An Eyewitness Account of the Tulsa Massacre
After spending years of struggling and sacrifice, the people had begun to look upon Tulsa as the Negro Metropolis of the Southwest. Then the devastating Tulsa Disaster burst upon us,…
From: 1921 C.E. To: 1921 C.E.
Location: Tulsa
Note: This article has been excerpted from a larger work in the public domain and shared here due to its historical value. It may contain outdated ideas and language that do not reflect TOTA’s opinions and beliefs.
“My Experience in Tulsa.” from Events of the Tulsa Disaster by Mary E. Jones Parrish, 1922.
After visiting Tulsa in 1918, I returned to Rochester, and remained there only five months before being called to McAlester, to the bedside of my dear mother who departed this life after six months of patience and care by the children who loved her so dearly. I then decided to locate in Tulsa. I had heard of this town since girlhood and of the many opportunities here to make money. But I came not to Tulsa as many came, lured by the dream of making money and bettering myself in the financial world, but because of the wonderful co-operation I observed among our people, and especially the harmony of spirit and action that existed between the business men and women.
On leaving the Frisco station, going north to Archer Street one could see nothing but Negro business places. Going east on Archer Street for two or more blocks there you would behold Greenwood Avenue, the Negro’s Wall Street, and an eyesore to some evil minded real estate men who saw the advantage of making this street into a commercial district. This section of Tulsa was a city within a city, and some malicious newspapers take pride in referring to it is “Little Africa.” On Greenwood one could find a variety of business places which would be a credit to any section of the town. In the residential section there were homes of beauty and splendor which would please the most critical eye. The schools and many churches were well attended.
Space will not permit me to give a full description of the Tulsa folk here. “Tulsa, Then and Now,” by Prof. G. A. Gregg, A.B., which follows will give a mental view of our group in Tulsa.
After spending years of struggling and sacrifice, the people had begun to look upon Tulsa as the Negro Metropolis of the Southwest. Then the devastating Tulsa Disaster burst upon us, blowing to atoms ideas and ideals no less than mere material evidence of our civilization.
A Colored boy accidentally stepped on a white elevator girl’s foot. An evening paper hurled the news broadcast, with the usual “Lynching is feared if the victim is caught.” Then the flames of hatred which had been brewing for years broke loose.
Since the lynching of a White boy in Tulsa, the confidence in the ability of the city official to protect its prisoner had decreased; therefore, some of our group banded together to add to the protection of the life that was threatened to be taken without a chance to prove his innocence. I say innocence because he was brought to trial and given his liberty; the girl over whom the trouble was caused failed to appear against him.
On the evening of May 31st, I was busy with a class in Typewriting until about 9 P. M. After my pupils were gone I immediately began reading a book which I was very anxious to finish (must admit, however, that I was never able to complete it), so did not notice the excitement until a late hour. The evening being a pleasant one, my little girl had not retired, but was watching the people from the window. Occasionally she would call to me, ‘Mother, look at the cars full of people.”’ I would reply, “Baby, do not disturb me, I want to read.” Finally she said, ‘Mother, I see men with guns.” Then I ran to the window and looked out. There I saw many people gathered in little squads talking excitedly. Going down stairs to the street I was told of the threatened lynching and that some of our group were going to give added protection to the boy.
I am told that this little bunch of brave and loyal Black men who were willing to give their lives, if necessary, for the sake of a fellow man, marched up to the jail where there were already over 500 white men gathered, and that this number was soon swelled to over a thousand. Someone fired a stray shot and, to use the expression of General Grant, ‘‘All hell broke loose.”” From that moment quiet and peaceful Tulsa was turned into a hot-bed of destruction.
My little girl and I watched the excited groups from our window until a late hour, when I had her lie down and try to rest while I waited and watched. Waited and watched, for what—I do not know. One could hear firing in quick succession and it was hours before the horror of it all dawned upon me. I had read of the Chicago Riot and of the Washington trouble, but it did not seem possible that prosperous Tulsa, the city which was so peaceful and quiet that morning, could be in the thrall of a great disaster. When it dawned upon me what was really happening I took my little girl in my arms, read one or two chapters of Psalms of David and prayed that God would give me courage to stand through it all.
The Frisco tracks and station form a dividing line between the business section of White Tulsa and Black Tulsa.
It was here that the first battle was staged. Like mad bulls after a red flag or blood thirsty wolves after a carcass, so did these human wolves called men rave to destroy their fellow citizens. But these brave boys of ours fought gamely and held back the enemy for hours. Owing to the shortage of ammunition they were forced to retreat from Cincinnati, and immediately the advancing force began to pillage and burn that section.
