The future home of the South Carolina Civil Rights Museum is rising fast at Railroad Corner—and we’re officially over the halfway hump. With construction charging ahead and the weather playing nice, all signs now point to a September finish. But while the building may be nearly done, our real work is just beginning.
Because a museum isn’t just walls and windows—it’s stories, spirit, and soul. And once the final beam is in place, we’ll begin the transformation of this new space into a dynamic, world-class cultural institution—something not just for Orangeburg, but for all of South Carolina and beyond.
As someone who’s lived his entire life in Orangeburg, I still have to pinch myself. This museum—rising from the very soil of Railroad Corner— is a dream I once whispered. Now, it’s becoming a reality that will speak loudly to generations.
The journey began on June 19, 2024, when the City of Orangeburg and its partners broke ground on this powerful project. Things got briefly derailed (pun intended) when engineers discovered the original building sat in a flood zone and lacked the bones to survive renovation. But after a 90-day reset, construction roared back to life—and hasn’t looked back since.
Though we had to say goodbye to the old college soda shop and State Theater, we made sure their legacy lives on. Original bricks and three of the iconic bow trusses have been incorporated into the new design—so while the structure is new, its spirit is rooted in the past.
I owe a deep debt of gratitude to the Orangeburg City and County Councils for standing behind this mission. Every single council member believed in our cause, and I’ll never forget that trust.
And behind this remarkable progress is a team of hometown heroes: Mayor Michael Butler, City Administrator Sidney Evering, County Administrator Harold Young, Council Chairman Johnnie Wright, and architect Wes Lyles. And let’s not forget those who championed the vision early on—the late Willie B. Owens and Latisha Walker.
We’re also immensely thankful for the fierce advocacy of our Orangeburg Delegation at the state level: Senators Brad Hutto, Jeff Zell, and Tom Fernandez; Representatives Justin Bamberg, Lonnie Hosey, Jerry Govan, and Gilda Cobb-Hunter. They rolled up their sleeves and went to bat for us when it mattered most.
So what kind of museum are we building?
One that heals. One that inspires. One that tells the truth—boldly.
It will be a place where
Black and White visitors alike can discover how South Carolinians—decades before Dr. King and Rosa Parks—sparked the earliest flames of the national civil rights movement. Yes, we said it: before Rosa sat down or Martin stood up, South Carolina stood out.
As we prepare to tell the story of South Carolina’s civil rights movement—particularly from 1950 to 1970—we do so with new vigor, sharper focus, and a commitment to revealing the full, often uncomfortable truths.
Take the case of the Orangeburg Massacre— a defining and tragic chapter in our state’s history. The prevailing narrative recalls that nine white South Carolina Highway Patrolmen opened fire on a crowd of unarmed Black students, injuring dozens and killing three young men on the campus of South Carolina State College in February 1968.
But there’s more to this story—layers that expose a deeper crisis of conscience and command within law enforcement itself.
What is less commonly told is this: the order to shoot came from the top. Pete Strom, then the state’s most powerful law enforcement official, directed 30 highway patrol officers to load their weapons and fire. Out of those 30, only nine obeyed.
It is a chilling yet complex reality. While the actions of those nine men rightfully draw scrutiny and condemnation, the other 21 made a different choice in that split second—a silent resistance to an unlawful order. A reinforcement of: I have always believed there were more good people than bad.
This fuller account doesn’t excuse the tragedy; it expands it. It raises critical questions about the nature of power, the courage to disobey, and the chain of accountability that still resonates today.
At the South Carolina Civil Rights Museum, we are committed to telling these fuller truths—not just the headlines or heroes, but the moral struggles, overlooked players, and hidden acts of defiance that shaped our state’s—and our nation’s— journey toward justice.
Another bold path our museum will travel—one most cultural institutions politely avoid—is historical reclamation. Not rewriting history,
but re-righting it.
South Carolina played a heroic, foundational role in America’s civil rights story, and it’s time we claim our rightful place—not out of vanity, but out of justice. Our mission includes setting the record straight, especially when the footnotes deserve front-page headlines.
Case in point: In November 2024, a courageous attorney in Camden filed a petition on our behalf asking the U.S. Supreme Court to rename the landmark case Brown v. Board of Education to its true origin: Briggs v. Elliott—the first and boldest of the five school desegregation cases that made up Brown.
But on January 5, 2025, the Court declined to even consider it.
To the surviving Briggs petitioners of Summerton, South Carolina— and to me—this rejection was pretty much expected. It was déjà vu. Once again, truth was quietly shelved in favor of a more convenient national narrative. We believe the Briggs case was hijacked, buried beneath political pressure—especially from former Governor Jimmy Byrnes, who didn’t want his state to be the face of a legal battle that changed America.
History, long wronged and too often told with bias, has a way of resurfacing. At the South Carolina Civil Rights Museum, we ensure it returns in full—truthful, contextual, and whole.
Our mission is clear: Display.
Educate. Inspire. Preserve.
This museum will honor the courage of those who defied Jim Crow, fought for equality, and reshaped a nation. Through rich stories, rare artifacts, and immersive exhibits, visitors will experience the triumphs, tragedies, and transformative power of the civil rights struggle—from a South Carolina point of view.
And as we roll into this final stretch, we need your help. We need supporters. Donors. Volunteers. History lovers. Visionaries.
We need the people of South Carolina—and beyond—to get on board this train, because the destination isn’t just a museum. It’s justice, memory, and pride.
In the end, the South Carolina Civil Rights Museum isn’t just a building—it’s a long-overdue megaphone for voices once silenced, a spotlight for truths once shadowed, and a home for history that began right here, not as a footnote, but as a foundation.
We are not waiting for recognition—we are claiming it. With courage in our hearts, names on our walls, and truth on our tongues, we invite the world to come see what South Carolina started.
The movement didn’t begin in Montgomery. It began with Issac Woodard in Batesburg, Sarah Mae Fleming in Eastover, Harry Briggs Summerton, and boycott and Fred Moore in Orangeburg. “And its story its legacy is being reclaimed—at Railroad Corner.”
