Saturday, December 28, 2013

A Literary Luncheon The Book of Me, Prompt #13

A collage of books by authors who have inspired me.



If I had the chance to have a meal with those who have impressed or inspired me, who would be on the guest list?

I would make it a dinner with authors.

I love to read, and my taste is all over the place. I love fiction, non-fiction, biographies, and auto-biographies, political commentary and occasionally I read and enjoy poetry. So my literary luncheon is planned, but who would I include and where would I have it?

First of all, I would have it at the Algonquin Hotel in New York City. Now don't get me wrong, New York is an amazing place, and interesting to visit, but I could never live there. So why would I have my literary luncheon in New York? Well simply because of the Algonquin  literary history. So, in the spirit of the writer's round table I want to have my guests meet at the same place so that we may chat and learn from each other.  And of course I have to admit, I would be the one learning, for they are already accomplished.

The guests, in no particular order would consist of the following:

Isabella Wilkerson. This amazing woman and author of "The Warmth of Other Suns" has written a piece that so elegantly explains a self liberation process of people that hav made America what it is today. Had several million African Americans never left the south, so many amazing accomplishments in politics, education, medicine, music would never have occurred. Ms. Wilkerson studies this phenomenon, and has put in order some of the mysteries of who we are, by simply pointing out one of the most amazing migrations and acts of escape from oppression. Her words and her simple point make we want to discover, all of the migration stories of each branch of my family, and to tell them.

* * * * *

Margaret Walker. Author of Jubilee. This book is one of the most powerful books I have ever read. It is this book that first exposed me to the harsh realities of slavery, yet she told this story in an amazing way that I saw my own family reflected. I saw an early ancestor of mine Minerva, brought with the Houstons and Millwees from South Carolina, to Alabama, to Arkansas. Through the story of the enslaved people in Jubilee, Margaret Walker opened my eyes, when I was quite young, to the power of words, and of telling a story.

* * * * *

Langston Hughes. He is a favorite writer and thinker. I guess his story is one of those that I feel a closeness to. He has an amazingly rich family history of abolitionists and learned men such as John Mercer Langston. And I feel inspired by his growth process and transformation as a man who responded to his own calling. He came to embrace his literary calling after a last sad meeting with his father, when crossing the river from Mexico to the U.S. He found his voice by looking at the river. And from that trip, came his work, "The Negro Speaks of Rivers." From that point onward, he became all that he was to be. Brilliant, articulate and a man of thought. I appreciate the process that Hughes went through in his lifetime, and somehow, like Hughes, "my soul has grown deep like the rivers"

* * * * *

Zora Neale Hurston. This amazing woman was everything. Sociologist, novelist, anthropologist, and author of Their Eyes Were Watching God, she was a woman of vision. Because of Zora, we have the voices from the south, when she went and recorded long forgotten rural folks. She knew that their folk songs, and their culture were important, and she let not only the writer grow, but also the anthropologist emerged when she captured voices of the forgotten poor. Zora never made much money and died in obscurity, yet, she mingled with the best, Langston Hughes, Dorothy West and so many more. And today she continues to inspire.

* * * * *

Paul Laurence Dunbar Son of a freedom fighter, this humble man in his own poetry told us in Sympathy that he personally knew "why the caged bird sings" And as a genealogist and after discovering that I had ancestors who were also civil war soldiers, I truly embraced the story of what happened, "When 'Dey 'Listed Colored Soldiers and My 'Lias Went to War."

* * * * *

James Weldon Johnson is the one poet who taught me how to pray, when he wrote the poem. "The Creation."  His opening words spoke about the everlasting endurance of God: "............and God stepped out on space. And He looked around and said,  "I'm lonely, I will make me a world."


The Creation from the book, God's Trombones

* * * * *
Haki Madibhuti. This is the only luncheon guest that I will say, changed my life. When I first met his words, he was the poet Don L. Lee. He also wrote a simple book of essays From Plan to Planet  and it was that tiny book that cleared my head when I was a young 20-something year old woman. I was not long out of college trying to figure out who I was. He made it simple, in a handful of essays, and he reminded me that it was ok to be who I was, and not let others define me. He gave me the courage with simple essays to let go of toxic people, and to find my own path in life.

* * * * *
Maya Angelou This daughter of Arkansas, is one of the few writers whose essays I have devoured over the years. Interestingly, I have also met some of the very same people whom she knew during her years in Ghana. But it was her ability to describe events, people, and places, that have made me pay attention to her. And the fact that she has often described her own life in progress through her many autobiographies, that is what has intrigued me the most about her. From her autobiographies to her poems, I have been inspired. And sometimes I didn't really want to be inspired by her story, but she is a woman who has truly invented herself and invited readers to follow her journey along the way.

