effects of Jim Crow on young people.--Desiree Thomas, Worthington Lib., OH

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Review by Horn Book Review

Co-founder (with his wife, Cheryl Willis Hudson) of the pioneering Black publishing company Just Us Books, Wade Hudson here recalls his childhood and teen years in the small northern Louisiana town of Mansfield in the 1950s and 1960s. Hudson opens and closes the memoir with an account of being arrested on a ginned-up conspiracy charge while he was a student activist at Southern University in Baton Rouge. In between, we see his formative years in Mansfield, where as a seventh grader he notes, "I could count on one hand the number of White kids my age that I had seen." Church, current events, and baseball (pitcher Vida Blue was a teammate) were Wade's preoccupations, as well as a growing racial consciousness nurtured by all of the above. The telling is plainspoken and direct, and the town, filled with friends and extended family, is practically a character in itself. It takes a village, indeed. Appended matter includes notes, sources, and a timeline to place Hudson's story within its tumultuous context. Roger Sutton November/December 2021 p.131(c) Copyright 2021. The Horn Book, Inc., a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.

(c) Copyright The Horn Book, Inc., a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.

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Review by Kirkus Book Review

Hudson enlightens young readers about his civil rights--era experiences that set the foundation for a lifelong commitment to fighting for justice. Alongside his wife and business partner, Cheryl Willis Hudson, Hudson has been on a celebrated run delivering diverse texts for young readers. This memoir provides witness to the formative experiences that shaped him, beginning in Mansfield, Louisiana, one of many "small rural towns across the South that White people controlled virtually unimpeded," where the Black community demonstrated how "creative, resilient, dedicated, tough, and loving they were." Readers follow his journey through school, honing his writing skills and being mentored by great teachers. In a world rife with segregation and unequal resources, Hudson excels with his community's support, becoming the first in his family to attend college. This is the mid-1960s, and his eyes are set on role models like trailblazer Thurgood Marshall. He's transformed by the Black literature of Langston Hughes, Richard Wright, Ralph Ellison, Margaret Walker, and others and present to heed the call of rising student activism. Readers will be awed by what it means to find one's purpose during a metamorphic time in history and contribute to progressive social change--then bring it all back home to those who set you flowing in the first place. Strong storytelling and significant cultural references shine throughout. This will be a powerful read alongside the contemporary, award-winning texts that the Hudsons have nurtured. Powerful testimony from a children's literature legend. (historical notes, sources, timeline) (Memoir. 10-14) Copyright (c) Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.

Copyright (c) Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.

