16. Final Departure: Leaving the South
After that, within a matter of days, Dr. King was assassinated and I called his long time friend, Dorothy Cotton, and we connected by holding an open line for half an hour, barely speaking. And, of course, then came the death of Bobby Kennedy. I had become lethargic and mournful. My dreams were nightmarish montages of Dr. King, Bobby Kennedy and my dog. I missed Stokely and Rap. Paul and Pat Bokulich had left by now. My work had become very bureaucratic and was meant for someone more disciplined than me. I still loved the people, but I had lost my spirit, and more important, I had lost my instinct for what had to be done.
I stayed two more weeks to work out a smooth transition of leadership to SRRP staff: Dondra Simmons and U.Z. Nunnely, Kathy having left already. For the first time, SRRP would be headed by blacks.
I wrote a farewell to all my friends:
Some of you . . . went with me to various courts and because you stood up for what you believed in, you were shot at, evicted from your homes, or had vital credit cut off. I hope you are not sorry, but feel there has been some success for all the sacrifices.
I pray that we shall live to see a time when you all have enough food to eat, decent homes to live in, doctors to take care of you and your children, and jobs which will take you off the welfare.
I shall always remember you all.
The Edmunites gave me a "last supper" and presented me with a scroll from the book of psalms about freeing the poor.
On September 14, 1968, my future wife, Estelle, and I, drove to the airport and said goodbye to my successors. Ironically that day's newspapers contained headlines that the Bokulich case had officially been won, the Jury Commission was ordered to create an honest jury system. We flew to San Francisco to relocate, for me to take the California Bar exam, to begin a normal life, to surface into the urban Sixties.
And then the pain began. I felt I had betrayed the people I had left, that nothing else would ever satisfy me, that I would never have such close friends again. Like many others who left the South, I stayed away from civil rights veterans for almost 30 years -- unwilling to accept the pain that would come from reminiscences.
Bruce Hartford: And then you came to California?
Don Jelinek: Yeah, I relocated to California. I took a job with American Indian Legal Services, which was in the federal courts where I could practice without a California license. I passed the bar exam but then received a letter that said, in effect: "You're smart enough but not moral enough." Based on my multitude of arrests in the South -- as a lawyer, they emphasized -- they rejected me. A year later they gave up and licensed me; I opened my own office, which has been going for more than 30 years now.
The work with the Indians led to my becoming their lawyer when they seized Alcatraz Island in the waters off San Francisco. I lived with them for much of the 19 months they were there. Back on the mainland, I became heavily involved with draft resisters and GI's attempting to avoid Vietnam. And, to my utter delight, I got the opportunity to meet U.S. Supreme Court Justice William Douglas. When the high court's out of session, you have to go to the individual
Justice, to sign papers. Only Douglas lived in a place without telephones.
Bruce Hartford: That was up in Washington state somewhere?
Don Jelinek: Gooseprarie, Washington.
Bruce Hartford: Yeah, I remember they used to have to send helicopters . . .
Don Jelinek: The Committee for Conscious Objectors met me at the Seattle airport, drove me to the area: no motels, no hotels, no restaurants. They had sleeping bags and we slept out in the grass. I knew already from their warnings that I had to look like a lawyer, so I shaved in a lake, put on my suit and then went to his door. I told him about the case and he granted the injunction. And to do so, he had to climb to this forest ranger platform to get where they did Morse code, and send it to DC.
Bruce Hartford: He was a character.
Don Jelinek: We stopped a boat load of GI's from shipping out to Vietnam. That was a great case.
In 1973 I became the Legal Coordinator for the 62 prisoners charged with 1300 felonies in connection with the 1971 Attica Uprising in upstate New York.
Bruce Hartford: Why were you the one? You're in California, it's a New York case, why were you . . .
Don Jelinek: Two reasons. They wanted somebody who knew how to handle mass criminal cases -- only civil rights lawyers knew that. The few who were asked and who were eligible couldn't make the commitment at that time, and I had a New York license, which was a major factor.
Bruce Hartford: But you would think Kunstler . . .
Don Jelinek: Bill Kunstler, who is my hero, never settled down anywhere. He moved from place to place, performing miracles. He wouldn't settle down for a couple years in one spot.
Bruce Hartford: And it would take that long to do this case?
Don Jelinek: To do any major case. It was always his style and he did it magnificently. He tried hundreds and hundreds of cases because he kept moving. After Attica I resumed earning a living. I was successful in a popular local action to bar our subway system (BART) from evicting flea market vendors who used their parking lot (originally, with their consent) on weekends. This propelled me into local politics. I was elected to three terms on the Berkeley City Council -- and I thought the South was perilous. Later I barely lost an election for Mayor.
In 1984 I was lucky enough to marry Jane Scherr, every Berkelyian's favorite photographer. In 2006 we remain happily married, with two great grandchildren. There's much more, but I will end by quoting a conversation I had with Jane. We were discussing those brief profiles from families of the 9/11 victims that the N.Y. Times was publishing. Do you remember that?
I told her that if I had been one of them, I would want her to write:
"He had people who he loved and who loved him . . . and he was part of SNCC."
Bruce Hartford: Again, well done.
Don Jelinek: Thank you, Bruce.