An elderly Black woman witnessed young Jerome Smith, just 10 years old at the time, boldly snatching down a Jim Crow divider on a New Orleans streetcar, a symbol of the segregation that oppressed their community.
Seemingly shocked and upset by his defiance, she slapped him.
She also promised the angry white conductor and passengers that she would make sure he faced consequences.
But once they were away from the hostile crowd, her tears flowed freely, revealing the deeper truth of her feelings.
“Never, ever stop,” she told him, pride swelling in her chest.
“I’m proud of you. Don’t you ever quit.”
He didn’t.
We all know the famous names from the Civil Rights Movement, but some of our greatest heroes didn’t always get the primetime headlines.
Jerome “Big Duck” Smith, the powerhouse that history books love to skip over, is exactly who we’re talking about.
Back in 1961, this man put his body on the line as a Freedom Rider who sought to shatter segregation on Southern buses.
He was jailed, brutally beaten and bloodied – but he never backed down. In fact, he took that raw, unyielding energy straight to the White House circle and tore into Attorney General Robert F. Kennedy for dragging his feet on protecting civil rights workers.
Sadly, Mr. Smith passed away from cancer at age 87 at his home in New Orleans on Aug. 21. And although he may not be a name everyone knows, he leaves behind a strong legacy of courage that shows how the backbone of our liberation has always been built by fierce, unsung warriors who refused to play nice.
Born on May 21, 1939, in New Orleans, Mr. Smith grew up in a home where being active in social causes was a natural part of life. His father, Walter Smith, worked as a merchant seaman, while his mother, Leona (Juluke) Smith, juggled her roles as a seamstress and domestic worker. A vivid memory that Mr. Smith would often recount was the day he witnessed his father move a “whites only” sign on a streetcar to claim a seat. The move would later channel that inspiration during a solo ride on a streetcar when he, too, at just 10 years old, would move the sign aside, an act of civic stewardship that defined his upbringing.
As he grew older, his dedication to fighting for racial justice never wavered, deeply influencing his family’s beliefs. He encouraged his children, including his daughter Farin, not to say the Pledge of Allegiance at school because he felt the American flag did not reflect their experiences or respect Black children.
In an interview with The New York Times, Farin remembered her father confronting her principal, saying, “My kids will not honor the American flag because the American flag does not honor Black children.”
This belief went beyond school. Their family also chose not to attend school on Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.’s birthday long before it became an official holiday. For them, it wasn’t just a day off; it was a way to express their values and remember the struggle in their community.
In early May 1961, the first Freedom Riders would hit the road and 21-year-old Mr. Smith was right in the thick of it. Fresh from leaving Southern University in Baton Rouge, Louisiana, he dedicated himself to the Congress of Racial Equality (CORE), a group that was ready to challenge the status quo. Despite a Supreme Court ruling made 15 years earlier that deemed segregated seating on interstate buses illegal, many Southern states turned a blind eye to the law. This blatant disregard for justice sparked one of CORE’s many initiatives: a series of Freedom Rides.
With a mix of Black and white activists, they boarded buses in Washington, D.C., aiming to travel to New Orleans. Their mission was clear: to test the enforcement of the ruling and urge the federal government to take a stand against segregation.
At the time, Mr. Smith was in jail in New Orleans after being arrested for taking part in a lunch-counter sit-in, so he couldn’t participate in the first ride. That trip ended violently in Alabama, where the young riders were attacked and one bus was set on fire. Senior leaders from CORE suggested stopping the rides, but the activists regrouped. And by the end of the month, people from across the country were heading back to the South.
On May 24, Mr. Smith was released from jail and got on a Greyhound bus in Montgomery, Alabama, heading to Jackson, Mississippi, where he was immediately arrested. He was charged with “breach of peace,” a cunning way to avoid stricter laws.
His second trip, however, was much more dangerous. On November 29, he and four other members of CORE from New Orleans, including 18-year-old Doratha Smith-Simmons, took a bus to McComb, Mississippi, a place known for its strong segregation.
