Congress Honors Victims Of Infamous Alabama Church Bombing : Code Switch The Congressional Gold Medals for Addie Mae Collins, Denise McNair, Carole Robertson and Cynthia Wesley come 50 years after the black girls were killed by a Ku Klux Klan bomb. Just as the federal recognition is long in coming, so was justice.
NPR logo

Congress Honors Victims Of Infamous Alabama Church Bombing

  • Download
  • <iframe src="" width="100%" height="290" frameborder="0" scrolling="no" title="NPR embedded audio player">
  • Transcript
Congress Honors Victims Of Infamous Alabama Church Bombing

Congress Honors Victims Of Infamous Alabama Church Bombing

  • Download
  • <iframe src="" width="100%" height="290" frameborder="0" scrolling="no" title="NPR embedded audio player">
  • Transcript


The children of a Baptist minister, next week, will donate a small, jewel-like piece of stained glass caught in twisted metal, to the Smithsonian National Museum of African-American History and Culture. It will be part of the collection when the new museum opens.


The glass was blown from the window of the 16th Street Baptist Church in Birmingham, when it was bombed 50 years ago. Norman "Jim Jimerson" found it as he was combing through the rubble after the bombing.

MONTAGNE: Rev. Jimerson was among the white people in Birmingham involved in civil rights. Today, Congress will bestow its highest civilian honor on the four black girls killed in that bombing.

INSKEEP: The posthumous Congressional Gold Medals go to Addie Mae Collins, Denise McNair, Carole Robertson and Cynthia Wesley. The recognition was long in coming - as was justice. NPR's Debbie Elliott looks back on the investigation that finally put three Klansmen in jail.

DEBBIE ELLIOTT, BYLINE: The plot to bomb 16th Street Baptist Church can be traced to a once-remote spot along Alabama's scenic Cahaba River.


DOUG JONES: Let's just go right through here.

ELLIOTT: Former U.S. Attorney Doug Jones leads me down a muddy bank in the now-bustling outskirts of Birmingham.

JONES: Well, here we are.

ELLIOTT: We've climbed down to a deserted, gravelly spot under the Cahaba River Bridge, where suburban traffic rumbles overhead.

JONES: But in the day, it was apparently a hot spot for some of the more violent members of the Klan to sit down here and talk, and do their dirty work.

ELLIOTT: Jones was the federal prosecutor who tried and convicted Klansmen Thomas Blanton and Bobby Frank Cherry in 2001 and 2002, for the murder of the four black girls killed in one of the most notorious racially motivated crimes in U.S. history. Blanton and Cherry were part of a small group of disgruntled white supremacists who didn't think the Klan was doing enough to stop the rising tide of the civil rights movement in 1963.

JONES: They just were the self-proclaimed Cahaba River Bridge Boys. It was almost like they were trying to be the outlaws of the Old West.

ELLIOTT: Jones says they knew the FBI had infiltrated their Klan Klavern.

JONES: Which met at the Fraternal Order of Police Lodge, and they would gather up to plan the real violence. So they brought the guys down here that they could trust; that when they would talk, that they knew that whoever was down here was not going to be running to the FBI.

ELLIOTT: Jones says the Cahaba River Bridge Boys were busy in the week leading up to Sept. 15th, 1963. On that morning - Youth Sunday - dynamite exploded at 16th Street Baptist Church, killing Addie Mae Collins, Denise McNair, Carole Robertson and Cynthia Wesley.

The church was a target because of its role in Birmingham's civil rights movement. But in 1963, no one was arrested for the crime. The first prosecution would come more than a decade later.

BILL BAXLEY: My name is Bill Baxley. I'm a lawyer in Birmingham, Ala. And back in the '70s, I was attorney general of Alabama.

ELLIOTT: When Baxley took office, he called for all the state and local church bombing files, but found little there.

BAXLEY: A good bit of time was spent trying to prove that the blacks had bombed themselves, under some crazy theory that they wanted to get sympathy for their cause.

