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‘The state threw them to the wolves’: Health department struggles to manage massive medical marijuana program

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‘The state threw them to the wolves': Health department struggles to manage massive medical marijuana program

Behind closed doors, Mississippi's eight-person medical cannabis office is struggling against its workload.

The Department office charged by the Legislature with running Mississippi's new medical marijuana program is steeped in disorganization: agents rarely visit cultivation sites, application backlogs reach hundreds deep, and lags in communication with licensees often stretch on for weeks, a Mississippi Today investigation found.

Business owners feel frustrated, unheard and worried that the millions of dollars they invested — and the tens of thousands they paid in fees to the state — could go up in smoke.

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“The state threw them to the wolves,” cultivator Joel Harper said of the fledgling marijuana office. “They should have paid the money to bring in professionals, even a third-party consultant. Instead, they're sending people out into the cannabis world who have no idea about anything cannabis.”

At the center is a handful of workers, tasked with unrolling a massive program without enough staffing to operate efficiently. Cultivators say when they do hear back from the office, the messages are incomplete or inconsistent – especially when it comes to how they construct their farming facilities.

And that's if they hear back at all. The office already has mountains of unprocessed paperwork.

As of the second week of January, 277 work permit applications sat in a queue waiting to be processed, according to copies of the office's records obtained by Mississippi Today. Could-be cannabis workers can't start their jobs without permits. Another 995 patients had yet to to be told whether or not they've been approved for their dispensary cards.

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Three dozen businesses had their own applications stuck, along with almost 40 other medical practitioners, the records show.

In a statement to Mississippi Today, department of health spokesperson Liz Sharlot acknowledged the backlogs.

“We are working with the MMCP (Mississippi Medical Cannabis Program) Licensing Director and the team on how to put more efficient processes in place,” she said.

Even when the office hired new workers – growing from four to eight in recent months – little was done to train them on the and the industry, an employee of the health department told Mississippi Today. The employee spoke on the of anonymity out of fear of repercussions.

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The health department said in October, when Mississippi Today first reported the backlogs, it was working to fill 25 more positions. That has yet to happen.

The health department worker said much of the disorganization stems from the office's former director Kris Jones Adcock.

The Department of Health did not answer questions related to plans to increase staffing levels or what medical marijuana-related training their current staffers received.

“The people of Mississippi deserve better,” the worker said.

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A Mockingbird Cannabis employee sorts through medical marijuana at the facility in Raymond, Miss., January 20, 2023.

During one five-week period, Adcock held three jobs simultaneously within the health department: the cannabis role, the head of a domestic violence office, and a promotion to a department-wide role as assistant senior deputy.

The health department didn't respond to questions about the effects managing three positions may have had on her ability to the cannabis office. Adcock now holds only one department-wide role: Assistant Senior Deputy to the Senior Deputy.

Adcock announced two weeks ago that the office's attorney, Laura Goodson, would be the acting director.

The health department employee also said Adcock set a tone of rushed processes and absentee leadership that has left the marijuana office in clean-up mode.

“There was no due diligence on some of the applications,” the worker said. “Some of it was her knee-jerk reaction to get stuff out the door after it (the backlog) built up. Instead of an orderly process, it was just rushed.”

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Emails obtained by Mississippi Today show that it wasn't just cultivators struggling to hear back. The head of a lab testing facility also expressed frustration.

“The complete lack of communication is just not feasible any longer,” Rapid Analytics director Jeff Keller wrote to Adcock on Dec. 16. “I am begging you to please just name the time on Monday and I will make it work.”

A month later, one of Keller's employees sent his own desperate plea to the office.

“I'm to find out when I'll be able to start working there,” he wrote about his job at the lab. “My background check was cleared on December 15th … I've left multiple messages but have not received a response.”

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The of test facility Steep Hill, Cliff Osbon, sent his own email on Jan. 13 on behalf of four employees who still needed their work permits so they could begin work and the lab could start testing marijuana.

Neither testing lab responded to Mississippi Today's request for a comment.

Zack Wilson, a micro-grower in Potts Camp, said he had a worker waiting more than two weeks on a work permit.

“You send an email. Wait two weeks. Email again,” Wilson said. “You just sit and wait. I know they're short staffed, but on guys.”

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Joel Harper, owner and founder of Pharm Grown, inspects marijuana plants at his facility in Como, Miss., Monday, January 23, 2023.

Cultivators say unanswered questions have led to a murky-at-best understanding of how some of the regulations are being interpreted and enforced.

That's bubbled up with the use of so-called “adapted greenhouses,” putting already competitive cultivators more at odds. The regulations call for no outdoor growing, a solid roof, permanent walls and slab foundations.

