tears streamed down his face while the brothers of Mary—Benjamin, Charlie, and William Joshua—comforted their sister, Ollie.’”
My father continued in his own words. “After the sermon, they opened the little white casket and the crowd viewed the body of the little girl with a mutilated and bruised face. The tears watered the flowers that surrounded her.
“They carried the casket out to the cemetery. J.W. practically carried Grandmother Fannie out; Dr. Linkous helped. Mary’s sister, Ollie, and her brother Ben, now a sailor on the United States ship Franklin, were behind them, while the smaller brothers, Charlie and Joshua, brought up the rear.”
The account of the funeral service went on:
“’ “Earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust. The Lord hath given, the Lord hath taken, blessed be the name of the Lord,”’ but no words expressed by Dr. Linkous could heal the wounds in their hearts, and as the first shovel of earth was thrown down into the grave, Fannie Phagan Coleman broke down completely and wailed: “She was taken away when the spring was coming—the spring that was so like her. Oh, and she wanted to see the spring. She loved it—it loved her. She played with it—it was a sister to her almost.” She took the preacher’s handkerchief and walked to the edge of the grave and waved the handkerchief. “Goodbye, Mary, goodbye. It’s too big a hole to put you in, though. It’s so big—big, and you were so little—my own little Mary.”
My father stopped. The papers slid to the floor. His eyes were filling up.
I stopped, too. Bursting as I was with questions about the trial of Leo Frank and its aftermath, I could not bring myself to cause my father further pain that day. I felt guilty for the upset the memories he’d dredged up on my behalf had already caused him.
As if reading my thoughts, he turned to me: “It’s all right, Mary. You should know the whole story. But—” he’d blinked back the tears, but his smile was tremulous—“not today.”
A few days later, we sat down again. This time I started right off with the questions:
“Daddy, how did Grandmother Fannie stand up while the trial was going on?”
He told me that she was to be the first witness called to the witness stand. She tried to compose herself; her tears were flowing freely down her cheeks and she was sobbing as she gave her statement:
“’I am Mary Phagan’s mother. I last saw her alive on the 26th of April, 1913, about a quarter to twelve, at home, at 146 Lindsey Street. She was getting ready to go to the pencil factory to get her pay envelope. About 11:30, she had lunch, then she left home at a quarter to twelve. She would have been fourteen years old on the first day of June, she was fair complected, heavy set, very pretty, and was extra large for her age. She had on a lavender dress trimmed in lace and a blue hat. She had dimples in her cheeks.’
“When Sergeant Dobbs described the condition of Mary’s body when they found her in the basement, when he stated that she had been dragged across the floor, face down, that was full of coal cinders, and this was what had caused the punctures and holes in her face, Grandmother Fannie had to leave the courtroom,” my father said.
Now it was I who had to compose myself. I was now starting to feel the pain and agony that all the family had felt for years.
“When the funeral director, W.H. Gheesling, gave his testimony, he stated that he moved little Mary’s body at four o’clock in the morning on April 27, 1913. He stated that the cord she had been strangled with was still around her neck. There was an impression of about an eighth of an inch on the neck, her tongue stuck an inch and a quarter out of her mouth.”
“Daddy, was Mary bitten on her breast?”
“Yes, but there was no way to prove it because certain documents have mysteriously disappeared.”
“Who besides Grandmother Fannie attended the trial?”
“Other than Grandmother Fannie, all the immediate family, including your grandfather and Mary’s stepfather, were present every day. Mary’s mother and sister were the only women, along with Leo Frank’s wife and mother, who were permitted in the courtroom each day.”
“Daddy, why didn’t you tell me about Leo Frank’s religious faith?”
“His religious faith had nothing to do with his trial.” “What does anti-Semitic mean?”
“It means hatred of the Jews.”
I was surprised that people could hate each other because of their faith. “How do you become prejudiced?” I asked.
“You have to be taught to be prejudiced, to walk, talk, just about everything in life that is worth anything. Prejudice, I found out, isn’t worth a nickel, but can cost you a lifetime of grief and sorrow.”
“Daddy, what about the courtroom atmosphere?”
“According to your great-grandmother, Judge Leonard Roan maintained strict discipline in his court at all times and would not tolerate any disturbance. Judge Roan had the authority to make a change of venue if he in any way felt threatened: he made no change of venue. Neither Leo Frank or his lawyers asked for a change of venue.
“The newspapers gave a daily detailed report on the court proceedings, and there were many ‘extras’ printed each day. Not one newspaper ever reported any of the spectators shouting ‘Hang the Jew’ nor did I ever hear that any member of our family made that or any similar statement. Judge Roan was considered by all to be more than fair. The Atlanta Bar held him in high esteem for his ability in criminal law. Otherwise he would have never been on the bench.”
“Was Leo Frank defended well?”
“Leo Frank’s lawyers were the best that money could buy. He had two of the best criminal lawyers in the South, Luther Rosser and Reuben Arnold. I have been told that Rosser’s fee ran well over fifteen thousand dollars. In those years that was a small fortune. These lawyers were the most professional and brilliant lawyers the South had to offer. But the defense these brilliant lawyers were to offer was not good enough to offset Hugh Dorsey’s tactics. If there was any brilliance at that trial, it was Hugh Dorsey’s. The people of Georgia were so impressed by him that he was later rewarded with the biggest prize in state politics: he was elected governor of Georgia.”
“What was meant by Leo Frank being a Northerner and a capitalist? Did these facts have any bearing on the trial?”
My father reminded me about the War Between the States, what had caused it, and that it had been over for only forty-eight years by 1913. He explained how the carpetbaggers had come South to run the country and the awfulness of life under their rule. From that time on, he said, anyone from the North was called a Northerner.
“Leo Frank was born in Texas, but shortly thereafter his family moved to Brooklyn, New York. He was a graduate of Cornell University and he was given the job of superintendent of the National Pencil Company. As for being a capitalist, he did come from a family that was wealthy by the standards of those days. But, as my father pointed out, the hope of any aspiring productive person is to become a capitalist in his own right. In 1913, however, it meant a lifestyle that few people could maintain. And that bred resentment.”
Then I asked, “What is a pervert?”
My father made me get the dictionary and look up the meaning with him. I was not satisfied with the meaning.