About 1:30 o’clock the firing had somewhat subsided and it was hoped that the crisis had passed over. Some one on the street cried out, “Look, they are burning Cincinnati!’”’ On looking we beheld columns of smoke and fire and by this we knew that the enemy was surging quickly upen Greenwood. Like Stonewall Jackson of old our boys stood “Like a stone wall,” offsetting each and every attempt to burn Greenwood and the immediate vicinity. I had no desire to flee but my heart went out in sympathy for those who were fighting so bravely against such tremendous odds. I forgot about personal safety and was seized with an uncontrollable desire to see the outcome of the fray. The firing and burning continued at long intervals. In the early morning, about 3 or 4 o’clock, the Midway Hotel was seen to be burning. A friend in the building with me called up the Fire Department. The answer was, “They will be out right away,” but they failed to show up. About 5 o’clock a lady friend called up the Police Department and asked how soon the Militia would reach Tulsa, and the reply was, “About 7 o’clock.” Looking south out of the window of what then was the Woods Building, we saw car loads of men with rifles unloading up near the granary, which is located on the railroad tracks near First Street. Then the truth dawned upon us that our men were fighting in vain to hold their dear Greenwood. A fit of restlessness seized us and Mrs. Jones and I walked the halls, looking first out of the windows and then out of the doors. In our excitement we would sometimes forget ourselves and lean out of the window, when we would receive a timely warning to get back or be shot. At an early hour the lights were all out, so we prayed for daylight in hope that the worst would be over, but not so, for daylight had a distressing surprise in store for us.
After watching the men unload on First Street where we could see them from our windows, we heard such a buzzing noise that on running to the door to get a better view of what was going on, the sights our eyes beheld made our poor hearts stand still for a moment. There was a great shadow in the sky and upon a second look we discerned that this cloud was caused by fast approaching aeroplanes. It then dawned upon us that the enemy had organized in the night and was invading our district the same as the Germans invaded France and Belgium. The firing of guns was renewed in quick succession. People were seen to flee from their burning homes, some with babes in their arms and leading crying and excited children by the hand; others, old and feeble, all fleeing to safety. Yet, seemingly, I could not leave. I walked as one in a horrible dream. By this time my little girl was up and dressed, but I made her lie down on the dufold in order that the bullets must penetrate it before reaching her. By this time a machine gun had been installed in the granary and was raining bullets down on our section. Looking out of the back door I saw people still fleeing and the enemy fast approaching. I heard a man groan; looking up just in time to see him fall, and was pulled into the house.
Still I could not flee. Finally my friend called her husband, who was trying to take a little rest and they decided to try to make for a place of safety, so called to me that they were leaving. By this time the enemy was close upon us, so they ran out of the south door, which lead out on Archer Street, and went east toward Lansing. I took my little girl by the hand and fled out of the west door on Greenwood. I did not take time to get a hat for myself or baby, but started out north on Greenwood, running amidst showers of bullets from the machine gun located in the granary and from men who were quickly surrounding our district. Seeing that they were fighting at a disadvantage our men had taken shelter on the buildings and in other places out of sight of the enemy. When Florence Mary and I ran into the street it was vacant for a block or more. Someone called to me to “Get out of the street with that child or you both will be killed.”
I felt that it was suicide to remain in the building, for it would surely be destroyed and death in the street was preferred, for we expected to be shot down at any moment, so we placed our trust in God, our Heavenly Father, who seeth and knoweth all things, and ran on out Greenwood in the hope of reaching a friend’s home who lived over the Standpipe Hill in the Greenwood Addition. As I neared the hill I could see homes on Eastern and Detroit burning, and also discovered that the enemy had located on the hill and that our district was entirely surrounded. We thought that we were leaving the firing behind, but found that our danger was increasing for a machine gun was located on the hillside. As we neared the addition we caught up with other people fleeing in the same direction. We finally reached my friend’s home, but to our disappointment found that she and her family had fled after watching for me all though the night. I then decided to follow the crowd in the hope of reaching safety. On and on we went toward the section line, the crowd growing larger and larger. The question on every lip when a newcomer from town would arrive was, “How far had they burned when you left town?”
At the section line I met Mrs. Thompson, her husband and family. They were on a truck and had started east. She called to me and I ran to them and got on the truck. Soon we had started again on our quest for safety. On and on we went, past many farm houses, mostly White. They looked at us as if were were animals escaping a forest fire. We passed many of our group. The most pathetic sight was an old couple struggling along on foot. How I longed to get off and give them my seat, but I dared not leave my little girl alone to perish. When we passed, the old lady asked us to take her coat; it was too heavy. We did but have never been able to find her again. After we had gone several miles we began to see automobile loads of men with guns going east ahead of us. We wondered where they were going but we were not destined to wonder long, for as we neared the aviation fields we saw their destination. The planes were out of the sheds, all in readiness for flying, and these men with highpowered rifles were getting into them. As we went further we saw several men leaving the fields, going to the house, returning with guns and heading towards Tulsa.
