Jonathan Daniels ’61: A Purposeful Life

On the last day of his life, Jonathan Myrick Daniels ’61 awoke in a jail in Hayneville, Alabama. This was his first time in jail, but he now had 6 days of incarceration under his belt. The facility that housed him lacked any airflow, even in the heat of an Alabama summer. The shared toilet was often clogged, and feces on the floor added to the décor. All this because Daniels had joined a peaceful protest carrying signs asking for “equal treatment for all” and “no back doors.” Daniels was hot, tired, and hungry, but he was to be released this day—Aug. 20, 1965.

Daniels and the other protestors were released that afternoon, and they gathered next to the jail as they awaited rides. After a short time, a deputy sheriff told them to move on, so the protest group split into smaller elements and moved on. Daniels was wearing his Episcopal seminarian collar, and he was accompanied by Father Richard Morrisroe, a Catholic priest, and two Black activists, Ruby Sales and Joyce Bailey. They observed a Coke sign by a local country store called the Cash Store, and they headed there for refreshments. This store was well known as one of the few places in Hayneville where Black people could come in the front door.

Neither Daniels nor his friends knew that a highway worker and supposed deputy sheriff had entered the store before them and now brandished a 12-gauge shotgun. As Daniels opened the store door to let Sales go in first, Tom Coleman raised his shotgun and shouted that the store was closed and to get off this property “or I’ll blow your … heads off …” Daniels asked if he was threatening them while pushing Sales to the ground. Coleman raised his gun and from a few feet away blasted Daniels in the chest. He died instantly. Morrisroe and Bailey turned and ran, with Coleman in pursuit. A second shot followed, hitting Morrisroe in the back and putting him down. Sales, covered in Daniels’ blood, ran off as the second shot was fired. She and Bailey escaped unharmed. The real targets were the white civil rights workers, Daniels and Morrisroe. This was Lowndes County, Alabama, the poorest county in the United States and one run completely by the Ku Klux Klan.

At first glance, Daniels did not look like a leader. He was soft spoken, just under 6 feet tall, and always thin. An athlete he was not, but few were as determined as Daniels.

He was born in 1939 in Keene, New Hampshire, a town of about 14,000 back then famous for pumpkins. The town was about 20 years older than Lexington, Virginia. Daniels’ father, Philip, was a doctor, the kind who made house calls, and a World War II vet with a Bronze Star and a Purple Heart. His mother, Connie, was a stay-at-home mom, and Daniels had a younger sister, Emily. A great-grandfather had served in the Civil War with the 54th Massachusetts, an African American regiment made famous by the movie “Glory.” Another ancestor fought in the American Revolution. Daniels felt an affinity with the South, as he spent time in Kentucky and Arkansas while his dad was in military service.

The Daniels family attended the Congregational Church, now the Church of Christ. Daniels sang in the choir from age 7 and was described as having a “fine tenor” voice. His youth was a world of books, which helped him to become a good student. Allergies and asthma caused him problems, which later kept him out of military service. Elvis Presley was the rage for youth growing up in the 1950s, but Daniels preferred Beethoven. During his high school years, he joined the Episcopal Church, preferring its liturgy and hierarchy. Later, he would favor the high Episcopal Church, which was closer to Catholicism and more conservative. When it came time for college, Daniels’ parents urged him to attend an Ivy League school like Harvard, but he chose VMI. In the words of his friend and classmate, Jim Ring ’61, Daniels knew he would be called to the ministry, and VMI gave him “the honor and intestinal fortitude … to survive our calling from God.” Both went into ministry.

Unlike most of his fellow cadets, Daniels never wanted to serve in the military. He disliked the Rat Line. As an English major, he excelled. Ring recalled that “he took studying seriously,” and he graduated third out of 23 cadets as an English major. Daniels sang in the Glee Club, tried fencing, and worked for The Cadet newspaper. With his free time, he was often in the library’s Timmons Music Room listening to classical music. When he ventured uptown to Lexington, Daniels was exposed to the segregation and racism of the South.

