History has a way of turning people into symbols. We see a grainy photograph, we read a date, and we think we know the whole story. But if you look at the lynching of Rubin Stacy in 1935, the reality is way more complicated than a simple "crime and punishment" narrative. It wasn't just a random act of violence by a faceless mob. It was a calculated, public performance sanctioned by the very people supposed to uphold the law.
Rubin Stacy wasn't a "suspect" in the way we use the word today. He was a 30-year-old tenant farmer. A father. A husband. A man who liked to fish. He lived in a neighborhood called "Short Third" in Fort Lauderdale. On July 19, 1935, his life ended on a pine tree near what is now Davie Boulevard. If you’ve ever driven down that road, you’ve passed the spot where it happened.
The Knock That Changed Everything
Basically, the whole thing started with a glass of water. Or maybe a request for food. Or maybe, as his family suggests, a dispute over unpaid wages.
The "official" story from 1935 was that Stacy knocked on the door of Marion Jones, a white woman, and attacked her with a penknife. Jones claimed he had "the desire to kill in his eyes." But here's the thing: decades later, witnesses and family members started telling a different story. They said Stacy was just looking for work or something to eat. Jones panicked. In the Jim Crow South, a white woman’s panic was a death sentence for a Black man.
Stacy was arrested three days later. The police didn't just take him to jail; they took him back to the Jones house. Why? Supposedly for "identification." The deputies and Mrs. Jones actually received a cash reward—about $25—just for the ID. Think about that. They were paid to point a finger.
The "Overpowered" Deputies
The Sheriff at the time was Walter Clark. He was legendary for being corrupt. When a mob started forming at the jail, Clark decided to move Stacy to Miami for "protection."
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It didn't happen.
Six deputies were transporting Stacy in a patrol car. They claimed a mob of 100 masked men "overpowered" them. They said the mob blocked the road and snatched Stacy right out of the car while he was praying. Honestly, most historians don't buy it. The mob knew exactly which backroad the deputies were taking. Fifty years later, eyewitnesses like local historian Cooper Kirk suggested that the Deputy Sheriff, Bob Clark (the Sheriff's brother), wasn't just "overpowered"—he was likely leading the mob.
They took Stacy back to a clearing near the Jones house. They didn't just hang him. They used Marion Jones’s own clothesline. They pulled him up slowly to break his neck. Then, they passed a handgun around.
The Photograph That Went Viral (1930s Style)
You’ve probably seen the photo. It’s one of the most haunting images in American history. Stacy’s body is hanging, handcuffed, riddled with 17 bullet wounds. But the most chilling part isn't Stacy. It's the people standing around him.
There are children in that picture.
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Little girls in sundresses are smiling and laughing. They aren't looking away in horror. They’re looking at the camera like they’re at a Sunday picnic. This is what most people get wrong about the lynching of Rubin Stacy: it wasn't a secret crime. It was a community event. People actually cut off pieces of his pants to keep as souvenirs.
The NAACP used that photo for years to push for the Costigan-Wagner Anti-Lynching Bill. They sent it to President Franklin D. Roosevelt's desk. They wanted to show the world that while America was criticizing Nazi Germany, it was letting this happen in Florida. Ironically, Nazi organizers actually used the Stacy photo in their own propaganda to point out American hypocrisy.
Justice Refused
A grand jury was called two days later. It lasted about 48 hours. The verdict? Stacy died at the hands of "persons unknown."
Nobody was charged. Even though hundreds of people were there. Even though the deputies' names were on the paperwork. Even though the "masked men" were probably the same guys the deputies had a beer with the night before.
In 1994, a woman finally came forward and admitted she was there. She confirmed what many had suspected for half a century: it was Deputy Bob Clark who threw the rope over the branch.
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The Legacy of Rubin Stacy Memorial Boulevard
For a long time, Fort Lauderdale just... forgot. Or tried to. Stacy’s family carried the shame and the silence for generations. His niece, Anne Naves, was only eight when it happened. She remembers how her mother’s "beautiful laugh stopped" that day. The family didn't even get to have a funeral. The body was just dumped at a funeral parlor and they were told to bury him.
It took until 2022 for the city to officially acknowledge the truth. They renamed a two-mile stretch of Davie Boulevard to Rubin Stacy Memorial Boulevard. It’s a small step toward what historians call "restorative justice."
But the story isn't just about a street sign. It’s about the fact that "official" history is often written by the people holding the rope. It took 87 years for the record to be corrected.
How to Engage With This History Today
If you’re looking to understand the deeper context of what happened in Broward County, you shouldn't just read one article. History is a process.
- Visit the Site: If you’re in Fort Lauderdale, find the intersection of Davie Blvd and SW 31st Ave. Look at the area not as a modern road, but as the site of a documented human rights violation.
- Support the CRRJ: The Civil Rights and Restorative Justice Project (CRRJ) at Northeastern University has done the heavy lifting on the Stacy case. You can look through their digital archives to see the original NAACP flyers and court documents.
- Check the National Memorial for Peace and Justice: Rubin Stacy’s name is etched in the memorial in Montgomery, Alabama. This site provides the broader context of the 4,000+ other lynchings that occurred in the U.S.
- Watch the Documentary: A film titled Rubin was recently produced by his family and local historians. It focuses on Stacy the man—the fisherman and father—rather than just Stacy the victim.
- Question the "Official" Record: Whenever you read historical accounts from the early 20th century, ask who wrote them. The Fort Lauderdale Daily News in 1935 reported a very different story than what the witnesses eventually revealed.
Understanding the lynching of Rubin Stacy requires looking past the photograph and acknowledging the systemic failure of the people in power. It’s about recognizing that "justice" in 1935 was often just a mob with a badge. The best way to honor his memory is to keep the facts straight and ensure the full story—not just the comfortable version—is told.