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As its 50th anniversary approaches, the Weekly explores the details regarding the police murder of George and Johnny Johnson. The two Black students of T.W. Browne Middle School were killed by then-Dallas Police Officer Robert Ross in a so-called “attempted robbery.” The boys were the sons of religious leader Rev. George Alvin Johnson Sr., who later organized efforts to ensure justice following their deaths. But despite civil unrest and an organized campaign, a suspected cover-up might’ve allowed the boys’ killer to escape accountability.

It’s Aug. 25, 1974. Following service at their father’s church, Church of God and Christ, middle school boys George, 14, and Johnny, 13, just spent their Sunday playing basketball at Kiest Park.

They’ve been playing three-on-three matches for a few hours now and just wrapped up. As darkness slowly creeps over, the last glimmers of light hit the street. The sun had just set about 15 minutes ago.

On their walk back home, the six boys find several pipes in a pile of scrap. “Look,” one of them points out. Chrome plating on discarded pipes gleans in the low-light of the setting sun. He picks two up off the curb and drums them rhythmically against the rail. George joins in, then Johnny, picking up two pipes and engaging in a collective ruckus. Kid stuff. But as the current temperature is around 91 degrees, the heat is starting to get to them. They’re thirsty.

Someone suggests stopping at Golden Triangle before the boys return home to Morning Frost Trail. They cross the street to the shopping center. At the time, the area was somewhat comparable to Downtown Oak Cliff. It was a popular spot for dates, as fixtures to the plaza like AMC Triangle 4 Movie Theater provided entertainment to teens and young couples. However, some businesses had preferences against Black folks. Locals at the time referred to the nearby neighborhood, Five Mile Creek, as a “white area.”

As the boys approach the front door of Zip’s, George and Johnny’s friends all toss down the pipes before entering the restaurant. They hold onto theirs. George puts his lead pipe in his pocket and Johnny puts his in his sleeve, so that no one thinks they’re looking for trouble. They enter Zip’s at around 8:40 pm.

The boys line up at the water fountain near the front of the store. A waitress – allegedly named Dorothy – walks over. “You can’t get water unless you order something,” she says. The boys ignore her. Exasperated, she walks away to the back. The boys continue drinking from the fountain in turns. After cooling off, George approaches the counter and begins asking the manager about a job.

“That boy’s got a gun,” a white woman is allegedly heard saying to her husband. She’s referring to either George or Johnny. The pipes are starting to slip out of their pocket and sleeve.

At the same time, Officer Fred E. Sexaur, a ten-year veteran at 40, and Officer Robert Ross, a 27-year-old rookie, are seated in a booth across the restaurant. They are on plainclothes burglary patrol and had stopped to eat at Zip’s. In his retelling of events, Ross claimed the youths attempted to rob the restaurant with their friends. From their booth, the officers were watching the boys from the other end of the steak house. After noticing the nervous behavior of one of the Johnson Brothers – and allegedly mistaking the pipe under his clothes for a sawed-off shotgun – Ross told Sexaur to get his gun. “This is fixing to be a hijacking,” Ross says.

“All right everybody…” one of the boys began saying, according to Ross. But before he can finish, Ross draws his .38 pistol on the boys. “Hold it. Police,” Ross says. As the Johnson boys reach for the pipes, a cluster of shots ring out. The manager shouts at around 15 customers and seven employees to get down. One customer is nicked in the leg by a ricochet bullet.

George hits the ground as he takes several gunshots to the chest. Johnny falls to the floor next to him with a hole through his neck, sustained from one of the final gunshots off the cylinder. Six wounds are placed from five shots. The four other boys dash toward the door in fear, two running out across the parking lot as the others are apprehended. George and Johnny pass out. After being hospitalized in Parkland Hospital, they later are declared dead in the early morning of Aug. 26. They succumb to their wounds after being shot less than a half-mile from their home at 1:45 am and 2:41 am, respectively.

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Published the same day of the boys’ deaths, coverage of the incident was already mildly contentious. The Dallas Morning News referred to the Johnson Brothers as “men” in their initial coverage of the shooting of “two holdup suspects,” providing no mention of age. Variably, Dallas Times Herald offered a slightly more humanizing retelling, explaining that the boys were slain in a “holdup.” Discrepancies in reports between the two publications would go on to become increasingly prevalent amidst developments. 