Col. Herbert “Dodo” Dillard, Class of 1934, was Daniels’ faculty advisor, and Dillard described him “as unassuming, reserved, but intense.” Daniels’ goal was to go to graduate school in English and then to either medical school or the ministry.

Some time while at VMI, Daniels lost his faith. He stopped his nightly prayers and often ducked out of mandatory Sunday church formations and returned to his room to sleep. His faith was further tested when his father died during his 2nd Class year. His dad was his idol and example, who did so much for people. How could God take this saintly man away?

His 1st Class year was very rewarding as he wrote a thesis on “The Problems of the Absurd in the Writings of Albert Camus (The Philosopher).” By this time, he was well-recognized as an intellectual and was thought to be “honest, outspoken, and talented” by his classmates. To rats, he was a “rat daddy,” who made life easier for incoming new cadets. As graduation approached, Daniels was voted valedictorian of his class, a great honor. He also received notice that he was awarded both a Woodrow Wilson and a Danforth scholarship for graduate studies and an acceptance to Harvard for the further study of English. Daniels wrote a memorable send-off valedictory address in which he wished his classmates “the joy of a purposeful life.”

Daniels attended Harvard for 1 year and then left to return to New Hampshire to support his family, who struggled financially following his father’s death. It was during this time that his faith was renewed on Easter Sunday 1962. He had a “reconversion experience,” he said, and soon after, he decided to choose the ministry. He was accepted and enrolled in the Episcopal Theological Seminary, which was located next to Harvard in Cambridge, Massachusetts. This would begin in  fall 1963.

That summer, he also joined Martin Luther King Jr.’s March on Washington Aug. 28, 1963. This was his first connection with the civil rights movement.

The seminary was a 3-year program that included supervised fieldwork. Daniels was assigned to an inner-city parish in Providence, Rhode Island. In the words of Ring, “this profoundly affected him,” and he became aware of racism. He ran a Saturday program for kids doing artwork and conducted field trips. Daniels took this further and visited the homes of African American families. He came to realize that self-fulfillment in one’s life came with service. This was the lesson from his father and from watching President John F. Kennedy and King.  The Civil Rights Act of 1964 was a first step that outlawed discrimination. Students at ETS were immersed in the civil rights movement. Daniels was a confirmed activist, but for now, studies kept him in Cambridge.

In early 1965, Rev. Charles Carpenter, the Episcopal bishop of Alabama, who was a staunch segregationist, criticized Episcopalians who supported equal rights for Black people. Daniels was “bitterly opposed to racial prejudice.” On March 7, 1965, John Lewis, head of the Student Non-Violent Coordinating Committee, led a peaceful protest for voting rights over the Edmund Pettus Bridge from Selma, Alabama, to Montgomery, the state capital. They were met by 150 Alabama state troopers who attacked them viciously with batons and tear gas. Daniels watched this on television and was horrified by the violence. King sent urgent telegrams to clergy, including ETS, asking for their support to attend another March from Selma to Montgomery, a minister’s march. Daniels didn’t have the money or a car to go, but he and fellow ETS students raised money and joined a chartered flight to Atlanta March 9, 1965. He had just over 6 months to live.

At the time, only 2% of Black people in Selma could vote due to the literacy tests required to register to vote. The new Civil Rights Act of 1964 did not address voting. Daniels joined the MLK March to Montgomery, which did go on as planned peacefully, but the local judge only allowed the march from east of the bridge, outside of Selma, to Montgomery. Soon after, a white minister who rode on the plane with Daniels, James Reeb, was murdered by a white mob. During this time, the only thing lower than being Black in Selma was being a white agitator.

