Chapter 1 At almost thirteen years old, my brother Jem suffered a severe broken arm at the elbow. After it healed and Jem’s worries about not being able to play football were relieved, he rarely felt self-conscious about his injury. His left arm ended up being slightly shorter than his right. When he stood or walked, his hand was positioned perpendicular to his body, with his thumb parallel to his thigh. Jem didn’t care about these physical differences as long as he could pass and punt. As the years passed, we would occasionally talk about the events that led to his accident.
According to me, the Ewells were the ones who initiated everything, but my older brother Jem disagreed, saying it started long before that. He claimed it began the summer Dill joined us and gave us the idea of coaxing Boo Radley out of his hiding place. I argued that if we were to take a wider perspective, it actually began with Andrew Jackson. I believed that if General Jackson hadn’t caused the Creeks to flee, Simon Finch would never have journeyed up the Alabama River, and who knows where we would be now? Since we were too mature to resolve our disagreement through physical violence, we sought the guidance of our father Atticus. And he concluded that we were both correct.
As Southerners, it brought shame to certain family members that we had no documented ancestors on either side of the Battle of Hastings. All we had was Simon Finch, a fur-trapping apothecary from Cornwall who was extremely devout but also very frugal. Back in England, Simon was upset by the mistreatment of Methodists by their more tolerant fellow believers. Being a Methodist himself, Simon journeyed to Philadelphia and then on to Jamaica, eventually reaching Mobile and Saint Stephens.
Simon gained great wealth from his medical practice, but he was worried that his success would lead him to engage in activities that were not aligned with his religious beliefs, such as wearing expensive clothes and jewelry. Despite this concern, Simon purchased three slaves and used their help to create a homestead on the Alabama River, located about forty miles upstream from Saint Stephens. This decision contradicted the teachings of his teacher regarding owning other human beings.
Simon returned to Saint Stephens on one occasion to find a spouse and together established a lineage dominated by female offspring. Simon lived a long life and passed away wealthy. It was customary for the male descendants of the family to reside at Simon’s property, known as Finch’s Landing, and support themselves through cotton farming. The estate was self-sustaining, providing everything necessary for survival except ice, wheat flour, and clothing which were brought in from Mobile via river-boats.
Simon would have been furious at the conflict between the North and the South because it resulted in his descendants losing everything except their land. However, the tradition of living on the land continued until the twentieth century. In that time, my father, Atticus Finch, went to Montgomery to study law, while his brother went to Boston for medical studies. Our sister, Alexandra, stayed at the Landing and married a quiet man who enjoyed spending his days by the river, wondering if his trot-lines were full.
When my father started practicing law after being admitted to the bar, he returned to Maycomb. Maycomb, which is located about twenty miles east of Finch’s Landing, was the county seat of Maycomb County. In the courthouse, Atticus’s office had only a hat rack, a spittoon, a checkerboard, and a pristine Code of Alabama. His first two clients happened to be the last two individuals who were hanged in the Maycomb County jail. Atticus had advised them to take advantage of the state’s leniency by pleading guilty to second-degree murder and saving their lives. However, because they were Haverfords, their name carried a negative connotation in Maycomb County and they chose not to follow Atticus’s advice.
The Haverfords were unwise enough to involve Maycomb’s top blacksmith in a dispute over the supposed unfair detainment of a female horse. They made this mistake in front of three people and argued that he deserved what happened to him. They continued to insist on their innocence, but Atticus could not do much to help them, except for being present when they left. This event likely marked the start of my father’s strong dislike for criminal law.
During his first five years in Maycomb, Atticus prioritized cost-saving measures. Following this, he began investing his earnings in his brother’s education for several years. My father, Atticus, was ten years older than John Hale Finch. During a time when growing cotton was unprofitable, John Hale Finch chose to study medicine. However, Atticus managed to generate a reasonable income from the legal profession after providing support to Uncle Jack. Atticus had a deep affection for Maycomb, his place of birth and upbringing. Familiar with the people of Maycomb and known by them, Atticus had connections to nearly every family in the town due to Simon Finch’s hard work.
Maycomb was an aging and weary town during my early acquaintance with it. During rainy days, the streets transformed into muddy sludge, with grass growing on the sidewalks and the courthouse appearing decrepit in the town square. Strangely, the heat seemed more intense back then: a black dog suffered under the scorching sun, while emaciated mules tied to Hoover carts flicked away flies in the oppressive shadow of the live oaks in the square. Men’s starched collars wilted by nine o’clock in the morning. Ladies would bathe before noon, take a nap at three o’clock, and by nightfall, they would resemble tender teacakes adorned with beads of sweat and fragrant talcum powder.