As Morning News stated that one of the apprehended boys informed police that one of those escaped had a gun, Times Herald reported that, according to officers, this was first stated by customers at the scene. As the lawyer of the unidentified arrested boys stated that their recollection of events was “quite different,” it’s possible that one of the boys only agreed to police accounts following interrogations. It was through this ‘confession’ that law enforcement determined that, despite the Johnson Brothers being unarmed, a robbery was planned at Zip’s Sizzlin’ Steaks. Following review from a grand jury and internal affairs, Police Chief Don Byrd cleared his officers of wrongdoing. As DPD officers were instructed to “shoot to kill” if their lives were at risk, neither Ross nor Sexaur would be held accountable for the boys’ deaths.

Johnson Sr., the boys’ father, didn’t believe the story for a second. Police said the Johnson Brothers had long juvenile records already. Johnson Sr. contested the assassination of the boys’ characters. Both boys were active in church, Johnny sang and George played the drums, they got good grades, their father confirmed that they weren’t the type to be involved in a robbery. In turn, Johnson Sr. rallied the support of the Minister’s Alliance, the Committee for the Unification of the People (CUP), and the NAACP in pushing for a full investigation from the department. Their demands were as follows:

1. Officers Ross and Sexaur be suspended immediately.
2. The district attorney’s office proceed with a rehearing before a grand jury and prosecute the policemen for murder.
3. That there should be a policy change against “shoot to kill.”
4. That control of the police should rest in the hands of the community.

The community effort picked up speed when community leaders and activists Bishop James Neual Haynes and New Panther Fahim Minkah (also known as Fred Bell) got involved. Around 1,500 people attended the boys’ funeral.

Johnson Sr.’s skepticism was shared by many others. First vouched for by family, community members, including one of the unidentified boys who accompanied the Johnson Brothers to Zip’s, gradually stepped forward. All character testimonies provided described the boys in terms consistent with Johnson Sr.’s description. And witnesses, including an anonymous “sworn witness” interviewed by New Panthers publication The Panther, recounted the night of the 25th much differently than Officer Ross had in his report.

In comments given to The Panther, treatment of the boys is described as much more aggressive than police accounts. The witness alleged that the boys were shot with no warning, that both the witness and the other boy were taken into custody after being pinned against the wall and cuffed at gunpoint by Sexaur, and – most disturbingly – that Officer Ross shot George in the back as the child was already downed from previous gunshots. The witness also alleges that Dorothy, the waitress at Zip’s, had previously dated Officer Ross. Another witness speaking to The Panther stated that while police self-identified, first contact was immediately accompanied by gunfire. Additionally, a customer speaking with the Times Herald explained that George’s body had fallen next to them, and upon looking back at the body after a moment that a pipe had been placed in the boy’s hand.

As outrage grew in the community, a walk-out was organized at Dallas Independent Schools by CUP. However, it never came to fruition as it was canceled following assurances from the city that “positive steps” would be taken to meet one of the key community demands. Support began to waver as police continued to reiterate the same account of a robbery gone wrong.

Police continued to promise that a thorough investigation was undertaken in the interest of quelling community concerns. They conveyed to CUP, the Minister’s Alliance, and the legal redress committee of the NAACP that they would ensure accountability and that justice would be served. However, as the testimonies police claimed to gather all supported Officer Ross’ account – who was already enjoying significant support among white Dallasites – the investigation was eventually closed for good.

Officer Ross went on to have a shining career in law enforcement. Ross served two terms as Sheriff of both Ft. Bend County and Navarro County after leaving Dallas. In 1993, Ross moved to Austin and started his own private correctional management company called BRG. With his love for gospel music, he also launched BRG Music, Inc. to produce albums with several groups. Ross died in 2018 at 71 years old. He is survived by his only daughter, Rebecca Ramsey nèe Ross, who was born earlier in the same year that he killed the Johnson Brothers.

The story of the Johnson Brothers, while heartbreaking, is typical when compared to other police killings. Sharing similarities with both the murder of Santos Rodriguez in 1973 and the killing of Michael Brown in 2014, George and Johnny Johnson’s deaths reflect issues with law enforcement that are still prevalent today. DPD claims to have no record of the incident, and filing standards at then-Mayor Wes Wise’s office were in flux as the city attempted to “systematize” documents, further complicating investigations.

However, proof of the Johnson family’s time in Dallas is not lost. And as it’s likely the boys’ two younger sisters are still alive, though difficult to reach, traces of the Johnson Family still exist.

In the same sense that pain and sorrow demand to be felt, injustice demands to be witnessed and lives demand to be remembered. And regardless of the city government’s efforts to forget, Dallas remembers the Johnson Brothers.

The post Death of the Reverend’s Sons; The Police Murder of the Johnson Brothers appeared first on Dallas Weekly.