* * * * *

J. California Cooper. I only saw her once at a book signing event in 1990, but this lady with an amazing story telling skill is one who has warmed my heart. When I read her stories, I simply understand that we all need love in our hearts and in our lives. I hear the voices of women and men, and feel them, and through her words I can actually imagine myself "Swimming to the Top of the Rain."

* * * * *

Octavia Butler Now I have to admit, I have not read every book written by this author, but there is something different about her. She explored a genre not populated by many people of color--science fiction. But she took a passing interest in this genre, and turned it into art. She was the recipient of a Macarthur Award--the genius grant, and this amazing lady explored the past and even addressed the period of slavery within the science fiction genre, with Kindred. And she pointed out that even when the heroine returns to the present time, she was permanently changed.

* * * * *

Bebe Moore Campbell
I first read this woman's work some thirty years ago, when she wrote the story of her many summers with her father, in the work, "Sweet Summer, Growing Up With and Without My Dad". In this work, I saw a child raised in love though her parents were divorced. She had the love of her mother and aunts whom she sometimes referred to as "the bosoms" but I saw even more love pour forth when she described the trips home to spend time with her father, in the Tidewater area of Virginia. This "Daddy's girl" reflects the love between father and daughter, and the growth process as years passed by. I would later re-discover the writer again, through other works, especially "Singing in the Comeback Choir.

* * * * *
Beverly Jenkins
This woman is a part of my life today. Now I must admit that I did not discover Beverly Jenkins on my own. A genealogy buddy recommended her to me and insisted that I read Topaz. She let me know that Ms. Jenkins is a romance writer. Now---I never read romance novels, and was not interested. But, my friend Argyrie insisted, because, she pointed out, "She wrote about your people."

Yeah right!! My people? But she insisted again, because this was a novel that involved Indian Territory, and Light Horse, and one of my heroes, Bass Reeves. Hmm.......I decided to take a look.

Well, my life was forever changed! First of all, I found a writer who actually should not be called a Romance writer--but more accurately, she is an author of historical fiction. With Topaz, I read the story of a Black Seminole in the late 1800s escorting a wagon train of black women to an all black town on the western frontier, similar to the historic town of Nicodemus. With Night Song, there was the black teacher in the Freedman school, who met the Buffalo Soldier. And then there as Indigo. Hester living in Ohio as a free woman of color, has a home that is the stop on the Underground Railroad. There the readers met free people of color, and see them in their day to day lives. We also meet John Brown the Abolitionist, and one sees the Quakers and how they helped people to escape from bondage. And most importantly the reader learns how people lived in the years of the abolition movement.

Each one of her novels takes the reader accurately through a little known period in history, where people of color lived. She shows the reader exactly how they lived, what they did to live and how they went through their day to day lives. Her unique skill is that her main characters are modeled after actual figures from history.

This is the only one of the guests at my literary luncheon whom I have met, and can actually call a friend. I had the honor to explore some of the family history of Ms. Jenkins, and even had the chance to present some of it at an event in Michigan a few years ago. And one of my goals for 2014 is to re-read several of her works.

* * * * *
So as I close the guest book for this luncheon, I look back and smile and feel grateful that through a love of words, inspired by my mother, my life has become enriched by these many men and women of the pen.


Monday, December 23, 2013

Genea-Wishes This Christmas

My Christmas Tree 2014


On the 
1st day of Christmas, this I do wish for thee
A Full and Fruitful Family Tree

On the 2nd day of Christmas this I do wish for thee
2 Twitter mentions
A Full and Fruitful Family Tree 

On the 3rd day of Christmas this I do wish for thee
3 Google hangouts
2 Twitter mentions
A Full and Fruitful Family Tree

On the 4th day of Christmas this I do wish for thee
4 Facebook queries
3 Google hangouts
2 Twitter mentions
A Full and Fruitful Family Tree

On the 5th Day of Christmas this I do wish for thee
5 New WordPress themes-----
4 Facebook queries
3 Google hangouts
2 Twitter mentions
A Full and Fruitful Family Tree

On the 6th Day of Christmas this I do wish for thee,
6 Afrigeneas Buddies
5 New WordPress themes-----
4 Facebook queries
3 Google hangouts
2 Twitter mentions
A Full and Fruitful Family Tree

On the 7th Day of Christmas this I do wish for thee
7 New Google +Friends
6 Afrigeneas Buddies
5 New WordPress themes-----
4 Facebook queries
3 Google hangouts
2 Twitter mentions
A Full and Fruitful Family Tree