Daniels joined a protest against Reeb’s murder, but the locals put up barricades to stop any demonstrations. Rain fell, and Daniels found tarps for shelter. He slept in the muddy street in a blanket borrowed from a local Black family. The next day, he was allowed to leave the barrier and go to St. Paul’s Episcopal Church in Selma. Daniels always wore his seminarian clerical collar. He confronted the church reverend, asking about their practices. The pastor readily admitted he agreed with segregation, and Black people were not allowed in the church. Daniels warned him that this violated Episcopal law and the church could be shut down. The reverend said it wasn’t up to him. On Sunday, March 14, Daniels brought a Black family with him to the church, and the ushers locked arms and refused them entry. Following this event, he was due to go back to seminary, but he just couldn’t go.

Daniels stayed with a Black family in Selma, the Scotts. They watched President Lyndon B. Johnson on TV rant against people who kept others from voting. Daniels and the Scotts cheered for LBJ. Daniels flew back to ETS and received permission to take his classes by correspondence before returning at the end of the semester for exams. He told his professors that something happened to him in Selma, and he had to go back.

When Daniels returned to Selma, he and a friend had a car. A local federal judge allowed the MLK March from Selma to Montgomery. The National Guard provided some security. Daniels missed the start of the march but caught up and stood guard as the marchers slept that first night. When the march reached Lowndes County, that same federal judge ordered the demonstration numbers decreased, as no county was more dangerous than the KKK-controlled Lowndes. Daniels met King and was energized by the meeting. He continued to keep guard on the marchers’ tents at night. The next day, he joined the march, which had grown to 25,000 for the final few miles. King headed to the capitol and planned to give Gov. George Wallace a petition demanding protection for Black people who registered to vote. Watching from his office, Wallace ignored the crowd and MLK.

That night, Daniels picked up a few demonstrators who needed a ride back to Montgomery. He was still in Lowndes County when a car with rifles hanging out the window drove up behind them, and Daniels sped up to avoid a confrontation with the KKK. Daniels escaped harm, but another white activist was murdered that night by Klansmen.

Daniels stayed in Selma, where he helped to register voters, tutor students, and shuttle people to doctors’ appointments, all in the Black community. John Lewis, later a U.S. congressman from Georgia, said he had heard of Daniels’ work and said it was “nitty gritty, dirty work.” It was “work that needed to get done.”

On Palm Sunday, April 11, Daniels again brought a mixed group of worshipers to St. Paul’s Church. Again, the ushers blocked their entry, but this time the church reverend intervened. He told the ushers that they were violating Episcopal law and to let them in, but only in the back row. This was a victory of sorts. By this time in Selma, things were beginning to improve. A judge ordered the sheriff to stop harassing voter applicants, but the literacy tests continued.

Daniels stood out with his collar and noticed he was being followed everywhere he went. He went to get an Alabama license plate instead of the Massachusetts one, but when he gave his Black friends’ address, his friends started receiving harassing phone calls. Daniels was taken to a new home to live in deep in the Black community where he was safer. This was the West family with 10 children, who Daniels became close to. While with the Wests, he met Stokely Carmichael, the leader of the SNCC in Lowndes County.

Carmichael was born in Trinidad and grew up in the U.S. after age 11. He was college educated, a Freedom Rider, and voting rights activist. Longtime FBI director J. Edgar Hoover kept close tabs on him. Up until he met Daniels, Carmichael kept a “no white friends” policy. Daniels wanted to join him working in Lowndes County. Carmichael had already successfully registered a number of Black voters in Lowndes, but that number was still small. There was work to do.

Carmichael was impressed by Daniels’ passion. Most remember Carmichael as a Black nationalist who hated white people. He later became the face of the Black Panther Party. Daniels went to Lowndes County and sought out Carmichael. They argued, with Carmichael telling Daniels he would get killed. Daniels replied he knew that, but he deserved the right to try to help. Carmichael gave in and introduced Daniels to others working in Lowndes, including a 17-year-old activist named Ruby Sales who was attending the Tuskegee Institute. Daniels became the first white volunteer helping to register voters in Lowndes County.