After we had traveled many miles into the country and was turning to find our way to Claremore, we looked up the road and saw a race lady coming toward us. My lady friend and I went to meet her. She advised us to not try to pass through a little adjoining town, for they were treating our people awfully mean as they passed through, taking their guns from them and threatening to place them in prison. She made us welcome to come to her home and remain until it was safe to return to Tulsa.
We gratefully accepted her hospitality and returned with her to her home. There we rested and were as comfortable as could be expected under the circumstances. Having been out in the hot sun all day without hats—only makeshifts made from leaves—we found the shelter of a roof very refreshing.
A bread wagon met the fleeing people on the roadside and sold the bread. On the way we bought bread so when we stopped to rest we had bread and water, whenever and wherever we could get it. Oftimes the men would stop and dip water from a branch, using their hats for cups. In France? No, in Oklahoma. After reaching this home the crowd thronged there was too large to supply them out of a pail so a washtub was drafted into service and pride cast to the wind. We were so famished and our lips parched, the children crying for a drink, that this was the best tasting water we could remember of having tasted. I can never forget a family who started out and had the misfortune to lose one wheel off of their wagon and, therefore, had to get out and walk. In that number was a mother and father with a six-months-old infant—such a fine and healthy baby. The father would run along and carry it awhile when the mother would take it until she was tired out. When they both were just about exhausted the father cried out, “Will some one help us?” Being a mother, naturally my heart was in deep spmpathy for them, so I called to them to bring the baby to me and I would care for it awhile and let them rest. They finally succeeded in getting another wheel, after going miles on the hub of the broken wheel.
The aeroplanes continued to watch over the fleeing people like great birds of prey watching for a victim, but I have not heard of them doing any harm to the people out in the direction where we were. I have been reliably informed, however, that they fired on the people who were gathered in groups in the colored park close to town.
Everything went well until late in the afternoon. An elderly man with some daughters and grand-children came to where we were stopping. He was sent to a nearby farm store to procure food for the family. There he was told that the Red Cross workers were coming out in trucks to bring food to the suffering people and to take back to town all who desired to go. Instead of buying food, as he was instructed to do by his daughters, he informed the store people that there were “lots of people’ up where he came from desiring food. They told him that they would send the trucks right up on their return from town, which they did, but when the trucks came they found no one to take back. After spending such a dreadful night and day and witnessing so much destruction, how could we trust a race that would bring it about? At that hour we mistrusted every person having a white face and blue eyes. Since, we have learned that the Red Cross workers came like angels of mercy to heal and help suffering humanity. When the man told us what he had done the crowd started out to look for another haven of rest. We walked about two miles across the prairie, most of the way having to carry the children to keep the weeds from stinging their tired little limbs. We were well paid for the walk for these kindly people prepared hot lunch for the bunch and provided us with a place to sleep, so we remained here for the night. Altho we were over thirteen miles from Tulsa we could, at about 10 P. M., see the smoke rising from the ruins.
The next morning we were up bright and early, alert, listening, to see what. we could learn. About 10 o’clock a White man came out in a car to get a man who worked for him. He informed us that Greenwood had been burned. It was then that I shed my first tears. We spent the remainder of the day and night here and the next morning resolved to return and view the ruins of devastated Tulsa. That morning while waiting for the Red Cross truck to come for us we saw a man who had become separated from his wife and believed her to be shot off a hill side. He said that they were firing on them as they ran, none of the shots taking effect. We learned later, however, that his wife had only ran down the hill side and in that way they had become separated.
The Red Cross truck arrived for us about 9 o’clock and we started for Tulsa immediately, reaching there at an early hour. We did not enter there through our section of town, but they brought us in through the White section, all sitting flat down on the truck looking like immigrants, only that we had no bundles. Dear reader, can you imagine the humiliation of coming in like that, with many doors thrown open watching you pass, some with pity and others with a smile? We were stopped at the Exposition Park. Here we saw hundreds of our group huddled in like so many cattle and guarded. In the department where the women had been corralled, were many army cots. They were also issuing out clothing and sandwiches. Here again I breathed a prayer to the Heavenly Father for strength.
