Frank Morris
Age 51
The Black owner of a thriving shoe repair shop
Ferriday, Louisiana
December 10, 1964
After his mother died when he was a toddler, Frank Morris was raised by his grandparents in the town of Ferriday, Louisiana, on the banks of the Mississippi River. As a young Black man, Morris opened Frank’s Shoe Services, a shop that repaired shoes and sold clothes, jewelry and fabric. The shop thrived, serving both Black and white customers.
Early in the morning of December 10, 1964, 51-year-old Morris awoke to the sound of breaking glass, according to a Department of Justice memo on the case. The memo says Morris went from his bed at the back of the shop to the front door, where he saw two men. One of them brandished a shotgun and ordered Morris back inside, using a racial slur. Morris complied. The men doused the shop with a flammable liquid and then lit a match. Morris was consumed by flames but managed to escape, running to a nearby service station. Local police drove him to a hospital, where it was determined that he had sustained burns to 100% of his body. He was able to speak but either could or would not identify the two men who had lit his shop on fire. He soon fell into a coma and died four days after the attack.
Initial Investigation
The DOJ’s Civil Rights Division asked the FBI to look into whether the arson had been racially motivated, and within hours of the attack, FBI agents had interviewed Morris in the hospital, according to the DOJ memo. They learned that Morris had once been an officer of the local NAACP chapter, but it had been years since he had been involved in any civil rights efforts. The agents received a tip that the perpetrators may have been law enforcement officers. Based on that information, the Civil Rights Division asked the FBI to launch a full investigation.
Over the next several months, the FBI interviewed Morris’ employees, family and friends, and about 60 people who owned businesses or lived near the shop. They also interviewed police officers and several known Ku Klux Klan members in the region. A 5-gallon motor-oil container and a piece of a finger were discovered in the wreckage. Agents initially suspected that the officers who had transported Morris to the hospital may have been involved in the arson but never gathered convincing corroborating evidence, according to the DOJ memo. They were also unable to prove a motive and were repeatedly told Morris had a reputation of getting along well with members of both the Black and white communities. Without viable suspects, the agency closed its investigation in May 1965.
Two years later, during an investigation into a separate civil rights murder, the FBI received information from a confidential source that led the bureau to re-open Morris’ case. The source, a high-level Klan member in Mississippi, said he had been told four other Klan members had been involved in the arson: E.D. Morace, Tommie Lee Jones, Thor Lee Torgersen and James Lee Scarborough. The source said one of the men was mad that Morris had flirted with white women.
All four men denied involvement or knowledge of the arson. Two other sources told agents that Frank DeLaughter, a deputy with the Concordia Parish Sheriff’s Office, may have been involved. He too denied the allegation and the FBI was did not uncover any corroboration for the allegations. After several months of pursuing the case a second time, the FBI again closed the investigation. Despite more than 200 interviews and a 600-page case file, “the exhaustive investigation did not definitively determine who was responsible for the arson and murder of Morris,” according to the DOJ memo.
Till Act Status
The FBI reopened the Morris case once more in 2007, as part of its Cold Case Initiative. Agents learned that all of the original suspects had died in the interim. The Concordia Sentinel ran a series of articles about Morris’ death, and the FBI offered a $10,000 reward for information about the case, leading several new witnesses to come forward. The FBI also re-interviewed witnesses, including Morris’ family members, former neighbors, law enforcement officers and former Klan members. Ultimately, the FBI received information implicating three new suspects. Several grand jury sessions in Concordia Parish were conducted to advance the investigation.
Despite these efforts, the evidence once again failed to meet the standard for prosecution, according to the DOJ memo. The Department of Justice closed the investigation in 2013, noting the failure to find conclusive evidence, the death of the original suspects and the expiration of a relevant statute of limitations. “However, given that three sources separately reported in 1967 that Morace made statements implicating himself in the arson, the evidence strongly suggests that Morace was involved,” the memo stated.
As the FBI was looking into the case, journalist Stanley Nelson from the Concordia Sentinel conducted his own investigation, publishing numerous articles and a book about Morris’ death and a series of other Klan-related murders from the era. He was recognized as a Pulitzer finalist in local reporting for his efforts. In the course of his reporting, Nelson interviewed three people who said a local former Klansman named Arthur Leonard Spencer had told them he was involved in the attack on Morris. According to the Department of Justice’s memo, the FBI investigated these leads but found the testimony contradictory and questionable. “There is no credible evidence that Arthur Leonard Spencer was involved in the arson of Morris’ shop,” the memo stated.
Case Status closed
Closed 12/30/2013
Themes
- Closed Cases
- Men
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)