Bruce Klunder
Age 26
A minister, husband and father who opposed segregated schools
Cleveland, Ohio
April 7, 1964
"Even way back then, we realized that injustice was in the institutions—that it was systematic."
Joanne Hardy & Janice Klunder
Widow and Daughter of Klunder
START
JK: So what was Daddy like?
JH: He was a really nice guy and very friendly, and he was well-liked by everybody. He was a very smart person, but did not come off as some high and mighty intellectual.
JK: Tell me about what happened to Daddy.
JH: We did a lot of picketing down at the Board of Education. At that time, they didn’t try to integrate anything. So that became the big issue. They were immediately going to start constructing three new schools in crazy places on main thoroughfares. We decided that the only way we could stop them from building those schools was to commit civil disobedience.
Folks threw themselves on the ground, blocking the trucks, blocking the bulldozer. And mostly they had been lying down in front of the bulldozer and your Daddy laid down behind the bulldozer. He was lying in the mud face down and it backed right over him and he was killed instantly.
Because he was white and because it was in the North and because he was a pastor, this was worldwide news. If it had been a Black person who was killed, I don’t think it would have been worldwide news.
JK: I don’t recall ever really spending a lot of time thinking about the person who drove the bulldozer, because I was told that it was an accident.
JH: In my case, even if he did it on purpose, it didn’t make any difference to me. I always looked at it as being symbolic that he ran over him, not even knowing that somebody might be there, because that’s what Blacks suffered all along—people ignoring the fact that they’re there, wherever it might be.
JK: I don’t remember ever being angry about my dad going to the school site. I don’t remember being angry at the people responsible for his death. I internalized that it was not justice in the sense of avenging my father’s death. It was about a fight for justice for lots of people.
JH: Even way back then, we realized that injustice was in the institutions—that it was systematic. Now, people are talking about the root causes and yeah we got the Civil Rights Act, and we got this and we got that, but it didn’t solve the basic problem, that this country was born with injustice.
END
Photo of Janice by Daniel Nova, Jr. (Left) Photo of Joanne by Séan A. Harris Photography. (Right)
Rev. Bruce Klunder was a minister, an activist, a husband and a father who died protesting the construction of a segregated school in Cleveland, Ohio.
During the April 1964 protest, a group of activists threw themselves to the ground on the construction site, blocking a bulldozer with their bodies. As the driver backed away from them, he drove over Klunder, who had lain down behind the bulldozer.
Initial Investigation
According to a Department of Justice memo summarizing the case, the bulldozer driver was cleared of any wrongdoing after he told police he did not see Klunder lie down and could not hear shouts alerting him to Klunder’s presence over the noise of the bulldozer.
“I backed up all the way over him, and then I saw him lying in front of the tractor. That was the first I knew I had run over anybody,” the driver said, according to an excerpt of his statement to police published in a local paper. The media reported that the driver was upset and remorseful following the incident. The Cuyahoga County Coroner ruled that Klunder’s death was accidental.
Protests against the school continued after Klunder’s death, and the Cleveland Board of Education temporarily halted construction. The project eventually resumed, and the segregated school was built.
Till Act Status
The Federal Bureau of Investigation opened a review of the circumstances surroundings Klunder’s death in April 2009, according to the DOJ memo. The FBI asked the Cleveland Police Department for records on the case, but the police said none existed. Agents reviewed a copy of the coroner’s autopsy report and local media coverage.
The FBI also made an attempt to locate the bulldozer driver, but according to the DOJ memo, “he is either deceased or could not be located using the variety of public and law enforcement databases available.” A database search found three men with the driver’s name and approximate age in the Cleveland area, but all were deceased. Agents did not expand their search beyond Cleveland, nor did they interview anyone else in their investigation.
The FBI closed the case on April 16, 2010.
Case Status closed
Closed 04/16/2010
Themes
- Closed Cases
- Men
- Storycorps Stories
About the Project
This multiplatform investigation draws upon more than two years of reporting, thousands of documents and dozens of first-hand interviews. FRONTLINE spoke to family and friends of the victims, and witnesses, some of whom had never been interviewed; current and former Justice Department officials and FBI agents, state and local law enforcement; lawmakers, civil-rights leaders and investigative journalists, to explore the Department of Justice’s reopening of civil rights-era cold cases under the 2008 Emmett Till Unsolved Civil Rights Crime Act.
In addition to an examination of the federal effort, the project features the first comprehensive, interactive list of all those whose cases were reopened by the Department of Justice. Today, the list stands at 151 names. Among the victims: voting rights advocates, veterans, Louisville’s first female prosecutor, business owners, mothers, fathers, and children.
The project consists of a web-based interactive experience, serialized podcast, a touring augmented-reality exhibit, documentary and companion education curriculum for high schools and universities.
A project like Un(re)solved would not be possible without the historic and contemporary contributions of universities, civil rights groups, and the press, particularly the Black press, who have ensured the ongoing public record of racist violence in the United States. To pay homage to these groups, the web interactive begins with a quote from journalist, activist and researcher Ida B. Wells, one of the first to document with precision the horrors of racial terror in America. “The way to right wrongs,” she wrote, “is to turn the light of truth upon them.”
At the outset of the project, FRONTLINE forged a relationship with Northeastern University’s Civil Rights and Restorative Justice Project (CRRJ), bringing them on as an academic partner. Launched in 2007 by Distinguished Law Professor Margaret Burnham, CRRJ is a mission-driven program of interdisciplinary teaching, research and policy analysis on race, history, and criminal justice. Their work has expanded beyond the names on the Justice Department’s list, archiving documents in over 1,000 cases of racially motivated homicides.
With support from the CRRJ, FRONTLINE reporters gathered what could be known about the individuals on the list, conducting interviews with family, friends and witnesses, delving into newspaper archives and gathering documentation including headstone applications, draft cards and archival photographs.
At the heart of the project has been a drive to center the voices of the families of those on the list. FRONTLINE partnered with StoryCorps to record nearly two dozen oral histories with victims’ next of kin, which are featured both in the web-based interactive and traveling AR exhibit. These oral histories will also be archived in the National Library of Congress.
To lead the creative vision for the web experience and installation, FRONTLINE partnered with Ado Ato Pictures, a premier mixed reality studio founded by artist, filmmaker, and technologist Tamara Shogaolu.
Shogaolu rooted the visuals in the powerful symbolism of trees. In the United States, trees evoke the ideal of liberty, but also speak to an oppressive history of racially motivated violence. In Persian myth, trees are humanity’s ancestors, while in Toraja, Indonesia, they serve as sacred burial sites.
“I was really inspired by looking at the role of the tree as a symbol in American history” Shogaolu said. “It’s been looked at as a symbol of freedom, we look at it as a connector between generations, and also there’s the association of trees with racial terror.” When designing the creative vision for Un(re)solved Shogaolu wondered whether she might be able to reclaim the symbol of the tree. “As a person of color, we’re often terrified of being in isolated places in the woods. And I thought it was kind of crazy that there are natural environments that instinctually give great fear because of this connection with racial terror and I wanted to reclaim that — to turn these into beautiful spaces.”
Un(re)solved weaves imagery of trees, which also recall family ties, into patterns and textures from the American tradition of quilting. Among enslaved African Americans forbidden to read or write, quilts provided an important space to document family stories. Today, quilting remains a creative outlet rich with story and tradition for many American communities.
We invite you to enter this forest of quilted memories — a testimony to the lives of these individuals, and the multi-generational impact of their untimely, unjust loss.
(Credits to come)