Mississippi Today
How Dr. Scott Benton’s decisions tore these families apart
How Dr. Scott Benton's decisions tore these families apart
This story is the third part in Mississippi Today's “Shaky Science, Fractured Families” investigation about the state's only child abuse pediatrician crossing the line from medicine into law enforcement and how his decisions can tear families apart.Read the full series here.
Caryn Jordan, Columbia
When Caryn Jordan took her 10-month-old daughter to Forrest General Hospital on March 29, 2020, she never imagined the state would take her child from her.
She said she also never considered that a pediatrician who would accuse her of child abuse wouldn't do the necessary testing to determine if a genetic disease caused her daughter's fractures.
The nightmare started when Jordan was putting her daughter Sawyer in her high chair. She noticed one leg was warm and swollen. She tried to get Sawyer to stand up, but the child couldn't handle pressure being applied to the swollen leg.
At Forrest General Hospital, Jordan said doctors told her an X-ray revealed a fracture on Sawyer's leg and that the hospital would have to transfer Sawyer to the University of Mississippi Medical Center (UMMC) in Jackson because they were not equipped to put a cast on an infant. The hospital had contacted Child Protective Services, she said she later realized.
An official with Forrest General Hospital said when there is suspected abuse or neglect, the hospital social worker is consulted and further screening is done.
“CPS is notified when circumstances warrant,” said Suzanne Wilson, the director of emergency services and transfer center at the hospital.
Wilson said not all suspected abuse cases are transferred out of the facility, but those requiring a specialist's care are transferred, as well as those in need of pediatric services not provided at the hospital.
After performing a full body X-ray on Sawyer at UMMC, doctors told Jordan her daughter had a broken leg and 11 fractures across her body in various stages of healing.
Jordan was baffled. Sawyer had rarely left their home, aside from frequent doctor visits due to stomach issues and a salmonella infection. Her mind raced for answers.
Then Jordan got a call from Dr. Scott Benton, a pediatrician at UMMC who specializes in child abuse pediatrics. He told her that Sawyer looked like she had been thrown against a wall or in a car accident, she said. Another mother told Mississippi Today that Benton also accused her of throwing her baby against the wall.
“He spoke to me like I was this abusive, disgusting mother,” Jordan said. “I don't think I've ever been that angry.”
Benton, who Jordan said she never saw in person, determined abuse caused her injuries. Jordan said to her knowledge, Benton, who told her on the phone he was out of town at the time, never saw Sawyer in person.
Jordan would not be taking Sawyer home. She was told to leave the hospital, and Sawyer went into the custody of Child Protective Services.
Back home in Columbia, Jordan turned all of her energy into getting Sawyer back, a fight that cost her everything. She was only able to work part time due to frequent court dates and doctor's visits. She drained her savings and lost her health insurance. Her relationship with her boyfriend imploded. She moved back in with her parents.
“Could the fractures have occurred during birth?” she wondered. At one point, Sawyer got stuck in the birth canal. She had to be pushed back inside and delivered through an emergency cesarean section, Jordan said.
“Might Sawyer have a brittle bone disease called osteogenesis imperfecta?” Jordan thought. The group of inherited genetic disorders affects how the body makes collagen and causes fragile bones. A Facebook group she joined for parents whose children had the disorder encouraged her to request a bone density test.
But when Jordan proposed the idea, Benton replied in text messages that she shared with Mississippi Today: “There is no validated and approved bone density test for infants.”
While bone density tests are not typically performed on infants, there are alternative methods, Jordan said a pediatrician at Children's Hospital New Orleans told her in June 2020. They include a skin biopsy or genetic testing to look for anomalies in certain genes involved in encoding collagen.
In videos shared with Mississippi Today, the New Orleans doctor tells Jordan that Sawyer's symptoms and injuries are consistent with what is seen in a child with brittle bone disease, and that often the fractures are painless and left undiscovered for some time.
But Jordan was unaware Benton had performed a genetic osteogenesis imperfecta panel test on Sawyer on March 31, nor was she given the results. That test detected a variant of uncertain significance in her COL1A1 gene, which is involved in collagen production, according to Sawyer's medical records from UMMC.
Dr. Mahim Jain, director of the Osteogenesis Imperfecta Clinic at Kennedy Krieger Institute and an assistant professor in the Department of Pediatrics at Johns Hopkins University School of Medicine, said issues with the COL1A1 gene are a major cause of OI.
“A variant of uncertain significance doesn't really say, ‘Yes, it is disease causing' or ‘no, it's not.' It means that there's more work to be done to try to sort out if it is causing the condition,” Jain told Mississippi Today.
