Harry & Selma’s Burning Cross. 8.6k A civil rights story from the fifties. (standard:adventure, 8439 words)
Author: Oscar A Rat	Added: Jun 18 2020	Views/Reads: 1436/991	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
Former racist Selma dies and goes to heaven, where God gives her a mission to aid a preacher during the 50s Civil Rights Movement. A court order does the same with Harry.

"Why, that's a beautiful cross, Harry," Selma exclaimed happily,
applauding her husband's work. "Where ya gonna put it?" 

They were standing behind their home in Biloxi, Mississippi.  Harry had
finished wrapping and tying rags around the limbs of a twelve-foot-long 
wooden cross lying prone on the ground, one end held up by a sawhorse. 

"Me'n the boy're gonna put it on the Johnsons' front lawn tonight," he
answered with pride. "Can't have those Niggers moving into OUR 
neighborhood." 

"Goody.  What time, baby? I wanna watch it burn." 

"We figure 'bout eleven will be good.  They goes ta' bed 'bout ten." 

"That should show them, baby.  That'll get them off'a our street," Selma
assured him. "I gotta go in now.  I have to get dressed and go to the 
office. Work's piling up a'fore the Christmas holidays but you can bet 
I'll be back to see it.  Even if I have to take time off from work." 

"We gotta do something, Selma, honey.  I heard that them damn
congressmen done passed a law that our kids gotta go to school with 
black bastards now." 

"We ain't got any kids, Harry." 

"It's the idea of it." 

Selma went back into the house to get ready for work. It was the middle
of December, 1955 and the Supreme Court had ordered school 
desegregation, although Mississippi courts were fighting the decision.  
Why, the other day, some Negro woman in Montgomery, Alabama caused a 
riot on a city bus, refusing to sit in the back where she belonged.  
The nerve of those people. 

Dressed, Selma headed for the front door. Noticing three dirty dishes in
the sink, she took the time to wash, dry and put them away. Then she 
hurried out to her Chevy and proceeded to her job at the Acme Widget 
Processing Company. 

Selma worked as the personal secretary to the owner.  It being late
afternoon on a Friday, Selma was the only employee there.  As she 
passed through empty outer offices, she stopped for a few moments to 
pick up empty coffee cups and candy wrappers others had left lying 
around in their haste to leave for the day. 

Her own office was spotless, everything in its proper place.  Selma sat
down at her desk and went over the outgoing mail.  She wanted to check 
it over for typing errors and wording before sealing it for the evening 
pickup.  Like her, the mailman was always punctual -- to the minute.  
Selma couldn't continence any errors in her work.  Later, she would go 
over the bookkeeper's entries, not entirely trusting his judgments in 
posting. 

Since Mr. Samuelson, the bookkeeper, tended to get irate at her
inspecting his entries, she made a point to go over them on the 
weekends and after working hours when he was gone.  To keep office 
decorum, suspected errors were mentioned to her boss to be argued from 
his end. 

At precisely five minutes to eight, Selma hurriedly stood and gathered
up the outgoing mail. She rushed to the stairs, wanting to get the 
mailing out of the way before starting on other tasks.  Selma never 
took any chances in life, not unless necessary. 

In her rush, she didn't notice a leather change purse that had dropped
from someone's pocket.  It was lying on the third tread from the top.  
Stepping on it with her left shoe, it slipped and fell down the stairs 
-- as did Selma. 

The woman rolled down a long flight, hitting her head on a concrete
floor at the bottom.  A thin rubber welcome mat did little to cushion 
the blow.  Poor Selma missed both the cross burning and a large error 
in Mr. Samuelson's posting.  Being the late Selma Adams, those events 
seemed to be irrelevant -- at least to her.  Much more important was 


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