In the early days after the law was passed, Harper, the head of Como-based Pharm Grown Canna Company, said officials made it clear to industry hopefuls that greenhouses would not be approved as growing facilities. So he, like many others, invested money in renovating a large warehouse that would rely on artificial lights.

In the last few months, he's noticed much cheaper greenhouse- structures popping up with the health department's approval.

Harper and others who followed the bill's creation closely say greenhouses go against the spirit of what legislators intended.

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The debate comes down to word definitions that aren't spelled out in the law itself. If the bill doesn't allow any “outdoor” growing, that should mean the structure can't utilize the sun, some argue. The greenhouses have clear-plastic roofs to use a mix of sun and artificial light. If the facility needs to have a solid and secure roof, clear plastic shouldn't be permitted, according to some interpretations.

Cultivators like Wilson don't see it that way.

“The roof certainly isn't made of liquid or gas,” he said. “Plastic is a solid.”

Wilson said his site plan, including the materials he was using, were all approved by the health department when he handed in his application. He was given his cultivation license in August, according to public records.

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Another cultivator, Jason McDonald, is building his own greenhouse under the company name SADUJA. He received his license on Dec. 22. He said his roof is two layers of clear plastic. He has screened-in shutter windows, a cement foundation and plumbing. McDonald runs a tea farm. He's used to meeting regulations and dealing with bureaucracy and hopes to start growing marijuana by the end of the month.

Mississippi Today also obtained documents Adcock signed off on the site plan, including a hand-drawing where the facility was labeled “greenhouse.”

“I emailed them and asked: ‘Will this greenhouse we're planning to build meet regs?” McDonald recalled. “They came back and said: ‘you need to read the regulations' so, I quoted the regulations and said ‘what's the ruling on this?' and they said ‘you need to read the regulations.' I added the specific subsection, and then never got an answer back.”

The word greenhouse, he said, can summon something different depending on the cultivator. He, like others, agrees Mockingbird Cannabis should have been cited for its greenhouse that was under scrutiny in the fall because it had roll-up sides, not permanent walls.

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Mockingbird also built a massive state-of-the-art warehouse as its main cultivation site.

“I will tell you we haven't done anything we didn't disclose to the Department of Health and in our application,” Mockingbird CEO Clint Patterson told Mississippi Today in October.

Harper and other warehouse operators don't blame the small businesses for building greenhouses — they're cheaper to construct and run, leading to significantly higher profit margins. They blame the state for approving them.

“We want them to succeed,” Harper said of greenhouse growers. “We just want them to do it in the way everybody else had to.”

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The leading authors behind the bill that created the medical marijuana program could not be reached by Mississippi Today after repeated requests for comment. Rep. Lee Yancey said in the fall that it was the health department's job to interpret the rules, and if the statutes were not clear enough, it would be addressed in the Legislature.

Sharlot, the health department spokesperson, said it did not approve a model for greenhouses and pointed to the “regulations that specify the physical requirements for a cultivation facility.”

“The MSDH met and continues to meet its statutory requirements as it did with the aggressive timelines in creating the MMCP,” she said.

A Mockingbird Cannabis tends to the “mother” medical marijuana plants at Mockingbird Cannabis in Raymond, Miss., January 20, 2023. These plants are used for create clones, which are cut from the “mother” plant and grow into plants themselves.

On Jan. 11, Adcock brought her recommended changes to cannabis regulations before the board of health hoping for the members' swift approval.

Public commenting regarding updates to the regulations were open for less than a week, ending the day before Christmas Eve. It got about 150 comments, Adcock told the board.

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The end result was a thick stack of paper delivered to each board member fewer than two days before the meeting.

“To get 1,000 pages, less than 48 hours before our meeting, it's almost impossible to to know what we're really doing,” said Jim Perry, the head of the board's cannabis committee.

Adcock's proposed changes covered everything from batch sizes for testing to whether a cultivation license could more than one growing space under a single license.

During the meeting, Perry said he wasn't comfortable with passing changes without time to review them and ask questions. State Health Officer Dr. Daniel Edney apologized to the board for the ream of paper and the lack of notice. He promised it wouldn't happen again.

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“Cannabis is special and unique and needs to be heavily vetted,” Edney said at the meeting.

Adcock went over some of the regulation changes she said were the most “emergent,” but ultimately the board chose not to act.

Following the meeting, Perry told a Mississippi Today reporter the committee process was created so “we can hear from people and be able to make well-informed and not rushed decisions.”

A committee meeting about the regulations has been scheduled for Jan. 26 at 3 p.m.