Benton's report on Sawyer's genetic test recommends genetic counseling and targeted testing of her parents to better understand the implications of this variant, but no further testing was done and no explanation was given as to why, according to the medical records.
Jordan said she became aware of the test and its results only after her case was concluded.
Benton declined to answer questions about Jordan and her daughter's case, even though Jordan submitted a form to UMMC authorizing hospital employees to discuss her daughter's medical records with Mississippi Today.
Benton told a group of public defenders in a recorded presentation about sex crimes, however, that before he came to UMMC in 2008, parents and anyone who was suspected of being associated with a child's injury was “kicked out of the hospital.”
He said he reversed that policy so he could be sure to get a full history from parents and not overlook any possible medical explanations for a child's injuries.
“That was part of their protocol (at the time). And I said ‘Alright, who am I supposed to get the history from? Who am I supposed to (talk to) to figure out if there's a medical explanation for some of these bleeding findings?'” he told the group. “So we quickly reversed that.”
For the first three months while Sawyer was with a foster family, Jordan said she wasn't allowed to see her, despite CPS visitation policy that states contact between the child and his or her parents must be arranged within 72 hours of that child being placed into foster care.
Shannon Warnock, a spokeswoman for CPS, said the agency can't comment on specific cases, “including any exceptional circumstances that warrant policy adjustments.”
In December 2020, nine months after Jordan went into CPS custody, Jordan's parents got a foster care license and got custody of Sawyer.
In doing so, that meant Jordan had to move out. She found a one-bedroom apartment she could afford.
Ultimately, the youth court judge concluded Sawyer was abused but it was unclear who inflicted the injuries, so she was returned to Jordan on April 5, 2021.
In the aftermath, Jordan has been diagnosed with post-traumatic stress disorder, an anxiety disorder and depression. She mourns the milestones she missed during the 15 months Sawyer was taken from her.
“I missed my daughter's first birthday,” Jordan said. “I missed her first Easter. I missed her first step. I missed a lot of firsts. And these are things I can never get back.”
The separation also affected Sawyer, now an outspoken 3-year-old who sometimes rolls her eyes at her mother and loves to dance.
Sawyer has to carry KeKe, a fuzzy blanket covered in llamas, with her wherever she goes, Jordan said. The baby blanket was the only one of her belongings she was able to keep while in state custody. She still has separation anxiety, and Jordan often has to reassure her she will not leave her again.
Jordan recently scheduled additional testing for Sawyer in New Orleans to confirm if she has the brittle bone disease. She said she waited because of the cost, and because for a long time, the idea of taking Sawyer to a doctor left her terrified.
The two now live in a two-bedroom house in Columbia with a large backyard. They're trying to start over and create a new normal.
“Ever since they closed our case, I've just tried to be a mom,” Jordan said.
Lindsey Tedford, Tupelo
Lindsey Tedford of Tupelo rushed her 3-week-old son Cohen to the local emergency room at North Mississippi Medical Center on June 13, 2021. While her husband was holding their newborn and bent down to pick up a pacifier from the floor, Cohen had hit his head on the nearby crib, the parents told the nurses in the emergency room.
Cohen had bruising under both eyes and on his nose but was otherwise fine, the doctors told her.
The hospital never performed CT or MRI scans, medical records from the visit show.
But when Cohen was at a pediatric cardiologist appointment about two and a half months after the crib accident, the doctor noticed something concerning. Cohen's head circumference had increased since his two-month checkup with his pediatrician. He scheduled an ultrasound two weeks later, and the results were “concerning for a brain bleed,” according to the baby's medical records.
The doctor sent them to the North Mississippi Medical Center for a CT scan. It confirmed the ultrasound results: Blood had collected between the skull and the surface of the brain, and Cohen had a possible skull fracture.
The results triggered a chain of events that led to the Tedfords losing custody of Cohen for nearly five months. The state's only child abuse pediatrician, Dr. Scott Benton, accused them of child abuse and diagnosed Cohen with “nonaccidental trauma.”
In recent months, doctors at Le Bonheur Children's Hospital in Memphis have diagnosed Cohen, now over a year old, with a bleeding disorder called idiopathic thrombocytopenic purpura, or ITP. Subdural hematomas and intracranial hemorrhage — both diagnoses Cohen received at UMMC — are rare complications of ITP.
Back in September of 2021, the North Mississippi neurosurgeon recommended operating on the brain bleed as soon as possible. Lindsey asked the doctor to transfer Cohen to Le Bonheur in Memphis and left the hospital to go home to get clothes for the trip. On her way back, she got a frantic call from her husband Blake: they had taken Cohen in a helicopter, and he didn't know where they were taking him, she said.
“As soon as Blake left to go out of the room to follow the people taking Cohen to the helicopter, (people from Child Protective Services) were waiting on him to question him.”