During those days, people had a leisurely pace. They strolled through the square, moved slowly in and out of the nearby stores, and took their time with everything. A day felt longer than its actual twenty-four hours. There was no rush, as there was nowhere to go, nothing to purchase, and no money to spend even if there was something. The world outside of Maycomb County held nothing to see. However, for some individuals, this was a time of uncertain hope. Maycomb County had recently been assured that their only fear should be fear itself. Our household resided on the main street in town-Atticus, Jem, myself, and our cook Calpurnia.
Jem and I were pleased with our father’s behavior towards us: he played with us, read to us, and treated us with polite detachment. However, Calpurnia was quite different. She had a bony and angular appearance, had nearsightedness, always squinted, and her hand was as wide as a bed slat but twice as tough. She frequently demanded that I leave the kitchen, questioned why I couldn’t behave as well as Jem despite knowing he was older, and called me home when I wasn’t ready to come. Our arguments were legendary but completely one-sided. Calpurnia always emerged victorious, mainly because Atticus always supported her.
Ever since Jem was born, there has been a tyrannical presence in our lives. She has always been with us. Our mother passed away when I was just two years old, so I never felt her absence. My father, Atticus, met this woman while he served as a state legislator. He was middle-aged at the time, while she was fifteen years younger than him. Jem was born during their first year of marriage, followed by my birth four years later. Unfortunately, our mother died from a sudden heart attack two years after I was born. They claimed it ran in her family. Although I didn’t miss her, I believe Jem did.
He had a clear memory of her, and sometimes during a game he would let out a long sigh, then go play alone behind the car-house. During those times, I knew not to bother him. When I was almost six and Jem was nearly ten, our boundaries during the summer (as long as we could still hear Calpurnia calling us) extended from Mrs. Henry Lafayette Dubose’s house two doors north of us, to the Radley Place three doors south. We were never tempted to cross them. The Radley Place was home to an unknown being, the very mention of which was enough to make us behave for days on end; Mrs.
Dubose was a difficult person. This happened during the summer when Dill came to stay with us. One morning, while we were playing in the backyard, Jem and I heard a noise coming from Miss Rachel Haverford’s collard patch next door. We approached the wire fence hoping to find a puppy that Miss Rachel’s rat terrier was expecting, but instead, we saw someone sitting and looking at us. This person was sitting down and not much taller than the collards. We stared at him until he spoke, saying, “Hey.” Jem replied pleasantly with, “Hey yourself.” The person introduced himself as Charles Baker Harris and mentioned that he can read. I sarcastically asked, “So what?” before adding that I thought he should know I can read too.
If you have anything that needs reading, I can do it. “How old are you?” Jem asked, “four-and-a-half.” “Going on seven.” “No wonder,” Jem said, pointing at me. “Scout here has been reading since birth and she hasn’t even started school yet. You look small for someone going on seven.” “I may be little, but I’m old,” he replied. Jem moved his hair to get a better look. “Why don’t you come over, Charles Baker Harris?” he asked. “Wow, what a name – 41 V isn’t any funnier than yours. Aunt Rachel says your name is Jeremy Atticus Finch.” Jem scowled. “I’m big enough to fit my name,” he said. “Your name is longer than you are, I bet it’s a foot longer.” “People call me Dill,” said Dill, struggling under the fence. “You’d do better going over it instead of under it,” I said. “Where did you come from?” Dill was from Meridian, Mississippi, spending the summer with his aunt, Miss Rachel, and would be spending every summer in Maycomb from now on. His family originally came from Maycomb County, his mother worked for a photographer in Meridian, and she entered his picture in a Beautiful Child contest and won five dollars. She gave the money to Dill, who went to the movie theater twenty times with it. We don’t have any movie theaters here, except for religious ones in the courthouse sometimes,” Jem said. “Have you seen anything good?” Dill had seen Dracula, which impressed Jem. “Tell us about it,” he said. Dill was an interesting person.He sported blue linen shorts that were fastened to his shirt, with his hair being as white as snow, and clinging to his head just like duckfluff. Despite him being a year older than me, I still stood much taller than him. While recounting the ancient story, his blue eyes would intermittently brighten and dim, and his laughter was delightfully spontaneous. He would habitually tug at a cowlick situated right in the middle of his forehead.