On the 8th Day of Christmas this I do wish for thee
8 Mocavo links
7 New Google+Friends
6 Afrigeneas Buddies
5 New WordPress themes-----
4 Facebook queries
3 Google hangouts
2 Twitter mentions
A Full and Fruitful Family Tree

On the 9th Day of Christmas this I do wish for thee
9 Twitter Followers
8 Mocavo links
7 New Google+Friends
6 Afrigeneas Buddies
5 New WordPress themes-----
4 Facebook queries
3 Google hangouts
2 Twitter mentions
A Full and Fruitful Family Tree

On the 10th Day of Christmas this I do wish for thee
10 New Family Tweets
9 Twitter Followers
8 Mocavo links
7 New Google+ Friends
6 Afrigeneas Buddies
5 New WordPress themes-----
4 Facebook queries
3 Google hangouts
2 Twitter mentions
A Full and Fruitful Family Tree

On the 11th Day of Christmas this I do wish for thee
11 Blogging Topics
10 New Family Tweets
9 Twitter Followers
8 Mocavo links
7 New Google+ Friends
6 Afrigeneas Buddies
5 New WordPress themes----
4 Facebook queries
3 Google hangouts
2 Twitter mentions
A Full and Fruitful Family Tree

On the 12th day of Christmas, this I do wish for thee
12 Website Templates
11 Blogging Topics
10 New Family Tweets
9 Twitter Followers
8 Mocavo links
7 NewGoogle+ Friends
6 Afrigeneas Buddies
5 New WordPress themes-----
4 Facebook queries
3 Google hangouts
2 Twitter mentions
A Full and Fruitful Family Tree

To the Genealogy family:

Have a Joyful Christmas, and may you be filled with the spirit of the season throughout the coming year!!

Thursday, December 12, 2013

Appreciating the Enumeration of Educable Children in Mississippi



Earlier, I had not noticed that Family Search had placed the Educable Children's Census online before. But it did catch my attention recently and I decided to look at this record set once again. I was not looking for any of my direct ancestors as I have used the list before and had not found any. But I did recall that I had found the children of one of my gr. gr. aunts, but with time, the document was either misfiled or buried in an older binder and yet to be easy to reach. So I decided to look at it again, and obtain the document.

The Educable Children's census was conducted in the state of Mississippi, and to my knowledge, is the only such recurring census of school students to be found. Other states don't have it. And within Mississippi, not all years have survived time, so there are many gaps in the collection of records to review. It is noted that some lists go back to the years before the Civil War, but of course of those that do remain, the years after the Civil War interest me the most, since formerly enslaved children are often found on those lists.

So I decided to simply browse the collection to see if I could find any of my ancestors from Tippah County, Mississippi. I know that the family at that time, lived in the town of Ripley, so I went to that portion of the 1878 volume and began to scan the many lists of names. The records do reveal the race of the chidren so I paid close attention to those pages that did indicated when the children were "colored."



   
Close up of page from Educable Children's List

Source: "Mississippi, Enumeration of Educable Children, 1850-1892; 1908-1957," images, FamilySearch (https://familysearch.org/pal:/MM9.3.1/TH-1-14208-38976-96?cc=1856425&wc=10918260 : accessed 12 Dec 2013), Tippah > 1878 > image 60 of 135.


As I examined the names of the children listed from the town of Ripley, one name caught by attention--that of "Counsalle Martin". I knew that name!! My gr. grandmother Harriet Young, married a man called Council Martin, and I have him in other documents, where Council was written as "Counsalle", and also "Counsille". There were no others with a similar given name. This was my gr. grandfather on the list of educable children! I had never looked for him before because I knew that he was already an adult in the 1870s and 1880s. But here he was on the record!

Council Martin's name appears as "Counsalle" Martin


I looked at the list more closely and noticed, that of all of the children on the list, he was the oldest. In fact he was no child at all. Then I thought about it, here was a young man, beginning his life as a free man. He was now free to move, to travel, and to find his way in the world. And here he was only a few years on his own and he would make his life much better with additional skills, particularly if he knew how to read and write. And to find him as a young man of 20, on the list of educable children, alongside others much younger than he, I was so touched.  This was in 1878, and that meant that he was most likely born while his own mother was still enslaved. He would have been a very young boy when slavery ended. But he wanted to read, and wanted to write, and there with others so much younger, was the young man "Counsalle" on the list of educable "children. 

School was so important to those who were once enslaved, and even among those men who were in the Civil War, one constant personal goal of many was to learn how to read and write. It was clear when noting that many of the students were older children, ages 17 upward. Seeing their names on these lists spoke to their earnest desire to have the chance to make advances in their lives. They wanted nothing else but to learn, for that would open the doors to a stronger future, in the hostile south, where they lived.