Eventually a nurse manager told him Cohen was sent to the University of Mississippi Medical Center in Jackson, she said.
A spokeswoman for North Mississippi Medical Center said the hospital aims to care for potential victims of child abuse “with love and respect.”
“We report child abuse to Child Protective Services in accordance with Mississippi regulations and treat as medically appropriate,” the spokeswoman said when asked how the hospital handles cases of suspected abuse and neglect. “UMMC maintains a Pediatric Sub-Specialty Clinic in Tupelo, which offers non-traumatic medical examinations and treatment for cases of suspected abuse and neglect.”
The Tedfords said they made phone calls to UMMC as they drove to Jackson. They eventually found Cohen in the emergency room.
They didn't hear from Child Protective Services again until almost two weeks later — the day before Cohen was discharged into CPS custody.
CPS policy and state law do not require parents be informed they are being investigated for possible child abuse in any specific time frame.
“The Foster Care Policy manual does say that a parent ‘will be notified prior to, or as soon as safely possible, that his/her child is being placed in custody,' but there is no specific time period for notifying the parent of the child's removal,” said Shannon Warnock, a spokesperson for CPS.
She said the agency could not comment on specific cases.
Following more tests, Cohen was transferred to the pediatric intensive care unit. Neurology, hematology and ophthalmology consulted on his case.
Blood work revealed he was anemic, but medical records note a hematologist “… felt that anemia was most likely secondary to subdural hematoma.”
No other tests or scans were abnormal, according to the records.
About five days into Cohen's hospital stay, Dr. Scott Benton introduced himself to her and her husband as the “staff forensic pediatrician,” Lindsey said.
“I didn't know what that meant,” she said. “He said, ‘I'm going to record this session,' and didn't tell us a whole lot, just started asking questions.”
The couple relayed how Cohen had hit his head on his crib at 3 weeks old. Benton said the bleeding couldn't have been caused by that, Lindsey said.
When she showed him pictures of Cohen's bruised face and the bassinet, he said that didn't “impress” him, she recalled.
Lindsey also told Benton about Cohen's “traumatic” birth, but she said he told her the same — it didn't impress him. During 17 hours of labor, both her and his heart rates dropped on several occasions, and she lost consciousness.
Cohen was born with the umbilical cord wrapped around his neck.
Benton declined to answer questions about Lindsey and her son's case, even though she submitted a form to UMMC authorizing hospital employees to discuss her son's medical records with Mississippi Today.
Lindsey attempted to get the recording of her conversations with Benton from the Children's Safe Center, the medical center Benton oversees, but was unable to reach an employee, she said. Another mother who attempted to get similar recordings was told she must have an attorney to do so.
At UMMC, a surgeon drilled small openings called burr holes into Cohen's skull to relieve pressure from the bleeding. He recovered and was discharged from UMMC.
The Tedfords appealed to a CPS case worker to allow Cohen to stay with Blake's mother, who lived about 20 minutes from their home. CPS tentatively agreed, pending a successful home visit.
On Sept. 22, 2021, officials from Child Protective Services took the baby back to Tupelo. The hospital had diagnosed his injury as “nonaccidental trauma to child.”
For months, the Tedfords' lives were divided between two houses. CPS had also removed their then-3-year-old daughter Cullen Claire from the home under a safety plan, and she was staying with Lindsey's parents.
“She kept asking, ‘Why can't I go home with my mommy and daddy? Is my brother ever going to get better?' We couldn't tell her, ‘You can't come home because these people think we're abusing you,'” said Lindsey.
Cohen wasn't sleeping well away from his home, either, and his grandmother was in a state of constant exhaustion.
Over the next several months, CPS visited the Tedfords' home, and the couple took (and passed) a polygraph test at the end of October, Lindsey said.
At a December safety plan review, Cullen Claire's court-appointed guardian recommended returning her home because of the detrimental impact on her mental health — contingent on Lindsey receiving a mental evaluation because of the postpartum depression she revealed to Benton at the hospital in their conversation.
Several court dates for Cohen in early January passed with no action from CPS or the prosecution. They finally went back to court at the end of January.
“Our lawyer presented dismissal, saying there was basically not enough evidence to say these people abused their children,” recalled Lindsey. “He said, ‘This has been going on for five months now, nothing's happened, we haven't been to trial, and we just now got medical records. How long is this going to go on, and this family is broken?'”
When the judge asked the prosecution if they would be ready for trial in the next month, the attorneys said no.
Cohen's court-appointed guardian also recommended the child return home. The judge ruled in the Tedfords' favor, but stated Cohen should remain under a CPS safety plan involving periodic home visits. The plan ended March 2, 2022.
