The author is James Loewen and he admits the Illinois-centricity is not by accident. He resides in the Decatur area. But that by no means diminishes the sad truth about Pinckneyville that is exposed in the book.

            To those unfamiliar with it, “Sundown Town” is an egregious reference to a racist community. Blacks and other minorities were “discouraged” from lingering in town after the early evening hours. Whistles were even sounded in some places to alert the “coloreds” that it was time to go.

            Loewen spent time in Pinckneyville interviewing residents and while some of the accounts in the book about the extent of racism here are vague, others are very specific. An unnamed former Baptist minister in Pinckneyville in the 1960s was quoted as saying “… they had an unwritten rule that no Negroes should be in town after sundown. No Negro could live in the community.”

            Accounts by other residents in the book are equally brazen. Loewen contends there was a black population in Pinckneyville but it was driven out in either 1928 or 1929. This was common during the period of the early 1900s to 1940 that he calls the “nadir.’ Towns didn’t turn “sundown” by attrition, they did so by force.

            I saw what I believed to be evidence of this when I was editor of the now-defunct Pinckneyville Democrat. The late Lewis Feltmeyer was a city commissioner and member of the City Cemetery board. He showed me some hand-drawn plats of what was called the Odd Fellows Cemetery back in the early 1900s. The northwest corner of the map was marked as the “Negro Cemetery.” Curiosity took hold so I walked that part of the cemetery only to find two gravestones standing. I asked Feltmeyer what had happen to all the bodies. He guessed that maybe they were there, but the markers had been taken down.

            I then sought out Dick Pyatt, the retired owner of the town’s funeral home that bears his name. I heard coal companies used to employ Pyatt to locate graves so they could be removed in the name of progress. Pyatt uses divining rods and, while he can’t explain how it works, he’s adamant that it does. Pyatt said the way the rods move tells him the gender of the deceased and where his/her head and feet rest. It was eerily fascinating to watch him at work.

            Pyatt, always the gentleman, obliged my request and we went to the cemetery. In long swift strides with rods clutched chest-high in both hands he paced back and forth. The rods remained still. When he approached the two standing gravestones the rods began to move. By Pyatt’s assessment, they were the only bodies in the vicinity.

            How many bodies might have been there long ago and what happened to them might always remain a mystery, but the location of the “Negro Cemetery” seems consistent with Loewen’s account of Pinckneyville’s history.

            The area west of Grant and along Randolph streets was known as the “Black Hills” and was where the black population resided. It is just across the railroad tracks from the so-called Negro Cemetery.

            Loewen includes in his book a picture of a house that he claims served as the school for the town’s black children (my own picture of the residence is below).

            So, if Pinckneyville had a black population and it was driven out of Pinckneyville 80 years ago why hasn’t it returned?  Is there an ugly answer to this question percolating below the surface that we just don’t want to face?

            Some will contend that I raise these questions for the mere sake of stirring the pot and rankling people. For them I have no patience because, no matter how much I try to explain that I’m not out thumbing my nose at this community, they won’t believe it.

            To others I say that I think it is important that our children understand Pinckneyville’s history, warts and all. We are not just a town named after a Revolutionary War colonel with a funny name and which labels itself as the “Friendly Little City.” There is another side to our story and while it is not unique to us – sundowning was a national trend – we own a share of it.

            When my daughter first entered college she expressed concerns when she learned her roommate was African-American. This wasn’t out of a hatred for another race but a fear of the unknown. She had had very little interaction with African-Americans before that. Certainly she’d never shared living quarters with a person of another race.

            I told her she should be more concerned about her new dorm-mate’s studying habits and lifestyle then the shade of her skin. She listened closely and the fear of the unknown quickly dissolved when school started. My daughter and her first roommate remain friends four years later.

            That she expressed the concern made me think that maybe living in an insulated environment isn’t what’s best in preparing our young people to take on the world. Reality hits them quickly when they extend out from the cocoon.

            The powers that be in Pinckneyville should also consider our insulated town. As we prepare to open two museums that we hope will draw people from all walks of life here to spend money, we have to know that our lack of diversity will be noticed. Will that hurt these enterprises in the long run, perhaps?

            One thing is certain – that sign south of town is going to continue to offend a lot of people. Even it is not intended to do so, it does. Now, if the club insists that it needs a sign to direct its own members to its own clubhouse there is little we can say about it. But the black feet – mistaken or intended -- serve no purpose other than to perpetuate an image of Pinckneyville being a modern sundown town. Is that something we should tolerate?

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