Inquiring about Dill’s father, I mentioned how Dill reduced Dracula to dust and Jem praised a show over a book. Dill confessed to not having a father, which prompted me to ask if he was dead. Dill blushed as Jem told me to be quiet, indicating that Dill had been approved of. From then on, we spent our summer in routine contentment, which included improving our treehouse situated between twin chinaberry trees in the backyard, engaging in playacting based on the works of Oliver Optic, Victor Appleton, and Edgar Rice Burroughs.
In this matter we were fortunate to have Dill. He took on the character roles that used to be assigned to me- such as the ape in Tarzan, Mr. Crabtree in The Rover Boys, and Mr. Damon in Tom Swift. Therefore, we got to know Dill as a miniature Merlin, whose mind was filled with peculiar schemes, strange desires, and curious imaginings. However, by the end of August, our performances were dull due to countless repetitions. It was then that Dill proposed the idea of coaxing Boo Radley out of his house. The Radley Place captivated Dill.
Despite our warnings and explanations, the Radley Place still captivated him like the moon luring water. However, it never brought him any closer than the light-pole on the corner, which was a safe distance from the Radley gate. He would stand there, with his arm around the pole, staring and pondering. The Radley Place extended into a sharp curve beyond our house. When walking south, its porch was directly in front; the sidewalk then turned and ran alongside the lot. The house used to be white, with a deep front porch and green shutters, but over time, it had become as dark as the slate-gray yard surrounding it.
The eaves of the veranda were hung with rain-rotted shingles while the sun was kept away by oak trees. The front yard, which was never swept, had a picket fence that leaned drunkenly and was home to an abundance of johnson grass and rabbit-tobacco. Inside the house lurked a malevolent phantom, known to exist by people but unseen by Jem and me. According to others, this phantom would venture out at night during moonless hours and peek into windows. It was blamed for causing azaleas to freeze during cold snaps and was accused of being the culprit behind any secretive small crimes committed in Maycomb.
Once the town experienced a series of disturbing events at night. These events included the mutilation of people’s chickens and household pets. Despite Crazy Addie being the culprit and eventually drowning himself in Barker’s Eddy, people continued to be suspicious of the Radley Place and refused to let go of their initial suspicions. In fact, at night, a black person would never pass by the Radley Place. Instead, they would choose to take a different route and whistle as they walked past it. The Maycomb school grounds were located next to the back of the Radley property. The tall pecan trees in the Radley chickenyard would drop their fruit into the schoolyard, but the children always left these nuts untouched. It was believed that consuming Radley pecans could be fatal.
A lost ball and no questions asked was a baseball hit into the Radley yard. The misery of that house began many years prior to the birth of Jem and me. The Radleys, who were welcome anywhere in town, preferred to keep to themselves, which was considered unacceptable in Maycomb. They did not attend church, which was the main recreation in Maycomb, but instead worshiped at home. Mrs. Radley rarely, if ever, went across the street to have a mid-morning coffee break with her neighbors and definitely never joined a missionary circle. Mr. Radley was the malevolent phantom that kept their shutters closed and their hearts closed as well.
Radley would walk into town at eleven-thirty in the morning and return at twelve, often holding a brown paper bag that the local community believed contained the household groceries. The exact source of Mr. Radley’s income was unknown to me; Jem claimed he “bought cotton,” a politically correct way of saying he did nothing. Nevertheless, Mr. Radley and his wife had resided there with their two sons for as long as anyone could recall. On Sundays, the shutters and doors of the Radley house would be shut, which was atypical in Maycomb. Closed doors were typically associated with illness and cold weather.
Sunday was traditionally the day for formal afternoon visiting, where women wore corsets, men wore coats, and children wore shoes. However, it was uncommon for anyone in the neighborhood to climb the front steps of the Radley house and call out “He-y” on a Sunday afternoon. Surprisingly, the Radley house did not have screen doors. I once asked Atticus if it ever had them, and he confirmed that they did, but they were removed before I was born. According to local legend, the youngest Radley boy had befriended some members of the Cunningham family from Old Sarum, a large and perplexing group of people living in the northern part of the county. Together, they formed a gang which was the closest thing to one ever witnessed in Maycomb.
Despite not doing much, they managed to stir up enough talk in the town to be publicly cautioned from three different pulpits. They lingered at the barbershop, took the bus to Abbottsville on Sundays for a trip to the cinema, and frequented dances at the infamous Dew-Drop Inn & Fishing Camp, a gambling establishment situated by the county’s river. In addition, they also dabbled in stumphole whiskey. However, no one in Maycomb had the courage to inform Mr. Radley that his son was associating with the wrong crowd. One night, fueled by excessive excitement, the boys recklessly drove around the town square in a borrowed car and resisted capture by Maycomb’s aging constable, Mr.