The Justice Department had instructed McComb to take down Jim Crow signs from its bus terminal. While the mayor followed the order, he stated that “our local people are going to respect the color line whether the signs are there or not,” as noted by historian Raymond Arsenault in his book Freedom Riders: 1961 and the Struggle for Racial Justice. When Mr. Smith and his group entered the bus terminal, they were attacked, beaten with brass knuckles and sticks, and kicked onto the ground outside.
“I thought we would die that day,” Ms. Smith-Simmons said in an interview, as reported by The Times. She remembered how Mr. Smith had taught her and others about nonviolent techniques and how, the previous winter, he had led them in a 24-hour silent fast in a schoolyard.
“It gave us confidence and courage,” she said. “It changed my life.”
Mr. Smith suffered a serious brain injury from being attacked, which caused him to have constant headaches and mood swings for the rest of his life. Despite this, he continued to work with CORE, traveling across the country to raise money and help register Black voters in rural areas of the South.
In May 1963, while he was in New York City receiving treatment for his ongoing injuries, James Baldwin invited him to a meeting that Attorney General Robert F. Kennedy had asked Mr. Baldwin to set up with other civil rights leaders, including playwright Lorraine Hansberry, musicians Lena Horne and Harry Belafonte and actor Rip Torn.
The discussion focused on racial justice in Northern cities, but things took a turn when Kennedy started talking about the Justice Department’s efforts.
Mr. Smith began to cry and angrily stated that he had witnessed federal forces do very little while he and his friends were severely beaten. He expressed his frustration that the government expected him to show patriotism for the Vietnam War while failing to protect him and other Black Americans. He said he would prefer to die than fight against the Vietnamese people, but he felt his commitment to peace was being challenged at home.
He was, he claimed, “close to the moment where I’m ready to take up a gun.”
Angry, Kennedy turned away, and at that moment, Ms. Hansberry and the others confronted him.
“You have many very talented people in this room, Mr. Attorney General,” she stated, as Arthur Schlesinger Jr. noted in Robert Kennedy and His Times. “But the only person who should be heard is that man over there,” referring to Mr. Smith.
The meeting went downhill from there. Kennedy seemed unable to grasp the strong emotions and frustration of the group and after three hours, the activists left. “They seemed really possessed,” Mr. Kennedy later told Mr. Schlesinger.
In a 1988 interview for the Kim Lacy Rogers Collection at the Amistad Research Center in New Orleans, Mr. Smith said the meeting was a crucial turning point for everyone there.
“I remember sitting here and Robert Kennedy sitting there,” he recalled, “and seeing him tremble from the impact of what that struggle gave to me to bring to him.”
After his work as a Freedom Rider and CORE activist, co-founded the Tambourine & Fan youth organization in 1968 within the Tremé neighborhood. He dedicated decades to teaching local youth about Black history and civic pride, earning the nickname “Big Duck.”
The nickname stuck because everywhere Smith went in the community, he was constantly trailed by a long, single-file line of local kids who looked exactly like a flock of little ducklings following their leader.
Along with Farin Smith, Mr. Smith is survived by his daughters, Kami and Saidah Smith; his son, Jerome Jr.; his brothers, Walter Smith Jr. and Archie Sampier; his partner, Cynthia Thornton; and 11 grandchildren. His sons, Juden, Tarik and Taju Smith, as well as his grandson, Tarik Jr., passed away before him. He was previously married to Betty Watler, but it ended in divorce.
They try to erase our history, but leaders like Jerome Smith are etched in stone. He proved that real power doesn’t always come from a title or a suit – it also comes from the streets, the community and an unshakeable love for our people.
He took the blows so we could stand a little taller and forgetting him simply isn’t an option. We owe it to him and to ourselves to keep that same energy.
May we forever say his name, remember his fight and keep building the future he bled for.