Image from Frank Leslie's Illustrated Newspaper, November 17, 1868


I had found some collateral relatives earlier, and on an earlier occasion, I recall that legibility was a problem with the microfilm and I had not visited the list since that time. But this time, since I had found "Counsalle" Martin, I wondered if I could find others in the family. 

I decided to really study the town of Ripley's educable children. I recognized many surnames, Pates, Boyds, Edgertons and Spights. I also recognized the names of some of the white families connected to the town--the Falkner children were there. These were the Falkner's connected to William Faulkner the writer. My gr. gr. grandmother Amanda was the personal cook to Willam Faulkner's father, often called "The Colonel". And there were the Murrys and others from Ripley as well. Would I find any others from my family? I was not so sure.

Then suddenly, three names jumped off the page! There was my gr. gr Aunt Violet, and Frank her sister! Frank's real name was Frances, but she was always called Frank and Aunt Frank---not Frankie, through the years. And there was also Eljah Barr, their younger brother!

We often think that we have exhausted a resource, because we have already looked at it. But for me, the lesson is to revisit that old resource, when months and years have passed since the last scrutiny of the record was made. Even those records familiar to us, can often bring out names that were missed, or overlooked.

The rest of the task, is also to study every available census year that remains to be studied. Although the family was said to have moved to Memphis in the early 20th century, to be certain, additional years still deserved to be examined. 

(Note---the Enumeration of Educable Children is also available on the website of the Mississippi Department of  Archives and History.)

* * * * *

Friday, November 29, 2013

"Yet Still, like Dust, We Rise"! Many Rivers To Cross Final Episode



The Final episode of the PBS Series The African Americans. Many Rivers to Cross took the viewers through several decades very quickly and the times were full of contrasts from confusion to cohesion, from powerlessness to empowerment, from war, to peace and back again.

The 1960s brought about so much change--the signing of the 1964 Civil Rights Act by President Lyndon Johnson, started the nation down a new path, towards a new beginning. But the times were not without pain and hardship along the way. Many people paved the way, and they were men and women of true courage and conviction. And I was a young adolescent watching and asking why. Some of these people still stand out in my mind, as they became my heroes.

One of the most heartfelt heroes voices was a poor woman, from Mississippi. Working most of her life on a plantation, she came alive when the voter rights movement took hold. And she fell victim to horrific police brutality in a Mississippi jail, for only fighting for that right to vote. But the beating in jail did not silence her. In fact, she dared to tell her story to the world. This woman told her story at the Democratic Nation Convention in 1964. I was about 12 years old that summer and I sat there listening to this woman tell her story. Oh the horror! Her name was Fannie Lou Hamer and she became my hero.

She had the nation mesmerized as she told the nation about her treatment in Winona Mississippi---a vicious town with cruel law enforcement officers. But yet, they could not beat her spirit---because she told her story. And she told it to the world. For daring to register to vote, she was falsely arrested, then beaten mercilessly in a Winona Mississippi Jail. And she was told by the sheriff that they would make her wish she was dead. But as they made other prisoners beat her, they never broke her spirit. It took weeks to recover from this ordeal, but she made it to Washington, and the law enforcement policies of Winona were exposed to the nation, and to the world. As hard as they tried, they could never beat the spirit of this amazingly brave woman.

Hear this brave woman tell her story.

Fannie Lou Hamer speech at the Democratic National Convention 1964

She ended her speech with the statement of why so much had happened to her:

"All of this is on account we want to register [sic], to become first-class citizens, and if the Freedom Democratic Party is not seated now, I question America. Is this America, the land of the free and the home of the brave where we have to sleep with our telephones off the hooks because our lives be threatened daily because we want to live as decent human beings - in America?"
* * * * *

The passing years brought about change, but it did not come easily. More violence, more terror was in store for people who dared to take a stand. And more blood was shed. With time, the movement evolved from one exclusively of race, but also of class. And in 1968, when Dr. Martin Luther King traveled to Memphis to stand with the garbage workers, his fate was sealed with an assassin's bullet as he emerged from the modest Lorraine Motel. 

And like the funeral of JFK, we were glued to the face of his beautiful wife Coretta as she and the rest of the world watched the funeral services. I was by that time in high school, and I felt so empty as once again, one who stood up for something was taken. I stared at the face of Coretta, his widow and I thought about his children, some of whom were close in age to me. They had lost a husband and father. I had lost a hero.