ELLIOTT: Not surprising, given the high number of Klan sympathizers among local law enforcement at the time. So Baxley turned to the FBI - and hit a wall.

BAXLEY: Deep South public office holders, up at that time, had not been people that you would cooperate with on civil rights cases.

ELLIOTT: It would take J. Edgar Hoover's death, and media pressure, for Baxley to finally gain limited access to the FBI's church-bombing files. Clues pointed to a prime suspect: Robert Chambliss.

BAXLEY: His nickname was Dynamite Bob, and he was very proud of that. He wore it like a badge of honor.

ELLIOTT: Baxley assigned investigator Bob Eddy to dig through the cryptic FBI files. A major opening came when Eddy discovered a key witness - Chambliss's niece.

BOB EDDY: And that broke it open. They had a file on her that just had a little stuff in there, some stuff we could use in a trial. Like, Chambliss come home and he said, you know, we didn't mean to - anybody to get killed.

ELLIOTT: The niece's testimony helped convict Chambliss, in 1977. But for about the next 20 years, the Birmingham church bombing case was dormant.

T.K. THORNE: Even to this day, people's perception is that law enforcement never gave it much of a shot.

ELLIOTT: T.K. Thorne is a former Birmingham police officer who has a new book on the bombing investigations, called "Last Chance for Justice." She says the case was re-opened in the '90s, when then-FBI Special Agent-in-Charge Rob Langford had a meeting with local ministers, trying to improve the agency's race relations.

THORNE: They were very distrustful. And one of them spoke up and said well, the FBI never did anything with the church bombing.

ELLIOTT: He was surprised, and reopened the investigation. By then, only two suspects were still living: Bobby Frank Cherry and Thomas Blanton. More than a hundred witnesses were dead. Birmingham Police Sgt. Bill Herren was assigned to work with the FBI.

SGT. BILL HERREN: And I'm thinking boy, this is going to be an uphill battle.

ELLIOTT: But the last chance to build a case. The investigators traveled to Texas, to interview Bobby Frank Cherry. A break came when Cherry held a news conference to complain. Soon after, Herren says, the detectives' phones started ringing with people who had heard the brash Cherry boast about the bombing.

HERREN: That was his downfall. He was a braggart. He liked to talk.

ELLIOTT: Tommy Blanton, on the other hand, kept quiet in public. It was his private conversations with his wife, Jean, back in the 1960s that ultimately convicted him.


JEAN BLANTON: Well, you never bothered to tell me what you went to the river for, Tommy.

ELLIOTT: The FBI planted a microphone in the Blantons' kitchen wall after the bombing. For a time, no one could find the recordings, until an FBI agent discovered them in a discarded cardboard box. The so-called "kitchen sink tapes" are scratchy, and hard to follow without a transcript.


ELLIOTT: Herren translates.

HERREN: (Reading transcript) The meeting where we planned the bomb. Tommy, what meeting are you talking about now? We had a meeting to make a bomb.

That's what actually convicted him - is his own voice, his own words.

ELLIOTT: A conviction, some officials say would never have happened 50 years ago, when Birmingham juries were made of all white men. Herren says even if the convictions came 40 years late, at least they came.

HERREN: Justice delayed is not justice denied.

ELLIOTT: Robert "Dynamite Bob" Chambliss and Bobby Frank Cherry both died serving out their life prison terms for the Birmingham church bombing. Thomas Blanton remains in jail.

Debbie Elliott, NPR News.


INSKEEP: It's MORNING EDITION, from NPR News. I'm Steve Inskeep.

MONTAGNE: And I'm Renee Montagne.

Copyright © 2013 NPR. All rights reserved. Visit our website terms of use and permissions pages at for further information.

NPR transcripts are created on a rush deadline by Verb8tm, Inc., an NPR contractor, and produced using a proprietary transcription process developed with NPR. This text may not be in its final form and may be updated or revised in the future. Accuracy and availability may vary. The authoritative record of NPR’s programming is the audio record.