Life for the Tedfords is, on the outside, back to normal. But a lot has changed.
In addition to the health scare with Cohen and frequent trips to Memphis for his doctor appointments for ITP, his sister Cullen Claire, now 4, is struggling.
“We're looking into child therapy for her. She tells us all the time that she doesn't think we love her, that no one likes her. She's struggled at school,” Lindsey said, starting to cry. “It's definitely caused a lot of trauma.”
Lindsey has also been to therapy to work through what happened.
She said any time there's a minor accident — bumps, falls and scrapes — she gets worried.
“What would it take for my kids to go back into CPS custody?” she wonders.
Lauren Ayers, Madison
After an afternoon at the playground on July 24, 2018, Lauren Ayers of Madison came home with her 10-week-old twins and almost 2-year-old son.
Ayers' husband was in Oklahoma for work, so she was left alone with the three boys. She made spaghetti for her older son and herself. After they ate, she started the bedtime routine for the twins, Eli and Conner. She changed Conner's diaper, swaddled him and laid him in his bassinet in her bedroom.
She put the other twin, Eli, on the plastic diaper changing pad on top of the dresser where she changes the boys' diapers in their nursery. She had Eli's onesie undone, so the lower half of his body was pressed directly against the uncovered pad.
The three children's screams and cries created a cacophony in her home. Eli was kicking and thrashing on the changing pad.
Over the sound of the cries, she heard a clicking noise behind her and turned around, with Eli still on the changing table. Her older son sometimes liked to stand on the glider and rock back and forth, and she'd often have to intercept him before he fell. This time, though, he was playing with a retractable tape measure.
Turning back around, she was horrified to see Eli had scooted himself backwards and had fallen, landing on the crown of his head on the hard floor.
She remembers the resounding thud. When she ran over to pick him up, he was crying, but then became limp and lost consciousness.
“I thought he had broken his neck … I couldn't find my phone, I was running outside and screaming for anybody to help me,” Ayers recalled. “I finally remembered where my phone was and ran in and called 911. He was unconscious, but he was breathing.”
Ayers' neighborhood in Flora was new at the time, and she said she was either so upset she wasn't being clear about where she lived or the emergency response officials weren't sure where she was. She offered to meet them at Mannsdale Upper Elementary School, about a mile from her house.
“I loaded everybody up, got there … three different fire departments came,” she said. “I kept asking this off-duty firefighter … ‘What do we need to do?' And he said, ‘Look, if anything's wrong with him, you want him in the care of an ambulance.'”
With Ayers' husband out of town and her family in Destin, her best friend came to the school along with her husband.
When no ambulance had arrived 30 minutes later, “the off-duty firefighter was like, ‘You've got to get him to a hospital,'” she said. “So my best friend's husband drove us (to the University of Mississippi Medical Center).”
Ayers' friend stayed with her and Eli, who had regained consciousness, when he arrived in the emergency room.Two of Ayers' other friends were also in the emergency room with them, along with her in-laws.
“Thank God people could come back in the ER (because) they were witnesses of everything that happened … They tried to get an IV in him … They stuck him probably over 12 times,” Ayers described. “They couldn't get blood from him.”
The nurses started a procedure called “milking,” said Ayers, where they would put both hands on Eli's legs and arms and squeeze the skin in opposite directions in an attempt to get blood to flow.
They checked his stats, ran tests and admitted him to the pediatric intensive care unit for the night. A neurosurgeon reassured Ayers and her family that while the injury was bad, Eli would recover.
A scan the next morning showed Eli's brain bleed had not gotten any larger, so he was moved to a regular room. That day, Ayers said the nurse told her the forensic pediatrician wanted to go over what happened. Ayers had no idea what a forensic pediatrician was.
Ayers attempted to get a recording of her conversation with Benton to share with Mississippi Today, but was told by the Children's Safe Center, the medical center Benton oversees, that she would have to get an attorney to obtain it.
But she well remembers how the conversation began.
“He goes on to explain his (Eli's) injuries and then asked if I remembered (the actress) Natasha Richardson. And I was like ‘Yea, yea, from the ‘Parent Trap','” she said. “And he goes, you know, ‘she had the skiing accident … This is the same injury your child has.'”
Richardson suffered a head injury and died two days later in 2009.
Ayers was shocked. She thought maybe Benton was about to tell her something was very wrong.
Benton abruptly closed his notebook and looked at her, she said.
“He said, ‘You're under a lot of pressure right now. You have three kids, you were home alone — postpartum (depression) is a real thing,'” she remembered. “‘Tell me what really happened.”
Benton's notes from Eli's medical records show his certainty that the baby was not injured the way Ayers said.
