Darrell Kenyatta Evers

Medgar and Myrlie slept with guns within reach, and they had a drill rehearsed with their three children.

Darrell was nine, Reena was eight, little James was only three years old.

If you hear gunshots, you drop to the floor, you crawl to the bathroom, you get into the cast iron bathtub.

The bathtub was heavy enough to stop a bullet.

And every time someone told her it was over, that the case was dead, that Mississippi had moved on, she said the same thing, "Not while I'm alive." In 1964, she moved her three children from Jackson to Claremont, California.

The death threats hadn't stopped after the trials, and she needed her children to grow up somewhere they could sleep through the night without practicing bathtub drills.

Darrell, Reena, and James had already seen more violence in their young lives than most people encounter in a lifetime.

Myrlie wanted them to know a world where their father's name meant something beyond the way he died.