Coretta Scott King, attending her husband's funeral

But 1968 was not over, because two months later, yet another man of the people was to be taken. Robert F. Kennedy was killed in June 1968 in Los Angeles California. I had been impressed with this young Senator and somehow had a sense of hope, but on that summer night in June, once again, I had lost a hero.

The feeling of sadness and emptiness and loss was expressed for me that year, by one song: 




They say it is always the darkest before the dawn, and eventually the dawn did come. Those years when so much blood was shared by so many people, eventually gave way to new chances. The country somehow became a bit more tolerant and as the vote was finally extended to people some growth occurred and America took a breath and relieved itself of some of it's own misery by recognizing that there were others who were in their midst in the same country, and they too, could call the nation their own.

Other movements came and went. Some bypassed us completely. We never had chapters of the Black Panthers in my part of Arkansas. And the food programs, and health screenings that some people knew the Panthers for, were only learned about years later. Political battles were fought and won, and they were also fought and lost, but eventually change came. 

Racial stereotypes were removed from ads, and from cartoons, and the faces of color even on the TV screen became more than sporadic. We began to see ourselves in the media, and our music, once hidden as "race music" became accepted, and we found our way through the maze of 20th and 21st century society.

The most unbelievable happened in 2008 with the election of a man of color to the highest office in the land. And like all pioneers, he has had to endure indignities never offered to his white predecessors, but, like the elders and ancestors before us, he has endured. And he took the unbelievable had an encore performance---he won a second term. 

And while many of us shake our heads at the unending filibusters and extreme right efforts to render him powerless, he prevails and presides, nevertheless. 

We all know that the battle is not yet over, for it is known that a young man or young woman can be killed for playing music too loudly, or ringing a doorbell, or simply walking down the street with candy. These are the realities, but we know yet that in spite of it all, we rise.....yes, we survive, and we rise. 

Maya Angelou the poet described it so well........

Out of the huts of history's shame, I rise
Up from a past that's rooted in pain, I rise
I'm a black ocean, leaping and wide
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide

Leaving behind nights of terror and fear, I rise
Into a daybreak that's wondrously clear, I rise.

Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise.
    ~Maya Angelou!  "And Still I Rise"

* * * * *

This post is the last of posts as part of  the African American Genealogy Blogging Circle project. This is a small group of African Ancestored Genealogists who have been watching the PBS Series: The African American. Many Rivers to Cross.  In response to each episode, the bloggers have been sharing history as they saw it, and they presented it through the lens of their own family history and personal experiences. The bloggers and their blogs.

Between the Gate Posts by Linda Durr Redd
Black and Red Journal by Terry Ligon
Finding Eliza by Kristin Cleage
Into The Light by Renate Yarborough Sanders
Mariah's Zepher by Vicki Daviss Mitchell
My Ancestor's Name by Angela Walton-Raji
Roots Revealed by Melvin J. Collier
Who is Nicka Smith by Nicka Sewell Smith


* * * * *


Sunday, November 24, 2013

An Unforgettable Year.... The Book of Me Prompt #12

Nat King Cole Sings "Unforgettable"


I can't imagine a lot happening on the chilly December day when I was born born. It was a Saturday evening when I entered the world in the early 1950s. But that year was a memorable one when I entered the world. But I am sure that my parents must have shared unforgettable moments as their family grew, and I know that they heard this song by Nat King Cole, "Unforgettable", and we had several of his albums. I know that they also heard another popular song on local radio stations. Tennessee Waltz, by Patti Page which came out early that year.

In popular newspapers around the country, one strip about a menacing little boy emerged, Dennis the Menace. I am not sure if our local newspaper carried it though.

In July of that year, in Missouri the first United States Memorial Monument  to honor an African American was unveiled.

A landmark book was first published that year. J. D. Salinger's "Catcher in the Rye", hit the stands. I would later read that book in high school. And 16 years later, I would read that book in high school.

Book Cover, Catcher in the Rye
Source of Image: HERE



On the music scene, a 3 LP recording of Gerwhin's Porgy and Bess was released. Porgy and Bess was a major opera, and my parents would often speak of the music, and story and later the movie.

Columbia Masterworks Record Label
Image Source: HERE


As the family grew, I wonder what my parents thought as decisions about schooling took place. My brother was about to go to kindergarten that year. Surely my parents must have had major discussions when news broke that year about 8 year old Linda Brown and the lawsuit brought against the Topeka Board of Education. Brown vs. Topeka would be a landmark Supreme Court Case. The case was decided upon by the Supreme Court in 1954.