“The fractures are discontinuous (do not connect) and appear to represent separate impact sites,” his notes show. “… Bilateral fractures are not reported in single fall incidents except where the skull fractures are continuous across sutures or in cases of bilateral out bending from a posterior impact causing symmetrical fractures.”
He goes on to note his concerns are whether Eli was developmentally able to kick or slide himself backwards and whether his skull fractures are “consistent” with Ayers' account of what happened.
An occupational therapist who later evaluated Eli noted he was “quite active for age and may be slightly ahead with developmental milestones.” Ayers also took a video of Eli scooting himself backwards off a diaper changing pad, which she provided to Mississippi Today. In the video, he is wearing the same onesie outfit he was wearing in photos from the hospital.
She said Benton then told her he believes she threw the baby against a wall.
Yet the “most traumatizing part” of the first meeting with Benton, she said, was when he “strips that baby naked, and he's looking, I guess, for signs of abuse.”
He started taking pictures of the bruises and needle marks from when Eli was admitted in the ER. Ayers asked what he was doing, and he said he believed she had inflicted the bruises.
He argued with her that the bruises were not from attempts to draw blood, and that “milking” was against hospital policy.
“I kept saying, ‘Don't you see the needle marks?' I was screaming at the nurses, ‘These are needle marks, you see them and you gave them to him!'” said Ayers.
Her friend had written down the names of the nurses who treated Eli in the emergency room, and Ayers begged Benton to talk to them. Ayers found a nurse who showed Benton records that when Eli first came to the hospital, no bruising or marks were noted.
A pediatric general surgeon who reviewed Eli two days later noted “bruising to left hand with visible venous access attempt noted” and “IV to right foot.”
Benton backed off, she said. But Ayers' anxiety had only increased.
“At that point I was like, ‘They're going to take this baby from me,'” she said.
Benton declined to answer questions about Ayers and her son's case, even though Ayers submitted a form to UMMC authorizing hospital employees to discuss Eli's medical records with Mississippi Today.
At the next meeting with Benton, Ayers had family members with her, including her father-in-law, a pharmacist. One of Eli's tests had come back showing he had slightly elevated liver enzymes, which Benton believed indicated trauma to the abdomen.
Ayers' father-in-law asked to review the test results.
“He (my father-in-law) literally looked at him and said, ‘Dr. Benton, with all due respect, these are stress-related elevated enzymes,'” she recalled. “‘These are not trauma-level numbers.'”
Benton said Eli would need to do a CT with contrast that requires fasting and radiation. Radiation exposure is particularly concerning in children because they are more sensitive to radiation. And because they have a longer life expectancy than adults, that results in a larger window of opportunity for them to experience radiation damage.
Ayers and her father-in-law objected to the CT, noting Ayers' husband, Drew, had a kidney condition that made dehydration particularly dangerous, and there was a chance Eli might have the same issue.
But Benton insisted, and they relented.
In the paperwork under “clinical history” for the CT scan, it states: “Reported new bruising on the abdomen. Concern for blunt trauma to abdomen.” There had never been any mention of abdominal bruising in the medical records or to Ayers up until that point, and the CT was performed two days after Eli came to the hospital.
The scan came back normal.
“No evidence of blunt trauma to the abdomen. No acute fractures or dislocations,” the report stated.
Eli was discharged but subjected to another full body X-ray several weeks after he left, according to records. A case worker from Child Protective Services visited Ayers' home and cleared Eli to return. Several weeks later, a Madison County sheriff's investigator also interviewed Ayers.
The case was closed that day, the incident report stated.
What haunts Ayers even four years later is wondering what happens to mothers without the resources she had: the ability to hire an attorney, a family member in the medical field to sit in on meetings with Benton and the support of friends and family who were in the emergency room and hospital with her.
“This man should have some more oversight … if you're going to subject a 10-week-old to all these tests, two MRIs, a CT, X-rays, you should have your evidence in order,” said Ayers, who said she struggled “with some pretty dark days” after the accusations from Benton and the experience in the hospital.
Ayers filed a complaint with the Mississippi State Board of Medical Licensure in March of last year. In her complaint, she highlighted the unexplained “new bruising to abdomen” on the notes for his CT – bruising that was never mentioned anywhere else in his medical records.
“I would say, about 10 doctors signed off that my child (the patient) had ZERO bruising anywhere on his body upon admittance to the hospital … Scott Benton couldn't ethically order this CT with contrast on my child bc (because) his liver enzymes weren't actually elevated enough to need it,” she wrote. “ … Before I take matters further, I'd really like someone to call me, asap.”
She never heard anything back.
