Photography museum hosts Emmett Till exhibit
Emmett Till’s brutal murder in 1955 Mississippi shocked the American public in part due to the power of photography.
The 14-year-old was abducted, tortured and shot by two White men, his body weighted and dumped into the Tallahatchie River. When his bloated corpse was pulled out three days later, his mother, Mamie Till, insisted his body be returned to her and that she see him.
Then she insisted on an open casket for his funeral in Chicago, and urged Jet magazine to photograph him, so that everyone could see what had been done to her son.
On the 50th anniversary of his death, the New York Times called those and other Till photographs “iconic, textbook images of the Jim Crow era.”
Now, Emmett Till’s life and death are chronicled in an exhibit at Riverside’s California Museum of Photography.
“The Impact of Images: Mamie Till’s Courage From Tragedy” gathers together rare photos of Till, his family and the trial of his killers, who were found not guilty — more on that in a moment.
It’s hard to imagine a better title than “The Impact of Images.” This is one powerful exhibit.
“It weaves together history that not enough people know about,” Doug Mcculloh, the museum’s senior curator, told me. “It’s photography as a weapon for change. And it did change things.”
Rosa Parks attended a rally about Till led by the Rev. Martin Luther King Jr. Weeks later, she refused to move to the rear of a bus, launching the Montgomery Bus Boycott. “I thought of Emmett Till,” she said later, “and I just couldn’t go back.”
I had some familiarity with Till’s story, but the exhibit was even more illuminating than I’d hoped. Last Tuesday I returned for a walk-through with Charles Long, its co-curator.
Long is no expert in photography. He teaches sculpture at UC Riverside. He surprised himself by taking on the project, but he felt
compelled to do it.
In October 2022, he attended the premiere of the movie “Till,” at which civil rights icon Myrlie Evers spoke from her wheelchair, saying the story needs to be more widely known.
At the post-movie reception, still shaken, Long saw a display of black-and-white historical photos that nobody was paying attention to. Realizing the archivist was nearby, Long introduced himself.
Chris Flannery explained that he’d been hired by the filmmakers to help them recreate the era. The images of Mamie Till, the funeral and the trial, he said, had been shot by the Black press.
Hearing that the photos would be returning to the archives, Long brought up the photography museum, telling Flannery that perhaps the UC Riverside-run institution in the city’s downtown (3824 Main St.) would be interested.
It was. Long and Flannery co-curated “The Impact of Images,” Flannery providing highresolution scans from various archives and Long writing the wall text. The show opened last November and ends March 30, with free admission.
Long, who normally makes abstract sculptures in his studio in Pomona, hadn’t promoted the show until now and doesn’t wish to benefit in any way.
Explaining his motivation, he said simply: “I felt like I was called on by Myrlie Evers.”
The exhibit starts with family photos of Emmett, a stylish, carefree teen. In summer 1955, visiting his cousins in Mississippi, he had an exchange in a store with a White female clerk that crossed some sort of line — accounts vary — and days later was abducted by the woman’s husband, Roy Bryant, and his half-brother J.W. Milam.
The Black press covered the murder and the return of Emmett’s body to Chicago. Tens of thousands of mourners filed by to see his casket.
At the trial of Bryant and Milam, the Black press had to sit in a sequestered section of the courtroom. Among them was Ernest Withers, a photographer who documented the South.
One of the most significant photos was shot in the courtroom by Withers on the sly.
Moses Wright, Emmett’s grand-uncle, stood to testify that Milam came to his house to take Emmett at gunpoint. A Black man testifying in court against a White man was almost unheard of. He knew,
Long said, that he and his family would need to flee the state immediately afterward.
Defying the judge’s ban on photography, Withers had a small camera in his lap and surreptitiously snapped a photo as Wright’s arm was raised, finger pointing.
The jury returned with a not-guilty verdict after only 67 minutes. They dismissed the testimony against Bryant and
Milam as hearsay. One photo shows the pair in jubilation. Another captures the Till family’s utter disbelief.
Mamie went on a national speaking tour organized by the NAACP to seize the moment and press for justice. Observed Long: “She didn’t hide. She didn’t say ‘I can’t fight the system.’ ”
Mamie Till had a “commitment to public grief and action,” Courtney Baker, a UC Riverside professor who has studied images of Black suffering and death, told me via email. The exhibit’s photographs, Baker said, “confront the viewer and demand their response.”
Shortly after the verdict, Bryant and Milam confessed to the crime in an interview with Look magazine, for which they were paid. They couldn’t be retried due to double jeopardy. But their local support evaporated.
Now, what of the photo of the open casket?
I was looking for it. I’d heard of it, but had never seen it.
It’s not on the walls. But on a table are facsimiles of a period booklet produced by Withers. Viewers can examine it if they wish. The casket photo is inside. A sign warns: “Viewer discretion is advised.”
Having now seen the photo, I can’t unsee it. Emmett Till’s swollen face, one eye missing, barely looks human.
“We had a lot of discussion about it,” Mcculloh told me. “If anyone can look at it on their phone in one second, and it’s so extreme, why show it? That was not my decision. That was everybody’s decision.”
That photo will haunt me. But so will the entire exhibit, which deserves to be seen, absorbed and pondered.
David Allen writes and ponders Sunday, Wednesday and Friday. Email dallen@scng.com, phone 909-483-9339, like davidallencolumnist on Facebook and follow @davidallen909 on X, formerly Twitter.