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Marijuana plants are in place at Pharm Grown in Como, Miss., Monday, January 23, 2023.

With the constant flood of applicants, strapped-for-time staffers aren't making regular site visits, according to cultivators and those with inside knowledge of the office. That means growers can get their provisional four-month licenses extended, begin growing, finish batches and have them tested and sent to market without having ever met an agent in person.

Onsite visits are required for a renewal of a license, but not for moving a provisional license to a permanent one, according to the health department. When asked about the frequency of agent visits, Sharlot emphasized that the office is remotely monitoring all cultivators with the seed-to-sale tracking program.

Meanwhile, the 163 licensed dispensaries are eying the number of patients – Sharlot said 1,732 as of Monday – who have licenses to purchase medical cannabis. They're worried it won't be enough to sustain a business after months paying rent without revenue.

The department of health worker who spoke to Mississippi Today said whenever they make a dent in the patient queue, it doesn't take long to climb back over 1,000.

The health department says it has licensed a total of 73 cultivators; 12 processors; four waste disposal companies; nine transportation companies; three testing labs; 151 medical practitioners; and 975 workers with permits.

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It's a constant battle to keep up.

This article first appeared on Mississippi Today and is republished here under a Creative Commons license.

Mississippi Today

Legislature, flush with cash, passes budget, completing work for 2024 session

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mississippitoday.org – Bobby Harrison – 2024-05-03 16:56:24

The Mississippi Legislature completed its work for the 2024 session on Friday with the passage of a $7 budget – 5.8% larger than the budget it passed last year.

The $7 billion reflects the amount spent on recurring expenses. The budget last year, one-time funds, federal relief funds and other one-time money for specific projects, actually was more than the budget passed this year.

The completion of the budget late Friday ended the bulk of lawmakers' work for the 2024 session, but legislators will return briefly Saturday to take care of procedural issues. Plus, the Legislature might reconvene on May 14 to deal with any veto from Gov. Tate Reeves.

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One of the final actions on Friday was approving a massive bill that provides state money for projects throughout the state. The legislation funds tourism projects, work on local governmental office buildings and other projects for individual legislators.

Th total amount of the projects was $227.4 million.

In the past, projects were often funded by borrowing. But in recent years, thanks in large part to an infusion of federal COVID-19 funds and other federal funds, Mississippi, like most other states, has been flush with cash, allowing those projects to be funded with cash instead of long-term debt.

Senate Finance Chair Josh Harkins, R-Flowood, told senators paying for the projects with cash will not continue in future years. State revenue has begun to slow.

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Harkins told senators there were more than $1 billion in requests on the local level for projects.

Sen. Angela Turner Ford, D- Point, asked Harkins how it was decided which projects to fund.

Harkins said the focus was on projects and other projects where it was viewed the greatest need was.

 In addition to the pet projects for lawmakers, other capital spending included:

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  • $110 million for university projects.
  • $45 million for community college projects.
  • $160 million for work on improving state Highway 7 in Lafayette County.
  • $90 million for work on U.S. I-55 in DeSoto County.
  • $50 million for work on state office buildings throughout the state.

In total, $820 million was committed in surplus funds for building projects throughout the state. Plus, $110 million in surplus funds was pumped into the Public Employees Retirement System to help shore up the pension plan.

In terms of the budget to operate agencies, House Appropriations Chair John Read, R-Gautier, said state agencies are receiving an average 5% year-over-year increase in .

That increase includes money to pay for increases in the premiums for the state employee health plan and to pay for a .5% increase for each state agency in the contribution to the state retirement plan.

Lt. Gov. Delbert Hosemann said before the session began that dealing with financial issues facing PERS was one of the top priorities.

“We tackled the PERS issue,” Hosemann said, though, some argued that the legislative solution did not resolve all the financial issues facing the system.

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Senate Appropriations Chair Briggs Hopson, R-Vicksburg, said the state budget provides funds to allow state agencies to deal with .

“The budget is reflective of the times,” Hopson said. “State agencies are not immune to inflation. In order to services at the same level, we have to spend additional funds.”

The budget includes an additional $240 million in funding for K-12 schools.

This article first appeared on Mississippi Today and is republished here under a Creative Commons license.

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Mississippi Today

On this day in 1850

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May 3, 1850

Shadrach Minkins, right, worked at the Cornhill Coffee House and Tavern, believed to have been located in the highlighted area. Credit: Courtesy of National Park Service

Shadrach Minkins, already separated from his , escaped from the Norfolk, Virginia, home, where he was enslaved. He made his way to Boston, where he did odd until he began working as a waiter at Taft's Cornhill Coffee House.