Editor's note: Kate Royals, Mississippi Today's community health editor since January 2022, worked as a writer/editor for UMMC's Office of Communications from November 2018 through August 2020, writing press releases and features about the medical center's schools of dentistry and nursing.
This article first appeared on Mississippi Today and is republished here under a Creative Commons license.
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Mississippi Today
At Lake High School in Scott County, the Un-Team will never be forgotten
They were the 1974 Lake High Hornets football team, 29 players strong. But in Scott County, right there just off Highway 80, they are forever known, for good reason, as The Un-Team.
That's “un” as in: undefeated, untied, un-scored upon, and virtually un-challenged. The Hornets, coached by Granville Freeman, a maniacally demanding 26-year-old in only his second year as a head coach, out-scored opponents 312 to zero over 10 games. No opponent came within three touchdowns of Lake. This was before Mississippi had statewide high school football playoffs, but Lake was the undisputed champion of the old Cherokee Conference. The Hornets won the south division and were supposed to play French Camp for the league championship. Apparently, French Camp decided that discretion really is the better part of valor and declined to play.
Fifty years later, looking at the scores, it is difficult to blame them.
The 1974 Lake High School Un-Team
Undefeated, un-tied, un-scored upon
Lake 18 | Choctaw Central 0
Lake 20 | West Lauderdale 0
Lake 40 | Stringer 0
Lake 30 | Beulah Hubbard 0
Lake 54 | Sebastopol 0
Lake 42 | Hickory 0
Lake 20 | Scott Central 0
Lake 30 | Nanih Waiya 0
Lake 20 | Clarkdale 0
Lake 38 | Edinburg 0
Lake 1 | French Camp 0 (forfeit)
Twenty-six of the 29 Lake Hornets are still living, and all 26 will be back in Scott County this Saturday night to be honored by the Scott County Sports Hall of Fame at Roosevelt State Park. They will come from nine different states and one will return home from Germany. They wouldn't miss it. Would you?
Said Freeman Horton, the team's best player, who later was a four-year starter at Southern Miss, a longtime coach, and now lives in Horn Lake, “We achieved something back then that can never be surpassed. Some other team, somewhere, might tie our record, but I doubt it. One thing's for sure, they can't beat it. There's no way.”
Coach Granville Freeman was an old school coach in some ways but decades ahead of most high school coaches in so many others, as we shall see. “When I went to Lake in 1973, I told them we would have a team that when opponents got ready to play us, they would be shaking in their shoes,” Freeman said. “I'd say we accomplished that in 1974.”
Old school? Lake ran out of a straight T-formation, nothing fancy. The Hornets played a standard four-man front defensively. Freeman demanded all-out effort, all the time. He drove the team bus to practice 5.3 miles away from the school. After what was usually a long, tortuous practice if he wasn't satisfied with the effort or performance, he followed in the bus, lights on, while the players ran all the way back to the high school. If they were going too slow, he'd rev the engine. If that didn't work, he might even bump a straggler's rear end.
“You couldn't do that these days, could you?” Freeman said, chuckling. “I'd need a really good lawyer.”
He would also have needed a jury made up of avid Lake football fans who knew there was method to his madness.
There's no doubt Freeman worked at least as hard as his players. Said Harry Vance, the team's quarterback, “Coach was 25 years ahead of everybody else in the way he used film and developed scouting reports. By the time we met as a team after church on Sunday, he had graded Friday night's film and had a 20-page scouting report prepared and printed on the next opponent. It was only Sunday and we already knew everything we were going to do.”
Said Vance of his coach, “He coached 24 hours a day, seven days a week. And he was crazy smart.”
Horton, who starred as an outside linebacker on defense and left tackle on offense, was widely recruited. Mississippi State, Ole Miss and Southern Miss all offered scholarships. So did Bear Bryant at Alabama, and this will tell you much about Granville Freeman's crazy intellect. Bryant and Ken Donahue, his top recruiter, visited Lake to recruit Horton. Freeman was discussing Horton with Bryant and Donahue after practice when Donahue asked, “Coach, I don't understand why you don't you play your best athlete at middle linebacker? At Alabama, Horton would be playing in the middle.”
Responded Freeman, “Well, Coach, I'll tell you why. If I line up Horton in the middle, I don't have any idea which way the other team is gonna run. But if I line him up one side, I know for damn sure which way they ain't about to run. This way, we only have to defend half the field.”
Freeman says he looked over at Bryant. The legendary, old coach was chuckling, as he told Donahue: “Well, now you know, Coach, makes a whole lot of sense to me.”