Before Daniels could take on this new task, he had to return to ETS and take his exams. He did so successfully, and his second year in the seminary was complete. By July 4, he was back in Selma driving a borrowed car. His friends, sister, and mother were very concerned for his safety. He was aware of what he was getting into and took out a life insurance policy. He also bought a camera that he would use extensively, recording the poverty that he saw in rural Alabama. The lack of heat and insulation, plus seeing the malnourishment and the sick, affected Daniels deeply. He tape-recorded a number of the people he met during his travels. One woman recounted that she had been fired as a house cleaner by a Tom Coleman, who heard the woman’s daughter had attended a Martin Luther King Jr. speech. Coleman warned her that her home might be next.

It was now August 1965, and Daniels joined a demonstration in Lowndes County’s largest city, Fort Deposit. The demonstrators protested white shop owners’ treatment of Black customers. Black people were the largest group of customers, but had to come in the back door of stores. They could not be hired in these stores and often were charged higher prices than white people. The demonstrators were warned there could be violence. Daniels and his new friend, Morrisroe, helped shuttle protestors to the meeting place in Fort Deposit. A white mob met them, and Daniels argued about their right to protest. Police and some mob members started to arrest the demonstrators, who were told they lacked a permit to demonstrate.

Daniels, Morrisroe, Carmichael, Sales, and 16 others were transported in a garbage truck to a larger jail in Hayneville. Daniels and Carmichael were together in a cell. While in jail, Daniels often led his fellow demonstrators in prayer or song. He and others discussed the civil rights movement and their next steps. On Friday, Aug. 20, the SNCC lawyer petitioned to move the demonstrators’ trial to federal court. The fear of losing control to the feds caused the mayor of Fort Deposit to release the prisoners.

Coleman, wearing a pistol and carrying a shotgun, headed to the Cash Store, the small grocery where Daniels would meet his fate. Coleman knew the demonstrators had been released and the store was a likely destination, as Black people could buy there freely. He entered the back door and stayed, telling the owner she might need protection.

The rest is as described. Following Daniels’ murder, his body was picked up by the coroner within 30 minutes of the shooting. Morrisroe would survive but spent 11 hours in surgery and months recovering. Daniels’ mother, Connie, was celebrating her birthday when she learned of her son’s death. Daniels’ body was returned to Keene for burial. President Johnson demanded an investigation and wrote a nice note to Connie Daniels, as did King.

Coleman drove to the courthouse and phoned the authorities. He told them, “I just shot two preachers.” Coleman was charged with first-degree murder. He admitted to the murders but signed no confession. Three weeks after Daniels’ death, the trial for his murder began. Sales would testify, but the trial was hurried before Morrisroe could recover, so he did not testify. The jury consisted of Coleman’s friends and neighbors who were all white people and all male in accordance with Alabama law.

The defense made Coleman into a hero for helping an understaffed sheriff’s office enforce the law. Coleman’s friends came forward to state that Daniels and Morrisroe were armed and initiated the trouble. Daniels’ character was assaulted with testimony that he came to Alabama to have affairs with Black women. The verdict was clear: Not guilty. Coleman was released and never expressed regret at what happened. He would live another 30 years, working much of it as a state highway employee.

Daniels’ death sparked change in Alabama. Six months after his death, a federal judge ordered the inclusion of Black people and women on Alabama juries. This was a result of a lawsuit by Connie Daniels and Black Lowndes County residents against the Lowndes County jury commissioners. The case, White v. Crook, revolutionized the Southern jury system and is a major part of Daniels’ legacy.

In 1991, Jonathan Daniels was named a saint in the Episcopal Church. Daniels is remembered by his church Aug. 14, the day of his arrest at Fort Deposit. He is honored across the country.

Author’s Note: Sources are books by Charles W. Eagles, “Outside Agitator,” a book by Rick & Sandra Wallace, “Blood Brother: Jon Daniels & the Civil Rights Movement in Alabama, William Schneider’s book, “American Martyr: The Jon Daniels Story,” and a privately published book by the VMI Class of 1961 with memories of their lives and cadetship.

This talk was given Aug. 9, 2024, at the Montgomery, Alabama, Country Club to VMI alumni by Jim Dittrich ’76, VMI Alumni Association historian.