Detroit statue finds a barefoot, undaunted Viola Liuzzo walking again for civil rights
Her face looks young, her expression determined, and there's a certain kindness to her eyes and mouth. She walks barefoot, shoes dangling from her hand.
Her steps are taking her away from the Ku Klux Klan hood that lies flat on the ground behind her. Her path is toward a better future.
On Tuesday, a statue of Viola Liuzzo was dedicated at the neighborhood park on Detroit's west side that bears her name. A few hundred people gathered for the ceremony to commemorate her ultimate sacrifice 54 years ago when the Detroiter became the only white woman to die for the civil rights movement.
"It looks just like her, and it's the size she was!" said Liuzzo's daughter Sally Liuzzo, 60, moments after the unveiling of the petite figure who left behind such a powerful legacy.
"My mama!" she said as the tears flowed.
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The event at the Viola Liuzzo Park on Winthrop Street didn't have the pomp and circumstance that might be expected of a public statue unveiling, although there were remarks from several dignitaries, including state Rep. Leslie Love, D-Detroit, and Rev. Wendell Anthony, president of the NAACP's Detroit branch.
Instead, the ceremony felt more like a large reunion of family, friends and admirers of Liuzzo. The program was emceed by grandson Josh Liuzzo and dotted with personal memories from her children and musical tributes, including the song "Viola" by New Jersey musician Arlan Feiles.
Among the guests was Susan Bro, the mother of 32-year-old Heather Heyer, who was killed while peacefully protesting against hate at the 2017 Unite the Right rally in Charlottesville, Virginia.
"I'm very humbled and honored to even be invited to this," said Bro, who is carrying on her daughter's work through the nonprofit Heather Heyer Foundation, which gives scholarships to students working for positive social change.
Introducing Bro to the crowd, Sally Liuzzo said, "Heather has been referred to as the modern-day Viola Liuzzo."
Liuzzo may be an icon of the civil rights movement, but she remains unknown to many people.
Amanda Lipare, who sang "Ride On, King Jesus" accompanied by her husband, Joseph -- and was joined by Sandra Kirouac on "Yellow Bird" (an early 1960s hit that was a favorite of Liuzzo's) -- told the audience that she didn't know about the woman being saluted until she met a founder of the Viola Liuzzo Park Association just weeks ago.
Now Lipare, who teaches music at Utica schools, plans to share Liuzzo's story with her students.
Liuzzo was a 39-year-old wife and mother of five when she drove from Detroit to Alabama in 1965 to join 25,000 others in supporting a voting rights march led by the Rev. Martin Luther King Jr.
She was moved to make the journey after seeing TV footage of marchers being beaten on Selma's Edmund Pettus Bridge during what became known as "Bloody Sunday." She was helping to shuttle fellow marchers between Montgomery and Selma when shots were fired from a car filled with Ku Klux Klan members. Liuzzo was killed.
A marker was installed in 1991 on the Alabama highway where it happened. It is inscribed to the woman "who gave her life in the struggle for the right to vote."
Now the Detroit statue joins the highway marker in paying tribute to Liuzzo. The sculpture was created on commission by African-American sculptor Austen Brantley, 23, whose studio is in Royal Oak.
Brantley, who worked closely with Liuzzo's family to capture her spirit as well as her physical appearance, told the crowd at the unveiling that "her every stride speaks volumes about her character."
The Detroit park named for Liuzzo in 1982 had become neglected by the early 2010s amid city budget cuts. In 2013, NPR reported on its rundown condition and interviewed Liuzzo's daughter Sally.
A metro Detroiter, Colette Mezza, heard that story and launched an effort with her friend Julie Hamilton that grew into the Viola Liuzzo Park Association. The nonprofit group united Detroit and the surrounding region in the goal of restoring the park, which has received a major face-lift over the past six years, including a $1-million restoration project that resulted in walkways and benches, playground equipment, a picnic shelter and three bioswales (gardens that retain rainwater runoff and divert it from the city’s sewer system).
Realizing the final piece of the project, a statue commemorating Liuzzo, has been a long time coming for the Liuzzo family, which was represented by three generations of Viola Liuzzo's descendants at Tuesday's event.
Before the ceremony, Liuzzo's children spoke about what the sculpture means to them.
"I'm so emotional, I almost can't express it," said Mary Liuzzo Lilleboe, 71, who lives in Oregon. "This has been a whole journey with the artist and the city."
Like the rest of her family, Lilleboe praised Brantley for his sensitivity to their comments and critiques on the statue's design. "He was so devoted. He was determined to get it right."
She likes the fact that her mother is depicted with her shoes off because she was often without shoes at home.
"She always was barefoot. ... Very early in the march, she had those shoes in her hand," said Lilleboe.
Liuzzo's son Anthony, 64, called Tuesday's recognition for his mother in Detroit "long overdue, but well worth it."
He now resides in Brighton, Alabama. "My mom's blood is down there, and I thought I could help make a difference," he said. At the event, he urged those present to keep supporting voting rights.
The oldest sibling, Penny Liuzzo Herrington, who lives in Tennessee (as does her sister Sally), said her first reaction upon seeing the final version of the statue was, "That's Mom." She described how her sister Sally had an urge to go up to the sculpture and hug it.
"That's who I grieve for, the young ones. I had her for 18 years," said Penny, remembering how old she was when her mother was killed. Penny recalled the prayer she said when her own children were born: "Don't let me die until they're grown."
Viola Liuzzo's son Tommy, who lives in Alabama, wasn't able to attend Tuesday's ceremony for health reasons.
Others who were there shared how Liuzzo has impacted their lives. Rosalind Stewart, 68, of Detroit has known about Liuzzo’s story for much of her life because her mother was from Birmingham, Alabama. She learned more about Liuzzo when she was part of the Martin Luther King-inspired non-violence training program in the 1990s and traveled with the group to Selma and Montgomery.
Stewart did more research on Liuzzo as a teacher and executive director of the Living History program for Detroit Public Schools. She said the program taught DPS students as well as students in the metro area about living legends and the contributions they made. While digging up Liuzzo’s story, Stewart had the chance to meet her children and now considers them friends.
“She (Liuzzo) stepped out and made a difference for all of us,” said Stewart. “Even though she’s not here, her contributions live on.”
Also at the event were Randolph Richardson and his sister, Pastelle Richardson-Bivens. Richardson has lived in the neighborhood for 35 years and is president of the block club, whose members help maintain the park by keeping it clean.
Richardson-Bivens, who lives in Mississippi, said Liuzzo’s fight for civil rights remains timely.
“We’re looking at something that happened 50 years ago, but it’s still going on now,” she said. “We still have not seen the full dream yet.”
Tracie Terrell, a vice president of the Viola Liuzzo Park Association, said she thinks it's important for people to know that activists outside the black community made a difference during the civil rights movement.
“It’s important to know the history and the sacrifice she made,” Terrell said.
For Liuzzo's family, seeing the park transformed to its current state is part of their dream. "When all of her five kids are gone, there will be something lasting of her," Sally Liuzzo said.
Minutes after the statue made its debut, she offered a simple "I love you" to the figure of her mother.
On Tuesday morning, that bond transcended the immediate family of Viola Liuzzo and spread to everyone in the park. Walking away from hate and toward love, Liuzzo belongs to all of us.
Contact Detroit Free Press writers Julie Hinds at jhinds@freepress.com and Micah Walker at mwalker1@freepress.com.
A previous version of this story misidentified the singer of "Ride On, King Jesus" and her accompanist. It was sung by Amanda Lipare, accompanied by her husband, Joseph.