Many in Lake thought Freeman really had lost his mind during the spring of 1974. That's when he called his players together and told them summer workouts would be different that year. Twice a week, a ballet teacher was going to come from Jackson and work them out in the gymnasium. Yes, they were going to take ballet lessons, and they would each pay for the lessons. “We thought Coach Freeman was nuts when he told us about it,” said Dewey Holmes, the team's star running back who rushed for more than 1,200 yards. “But we all did it.” These weren't rich kids, mind you. Many of the Lake players picked up aluminum cans on roadsides to earn the money to take ballet.
It made all kinds of good sense to Freeman. “Ballet is all about balance, about footwork, about flexibility and core strength,” Freeman said. “I thought it was perfect training for a football player. We called ourselves the twinkletoes Hornets.”
A lot of folks laughed when they heard about it. They weren't laughing a few months later, not after 312-0.
And nobody was laughing in the locker room at halftime of a game at Hickory. Lake led only 7-0 and Freeman was furious. So, he yanked the helmet off one player and threw it through a window. “I surprised myself with that,” Freeman said. “I thought, ‘Now, I've done it.'”
So he did it some more. He grabbed more helmets, threw them through more windows. Final score: Lake 42, Hickory 0. Of course, Hickory wanted those windows fixed and when the bill arrived, Lake Hornets fans raised the money to pay.
Another time, after a scoreless first half with Stringer, Lake players feared what would happen in the locker room. They expected another tirade. Instead, Freeman walked in and told them he was so disgusted he was quitting on the spot. So, he walked out of the locker room and took a seat in the stands. And that's where he was when the Hornets returned to the field and proceeded to score 40 straight points.
Many readers might wonder what happened to Granville Freeman, so wildly successful, so early in his coaching career. Answer: Four years later, he retired from coaching at age 30 with a 57-2-1 record.
Why? Burnout was surely one reason, and there were at least 485 more. His last monthly paycheck at Lake was for $485. Said Freeman, I did the math and figured out what I was making per hour. I was coaching the junior high and high school teams, mowing and lining the fields, watching film, carrying it to Jackson to be developed, doing scouting reports, washing uniforms, running the summer program, teaching, driving the bus. It came out to 17 cents an hour. I wasn't sleeping much.”
As many coaches in Mississippi have, Freeman stopped coaching and started selling insurance. Fourteen years ago, when he explained the reasons for his his early retirement from coaching, the interview was interrupted when someone knocked and slipped a payment under the door of his State Farm office. Freeman never missed a beat, laughing and telling this writer, “You know, that right there never happened back when I was coaching.”
Now 77, he has retired also from State Farm. The insurance money was far better in those later years but nothing ever happened to come close to the satisfaction of that unparalleled autumn half a century ago.
Undefeated. Un-tied. Un-scored upon. Perfect. That's why all 26 living players are coming back. That's why end Dexter Brown is traveling from Frankfurt, Germany, to take part. That's why Holmes, the star running back who later rose to the rank of full-bird colonel and traveled the world in the U.S. Air Force, is coming from his home in Tucson, Ariz.
“We grew up together, we achieved together,” Holmes said. “I wouldn't miss this.”
So many stories will be told, none more than what follows.
Nobody had come really close to scoring on the Lake Hornets until the final game, when a fourth quarter fumbled punt gave Edinburg the ball at the Lake 8-yard line. Three plays later, the ball was still on the 8, and Edinburg, trailing 38-0, lined up for a field goal. Moochie Weidman, the Hornets' nose guard who might have weighed 140 pounds, broke through the center of the line so quickly he blocked the kick with his chest.
How did it feel, someone asked Moochie, after he regained his breath. He answered with a grin. “It hurt so good,” he said.
Freeman Horton says it remains probably his favorite memory of that un-season. “Moochie was our smallest guy, the one you'd least expect, and he was the hero,” Horton said.
Sadly, Moochie Weidman is one of the three deceased 1974 Lake Hornets, but he will be remembered, ever so fondly, Saturday night.
This article first appeared on Mississippi Today and is republished here under a Creative Commons license.
Mississippi Today
On this day in 1959
April 25, 1959
Days before his scheduled trial, Mack Charles Parker, a 23-year-old Black truck driver, was lynched after midnight by a hooded mob of white men in Poplarville, Mississippi.
Parker had been accused of raping a pregnant white woman and was being held in a local jail. A deputy reportedly unlocked the jail, enabling a white mob to enter Parker's cell. The mob dragged Parker head first down the stairs, leaving a bloody trail. The mob then beat him, took him to a bridge, shot and killed him, then weighed his body down with chains and dumped him in the river.
