It’s Jubilee Time! This month during this time of celebration I want to share with you about the time I was arrested.
You’re Under Arrest
I was 22 years old in 1962 when the Gospel Trail brought me to Charleston, South Carolina, the historic 350 year old city. I had just purchased an old 60’ x 90’ tent – room for 300 chairs! – and God was pouring out his sprit. It was about the fourth night of the revival, and I had only 75 people or so attending, when two policemen walked down the aisle of the tent and said to me, “You’re under arrest.”
I was taken down to the jail. I asked what the charge was, although I already knew why I was being treated that way – when I put up the tent a few days before, I was told that I would have to put up signs to segregate the congregation, a section that said “white only” and another one that said “colored”. (That was the term they used in those days.) Just a few days earlier, Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. led a civil rights march to integrate the lunch counters. I refused to put up those signs and have segregated services. I had no rights – they didn't read me my rights, as this was before the Miranda rights became law. After spending some time in jail, I was told that there would be a hearing the next morning at 10:00.
The next morning as I was brought into the courtroom, I was amazed. The courtroom was packed, jammed full of black and white faces! I was greeted with a burst of applause! Where did all these people come from? How did word get around so quickly? Some faces I recognized from the revival, but others had not been there. Many of the people were sacrificing a day’s pay – even jeopardizing their jobs – yet they were there in the court. The African-Americans showed particular courage and conviction in coming to the courthouse. The racial situation in Charleston was tense and there would likely be reprisals against them for boldly standing up to be counted in a courtroom where only white men held power.
The judge called me and the prosecutor into his chambers. “We all know you are guilty, Mr. Stewart,” he said. “You’ve got all those (and he used the N word) out there rolling in the sawdust. If you just plead guilty we can settle this thing.”
I looked at him and said, “Your honor, I can’t confess to anything because I am not guilty. We were just having church.”
The judge turned stern and asked me where my attorney was. I said, “He is here; you just don’t see him. His name is Jesus.” And then I quoted from St. Luke 12:11-12:
“And when they bring you unto... magistrates, and powers, take ye no thought how or what thing ye shall answer, or what ye shall say: For the Holy Ghost shall teach you in the same hour what ye ought to say.”
I insisted on managing my own defense, a decision reinforced by the judge's term (using the N word). The south at that time was aflame with civil rights marches (Martin Luther King in the vanguard) and thousands of people pressing for their constitutional guarantees of equality.
The no jury trial began with a sharp rap of judge’s gavel. The formal charge was read and the prosecutor called his first witness, a slender white man. He complained that the noise from our tent had disturbed him and that he found it objectionable. When he finished the judge told him he was dismissed. I looked at the judge and said, “Don't I have a right to cross examine him?”
The judge reluctantly snorted, “Go ahead.”
I’ll be honest, I didn't know what I was going to say or do. I remembered seeing some of the old black and white films of Perry Mason on TV. I kept hearing in my spirit, “Take no thought of what you will say.” I just opened my mouth and the questions started rolling out. “Have you ever heard any other type of noise from that location?”
“What kind of noise?” the witness asked.
“Isn't that lot used for carnivals?”
“Yes.”
“Carnivals attract big crowds - kids screaming on the merry-go-round, barkers shouting. Ever hear any of that noise?” I asked.
“Yes,” he replied.
“Did you file a complaint against the carnival for making noise?” I asked.
“No,” he answered.
“Then why do you object to Holy Ghost music and worship?” Before he had a chance to answer I said, “It wasn't the noise that bothered you, it was the kind of noise. Isn't that true?”
He began to hem and haw around. I said, “Just answer the question: was it the kind of noise that was being made and who was making the noise that you objected to?”
“Yes!” he shouted. “Those (N word)s don’t have a right to be under a tent with white people!”
When he said that the Hallelujahs roared and the Glories-to-God were being shouted by the spirit-filled crowd that had packed the courtroom. I am telling you I’ve never seen anything like it! Saints began to shout up and down the aisles of the court room as the judge slammed down the gavel as hard as he could. He shouted, “Clear the courtroom! Clear the courtroom!” but the spontaneous worship and shouts of joy drowned out the lonely voice of the judge. The judge’s face grew purple with rage as the shouts of praise went on for at least 5 minutes. I guess the saints made up their minds – if I was going to jail then they were, too. One dear African American mother petitioned to the judge, “Touch not my anointed - do my prophet no harm!”
The judge finally called me and the prosecutor back into his chambers and told us both that this needed to be settled. I looked at the judge and quoted the first amendment to him and said, “We just want to practice our faith. We want to be left alone to worship God and we will do it together in integrated services.”
The judge dismissed the case and we agreed to be through by 10:30pm each night. I stayed in Charleston for six weeks, every night in revival! The people brought me a new semi -truck and trailer, a new tent, and a new Hammond organ!
Just as few months ago I went back to Charleston to attend my dear friend Rev. G. G. Edmondson, who was a pastor at the AME Church and was right by my side when I was arrested in Charleston. I have been invited to come back to Charleston to receive the key to the city.
God is faithful!
Don