Linda Brown sued for the right to attend an elementary school near her home.
Image Source HERE


Parents always have the concerns of the health of their children. In that year polio, a terribly crippling disease became an epidemic that affected thousands of people around the country. In that year a black child was selected to be a poster child for the March of Dimes. I wonder if they ever saw her image. That year, more than 70% of all cases of polio patients in Vicksburg Mississippi, were black children and almost half in the entire state were African Americans.

Emma  Pearl Berry was selected as the first Black Poster child for the March of Dimes
Photo Source, Jet Magazine 

I am not sure when my parents purchased the first family car, but I know it was a blue Chrysler, and it was probably purchased as a used car. This is the style of the first car that I can remember this image of the blue Chrysler as the first car that we called "Nellie Belle".  I know that later they  purchased another Chrysler, a 1954 model that to which they also gave the same name.

1951 Chrysler Image Source: HERE


So our family grew that year, and I had arrived on the scene. Born in late December, that chilly day marked a new beginning for the family. And interestingly, as I am looking back at the Walton family line, I was the first female child born to that one Walton line since the mid 1800s. My gr. gr. grandparents had one son and one daughter. The young girl died before the age of three leaving my gr. grandfather. He, would have one son, my grandfather and no daughters. My grandfather had three sons, and no daughters. My father was the only one of those 3 son to have children. And my dad had two children my brother and myself. I was the first girl born in that direct line since 1850s. Thank goodness I am here to tell the story.

Indeed it was an unforgettable year.

An image of me as an infant.


Friday, November 22, 2013

"You'd Better Say Your Prayers. The President has Been Shot"

Headlines from the Ft. Smith Times Record, Nov. 22, 1963
Courtesy SWTImes

I was in the 7th grade at St. John's the small parochial school I had attended since kindergarten, and I was not yet 12 years old. I remember the day so well. Lunch was over, and we were settling in for afternoon activities. Then the principal, Sr. Annene came in the room, and interrupted the teacher and said, "You all had better say your prayers. The president has been shot." We all gasped and were speechless. The teacher asked, "is he head?"  "We don't know", she said.

The air was almost sucked out of my lungs, and I felt sick! President Kennedy? No!!
A feeling of despair suddenly was there! I remember the emotion so well, "But--he was our friend", I remembered saying to our parents. They knew what I meant--he was a friend, we felt to the Black community.

An announcement came back shortly, that we were to go over to the parish church and have a prayer service within the hour. How strange--we were all so quiet. Usually pouring into church before mass, included the usual fidgeting and the teachers going "shhh" to settle down to a respectful reverence. But this time there was no need. We were all silent, even the children from the lower grades were quiet. We were ushered into the parish pews and began to pray the rosary. So solemn, so quiet and so sad. School was dismissed early and we walked home quietly.

At home the television was on and the footage that we have all seen thousands of time since, was showing. The motorcade, the grassy knoll, the shots, people scurrying for cover, the first lady scurrying for cover, secret service men climbing on top of the car, and confusion.

I recall two days later on Sunday morning after early Mass, of course the television was on. My parents were in another room, and I heard them say they were moving the gunman Oswald. I saw a man rush towards the prisoner, and saw confusion and heard the words, "Oswald has been shot."
I was not sure what was happening and went to ask my parents? "So they shot that Oswald man, too?"
They looked at me, and then they rushed to the television set. Again--for the next two days the flurry of events were shown. Then came the funeral.

We all watched it. The motorcade, the military and John Jr. saluting his father on the steps of the capitol.



I was only 11 and so much had happened in three short days---and I remember trying to make sense of it all.

To me, to my family, to my school mates, to my community--he had meant something---he had represented a ray of hope.

The country had dared to elect a man from New England, a Catholic, and for many people of color, this president was possibly a true friend to the black community. And we had reasons to hope that year, the March on Washington in August of that year had given us more hope and more of the dream.

And this president had even met with leaders  in the Civil Rights movement. And to so many of us, this meant so much, as he represented justice and possible equality.

Image: National Archives/Newsmakers/Getty Images

But on November 22, things changed. I learned so much that day. And my life had changed forever. At 11 years I was a child and had never watched the news, but from that time forward, I realized that the world was much bigger than my small world, I realized that words like justice, equality and hope were so heavy and actions of people unknown to me, could affect me.

And I learned on November 22, 1963 that sometimes dreams are deferred.

"What happens to a dream deferred?

      Does it dry up
      like a raisin in the sun?"
-Langston Hughes-

* * * * *


Thursday, November 21, 2013

"They Never Saw A Child" Many Rivers to Cross Episode #5 Afr. American Blogging Circle

Painting by Normal Rockwell Depicts Ruby Bridges On her Way to School. 
The painting currently hangs in the White House.


