My grandfather, Joseph Pettiford Jr., was born on this date in 1933. Would’ve been 85 years young. Like a lot of Pettifords before him, he was a decorated vet w tours to Korea and ‘Nam. Ironically, he was stationed right down the road from where I started my own military career.

But I never got a chance to pick his brain or listen to his war stories, because we never even crossed paths. I never met my grandfather. Because he was murdered in Killeen, Texas over a decade before I was born.

I didn’t know much about my grandfather; I never asked. I just assumed that my grandfather had abandoned my old man, and left it at that. In college, I did a family history research paper and learned the true story. I called my dad and asked him for the truth. I wish I never had.

I remember the pain in his voice after I broached a topic that he’d probably spent his entire life trying to forget about. He told me that after Joseph returned from Vietnam, he married a white woman and the locals weren’t happy about it.

Jospeh was threatened repeatedly, but if he was anything like my father, he was a tough sonuvabitch, and wasn’t going to be intimidated.

On 2/12/74, members of the local KKK chapter walked into his house and unloaded a volley of gunfire, killing Joe right there on his couch.

As it turns out those Klansmen were also moonlighting as members of the Killeen Police Department.

I’ve been investigating my grandfather’s murder for a few years now, but the Attorney General of TX, Ken Paxton, repeatedly blocks my FOI requests citing that it’s an “open case.”

There’s been a long history of police misconduct in this country’s history. Hell, police forces were created to catch slaves. Racist cops are more American than apple pie. Violent white supremacy never went away, things haven’t gotten better.

Most Klansmen don’t wear white hoods and burn crosses on your lawn nowadays. They wear white oxfords and foreclose your house. There aren’t lynch mobs now. It’s just guys in navy blue uniforms with shiny badges that shoot you in the back.

Anyway, my original intent wasn’t to get all deep or whatever, so I’ll end it with this. I’m not making this up—there was one witness that was willing to go on record to talk about my grandfather’s murder...

This Is America

My old man used to be confident and outspoken, charming and charismatic. He doesn’t say much at all these days. He’s a man that lost both his father and youngest son to white supremacy. He doesn’t have any fight left in him.

But I do.