By Howard Zinn • The Nation • May 18, 1964
Chase, a Yale Law School graduate working with SNCC in Mississippi, sat in a corner, looking exactly as he had a few hours before when I saw him come down the corridor from his cell: his boots were muddy, his corduroy pants badly worn, his blue work shirt splattered with blood, and under it his T-shirt, very bloody. The right side of his face was swollen, and his nose looked as if it were broken. Blood was caked over his eye. The FBI agent closed the door from his inner office behind him, surbeyed the four of us with a quick professional eye, and then said soberly: “Who was it got the beating?”
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