Episode 5 of the PBS Series The African Americans, Many Rivers to Cross aired Tuesday November 19th. This particular episode was a poignant one, simply because it covered the years that were part of my own childhood. Much of the film footage I remember seeing when it happened. I was in school when the Civil Rights Movement was in full bloom.  The word "integration" was on the lips of everyone--whether spoken loudly, or in whispers when white people were close by.

I remember the fears some of which resonated in the home. My mother worked for the public school system, and she was often cautious and fearful if her own job might have been in jeopardy, if any relatives were known to be active in the struggle for equal rights. The fears of losing one's job for simply having a belief in equality was real.

In Little Rock, Arkansas we had our own national crisis when Central High School was integrated and the Little Rock Nine, courageously entered the school in 1957. I was too small to fully understand what that meant--but I recall that it was explained to me by my parents, that some teenagers wanted to go to a certain school and a mean governor did not want them to go to that school. That was about all that my 6 year old mind could comprehend. And oh yes---the teenagers were the same color as me.

Elizabeth Eckford Walking into Central High School, Little Rock Arkansas 

I remember seeing those photos and kept wondering why she was not wanted. I was only 6 years old, but heard everybody talking about, and I often stared at the images from the papers, because she looked clean and tidy, and seemed so terribly alone. I kept wondering why the crowd was screaming at her.

I simply did not understand.

And then there was Ruby Bridges, who entered school in 1960. By this time I was a little older ---8 years old, but that was enough to understand the issues of color and race. And I recall images in Jet Magazine of the little girl in Louisiana on her way to school. The real Ruby was a tiny girl, and I recall looking at  her in her dress neatly pressed jumper, with the crinoline slip underneath, in the style of the day. I looked at her, because I had a dress like that! And this little girl did not look different from many of my own school mates.


Ruby Bridges Escorted by US Marshals to School


So Ruby went to school, was also greeted at her new school met with screams of rage and hatred.
I knew that many people did not like people of color, but Ruby was so small, she was a little girl. She could not have harmed them.  But it became clear----they never saw a child.

They saw a color, they saw something that they had been taught by their parents and by the nation, to hate. Nurtured by a culture of  "hate for hate's sake", and encouraged by more than a century of legalized endorsement of that hatred and mistreatment they did what they were taught to do. And as the Ruby Bridges stated in the program, "they never saw a child".

In my town:

I reflected about what happened in my own hometown. I attended a small Catholic elementary school---a segregated Catholic school, of course. (There were 3 white Catholic schools in the city, and there was the black school, St. John's.) The high schools were unique---integration had occurred quietly on the high school level. St. Scholastica Academy had quietly integrated in the early 1950s, without incident, and St. Anne's in the early 60s. The public schools were next. The press and turmoil of Little Rock were on the minds of many in the city, and it was decided that there had to be a less dramatic way to integrate the public schools. Thankfully, there was no major drama, in my hometown. Some of the process was discussed in a video made by the Ft. Smith Historical Society Oral History Project.  (Scroll down to video with Mr. George McGill.)

We knew that our daily experience was not the real story, because restaurants and hotels and other public places were simply off limits, and we all knew growing up that to challenge things was dangerous. We had to obey to apartheid rules of the south, or face dangerous consequences. And always on the mind of everyone was what could happen next?

While watching Many Rivers to Cross, I remember watching most of the film footage that was shown when it aired. And like many children, looking towards a future with hope and wonder, I often feared what the restrictions would be for me.

From those years I learned early on, to ask, the question "do they allow us there?" Many of us know when driving into the country to be cautious--because we know about Sundown Towns.  And countless numbers of people of my generation, when we were children never experienced the "great outdoors", because we knew that if we went the wrong way, many, if not most, would never see the child.

So common events like camping, unless it was truly protected was not a spur of the moment option for any of us. We knew it, and would be foolish to think otherwise. Unless an outdoor swimming hole was on the property of a relative--one would never dare to think that it would be fun to take a splash. We new better and our parents protected us for they also knew that strangers would never see the child.

These words stood out for me in that episode the most, and I was compelled to write some words.

They Never Saw A Child

One day, six year old Ruby went to school, and was met by an angry mob.
But they never saw a child.

Children marched in Selma, and were sprayed with water hose and bitten by dogs.
But they never saw a child.

In Birmingham, children from 6 to12 marched with Dr. King and were thrown in jail.
But they never saw a child.

In far away Soweto, far away, boys and girls took bullets.
Because there too, they never saw a child.

And in today's world, teenager Travon in Florida, walked with candy and tea.
But was killed, when an armed man, refused to see the child.

This 5th episode brought back many memories and emotions for me. These were trying times, but we are obligated to tell those stories.

