Amzie Moore: Amzie was a marked man in the Delta after World War II, but Amzie was the King Solomon of the Delta.

Bob Moses: Who's that man poking around the post office all day, every Saturday? How come I don't see him there nary another day but Saturday? Oh him? That's just ol' Amzie. They got him fixed up on account that he meddles just a little too much in you know what I'm talking about. Sho' nuf? Sho' nuf. Well, he sho' nuf can poke around. I see him there every Saturday. Ella Baker and Jane Stembridge had sent me to Amzie in August of 1960, two years before that bus ride took place. We were looking for movement people from Mississippi to come to the first SNCC run conference for the sit-in movement. When that Till boy was murdered in Mississippi in Tallahatchie County in 1954, platoons of reporters established their field headquarters at Amzie's house at 614 Chrisman Street in Cleveland because Amzie knew how to poke around. Cleveland, the only city in Bolivar County, was just ten miles west of (muffled), so it wasn't hard for Amzie to hook up that bus that took us all to Indianola in 1962, but it also wasn't hard for Amzie to hook up his brick home for reporters in 1964. Amzie was a marked man in the Delta after World War II, but Amzie was the King Solomon of the Delta. There was no wiser person in all the flooded plain of the Mississippi Delta, but then again he had a lot of the mother of the living son in him, too. Fighting as he did for the life of his children, for the cotton that sho' nuf too heavy for a child to tote. Amzie had to grow his wisdom, though, had to accumulate it a little at a time. If you hung around him long enough, if you knew how to pay attention, you could accumulate some, too. Amzie, the Delta is life the beach of the river, from Memphis to Yazoo, from Greenville to Greenwood, kind of like a beachhead all covered over with sugar and sand, all mixed up so you couldn't tell them apart from looking. Amzie set apart looking, how to tell apart which was which, poked around the delta in his big ol' Packard like an ant crawling on the beach, separating out each grain of sugar from each grain of sand. You see, he had to pick a path through the Delta's unexploded ordinances, slavery and the civil war, wisdom, the virtue of his mind, a deluge of wise, small ant-like peace-wise acts. Amzie looks at me and says, "Ready? Let's go." This time I am ready and we go. What I'm learning is not to announce or telegraph my comings or my goings. It was Aaron of course, Aaron Henry. I had been to see Aaron before I went to see Amzie, pass through Clarksdale, but Amzie saw the sugar. He rounded up some youth, and hauled them in his Packard, to the first South-wide sit-in movement SNCC sponsored conference and told the young people what their energy could do in Mississippi and just how to do it. And thus it was in August, 1962, two years later, I was sitting with that great congregation of sharecroppers on that bus that Amzie hooked up, watching that woman sing her song.

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