FBI agents identified the jailer, Jewel Alford, as giving the mob the keys. Another alleged participant was J.P. Walker, elected sheriff of Pearl River County four years later. Other suspects included “Crip” Reyer, L. C. Davis, “Preacher” James Floren Lee, his son James Floren “Jeff” Lee, Herman Schultz and Arthur Smith who supplied the names of Walker, Preacher Lee, L.C. Davis and the names of others who were in the two cars. Smith told agents that Lee, Reyer, Davis and Walker were in the lead car that carried Parker from the jail.
Howard Smead's book, “Blood Justice,” tells the story. Parker is among 40 martyrs listed on the Civil Rights Memorial in Montgomery, Alabama, and is also listed at the National Memorial for Peace and Justice.
This article first appeared on Mississippi Today and is republished here under a Creative Commons license.
Mississippi Today
Senate votes to restore voting rights to four people previously convicted of disenfranchising felonies
The state Senate on Wednesday agreed to restore voting rights to four people who have completed their prison sentences and paid restitution for disenfranchising felony convictions.
“I think we all have failed at some point in our lives,” Democratic Sen. Juan Barnett of Heidelberg said on the Senate floor. “I think we all have asked for forgiveness. And these individuals now who are before us on these suffrage bills are asking us to forgive them of those things.”
The GOP-majority chamber overwhelmingly approved the bills, and they now head to the House for consideration.
Sen. Mike Seymour, a Republican from Vancleave, was the only person in the 52-member Senate who voted against all of the suffrage restoration bills. Reporters attempted to ask Seymour why he opposed all of the suffrage measures, but he churlishly walked down three flights of stairs without substantively answering the questions.
The only thing he said in response to the media's inquiries was a cryptic and confusing remark that he believes “everybody should have the same right to suffrage.” He declined to elaborate what that meant and darted into an office.
The four people the Senate restored voting rights to were:
- A Newton County man who was released from prison in 1989 for escape, burglary and larceny convictions
- An Oktibbeha County man who was released from prison in 1997 on an embezzlement conviction
- An Oktibbeha County man who was released from prison in 1994 on a false pretenses-communications conviction
- A Walthall County man who was convicted of grand larceny in 1977; Lawmakers said the conviction occurred so long ago that the Mississippi Department of Corrections did not even have all of the documentation in its possession to show how many years he served and when he was released from custody.
Senators voted down a bill to restore voting rights to a Yazoo County man who was convicted of possessing stolen goods and attempted armed robbery in 1995. He was released to parole on September 16, 1997, and discharged on February 13, 2000.
Sen. Walter Michel, a Republican from Ridgeland, and Sen. Chad McMahan, a Republican from Guntown, told reporters they voted against restoring suffrage to the Yazoo County man because they believe attempted armed robbery is a violent crime, and they oppose restoring voting rights to people convicted of violent crimes.
“If you put a gun to somebody's head or somebody murders somebody, then I'm going to vote against restoring suffrage,” Michel said. “But if they stole some money, and it was 35 or 40 years ago, I'm fine with that.”
A senator held the defeated measure on a procedural measure, so the chamber could reconsider the issue at a later date.
The Senate's decision to reject an effort to restore suffrage to the Yazoo County man comes a week after Kenneth Almons, a Jackson resident who was convicted of armed robbery and aggravated assault at 17 years old, testified before a legislative committee.
At 51, Almons has run his own business, currently works for the city of Jackson, has raised three children and has not been convicted of any other crime for nearly three decades.
Lawmakers who attended the hearing asked Almons, who served five years in state prison, what it would mean if the state restored his voting rights.
“It would mean I'm no longer a nobody,” Almons responded. “And if you can't vote, you're nobody. And in the public's eye, I'm a nobody.”
Michel said he would advise Almons that he can attempt to persuade a lawmaker to introduce a suffrage restoration bill on his behalf and let the bill work its way through the state's lawmaking process.
Michel, who represents a part of Hinds County, said he would not be willing to introduce such a measure for Almons.
Senators authored around nine suffrage restoration bills, and Senate Judiciary B Chairman Joey Fillingane, a Republican from Sumrall, decided to bring five of those bills up for debate. Members of the committee voted to advance all five suffrage bills with no opposition.
The Senate bills will now head to the House for consideration where House Speaker Jason White will likely refer the measures to the House Judiciary B Committee for consideration, which is led by Rep. Kevin Horan, a Republican from Grenada.
Horan previously told Mississippi Today that he will not restore suffrage to people convicted of violent offenses or those previously convicted of embezzling public money. Additionally, Horan said people must have completed the terms of their sentence and not have been convicted of another felony offense for at least five years to be considered.
The committee Horan leads advanced 27 House suffrage bills out of the committee, but he has not presented them for consideration in the full House chamber. Lawmakers can debate suffrage bills until the final days of the 2024 session.
This article first appeared on Mississippi Today and is republished here under a Creative Commons license.
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