I have to say a thank you to Ruby Bridges for her innocence and her courage.




* * * * *

Tuesday, November 19, 2013

The Quilter Told My Story

The Famous Bible Quilt of Harriet Powers

Genealogy is a passion and not a single day in the year passes in which I am not engage in some kind of genealogical activity. Some days I bury myself in census records, and other days, I study the Dawes Roll, Kern Clifton Roll and Dunn Roll from Indian Territory. On another day, Civil War research might take up my time, and a different day might take me to a cemetery as my eyes scan the burial ground for USCT's or benevolent society members from the Mosaic Templars.

Of late, thanks to the inspiration from a fellow genealogist, in Tennessee  I have been nudged to also re-visit another old passion--that of quilting. 

In fact, since October, I have dared to pull out an old unfinished quilt from the closet, and to my own surprise, I actually finished that quilt and since last weekend, I have been sleeping under that quilt for several days.

Quilt recently finished now on my bed.

Last week, while looking at the calendar, I realized that a significant day had just passed. But since the weather had been quite cloudy, I had not undertaken my annual late night toast to my ancestor, Amanda Young, who spoke about her being a witness to an astronomical event--the Leonid meteor shower---of 1833. My gr. grandmother Amanda Young often spoke about this event until she died, and I wrote a blog piece about it three years ago. She was a witness and because of this, and my interest in quilts one day I was able to piece together the story, and her age, and the event.

It was another quilter who provided the details that I needed to "piece" some of the details about my Amanda's life. The quilter was Harriet Powers, a woman whose quilts now hang in the Smithsonian Museum and the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston. She was born a slave in Albany Georgia, and she was most known for her story quilts. Her most famous one is a bible quilt (shown above).

Harriet Powers, Master Quilter

In that quilt, she had stories from the Bible, and also stories from historical events. One of the panels in the famous Bible quilt depicts the historic Leonid Meteor Shower---the Night the Stars Fell.

Panel from Harriet Powers Quilt Depicting the Night the Stars Fell


In 1991, I decided I wanted to learn how to quilt and was going to teach myself. While reading a quilting magazine an article discussed the work of African American quilters including Harriet Powers, and her inclusion of a panel depicting the Night the stars fell. She had been a witness to this event, like my Amanda. Amanda's would simply say that she was a little girl, when the stars fell, but she spoke of the seeing the stars fall in detail, and also of the fear the event instilled in the community. And here in a quilting magazine--was mention of a former slaves who included mention of the same event in her hand work! She saw the same stars fall!

The article was brief, but it mentioned a professor who had written a book about African American quilters, and in the book Dr. Gladys Marie-Fry made a reference to Harriet Powers, and the same event, the night the stars fell. I had to find the book, called Stitched from the Soul, which I did! And there it was--the footnote that I needed--the gave me a date! Amanda said she was a young girl--about 8 or so, and there it was--the years the stars fell---1833!

I never knew Amanda's age, but thanks to Harriet Powers, and also the.nomers who recorded this major event, I learned that the stars fell 1833, about November 10th,

So, 180 years ago, in November, a small girl, in Maury County, Tennessee near Columbia, saw the stars fall. And 180 years ago, a young woman in Georgia saw the stars fall. The tiny girl, born into slavery would tell that story throughout her life. The young woman in Georgia made a quilt and included that event as she pieced and stitched that quilt. 

Reading about this event in the 1990s would help me make a better estimate of Amanda's age, and time of birth. Amanda always said she was a small child when the stars fell, but she also had a vivid memory of the event and the effects of the falling stars on the slave holders and overseers and I blogged about this 3 years ago.





I had wondered for years exactly how old Amanda may have been, even though I was able to make a partial estimate from the various census years, in which her name was found, I was never sure if I was close.

But the knowing about the famous meteor shower of 1833, helped me, because this was a landmark event. Ironically, it was a quilting magazine that lead me to Gladys Marie-Frye whose book Stitched from the Soul gave me the date.

So from a quilter, I learned when the event, the Leonid Meteor shower took place. And I somehow felt closer to my Amanda, the young girl, who saw the stars fall, who heard the overseers and slave holders tell the slaves where they had sent their loved ones, and who hear the whaling and crying, for they all thought that it was judgement day.

The 180th anniversary of that day passed only a few days ago. As a descendant of that child who saw the stars fall, and also as a quilter, I am continually reminded of my legacy and how so many things in the present are a direct result of events from the past.

Rest in peace Amanda, and thank you for telling the story of the night the stars fell.
Rest in peace Mrs. Powers, and thank you for telling my ancestor's story through your quilt.

I am amazed that a humble quilter told my story.