There were to be seen people who formerly had owned beautiful homes and buildings, and people who had always worked and made a comfortable, honest living, all standing in a row waiting to be handed a change of clothing and feeling grateful to be able to get a sandwich and glass of water. Somehow, I was tempted to get off and share my fate with the rest, but my friend’s home was not burned so, being asked by her to accompany them home, I accepted the invitation. Leaving the Exposition Park we rode for blocks through the White district where we proved to be an interesting spectacle. Soon we reached the district which was so beautiful and prosperous looking when we left. This we found to be piles of bricks, ashes and twisted iron, representing years of toil and savings. We were horror stricken but strangely, we could not shed a tear.
For blocks we bowed our heads in silent grief and tried to blot out the frightful scenes that were ahead of us. One thing we noticed was that every one of our group that we met was wearing a tag inscribed “POLICE PROTECTION.” On asking the meaning of this we were told that the town was under Martial Law and all of our group had to wear these badges in order to be permitted to come out on the streets and that everyone had to be indoors before seven o’clock. All of the places of business were also closed by this time. At last we reached my friend’s home to find it still standing but with everything torn up and a part of her things gone. After preparing lunch and resting awhile, we retired for the night.
Arising early the next morning we were greeted by another bright and beautiful day, but, indeed, a sad one. Our hearts felt burdened and heavy as one feels after re- turning from the last rites over a loved one. Being alone in the midst of all this distress, with only my little girl, I felt that I had not a moment to lose, so I dressed hurriedly, ate a bite and rushed up town to see what was going on. I felt as if I was in a wilderness of darkness and did not know which way to go. However, in looking around I found that the High School building was still standing, so was making my way towards it when on observing more closely I saw a big white streamer with a red cross on it.
Then I felt more relieved, for this meant that THE MOTHER OF THE WORLD was close at hand and was not forgetting any of her children in distress, even tho they had black faces. When I was close enough to read the sign I read, “HEADQUARTERS OF THE AMERICAN RED CROSS.” I breathed a prayer of thanks. Across the street I saw a big white tent and on looking up I read “Y. M.C. A. HEADQUARTERS.” I felt pangs of joy, for this meant to me that I was getting in close touch with friends again, having had charge of the class in typewriting and short-hand under the Y. M. C. A. up until the fateful night. I passed by for I was on my way to the telegraph office to try to get in touch with my people. I succeeded in reaching my brother Reuben in McAlester over long distance. He had heard that my little girl and I were burned in the building, as no one had seen us leave it. He also urged me to leave Tulsa immediately, but I wanted to see affairs through so decided to remain in stricken Tulsa.
Returning to the Red Cross Headquarters I found long rows of women, men and children waiting their turn to receive clothing such as was obtainable. And the thing that I could not understand was why these innocent people, who were as helpless as babes, were placed under guard. Nevertheless, heavily armed guards were all around the building. Some were kind and manly, others were beasts dressed in uniforms. These poor people stood for hours Waiting their turn; some were seen to sicken and faint. The nurses would immediately take them out of line and give them treatment.
I finally succeeded in getting inside of the door where | was met by a guard who asked what I wanted. On being told I was directed to a room where I was registered. From here I went upstairs into the clothing room in quest of a change of clothing for my little girl. Here I found stacks of clothing and shoes. Having worked hard always for an independent living, thereby being able to have what I wanted within reason, this was wormwood and gall to me, just to be standing around waiting to get a change of secondhand clothing, but what could I do? What we had on were soiled, they being all we had, and I was not yet permitted to go to town and purchase more. I succeeded in getting a change. On leaving this room everyone was searched to see that no one had more than a change. (Horrors!) Down stairs in the office I found telegrams from loved ones and friends who were trying to locate me. I immediately answered them. Everyone said “Leave Tulsa at once.” I answered, “Am safe but cannot leave now.”
Leaving the Red Cross Headquarters I went over to the Y. M. C. A. tent. There were gathered many people shaking hands and greeting each other like soldiers following a great battle. All seemed anxious to relate his or her experience. This organization furnished cold water for many thirsty throats. It also had a relief department in one side and two women employed to distribute clothing. Here one felt free to come and spend hours meeting friends. Posted in conspicuous places over the grounds around these places were lists of letters and telegrams.
In order to help the people get in touch with their loved ones who were anxious to hear from them, Mr. Theo Baughman, of the Oklahoma Sun, succeeded in getting out a little daily paper, and each day he would publish these lists. Each day the people sat under the tent and watched for these lists as well as for the lists of dead in the big dailies.
On arriving home this afternoon I found Brother Edward, who had risked the danger of passing by armed guards (entrances to our district were heavily guarded and everyone was required to have a “Police protection” badge to enter) to come for me. He insisted that I return home with him. Again I resolved to stay in Tulsa and see the outcome of this calamity.
