Robert Ralph Freeman

Anointed and Appointed

by Bruce Baker

The Reverend Ralph Freeman was small in stature; even his wife Emma Jean towered over him. They had grown up and met in the Liberty Hill section of Marietta; he’s described as a calm presence who was always focused and organized. His wife was more fun-loving, a pretty woman with long hair that laughed a lot. Their love for one another was obvious. Employed as a contractor, when he was called to come to Canton to serve the small congregation at Hickory Log Baptist Church he didn’t hesitate. The original church, built in 1872 and actually made of hickory logs, had a potbellied stove for heat and was still in use when he arrived. Outside, on one side was a long table where the congregation would sit and eat on Sundays, as services lasted most of the day in those days; on the other was a cemetery, founded around the same time as the church.

The congregation was small, as the Black population in Canton was small; most Black people chose to settle in Woodstock, where they received more fair and hospitable treatment. Originally known as Keith’s Ridge, the land for the church and the cemetery had been donated by Philip Keith, one of several formerly enslaved people emancipated at the end of the Civil War. He and Emma would have only one child, a boy named after his father: Robert Ralph Jr.

Image: Reverend R.R. Freeman of Hickory Log Baptist Church with friend Mary Crawford (Center) and his wife Emma Jean (R), Date unknown.

His preaching style was not the fire and brimstone type one might imagine; he spoke in a normal voice for most of the service, ramping up the passion only at the end in what was referred to as the “celebration” at the end of the service. By any measure he was not seen as rash, intense, or emotional. He was not at all what you might imagine as a charismatic, powerful agent of change; then again, looks can be deceiving, and in this case, they were, as this unassuming man would propel the civil rights effort forward in Cherokee County.

He served as the lead pastor of Hickory Log Baptist Church for forty years, right up until his passing, falling victim to a coma after surgery. In many ways, he became a patriarch for the church community just as Philip Keith had been over a half a century before. When in 1957 the time came to build a new church, Reverend Freeman donated the land it sits on to this day. His wife donated the first 1,000 bricks for the building; Ralph Sr. and his business worked alongside many of the men of the congregation to build the church. The same year the new church was built, the Little Rock School System was in a standoff over school integration, three years after the landmark Supreme Court decision of Brown vs. the Board of Education. The Arkansas Governor called up the National Guard to prevent the integration; President Eisenhower had responded by “federalizing” the National Guard and demanding that they instead enforce the integration. The Supreme Court had given its interpretation of the law, and it was up to the President to enforce it.

I’m not privy to what must have been going through Reverend Freeman’s mind during this turbulent time; both he and his wife, and their son, have passed. Three grandsons—Ralph the III, Sanford, and Walter still live in the area but were born much later. What I do know, and what I can share here, is what Reverend Freeman chose to do during this turbulent time, because his congregation has carried the memory of his actions and his leadership forward for future generations to learn.

Change is always hard, and social change is perhaps the hardest of all. Ralph organized several young people in Canton’s Black churches to form the Freedom League. A few young men decided to sit at the counter at Grist Lander’s Drugstore and eat lunch. It wasn’t exactly well-received; they sat without incident but were denied service. The restaurant at the Pinecrest Motor Lodge was next, where four Black men and five Black women (all young) dressed up in their best. The owner met them at the door; she welcomed them, brought them to a table and told them they were welcome any time. Some remember her as sympathetic; others say she was simply afraid of trouble. So far, so good.

The Canton Theatre Riot

The attempt to integrate the Canton Theater would not prove so peaceful. Four young men (Ed McMickens, Samuel Pitts, Ralph Freeman Jr., and Joe McMickens) purchased their tickets at the booth, but chose to sit in the front row of the main section rather than ascend to the balcony. By the time the movie was nearing the end, people behind them had been throwing ice at them, and sensing trouble they opted to leave a few minutes early to return to Ralph’s waiting car.

An angry crowd had gathered outside as word had spread of what was taking place inside; police were on the scene, but it was clear enough their sympathies were with the crowd and not the youths. Ralph had parked across the street, but a pickup truck filled with men holding rocks were directly ahead of them. One man, a known Ku Klux Klan member, put a gun to one of their heads. The young men had brought weapons to defend themselves, if necessary, but they were in the car.

At that moment, the skies unleashed a furious rainstorm. The boys recalled that the rain was so heavy you couldn’t see across the street. Most of the crowd ran for cover; the boys backed up against the theater to escape the worst of it. A car pulled up in front of the young men and the door opened; driving it was a member of the Black Stumptown Community named Ozella Tanner and her daughter Pat. The boys jumped in her car and sped out of town, leaving Ralph’s car behind. It would be overturned and set on fire. The Reverend’s own son was in the line of fire that night; at some point as a man of the Word he must have wondered how close he came to having sacrificed his only begotten son to this cause. Men on the scene shouted, “we’ll see you boys tonight,” and they made good on their promise, with rocks and bottles hurled and shots occasionally fired in the Black communities of Pea Ridge, Stumptown, and Nineteen.

But just as in Little Rock, the largest battle to end segregation would be over the schools. Whites went to Cherokee High School; Black students attended Ralph J. Bunche School for all grades 1-12. Under the inspiration of Reverend Freeman and with the blessing of their parents, two young women from the Freedom League would challenge the color line in the Fall of 1965 by enrolling in Cherokee High. “Separate but Equal” had been struck down eight years prior, but no one had dared until Cynthia Durham and Priscilla Strickland walked in to begin their junior year, to a reception very much like the Canton Theater. That first day a crowd of people, yelling insults and racial slurs and throwing things at the two girls, was waiting, with police in attendance but offering no real protection from the abuse. The two would eventually be joined by Carolyn Durham, and they would stick it out despite the inhumane treatment they were subjected to, graduating in the Class of 1966.

They had made their point; no amount of intimidation or abuse would turn the clock back. Change had come. Recognizing the inevitable, in the Fall of 1967 Ralph J. Bunche School was closed, and all Cherokee County’s Schools were integrated. Priscilla says in the midst of her mistreatment she’d harden her resolve to stay by remembering the words of Queen Esther’s Uncle to her in the Bible: “perhaps this is the moment for which you were created.” It’s a lesson that she might have learned from the small but determined pastor of Hickory Log Baptist Church who led a congregation, who built a church, and who transformed the city of Canton.