The townspeople addressed the situation by apprehending Mr. Conner and placing him in the outhouse located at the courthouse. Fearing Mr. Conner’s threat to identify each individual involved, the boys were brought before the probate judge on a range of charges: disorderly conduct, disturbing the peace, assault and battery, and using offensive language in the presence of a woman. When questioned by the judge about including the last charge, Mr. Conner explained that the boys had cursed so loudly that he was confident every lady in Maycomb had heard them.
The judge determined that the boys should be sent to the state industrial school, which was not a prison or a disgrace, but rather a place where boys were given food and shelter. Mr. Radley disagreed with this decision, as he believed it was a disgrace. However, if the judge released Arthur, Mr. Radley promised to ensure that Arthur would not cause any more trouble. Trusting Mr. Radley’s word, the judge agreed. The other boys went to the industrial school and received an excellent secondary education, with one of them even managing to pay his way through engineering school at Auburn.
The doors of the Radley house remained closed on weekdays and Sundays, and Mr. Radley’s son was not seen for fifteen years. However, there came a day when Boo Radley was heard and seen by several people, excluding Jem. Atticus never spoke much about the Radleys, but when Jem inquired, Atticus simply told him to mind his own business. Jem primarily obtained information from Miss Stephanie Crawford, a neighborhood gossip, who claimed to know everything. According to Miss Stephanie, Boo was sitting in the living room cutting items from The Maycomb Tribune for his scrapbook. Suddenly, his father entered the room. Boo impulsively stabbed his father’s leg with the scissors, wiped them clean on his pants, and went back to his activities. Mrs. Radley panicked and screamed that Arthur was killing them all. When the sheriff arrived, he discovered Boo still sitting in the living room, calmly cutting up the Tribune.
At the age of thirty-three, Boo Radley was not considered insane despite his occasional high-strung behavior. When it was suggested that a period in Tuscaloosa might be beneficial for him, old Mr. Radley disagreed and asserted that no member of the Radley family would be sent to an asylum. While Mr. Radley agreed that it was acceptable to confine Boo, he insisted that Boo should not be treated as a criminal since he had done nothing wrong. The sheriff, unwilling to incarcerate Boo with African Americans, chose to lock him in the courthouse basement instead. Jem had a hazy recollection of Boo’s transition from the basement to his home. According to Miss Stephanie Crawford, some members of the town council conveyed this information to Mr. Radley.
According to Radley, if Boo was not taken back, he would die from damp mold. In addition, Boo could not rely on the county’s support indefinitely. The exact method used by Mr. Radley to hide Boo from sight was unclear, but Jem believed that Boo was often chained to a bed. However, Atticus dismissed this idea, explaining that there were other ways to turn people into ghosts. I vividly recalled seeing Mrs. Radley occasionally open the front door, step onto the porch, and water her cannas. Nevertheless, Jem and I witnessed Mr. Radley walking to and from town every day.
He had a thin leathery appearance and his eyes lacked color, to the point where they didn’t reflect light. His cheeks had sharp bones and his mouth was wide, with a thin upper lip and a full lower lip. According to Miss Stephanie Crawford, he was so morally upright that he considered the word of God as his only law, and we believed her because Mr. Radley always maintained a perfectly straight posture. He never spoke to us. When he walked by, we would divert our gaze towards the ground and politely say, “Good morning, sir,” to which he would respond with a cough. Mr. Radley’s older son resided in Pensacola and only visited home during Christmas. He was one of the few individuals we witnessed enter or exit the premises.
From the moment Mr. Radley brought Arthur home, people believed the house lost its vitality. However, there came a day when Atticus warned us that he would reprimand us if we made any noise in the yard. He also entrusted Calpurnia with the task of overseeing us in his absence and urging her to intervene if she heard any loud sounds. Mr. Radley was slowly nearing his death, exhibiting a deliberate pace. To signify the seriousness of the situation, wooden sawhorses were positioned at both ends of the Radley’s property, straw was spread on the sidewalk, and traffic was diverted to an alternative street. Dr. Reynolds would park his car in front of our house and walk to the Radleys’ residence each time he was summoned. Jem and I stealthily wandered around the yard for several days.
Finally, the sawhorses were removed, and we observed from the front porch as Mr. Radley passed by our house for the final time. Calpurnia muttered, “There goes the meanest man ever God created,” and spat contemplatively into the yard. We were surprised by her remark since Calpurnia rarely commented on the actions of white people. The community believed that Boo would emerge once Mr. Radley passed away, but they were mistaken: instead, Boo’s older brother came back from Pensacola and assumed Mr. Radley’s position. The only distinction between him and his father was their ages. Jem mentioned that Mr.
