When I was asked to post on the Lemuria blog in advance of Governor Winter’s biography, William F. Winter and the New Mississippi, being released, I was perplexed. What could I add that people didn’t know already? So, here is the condensed version of my journey with this remarkable man:
The sultry hot air and its oppressive ways are a well-known facet of the Neshoba County Fair, and the weather during those lumbering summer days can be pretty intense as well. Never was this more true than in the summer of 1963. Though I was only thirteen years old, I remember both the political rhetoric and the sun’s rays felt glaringly hostile. Phrases like “preserve our southern way of life” and “protecting our heritage” were just passing clouds that hardly softened the glare of vitriol and divisiveness that was tearing our home state apart.
Seemingly out of the blue a bespectacled slender fellow quietly took the stage. I watched him approach the podium and thought, Gosh, this guy looks more like a history professor than a Mississippi politician. Like a much-hoped for afternoon shower to calm the dust and break the heat, he spoke in a calm, reasoned manner, reminding us that “we, as citizens of the United States, have an obligation to follow the laws of our country” — hardly a radical thought now, but this was after hours of fist-pounding over “states’ rights” and stum
p speeches based on the premise that “the South will rise again!”
There then-State Tax Collector William Winter stood speaking out with his gentle Southern drawl against those operating from behind the dark clouds of fear, those actively working to prevent our fellow citizens from voting, eating in restaurants, going to decent schools, or just being treated with dignity as human beings. Though we were almost three decades apart in age, I felt a connection to this mild-mannered man and his powerful words.
As he concluded his remarks and exited the pavilion, the crowd gathered managed a somewhat tepid, smattering of applause. Waiting at the bottom of the stairs, there I was–a scrawny teenager sporting Coke-bottle glasses and slick-backed Brylcreemed hair–with my hand extended.
“Mr. Winter, my name is Dick Molpus, and I want to be on your team.”
He looked me in the eye, shook my hand, and said, “I am honored to have you on my team.”
I believe he meant it.
As I I look back over our relationship, he did, in fact, welcome me onto his “team” (and into his life), showing me through his steady dedication of a lifetime the “better angels” of human nature and what courage personified looked like. I was changed forever to have him as a boss, mentor, counselor, guide, advisor, and, maybe most importantly, a loyal, steadfast, unwavering friend.
And it all started, like so many good Mississippi political stories do, on the red dirt off the pavilion in the square at the Neshoba County Fair some fifty years ago.
Dick Molpus
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