EVERY STONE HAS A SONG Deacon T.M. Moody, the Deacons in the Ditches, and the Story of Mansfield ISD in Mansfield, Texas — 1956 to 2026.

 

EVERY STONE HAS A SONG Deacon T.M. Moody, the Deacons in the Ditches, and the Story of Mansfield ISD in Mansfield, Texas — 1956 to 2026. 

Joshua 4:21–22

By Pastor Kyev P. Tatum, Sr. Publisher, Black Texans, Inc.

Pastor, New Mount Rose Missionary Baptist Church

Fort Worth, Texas 76104

There are moments in history when the Constitution is tested.

And there are moments when the Church is tested.

In 1956, in Mansfield, Texas, both were.

And if you listen carefully —

you can still hear it.

Because every stone has a song.

The First Verse: Guardians in the Soil

At the center of the 1956 crisis stood Thomas Mayfield Moody — Deacon. Subtrustee. Servant. Watchman on the wall.

T.M. Moody was born in 1904.

He lived in Mansfield his entire life.

He worked at the Fort Worth Quartermaster Depot.

He served faithfully at Bethlehem Baptist Church for more than fifty years.

But more than his job.

More than his title.

More than his longevity.

He carried responsibility.

When the “Mansfield Colored School” had no electricity, no plumbing, and no running water, he did not organize a press conference.

He ran a water line from his own home.

That is not protest.

That is pastoral leadership in overalls.

When Black high school students were forced to travel to I.M. Terrell High School, because Mansfield refused to educate them locally, he did not accept humiliation as routine.

He challenged it.

And when the United States Supreme Court ruled in Brown v. Board of Education that segregation was unconstitutional, Mansfield was ordered to comply.

But Mansfield resisted.

On August 30 and 31, 1956, mobs gathered. Effigies were hung. Black students were blocked. Governor Allan Shivers refused to enforce the federal order.

The Constitution had spoken.

Courage had not.

And while chaos formed at the schoolhouse door, another line was drawn — quietly — in the ditches along West Broad Street.

The Deacons of Bethlehem Baptist Church took their positions.

They did not shout.

They did not escalate.

They did not retreat.

They prayed.

They planned.

They stood.

Not one shot was fired.

That peace did not come from Austin.

It did not come from Washington.

It came from disciplined Black men of faith who understood that sometimes the most powerful sound in history is restraint.

That is the first stone.

And it sings in a minor key —

but it sings of dignity.

The Middle Movement: The Slow Turning of the Melody

In 1956, under Superintendent R. L. Huffman, Mansfield became the first district in Texas ordered to desegregate.

The district resisted.

Litigation followed.

Segregation endured until after the Civil Rights Act of 1964.

That stone cannot be softened.

It must be remembered.

Because Joshua did not tell Israel to forget the river.

He told them to build with what they crossed.

After 1964, compliance came by law.

Transformation came by time.

Campuses multiplied. Enrollment expanded. Mansfield grew from controversy to credibility.

Courtrooms gave way to classrooms.

Headlines gave way to honor rolls.

Each superintendent added a verse.

Each generation adjusted the melody.

Seventy years is not simply a calendar.

It is the distance between defiance and development.

The New Verse: Stewardship in 2026

In January 2026, the Mansfield ISD Board named Dr. Tiffanie Spencer as Lone Finalist for Superintendent — the first African American to lead the district.

Pause and listen.

From 1956 — when Black students were blocked from entering Mansfield High School —

To 2026 — when Black leadership is entrusted with guiding the entire system.

That is not cosmetic change.

That is structural maturity.

From R. L. Huffman

to Dr. Tiffanie Spencer.

One district.

Two stones.

Seventy years apart.

The first sings lament.

The second sings stewardship.

The first remembers exclusion.

The second reflects entrusted leadership.

And together — they harmonize.

Harmony, Not Amnesia

Some communities bury their stones.

Others build memorials.

The wisest communities do both:

They remember honestly — and they move faithfully.

The story of Mansfield ISD is not just about white resistance or Black resilience.

It is about growth.

It is about how a district once known for defiance can become known for development.

It is about how Deacons in ditches can guard dignity long enough for future leaders to guide districts.

It is about how a song that started in tension can rise toward testimony.

When the Children Ask

Joshua 4:21–22 asks the eternal question:

“When your children shall ask… What mean these stones?”

Here is Mansfield’s answer:

They mean we struggled.

They mean we resisted.

They mean we were corrected.

They mean we matured.

They mean we entrusted leadership where once we erected barriers.

And they mean the song is not finished.

The Final Chorus

As Pastor of the New Mount Rose Missionary Baptist Church, and as Publisher of Black Texans, Inc., I believe every community eventually hears its own music.

Some hear discord.

Some hear denial.

Some hear pride.

But if Mansfield listens closely, it will hear something deeper.

It will hear Deacon T.M. Moody standing in a ditch.

It will hear children walking toward a schoolhouse door.

It will hear a district learning from its own history.

It will hear a superintendent rising to lead.

Every stone has a song.

And from 1956 to 2026, Mansfield’s melody has shifted —

From segregation

to stewardship.

From guarded soil

to guided systems.

From resistance

to responsibility.

The stones are still singing.

The only question now is this:

Will we build wisely on the music they make?