LOGLINE

Set in a remote corner of the Deep South, Glendora reveals a stirring tale of identity, heritage, and community.

SYNOPSIS

In the heart of the Mississippi Delta, the village of Glendora may seem quiet and remote. But beneath its stillness lies a vibrant, tightly knit African-American community whose strength, resilience, and creativity thrive despite chronic scarcity. Glendora is the result of five years of close collaboration between filmmaker and townspeople—an intimate portrait of life where economic fragility meets profound cultural wealth.Told through the voices of multiple generations, the film weaves personal testimonies with daily rituals—birthdays, graduations, weddings, funerals—capturing the rhythm of a town that continuously rises above its circumstances. As the Mississippi landscape shifts, so do the stories, revealing both the universality of human experience and the distinct textures of rural Southern life. More than a place, Glendora reflects a larger American history shaped by racial injustice, economic neglect, and structural inequality. The film underscores the community’s efforts to stay connected and shape its future amid ongoing challenges. Glendora is a film made with—and by—the people who live there. It amplifies voices too often unheard, offering a powerful story of culture, resilience, creativity, and collective memory from a town long overlooked—but not easily forgotten.

The film is now completed, and the Glendora Collaborative is beginning its journey-represented at screenings and events by the very people we see and hear in the film.

GLENDORA: A COLLABORATIVE PORTRAIT

My work is rooted in long-term, immersive collaboration. I first traveled to Mississippi in 2013, initially to collaborate with the Innocence Project on a photography book centered around the wrongful convictions of Levon Brooks and Kennedy Brewer. Over five years, I documented, and shared in the lives of the two exonerees and their families—work that profoundly impacted me; it opened a window into a layered reality and the complex issues and histories of communities that are often overlooked in mainstream narratives. This project deepened my commitment to long-term, community-based storytelling and led me to Glendora, a small village in the Mississippi Delta. With a population of just 160, the town’s isolation seemed to amplify the systemic challenges I had first encountered while working on Levon and Kennedy. I began filming in 2019 and was based primarily there from 2020 to 2024. Over time, I was welcomed into everyday moments—birthdays, graduations, weddings, funerals. The resulting film—created with and for the community—is a shared portrait shaped entirely by local voices. From rap videos to family traditions, young people to elders, the Glendora Collaborative, our equal partner, represents a powerful, grassroots narrative told on their own terms. The film is now being presented by the very people who brought it to life.

FLORIDA B. SMITH

Ms. Florida, a landowner and mother of twelve, recalls her childhood spent sharecropping, her experiences as a wife and mother, and Emmett Till’s lynching. Ms. Florida passed away on August 15, 2024. The film is dedicated to her memory.

“Back in them days you lived on a plantation on the white man's house. You raised the cotton and corn. He get half of it, all expenses come out of your part. When you got ready to move, he going to take your hogs and your chickens and your cows too. I remember my daddy walked from Dirty Corner over there to the Countess' plantation one night, led the cow and the calf because he didn't want him to take them. By the time he got to coming in the back door good, they was down there looking for the cow and calf. He told them he didn't know where they was, they was out across the field. somewhere.”

BLACMANE HAYES

Blacmane reflects on life in Glendora and the personal and communal losses that inspired him to organize events like 'J-Day'—a tribute to the young men and women in the community whose lives were cut short by gun violence.

“I lost my cousin in 2020. He ain't led me wrong, he always led me right. He left behind two kids and two step-kids, he raised them. It ain't a day that goes by that he ain't never try to support his family. That's why I say you got to know a person in order to judge a person. He might be so street out here because he been locked up 13, 14 years. So he gonna have that kind of a mentality to make you feel like he's a threat, which he is not. It's just the mentality he had when he was locked up, make people have fear of you. You don't want to fear nobody.”

COLUMBUS MCKINLEY

Columbus, a local landowner, recounts a childhood influenced by a resilient grandmother and a remarkable father. He reflects on the Civil Rights era and shares his family’s legacy of resistance during that pivotal time.

“I was maybe 10 yo when things went south. At the store, one of the guys wanted to sell my uncle, a pair of used cowboy boots. And he just told him straight, he said, "Look, I don't want your damn boots you been wearing around. I don't want that. I ain't buying nothing.". So the guys beat him down with an ax handle. He was hospitalized pretty bad. Dad eventually sent him back to Indianapolis where he regained. Dad always said "He better live.". The Brewer family, they never back down from nobody. But it just so happened, the store burned down. So you know, you can read between the lines on that one.”

JEFFEREY “BUTCHY” RAINEY

Butchy, a father, music producer, rapper and the film’s soundtrack designer, records local artists and organizes community performances. He reflects on his turbulent youth while coping with the recent loss of his grandmother, Ms. Maggie Peterson.

“I got a lot of regrets, I ain't even lie. I could've stayed in school playing football. My main regret is having kids at a young age. Other than that, I probably wouldn't change nothing. My grandma, she raised me. She was like my mamma too, really the only real backbone I had. When we young, like, that was the place to be, we used be down here, the whole family, all us slept on the floor together. Yep. She the one who brought the family together. I'm fixing to leave from around here. The only thing that really would keep me here was my grandma. Didn't want her to be down here by herself with no family really.”

MAYOR JOHNNY B. THOMAS

Mayor Thomas has long fought to keep Glendora visible and relevant, establishing a small museum honoring Emmett Till, whose body was found near the town.

“Glendora is the first and the oldest town in the county and somehow, we're the poorest town in this 1833 county. At some point, this community was a very, very wealthy community because we were surrounded by 10 or 12 plantations. When cotton went south, then so did the wealth. The white community began to move out, and taking everything with them. When I took over as mayor, we had no records whatsoever of our past. Any wealth that had been created in the community, on behalf of the community, was no longer existing. We did not know where it was. Benefactors of slave owners and everything else back in that time, the wealthy still have all of it from what took place back then.”