Months later, passed the Fugitive Slave Act, which gave authorities the power to go into states and arrest Black Americans who had escaped .

A slave catcher named John Caphart arrived in Boston, with papers for Minkins. While serving breakfast at the coffee house, federal authorities arrested Minkins.

Several local lawyers, Robert Morris, volunteered to represent him. Three days later, a group of abolitionists, led by African-American abolitionist Lewis Hayden, broke into the Boston courthouse and rescued a surprised Minkins.

“The rescuers headed north along Court Street, 200 or more like the tail of a comet,” author Gary Collison wrote. They guided him across the Charles to the Cambridge home of the Rev. Joseph C. Lovejoy, whose brother, Elijah, had been lynched by a pro-slavery mob in Illinois in 1837.

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Another Black leader, John J. Smith, helped Minkins get a wagon with horses, and from Cambridge, Hayden, Smith and Minkins traveled to Concord, where Minkins stayed with the Bigelow family, which guided him to the Underground Railroad, making his way to Montreal, spending the rest of his in Canada as a free man.

Abolitionists cheered his escape, and President Millard Fillmore fumed. Morris, Hayden and others were charged, but sympathetic juries acquitted them. Meanwhile in Montreal, Minkins met fellow fugitives, married, had four and continued to work as a waiter before operating his own restaurants.

He ended his career running a barbershop before dying in 1875. A play performed in Boston in 2016 told the dramatic story of his escape.

This article first appeared on Mississippi Today and is republished here under a Creative Commons license.

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Mississippi Today

Medgar Evers will receive Presidential Medal of Freedom

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At her husband's funeral in 1963, Myrlie Evers heard NAACP Executive Director Roy Wilkins declare, “Medgar Evers believed in his country. It remains to be seen if his country believes in him.”

Later today, his country will declare its belief in him when the of the slain Mississippi NAACP leader receives the Presidential Medal of , the highest civilian honor.

But Medgar Evers was more than a civilian. He fought the Nazis in World War II, only to return home and fight racism, this time in the form of Jim Crow, which barred Black Mississippians from the ballot box.

On his 21st birthday, he and other Black of the war went to vote at the courthouse in Decatur, where they were met by white men with guns.

Afterward, he vowed he would never be defeated again and that he would keep fighting by joining others dedicated to the cause of the movement.

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“The movement for equality was always on his mind, and whites' denial of his right to vote in his hometown served as one cog of many in the overall wheel of injustice, a wheel of which he was bound and determined to break,” said Michael Vinson Williams, author of “Medgar Evers: Mississippi Martyr.”

Myrlie Beasley met Medgar Evers on the first day of her freshman year at Alcorn A&M College in fall 1950. As she leaned against a light pole, she said he told her to be careful, “you might get shocked.”

And shocked she was when she fell in love and married him a year later. He was one of those military veterans that her family had warned her about. And he was involved in the movement that her family had avoided.

She joined him in the fight, and they moved to Mississippi's only all-Black town, Mound Bayou, where he helped Dr. T.R.M. Howard a boycott. They distributed thousands of fluorescent bumper stickers that read, “Don't Buy Gas Where You Can't Use the Restroom.”

In January 1954, the of Mississippi School of Law turned Medgar Evers away because of the color of his skin. NAACP considered taking his case to court, but they were so impressed with him they hired him instead as the first field secretary for the Mississippi NAACP.

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Myrlie Evers worked as his secretary. She said he insisted they call each other “Mr. Evers” and “Mrs. Evers” in the office.

He spent much of his time on the road, putting 40,000 miles a year on his car, recruiting new members, reviving branches and inspiring young people to participate in the movement, including Joyce Ladner, who invited him to speak to the NAACP Youth Council in Hattiesburg.

“He had a quiet courage,” she recalled. “I was always amazed that he drove up and down Mississippi's two-lane highways alone at night. He was a marked man, but he kept on going.”

Joan Mulholland is seen holding a photo of her booking shot taken when sge and othger Freedom Riders were arrested in Mississippi un 1961. Credit: Courtesy of the Mulholland family

In 1961, Joan Trumpaeur Mulholland was one of more than 400 Freedom Riders, half of them white, who challenged segregation laws in the South. She and other Riders were arrested and sent to serve their time at the State Penitentiary at Parchman.

When she and other Riders needed a lawyer, Medgar Evers “was the one who took care of it,” she said.

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He became a model for her and others in character and courage, talking often to Tougaloo College students, she recalled. “He wasn't intimidated.”

