In Bill Moore's Footsteps

I was made to wish for more--more than the mere possible or even the probable. I must pursue the impossible . . . Whether I go forward as Don Quixote chasing his windmill or as the pilgrim progressing must be left for you to decide . . . I can only give my life.

--The Mind in Chains: The Autobiography of a Schizophrenic, William L. Moore

The Sand Mountain area between Chattanooga, Tenn., and Gadsden, Ala., is no place for pilgrims. It is a land of mountaineers who tote rifles in their cars, glare in suspicion at strangers, and believe unshakably in racial segregation. Last month William Moore, a onetime mental patient, thought he might change things by walking through the area displaying civil rights signs. It cost him his life; he was found shot dead on U.S. Highway 11 (TIME, May 3). Last week, following in his footsteps, came ten more civil rights hikers. They were arrested as they crossed the Alabama line, but others were on the way. Bill Moore had started something.

In Protest. Moore, 35, was a native of Binghamton, N.Y. He fought with the Marines on Guam during World War II, then embarked on an educational spree that took him to colleges in Southampton, Barcelona, Paris, Baltimore, and to Harpur College near Binghamton, where in 1952 he got a degree in social studies (B average). His pursuit of formal learning ended a year later when he was committed to Binghamton State Hospital as a schizophrenic. In a mental ward for 18 months, he wrote most of The Mind in Chains, later raised $3,500 to pay for its 1955 publication.

In Binghamton, people always thought Moore was peculiar. He was a pacifist and an atheist, who even objected to the words "In God We Trust" on U.S. coins. Binghamton was accustomed to his one-man picket parades. Whether urging fluoridation of the local water supply or protesting against the downtown display of an Atlas missile or prayers in public schools, Moore would hang a sign around his neck and start marching.

He married a divorcee with three children in 1956, but last winter he left his family behind to move to Baltimore. That city, he felt, was more in need of his crusades than Binghamton. He got a job as a substitute postman, picketed Baltimore's Northwood Theater, was arrested with other protesters before the theater finally integrated. He marched to Annapolis with an integration group, later walked alone to Washington, where he tried to deliver a letter to President Kennedy. A guard told him to put it in a mailbox.

The Warning. Moore's trek through the South began on April 21. Starting out from Chattanooga, he talked to many men along the way. One was Floyd Simpan, 41, proprietor of a country grocery on the road near Collbran, Ala. Unlike much-traveled Bill Moore, Simpson had spent nearly all his life within ten miles of his store; he did not finish high school until after he was 30. On the morning of April 23, the country storekeeper and some pals saw Moore plodding toward them. They read his signs and talked with him. Recalls Simpson: "We couldn't believe that a fellow thought like that. He said he believed in integration and inter-marriage."

Later that afternoon, Simpson and a friend, still curious, hopped into Simpson's old black Buick, overtook Moore a few miles down the road. Simpson now insists that he "truthfully felt sorry for the fellow." It was in that sympathetic spirit, he says, that he warned Moore: "You'll never get past Birmingham."

Just after dusk, a motorist found Moore lying at the side of the road, still wearing a sign reading: "Equal Rights for All." His civil rights crusade was over, he had been shot twice with a .22 caliber rifle. Floyd Simpson was arrested a few days later and, on evidence that the police have not yet disclosed, charged with first-degree murder.

The ten integrationist marchers who followed Moore last week were trying to finish his trip. They were not allowed to do so. Was it all just a hopeless pursuit of the impossible? In Binghamton, Mayor John J. Burns did not think so: "This taught all of us a lesson. He was scorned here. I think now we're all sorry he was. Maybe the next time someone wants to picket the courthouse, we will tolerate brave people."

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