Nathan Radley also engaged in the cotton business. Despite this, Mr. Nathan would only acknowledge us when we greeted him with a good morning. On occasions, we noticed him returning from town, clutching a magazine. The more we divulged about the Radleys to Dill, the more curious he became. This curiosity led him to linger at the street corner, tightly embracing the light-pole for longer durations, all the while pondering. “I wonder what he does inside,” Dill would whisper. “You’d think he would at least poke his head out the door.” Jem chimed in, stating, “He does go out, but only when the night is pitch black.” Miss Stephanie Crawford claimed to have woken up in the middle of the night and witnessed Mr. Nathan peering straight through her window. She described his appearance as skull-like. Dill, have you ever been awakened at night by him?” Jem questioned. Jem then demonstrated Mr. Nathan’s walking style by sliding his feet on the gravel. “Why do you think Miss Rachel locks up so tightly at night? I’ve seen his tracks in our backyard many mornings, and one night I heard him scratching at the back screen, but he vanished by the time Atticus arrived.” Dill wondered aloud about Mr. Nathan’s appearance. Jem provided a reasonable portrayal of Boo: Boo appeared to be around six-and-a-half feet tall based on his tracks; he consumed raw squirrels and any cats he could catch, resulting in bloodstained hands—a bloodstain that could never be washed away if you consumed an animal. There was also a long scar that ran across Boo’s face; his few remaining teeth were yellow and decaying; his eyes bulged and drooled frequently. “Let’s attempt to lure him out,” suggested Dill.Jem expressed a desire to see the appearance of someone, stating that if Dill wanted to put himself in danger, all he needed to do was approach the main door. The reason behind our initial plan was a bet between Dill and Jem, where Jem challenged him to go beyond the Radley gate. Throughout his existence, Jem had never turned down a dare.
Jem pondered for three days. It seemed that he valued honor more than his own well-being, as Dill was able to easily wear him down: On the first day, Dill remarked, “You’re scared.” Jem replied, “I’m not scared, just respectful.” The following day, Dill claimed, “You’re too afraid to even step a toe into the front yard.” Jem argued that he wasn’t scared, as he had passed by the Radley Place every school day. “I’m always running,” he added. But Dill finally convinced him on the third day, when he asserted that the people in Meridian were certainly less fearful than those in Maycomb and that he had never encountered such intimidating individuals as the ones in Maycomb.
Jem walked to the corner and leaned against a light-pole, observing the gate that hung on a homemade hinge. He expressed his concern to Dill, stating that their actions would anger someone who would harm them. Dill responded by noting Jem’s fear. Jem clarified that his fear stemmed from not being able to find a way to provoke the person without endangering themselves. He mentioned his little sister, indicating his responsibility for her. Jem recalled a previous dare he took, explaining that he couldn’t abandon a dare due to his sense of responsibility. Dill suggested using a method similar to enticing a turtle out, to which Jem explained striking a match under it. Dill objected, but Jem argued that it was not harmful. The conversation concluded with Jem dismissing the idea that turtles can feel pain and Dill teasingly questioning if Jem had ever been a turtle.Jem contemplated for a moment before Dill proposed a compromise: “I won’t accuse you of chickening out on a dare, and I’ll trade you The Gray Ghost if you just go up and touch the house.” Jem’s face lit up with enthusiasm. “Just touch the house? That’s it?” Dill confirmed. “Are you going to change the rules as soon as I come back?” Jem questioned. “No, that’s all,” Dill assured him. “Once he sees you in the yard, he’ll probably come out, and then Scout and I will jump on him and hold him down to explain that we won’t harm him.” We departed from the corner, crossed the side street in front of the Radley house, and halted at the gate. “Go ahead,” prompted Dill. “Scout and I are right behind you.” Jem responded, “I’m going, just don’t rush me.”
He walked around the perimeter of the lot, then returned, carefully observing the plain terrain as if determining the best way to enter, furrowing his brow and scratching his head. I contemptuously sneered at him. Jem pushed the gate open and quickly ran to the side of the house, smacked it with his hand, and hurried back past us without waiting to see if his attempt was successful. Dill and I followed closely behind him. Once we reached our porch, breathing heavily and gasping for air, we glanced back. The old house remained unchanged, sagging and unhealthy, but as we looked down the street, we thought we witnessed movement from an indoor shutter. It was a brief flicker – almost imperceptible – and then the house became motionless once more.