In 1962, Evers installed Leslie McLemore as president of the Rust College chapter of the Mississippi NAACP. “Medgar Evers was really a brilliant man,” he said. “He had an incisive mind and personality that drew people to him. In another era, he could have been a U.S. senator from Mississippi or maybe even President.”

Evers investigated countless cases of intimidation and violence against Black Americans, including the 1955 murder of Emmett Till. Evers often dressed as a sharecropper in those investigations.

No matter where he went, threats of violence followed. He bought an Oldsmobile 88 with a V-8 engine so powerful it would most cars behind. On some dark nights across the Mississippi Delta, he floored it to escape those hell-bent on harming him.

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His name appeared on Ku Klux Klan “death lists,” and his home telephone rang at all hours with threats to him and his family.

When his daughter, Reena, answered the phone one time, she heard a man saying he planned to torture and kill her father.

In spite of these threats, he stayed. He told Ebony magazine, “The state is beautiful, it is home, I love it here. A man's state is like his house. If it has defects, he tries to remedy them. That's what my job is here.”

On May 20, 1963, Evers talked on television about the mistreatment of Black Mississippians. “If I die, it will be a good cause,” he told The New York Times. “I'm fighting for America just as much as the soldiers in Vietnam.”

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Weeks later, President Kennedy delivered his first and only civil rights speech, telling the millions watching on television, “If an American, because his skin is dark, cannot eat lunch in a restaurant open to the public, if he cannot send his children to the best public school available, if he cannot vote for the public officials who will represent him, if, in short, he cannot enjoy the full and free which all of us want, then who among us would be content to have the color of his skin changed and stand in his place?”

Evers smiled. He and other Black leaders had urged Kennedy to push for a civil rights bill, and now that seemed certain to happen.

Hours later, returning home from a late civil rights meeting, Evers was shot in the back in the driveway of his Jackson home.

Myrlie Evers and their three children dashed outside, saw the blood and screamed. “Daddy!” Reena yelled. “Please get up, Daddy.”

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He never did.

“He had the courage to hold an impossible job at a crucial turning point in American history,” said Taylor Branch, the Pulitzer Prize-winning author of a trilogy on the civil rights movement.

For the first time, members of the mainstream press didn't call such a killing “a lynching,” he said. “They called it an assassination.”

In his book, “Parting the Waters,” he wrote, “White people who had never heard of Medgar Evers spoke his name over and over, as though the words themselves had the ring of legend. It seemed fitting that the casket was placed on a slow train through the South, bound for Washington so that the body could lie in state.”

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After the casket arrived, Medgar Evers was buried with full military honors at Arlington National Cemetery.

“The tragedy of his martyrdom is eloquent testimony to the courage and dedication of a leader who — in his lifetime — deserved the respect and support of the powerful people who later publicly identified with this man and his cause,” said John Dittmer, author of “Local People: The Struggle for Civil Rights in Mississippi.” “Though long overdue, this award is a fitting tribute to Medgar Evers and his family.”

A year after Evers' assassination, Congress passed the Civil Rights Act on his birthday, and President Lyndon B. Johnson signed the bill into law hours later.

“Medgar Wiley Evers boldly stood against injustice, against oppression, against this country's determination to keep Black people as second-class citizens,” Williams said, “and he was murdered because of his commitment to truth, justice and the struggle for civil and human rights.”

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Before leaving office as governor in 1984, William Winter hosted Myrlie Evers and her family at the mansion, where he remarked that Medgar Evers did more than just free Black Mississippians, he freed white Mississippians as well from the bonds of racial segregation, oppression and hate, he said. “We were all prisoners of that system.”

It took three decades before Evers' killer was finally brought to justice in 1994, and that verdict helped to inspire the reopenings of other cases. There have been 24 convictions in civil rights cold cases.

Myrlie Evers' courage to press for justice in her husband's case started all of this, said Leslie McLemore, who helped found the Fannie Lou Hamer National Institute on Citizenship and Democracy. “It would not have happened without her persistence.”

When she learned last week about the Presidential Medal of Freedom honoring her late husband, she exclaimed to her daughter, Reena Evers-Everette, “Oh, my God!”

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Then Myrlie Evers grew silent.

“I'm just utterly speechless,” she said, “and frozen with gratitude.”

Evers-Everette still misses the man she knows as “Daddy,” but she perseveres as the executive director for the Medgar and Myrlie Evers Institute, because his spirit inspires her.

“I feel him around me all the time,” she said. “I marvel at his courage, stamina, vision, and commitment for equality and justice for his people and all of humanity. I pray for his love and wisdom as I pursue this work, because I don't want him to have died in vain.”

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This article first appeared on Mississippi Today and is republished here under a Creative Commons license.

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