"I was unaware of the racism, the bigotry inflicted on blacks during that time," Watkins said. "I was a kid who would watch TV every day, the cartoons and cowboy pictures."

That was until one day when he awoke from a nap to see The Birmingham Campaign marching across his screen, with protestors encountering brutality in their pursuit of Civil Rights.

"I saw a group of individuals. They were in Alabama at the time. I didn't know where they were. But I just saw them on the news. I was at a loss, and I didn't know what was happening. I saw individuals being beaten, kicked, spat on, watered down with hoses. I just looked at it, amazed. I'm thinking it's a continuation of a movie segment, but it was news that was happening."

"I began watching it every day. My friend who didn't have a TV, I told him about it, and he would come to my house and watch it along with me. And he was amazed," Watkins said.

He had never seen anything like it in his young life. He didn't know it at the time, but he was witnessing some of the movements of the Freedom Riders, groups of black and white activists who participated in "Freedom Rides" throughout the American South to protest segregated bus terminals.

After being met with hesitant responses from his mother and school teachers when asking about the Freedom Riders, he and his friend's curiosity grew. So much so that they concocted a plan to fake a stomach bug after church one day to sneak out and see the activists themselves as they traveled through downtown Jackson's Greyhound station.

"My mother came and checked on me before she left; she stuck her head back in the door and said, 'Boy, don't leave this house.' I said, 'Yes, ma'am.' After she left, my friend ran over."

"He said, 'let's go, let's go. Let's go.'"

The boys bicycled down to the bus station, only to find that the Freedom Riders had already been rounded up and arrested. They began playing on the sidewalk, running up and down, drinking out of "White's Only" water fountains, and embracing their newfound freedom.

However, their fun quickly ended when Watkins' friend jokingly pushed him into the doors of the Greyhound station and ran off. Before he could exit, a security officer caught up with him and asked for his name and birthplace.

"I gave him my name. I told him I was born in Milwaukee, Wisconsin. And when I said Milwaukee, he said out loud, 'I have another one over here!'"

Thinking that he was from up North like many of the other riders, he was quickly ushered away from the station and taken to the infamous Parchman Prison.

The City Apologizes

More than six decades after that pivotal day, Watkins received an overdue apology from the city of Jackson. During the annual Mississippi Legislative Black Caucus Prayer Breakfast on January 19, 2026, Mayor John Horhn issued a public and thoughtful apology to Watkins in front of lawmakers, clergy, and community leaders.

"Fear and humiliation placed on him as a child were wrong and should never have happened," Mayor Horhn said. "On behalf of the city of Jackson, on behalf of our city council and as Mayor, it is my honor to offer an apology to Hezekiah Watkins and to say a word of thanks; an apology for what was done to him in the name of the law. And thanks for the way he has spent his life lifting up truth and hope instead of bitterness."

The Mayor called Watkins to the stage, where he told the assembled crowd, "This never should have happened. This never should have happened in our community. But in some ways, I'm so glad that it did. Because you changed history."

Watkins was moved by the recognition. "That would be here for the rest of my life," Watkins said, gesturing to his heart. "They got it right. They got it right. Out of all these African American mayors you have, they were there based on us. Right? That was based on us getting folks out, you know? It's great. It's an honor. I wanted to cry. Just makes me feel good."

See the apology

Telling the Story Today

Flash forward to today, and Watkins is a grandfatherly figure at the Mississippi Civil Rights Museum. As a museum docent, Civil Rights thought leader and speaker, and living part of history, one of his greatest enjoyments is getting to teach younger generations the importance of embracing the past to create a better future. Many of the children who listen are 13 years old themselves, some older, some younger.

"I want all of them to take advantage of the privilege they have today that we didn't have," Watkins said. "That's what we've fought for. That's what a lot of them died for."