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Chapter 1 Civil Rights and Protests So this is what solitary confinement is like? I asked myself, shaking my head. There was no one else in the tiny eight-­foot-­by-­eight-­foot cell to hear me. A small sink near a toilet stood out. There were no windows. A thin mattress with a sheet and a blanket thrown over it rested on the concrete floor. There was no pillow. I had thought the dormitory rooms on the campus of Southern University, the institution that I attended, were small. They now seemed like large suites at the Waldorf Astoria in New York City compared to this suffocating place. I sat down on the mattress and leaned against the brick wall. I didn't know what was happening. Why had a warrant been issued for my arrest? I hadn't done anything illegal! A little more than an hour earlier, I had been in a car with two friends, on our way to a grocery store. With the windows rolled down, we were enjoying the nice spring breeze that blew into the car and cooled us off. The latest R & B hits played loudly on the radio. Suddenly, a news flash interrupted our groove and caught our attention. Two Negro men were arrested this morning in the Scotlandville section of Baton Rouge. They have been identified as Alphonse Snedecor and Frank A. Stewart. Both men are wanted for conspiracy to murder Baton Rouge mayor Woody Dumas and a number of other city officials, authorities said. A press conference will be held later today, when more details will be disclosed. A third man identified as Wade Hudson is being sought, authorities added. Both Stewart and Hudson are leaders of SOUL, a civil rights organization with headquarters in the Scotlandville section of Baton Rouge. Snedecor, a Baton Rouge native, is also a member of the group. No one said a word as the music began to play again. It was as if the world had stopped. James Holden, Stewart's cousin and the owner and driver of the car we were riding in, slammed his open hand hard against the steering wheel. "What the . . . !" He didn't finish the sentence. "Damn! Damn! They must have picked up Frank just after we left. This is bad." "Who else they gonna arrest?" Barbara George, the third member of our trio, asked. The fear in her voice was apparent. I didn't say anything. Staring at nothing in particular, I began thinking about all the other young Black freedom fighters around the country who had been arrested or killed. I had even donated to fundraising efforts for many of them. I thought about Fred Hampton and Mark Clark, Black Panthers leaders who had been killed a few months earlier by the police in Chicago. Would Frank, Alphonse, or I become three more casualties? "Holden! Take me to the bus station," I blurted. "I gotta get out of Dodge, man! I gotta get out of town. These folks will either kill me or send me to prison for the rest of my life. I got to get out of here!" Holden pulled over to the side of the road and stopped the car. He and Barbara looked at me. "That's what you want to do?" Holden asked pointedly. "Yeah, man, I'm splitting! These are crazy White folks! I don't know what they'll do. You heard what the man said on the radio. They're accusing us of trying to kill the mayor and some other White officials." "But you can't go to the bus station," Barbara interjected. "Cops are probably there, too, and at the airport." "Well, drop me off at the bus station in Cheneyville or some other town not too far from here. I ain't going to jail for the rest of my life!" I looked around, now concerned that the police might be closing in on us. "Wade, if you run and they catch up with you, they'll shoot you. I'm telling you. They'll shoot you." "Barbara is right," Holden added. "They already got Frank and Alphonse. If they do catch you, it'll just look like you're guilty. Frank ain't guilty. He wouldn't hurt a fly." "That don't matter!" I shot back quickly. "They're just trying to get us out of the way. They're trying to kill the organization. They've been doing this across the country. We've been pushing voter registration and trying to get Black people to vote. If more Black people vote, we can get these White, racist politicians out of office, and they know that. They don't want Black people to have any power." Frank Stewart and I, along with a small group of other community activists who were mostly students at Southern University, had formed the organization we named the Society for Opportunity, Unity, and Leadership. Its primary purpose was to deal with conditions in the Black community caused principally by racism and discrimination. We called the group SOUL. Barbara was a member. A veteran of the Vietnam War, Alphonse had joined, too. SOUL had started a breakfast program to feed hungry kids, established a small library of Black books, and conducted rap sessions where conditions in the all-­Black Scotland­ville neighborhood were discussed. We were beginning to move into the political arena, too, encouraging people to vote. Some of our members had begun wearing berets, like the Black Panthers did. "I think you should turn yourself in so y'all can fight this together," Barbara suggested. "What?! Turn myself in? You got to be kidding, Barbara! Man, this is crazy." I forced a laugh, but the situation wasn't funny. It wasn't funny at all. "Even if you're able to get away and make it out of the country, you won't be able to come back." I thought about what Barbara had said. If I couldn't come back, that would mean I wouldn't be able to see my family anymore, or all the people I knew and loved. "You think I should turn myself in, too?" I asked Holden. "It's better than being dead! These White folks will shoot you!" I let out a chestful of air. As the three of us sat there in that car for what seemed like forever, I considered next steps. It all seemed so surreal. No, unreal. I'd known this could happen, that what we called the racist White power structure in Baton Rouge could pounce on us one day. The truth was, we were fortunate it hadn't happened sooner. "Y'all really feel I should turn myself in?" I asked again, seeking assurance. Neither Barbara nor Holden answered. The looks on their faces said it all. "Okay! Let's do it! Let's get it over with!" The music, now at a lower volume, played in the background as the car moved slowly toward downtown Baton Rouge. "I've never seen you drive this slow, Holden. You scared?" "You damn right!" He laughed and said, "You don't want them to stop this car and pick you up before you can turn yourself in, do you?" The parking area at the East Baton Rouge Parish Sheriff's Office was packed, but we found a spot. After walking into the building, we headed for the counter where a heavyset White man in uniform sat. I stepped forward. "Can I help y'all?" the officer asked in his Southern drawl without looking up from his notepad. I looked at Barbara and at Holden, then turned to face the officer again. "I'm Wade Hudson," I told him. "So?" he responded condescendingly. "I understand there's a warrant out for my arrest. Hudson, Wade Hudson." I repeated my name. My name finally registered with him. He jumped up from his chair and called several other officers over. "This is the third one," he told them. The officers pushed me against the counter, forced my arms behind my back, and handcuffed me. As they led me away, I looked back at Barbara and Holden just in time to see Holden thrust a raised fist into the air. "We'll get a lawyer for you, Wade!" Barbara said. "Hang in there." After being fingerprinted and photographed for a mug shot for the first time in my life, I was taken to this small cell in the basement of the jail. Since my incarceration began, I hadn't seen anyone except police officers and several detectives who came to stare at me through a small window in the door of my cell. I knew nothing about the charges I was being held on. I was completely in the dark. The brick wall that I was resting my head against started to give me a headache. I decided to try the thin mattress, but it wasn't much better. I couldn't help but wonder whether this was the end for me. Conspiracy to murder the mayor and who knew who else? How could I ever get out of a fabricated frame-­up like this? It had been a little more than five years since I'd left my home in Mansfield, to attend Southern University. It seemed so much longer. A lot had happened during those years. At home when I was growing up, I had followed the civil rights movement and the events that unfolded in the South and around the country. I wanted to be involved. I wanted to make my own contribution, take my stand for freedom, just as Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., John Lewis, Daisy Bates, Stokely Carmichael, and Rosa Parks were doing. I yearned for the opportunity to confront the evils of Jim Crow segregation that forced the people I knew and loved to be subservient to White people. Mansfield, however, was like thousands of other small rural towns across the South that White people controlled virtually unimpeded. Fighting against their system of oppres­sion often resulted in lost jobs, being run out of town, or, worse, being killed. These were enormous prices to pay. But I wanted to fight back; I burned to do something about the evil that haunted my people. So, you might say that my experiences in Mansfield led me to this place. How I grew up there, how those impactful years shaped me, all pointed me toward a future I had to embrace. Even if it led me to jail. Excerpted from Defiant: Growing up in the Jim Crow South by Wade Hudson All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.

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