Days passed without any important change in matters. Everyone seemed nervous and undecided what to do. Brother Harrison had written me to come to him at Langston. I was preparing to go when I was engaged by Rev. H. T. S. Johnson, of the Inter-Racial Commission, to do some reporting for that organization.
This proved to be an interesting occupation, for it helped me to forget my trouble in sympathy for the people with whom I daily came in contact. Up to this time I had worn no badge. A lady friend and I had business up town one very rainy day, on returning home we were approached by a guard who demanded to see our cards. On being told we had no cards we were accordingly ordered to return to the city hall and get them. This was a perplexity for us in that one had to have some white person vouch for them regardless of their station in life before the trouble.
We went to the City Hall. There I met Prof. Gregg, Executive Secretary of the Y. M. C. A. We explained our plight to him; he in turn offered to assist us. He ex- plained to an officer in charge that I had been engaged in Y. M. C. A. work, even showed him the check for three months’ work which he had just paid me. This check was signed by the Executive Secretary of the Central
Y. M. C. A., up town, yet it would not serve as a passport to secure a card. As I had never worked for any white person in Tulsa I was at a loss just what to do. It was plainly shown that a white man’s word was the only requirement to receive a card. I pondered just what to do, then I thought of a business firm and called them up. They came down and identified me and that was sufficient. I received my card without any trouble.
The Emergency Hospital
The primary rooms of the Booker Washington School were converted into an emergency hospital. I can never erase the sights of my first visit to the hospital. There were men wounded in every conceivable way, like soldiers after a big battle. Some with amputated limbs, burned faces, others minus an eye or with heads bandaged. There were women who were nervous wrecks, and some confinement cases. Was I in a hospital in France? No, in Tulsa. One mother was so thoughtless as to burden her infant for life with the name of “JUNE RIOT.”
As a Reporter.
During the weeks that I served as a reporter I interviewed many people and no two had the same experience to tell. I was informed that the dead were so quickly disposed of on that night and day until it was impossible to ever get an exact record of the dead and wounded. I was further informed that the enemy was well prepared, as a conquering army going out to battle, with ambulances and trucks to pick up and care for the dead and wounded.
One lady told me that she saw a woman shot, not mortally, just ahead of her while fleeing for safety; and another was seen to become a mother before she could reach a place of safety.
Everyone with whom I met was loud in praise of the State troops who so gallantly came to the rescue of stricken Tulsa. They used no partiality in quieting the disorder. It is the general belief that if they had reached the scene sooner many lives and valuable property would have been saved. Just as praise for the State troops was on every tongue so was denunciation of the Home Guards on every lip. Many stated that they fooled them out of their homes on a promise that if they would give up peacefully they would give them protection as well as see that their property was saved. They surrendered and were taken to the various places of safety, where they were cared for by that kindly angel of mercy, the Red Cross. When they returned to what was once their places of business or homes, hopes built upon the promises of the Home Guards, how keen was their disappointment to find all of their earthly possessions in ashes or stolen. (Read testimonials.)
About this time a body of loyal race men called a meeting at the First Baptist Church and organized THE COLORED CITIZENS’ RELIEF COMMITTEE and the EAST END WELFARE BOARD. Before the smoke of the massacre had blown over the City Dads had gotten their heads together and succeeding in passing a new fire ordinance to prevent these poor homeless people from rebuilding on their homes again. These men worked faithfully and have fought many battles for their fellowman. They looked after the needs of the people both physically and
legally to the best of their ability, with the assistance of the outside world. It was through the inspiration supplied by this committee, working in harmony with the Red Cross, that Greenwood has been rebuilt today.
Lessons of the Disaster.
The Tulsa disaster has taught great lessons to all of us, has dissipated some of our false creeds, and has revealed to us verities of which we were oblivious. The most significant lesson it has taught me is that the love of race is the deepest feeling rooted in our being and that no race can rise higher than its lowest member.
Some of our group who have been blest with educational or financial advantages are oftimes inclined to forget ourselves to the extent that they feel their superiority over those less fortunate, but when a supreme test, like the Tulsa disaster comes, it serves to remind us that we are all of one race; that human fiends, like those who had full sway on June 1st, have no respect of person. Every Negro was accorded the same treatment, regardless of his education or other advantages. A Negro was a Negro on that day and was forced to march with his hands up for blocks. What does this teach? It should teach us to “Look Up, Lift Up and Lend a Helping Hand,” and remember that we cannot rise higher than our weakest brother.
Parrish, Mary E. Jones. Events of the Tulsa Disaster. Mary E. Jones Parrish, 1922.
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