By Ashley Toland Editor

In a small ceremony last Tuesday afternoon, the street where Mobile history received its most horrendous and indelible stain got a new name – not just some random redesignation, but rather the same one as the teenager whose young, badly beaten, lifeless body was found hung from a camphor tree there in 1981.

March marked the 25th anniversary of the death of Michael Donald, the 19-year-old black youth, who was abducted, terrorized and killed by Ku Klux Klansmen Henry Hays and James L. “Tiger” Knowles, who, after beating the last breath out of the teen, hung his body from that curbside tree on the short street, which stretches across just one block, from Springhill Avenue to Old Shell Road – and was, until Tuesday, known as Herndon Avenue.

Knowles testified against Hays in exchange for a life sentence, which spared him from being strapped into the same chair he in effect sent Hays to in 1997. Henry’s father, Bennie Jack, who was thought to be involved, died before he was tried for the second time. His first trial ended in a mistrial after a rather infamous courtroom collapse.

The Donald family, with the help of the Southern Poverty Law Center, sued the Klan in 1984 and received a multi-million dollar judgment. Although the family only received a tiny fraction of the money, the decision is credited with shutting the Klan down.

Certainly one of Mobile’s greatest tragedies.

The biggest tragedy of 1981 in my life was when the washing machine destroyed my favorite Strawberry Shortcake nightgown. I was 4. Though I had always heard about the case growing up, I never knew many of the details, just the basic synopsis I recounted, which has been chronicled in papers worldwide a million times.

With the recent anniversary, interest in the community renewed, as did mine. In searching for more information, I happened upon a Register series done brilliantly by Mike Wilson in 1997, the week of Henry’s execution. Since reading it a couple of weeks ago, I just can’t get it out of my head.

The details haunt me.

The way Michael’s family described their brother, son and cousin as happy and always bouncing a basketball. How they teased him about not having a girlfriend. These people he loved and who loved him sitting around a table playing a game of Piddy-Pat before he walked out the door for the last time.

The new sneakers he had on.

The way he was so randomly chosen by those monsters. “He looked like a good victim,” one said.

The way they taunted him before they killed him. A frightened kid in the backseat of a sporty Buick,begging for his life.

The way they killed him. Fear. A near escape. Two against one. A tree limb. A knife. Dust. Blood.

The things they did to him after they killed him. The trunk of that sporty Buick. A rope. A camphor tree. Pride.

It’s horrifying. Did this really happen? In 1981? How could these people do this to another perfectly innocent human being? And seem so matter-of-fact about it when describing the details?

You want them to look like the Devil himself, not just two average white dudes. You want them to be certifiable. You want to explain this, justify this to yourself, some way, somehow.

Then you read about Henry’s father, Bennie Jack, and suddenly the unexplainable is explained.

In Wilson’s series, he relates the story of how the elder Hays had this white German shepherd named “White Man,” who would always try to dig out of the yard. After several measures to keep the dog fenced failed, Bennie Jack got Henry to come help him solve the problem for good.

While Henry was holding him down, Bennie Jack cut the dog’s toes off of each of his front paws. Then, he poured black tar on the nubs to cauterize them. The dog’s screams were deafening.

How many countless atrocities did the Hays’ kids witness growing up in a household full of such hate? Obviously enough for Henry to easily take the life of a kid full of such love. It doesn’t justify it, but I guess it helps to make some sense of a senseless act.

At Tuesday’s ceremony, city councilman William Carroll urged Mobilians to view this day as a “reminder to put away our petty anger and our prejudices, to be inclusive and to love our neighbors.”

In the shadow of the new street sign that reads Michael Donald Avenue, he charged the community to continue “to work past the things which divide us and to consider what we can do to be a more inclusive community?”

I guess part of becoming more inclusive is first understanding our past. I feel fortunate I did not grow up in a time when hatred and prejudice were just as much a part of the Mobile landscape as oak trees and azaleas.

Things are leagues better than they were back then, but sadly as a result of those times, I feel like we still today live harmoniously in a community that seems to segregate itself, with homologous neighborhoods, churches, community celebrations and even some schools. No one really seems to mind it. And no one really minds when the other crosses the self-imposed lines, but they’re still there. And the only way those lines will ever start to fade, along with the stains of our past, is when we all start to cross them with great and willing regularity.

Ashley Toland is Lagniappe editor. Contact her at ashleytoland@lagniappemobile.com.

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