A Young Mother in Jim Crow America
Lula Mae Artes was born Lula Mae Leslie in 1933, the daughter of Mary and Thomas Leslie of Moore County, North Carolina. Not long after her birth, her family moved to Baltimore, Maryland, in search of opportunity. At just 14 years old, Lula married Levy Artes, and by 18, she was the mother of two children: Levy Jr. and Mary.
Levy was serving in the military and was eventually deployed to Korea during the war. In the summer of 1951, Lula decided to visit her grandmother in North Carolina. It was her first time returning in three years, a visit that should have been filled with joy, laughter, and reconnection. But instead, it became the setting for a nightmare.
The Night That Changed Everything
On August 15, 1951, Lula and six of her cousins attended a church service in Moore County. The group, ranging in age from eight to nineteen, walked home together after the service, laughing and singing. Then, headlights appeared in the distance.
An army truck packed with white soldiers pulled up. One of Lula’s younger cousins, excited by the sight of the truck, innocently waved and shouted, “Uncle Sam!” But these soldiers did not see them as children. They saw them as prey.
The soldiers fired their weapons into the air, sending Lula and her cousins running in all directions. Lula and her 19-year-old cousin, Paul, made it back to the church, where they waited in silence, hoping the danger had passed. After several minutes, they stepped back onto the road, believing they were safe. They were wrong. The soldiers had been waiting for them.
Lula and Paul took off running, but the men gave chase. Armed, aggressive, and determined, they caught the two Black teenagers and forced them to the ground at gunpoint. Their nightmare had only begun.
A Crime That Could Not Be Undone
The soldiers marched Lula and Paul to a nearby field. They forced them to lie down, stomachs to the dirt, faces in the grass. When Paul tried to speak, they silenced him. Then, they took him away. And with Paul gone, Lula was alone.
What followed was a brutal, dehumanizing assault. One by one, four of the soldiers violated her. They laughed, joked, and treated her like she was nothing more than entertainment. One soldier, whom Lula later identified only as “Johnny,” was the worst of them. He asked her if she had ever been with a white man before. He kissed her. He demanded she act like he was her boyfriend, all while holding a gun to her head.
Even after they were done, Johnny attacked her again at the truck while Paul was forced to watch. When they finally released them, they left Lula and Paul with a final warning: “Don’t tell anyone. Or we’ll come back and get you.”
Seeking Justice in a System Built Against Her
Despite her trauma, Lula did not remain silent. She reported the attack to Sheriff Charles McDonald the next day. But identifying her attackers was nearly impossible. It was dark. There were thousands of soldiers in the area for a massive military training exercise called Exercise Southern Pine. The Army said it would investigate—but justice for Black women was never a priority in Jim Crow America.
Investigators combed through records and eventually identified six soldiers from Fort Campbell, Kentucky: Harold Hill, Lewis Wilson, Eugene Shirley, Robert H. Orheim, Alex C. Felder Jr., and Floyd Breland. One of them gave a full written confession.
Moore County officials charged three of them—Hill, Felder, and Wilson—with the attack. The others either disappeared or were protected by the Army. But the question remained: Would a Jim Crow courtroom deliver justice for a Black woman?
The Trial: A Mockery of Justice
On January 22, 1952, the trial of the three soldiers began. The courtroom was packed—300 Black people sat on one side, 300 white people on the other. The case was simple: the soldiers had confessed to the crime. Lula testified with remarkable courage. She told her story, even as the men who had terrorized her sat before her. She was pregnant, and she did not know if the child she carried was her husband’s or one of her attackers’. But she still found the strength to stand before a Jim Crow jury and demand justice.
The defense had only one argument: consent. They claimed Lula had agreed to everything that happened. They painted her as a willing participant, despite the overwhelming evidence to the contrary. One of the soldiers even admitted that he never asked for her consent. But in Jim Crow’s America, white men did not need strong defenses when their victims were Black women.
The jury had five options for a verdict:
- Guilty of raping Lula.
- Guilty of rape, with a recommendation for life in prison.
- Attempted rape.
- Assault
- Not guilty.
After just two hours of deliberation, the jury returned with their decision.
They convicted the soldiers of a misdemeanor: “an offense against a woman.”
A Slap on the Wrist
For their crime, the men were sentenced to just 18–20 months in prison. A mere fraction of the punishment they should have received. Black men accused of harming white women were lynched, burned alive, or sentenced to death. But white soldiers who attacked a Black woman? They received mercy.
Even the judge admitted that the jury had been lenient. They had spared these men from the harshest punishment. Because for Black victims, Jim Crow’s courts did not exist to serve justice. They existed to protect white men.
The Aftermath: What We Do and Don’t Know
After the trial, Lula disappeared from historical records. We do not know what happened to the child she was carrying. We do not know whether she ever found peace. What we do know is that Lula’s life was never the same.
Her husband later divorced her. Her children grew up, but we do not know if she ever spoke about what happened. Her son died at 39, her daughter at 72. And Lula? We don’t even know if she is still alive. But what we do know is that Jim Crow stole something from her that night—her dignity, her peace, and a piece of her future that she would never get back.
Remembering Lula Mae Artes
Lula’s story matters. She mattered. And her story is not just about her—it is about the countless Black women who suffered under Jim Crow and never saw justice. The world may have tried to forget her, but today, we remember her name.
Justice was not served. But history will not erase her.
Her story will be told. And it will not be forgotten.
