History isn’t always a straight line. Sometimes it’s a circle that takes thirty years to close. Honestly, if you grew up outside the Deep South, you might only know Byron De La Beckwith as a name in a textbook or a villain in a movie. But for the people who lived through the 1960s in Mississippi, he wasn’t just a name. He was a symbol of how the law could be used as a shield for a killer.
In 1963, a man was shot in the back in his own driveway. The victim was Medgar Evers, a veteran and a father who just wanted to vote and live with dignity. The man who pulled the trigger was a fertilizer salesman with a grudge and a rifle.
The Night the World Changed in Jackson
It was just past midnight on June 12, 1963. Medgar Evers pulled into his driveway in Jackson, Mississippi. He was carrying a stack of T-shirts that said "Jim Crow Must Go." He never made it to the front door.
From a thicket of honeysuckle across the street, a single shot rang out. Byron De La Beckwith was waiting there with an Enfield 1917 .30-06 rifle. The bullet hit Evers in the back, passed through his body, went through a window, and ended up on the kitchen counter.
His wife, Myrlie, and their three children heard the blast. They knew exactly what it was. They had practiced diving to the floor for months because they lived in constant fear. But this time, the drill wasn't a drill. They found Medgar bleeding out on the pavement, clutching his keys. He died an hour later.
The evidence against Beckwith was actually pretty overwhelming, even back then.
- Investigators found the rifle nearby.
- It had a telescopic sight.
- There was a fingerprint on that sight.
- The print belonged to Byron De La Beckwith.
You'd think that would be an open-and-shut case, right? In a fair world, maybe. But Mississippi in 1964 was anything but fair.
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Why the First Two Trials Were a Total Farce
Beckwith didn't act like a man afraid of the gallows. He acted like a celebrity. During his first trial in 1964, the Governor of Mississippi, Ross Barnett, actually walked into the courtroom and shook Beckwith’s hand in front of the jury. Talk about a "not-so-subtle" signal.
The juries were all white. They were all male. Back then, if you couldn't register to vote, you couldn't serve on a jury. And in Mississippi, Black citizens were systematically blocked from voting.
So, you had a courtroom where the defendant was getting high-fives from the governor and the jury looked exactly like the defendant's friends. Twice, the state tried him. Twice, the jury "couldn't decide." They were hung juries.
Beckwith walked free. He went back to Greenwood. He even ran for Lieutenant Governor. He didn't win, but the fact that he could even run shows you how broken the system was. He spent the next few decades bragging. He told people he killed a "chicken-stealing dog." He thought he was untouchable.
The Ghost That Wouldn't Leave
For nearly thirty years, the case sat cold. But Myrlie Evers-Williams never stopped pushing. She was a force of nature.
In the late 1980s, the Jackson Clarion-Ledger started digging. They found out that a state agency called the Mississippi State Sovereignty Commission—basically a state-funded spy ring for segregationists—had meddled in the 1964 trials. They had screened the jurors to make sure they were "pro-segregation."
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That was the crack in the armor.
Enter Bobby DeLaughter. He was an Assistant District Attorney who decided to reopen the case in 1990. People told him he was crazy. They told him the evidence was gone. They said it would just tear the state apart again.
But they found the rifle. They found the old transcripts. Most importantly, they found new witnesses who had heard Byron De La Beckwith brag about the murder at KKK rallies and private parties over the years.
The Final Reckoning in 1994
The third trial was different. The world had changed. The jury was diverse—eight Black members and four white members.
Beckwith was 73 by then. He wore a Confederate flag pin on his lapel. He still had that same smug, arrogant look on his face. He truly believed that Mississippi would protect him one last time.
He was wrong.
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On February 5, 1994, the jury came back with a guilty verdict. After thirty-one years, justice finally caught up. Beckwith was sentenced to life in prison. He died behind bars in 2001, at the age of 80.
What This Tells Us Today
The story of Byron De La Beckwith isn't just a true crime tale. It’s a lesson in how systems of power can protect "their own" until the people inside those systems decide to change the rules. It took a persistent widow, a gutsy journalist, and a prosecutor willing to risk his career to fix a thirty-year-old mistake.
If you’re looking to understand the civil rights era, don’t just look at the speeches. Look at the court records. Look at the fingerprints on the scope of an Enfield rifle.
Actionable Insights for History Buffs and Advocates:
- Research the "Cold Cases" of the Civil Rights Era: The Beckwith conviction triggered a wave of re-opened cases, including the 16th Street Baptist Church bombing. Look into the work of the FBI's Civil Rights Cold Case Initiative.
- Support Voting Rights: The only reason Beckwith got away with it twice was jury exclusion based on voter suppression. Understanding the link between the ballot box and the jury box is crucial for legal equity.
- Visit the Sites: If you’re ever in Jackson, go to the Medgar and Myrlie Evers Home National Monument. Seeing the driveway where it happened puts the weight of history in your gut in a way a book never can.
- Read "Ghosts of Mississippi": Maryanne Vollers wrote the definitive account of this saga. It’s a deep dive into the psychology of a man who thought he was a hero for being a murderer.
Justice might be delayed, but the Beckwith case proves it doesn't have to be denied forever. It just takes someone willing to keep the lights on until the sun comes up.