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Jack and DuBose had decided to handle the voir dire together, with each taking half, unless there was a compelling reason for one of them to interview a particular juror.
DuBose rose and approached Talmadge. She had read about his background in the materials provided to both counsel. But she had faced so many white men in so many trials that she had developed a sixth sense about what they truly felt behind their soft, evasive words. It usually wasn’t difficult.
In this case, the closer she drew, the farther Talmadge leaned back in his chair.
“Mr. Talmadge, nice to meet you.”
“Uh-huh,” he said, frowning.
She glanced down at the paper she held. “You sell cars for a living?”
“Yep, Talmadge Chrysler-Dodge,” he replied curtly.
“Does your business do well?”
He shifted in his seat as DuBose drew even closer. “Keeps food on the table.”
“You meet a lot of people in your business, I would imagine.”
“Sure do.”
“You have any Black customers?”
He noticeably flinched. “What?”
“I said do you have Black customers? Do you sell to Blacks?”
“I sell to anybody has the money.” He glanced at the crowd in the courtroom and smiled in a cocksure manner. “Green’s the only color I care about.”
That drew laughter from around the courtroom.
“So you have and do sell to Black customers?”
His grin faded. “Well, I... I’d have to check my records.”
“You can’t remember a single Black person you sold a car to? I mean, if it was that rare, I think you would remember.”
“Well, I don’t. Coloreds want a vehicle, I’ll sell it to ’em.”
“But you can’t remember having done so?”
“Not offhand, no. Those folks, well, they usually have trouble gettin’ a loan. Bad credit and so on.”
“‘Those folks’?” she said, moving still closer.
Ambrose interjected, “Miss DuBose, I know the point you’re trying to get across, but we have a lot of jurors to get through, so please move on.”
“Judge, the law gives me the right to question a prospective juror about bias or prejudice that would impair his ability to objectively hear the case.”
“The man has already said he would sell cars to Black folks. I empathize with what you’re trying to do, but you can’t beat a dead horse.”
DuBose composed herself and said to Talmadge. “Did you know the Randolphs?”
“No. Like I already told the judge.”
“Had you heard of them?”
“Yeah. They were a well-known family hereabouts. Never sold ’em a car.”
