Meandering Moody Memories

Taking a Break

2010-02-04T18:11:00.000-08:00

Due to many issues, I have to take a break from blogging.

Thank you for visiting the blog. I have enjoyed your blogs and hope to visit those as often as possible.

St. Joseph's Altar

2010-01-29T10:49:00.000-08:00

In March 1987, I had to attend a meeting in New Orleans and Moody accompanied me. We went early because a friend, Al Gourrieu, invited us to a St. Joseph's Altar. We had never attended one, nor did we know anything about St. Joseph, but we happily accepted.

According to an article by Sharon Keating, (from About.com) the tradition began at the end of the nineteenth century, brought to America by Sicilian immigrants. At one time, they were on the brink of starvation because of drought in their native country. They turned in prayer to St. Joseph, and soon, the rains came, the crops grew, and the people were saved. To thank their patron, they gave him back the gift they were given, in the form of a feast laid on an "altar." The altar features three tiers, representing the Trinity. A statue of St. Joseph presides on the top level, surrounded by candles, flowers, and of course, food.

Many families believe that having a St. Joseph Altar can bring good fortune. It is common to hear stories about favors received (a loved one’s recovery from an illness, for example) which are in turn attributed to the family’s dedication to St. Joseph.

Fava beans, used as fodder for cattle in Sicily, were consumed by the starving inhabitants prior to St. Joseph's intervention. They are now featured on every altar, as blessed "lucky beans." If you keep one, you will always have money, or so the saying goes, and we promptly put our beans in our wallets.

Everyone was given a sheet of paper, asked to write their wishes for the future, and then burn the paper in a large metal bowl. Moody and I looked at each other, trying to hide our skepticism and questioning whether this would work. Our answer came the next day.

We had no idea that our fate was about to change, and to this day, we credit attending the St. Joseph Altar for transforming our lives.

The next day, Saturday, we met Ruth Love for cocktails. Out of the blue, I became very anxious. For some reason, I was compelled to return home. I told Moody and Ruth that I was going back to the hotel to pack and call airlines to check on seat availability for Sunday. Moody reminded me that my meeting (the reason we had come to New Orleans) had not even begun and that we had non-refundable tickets. I insisted that I could make it happen; we were going home. With a quiet anxiousness, I walked back to our hotel, alone.

All of the airlines I called said the same thing, no seats to Detroit. On a whim I called Midwest Airlines and was told that they had only two seats available on an afternoon flight to Chicago. I figured that if we took that flight, we could rent a car and drive back to Michigan, if we couldn't get a flight to Detroit. Midwest even agreed to take our tickets and just charge us a small fee.

After completing the arrangements, I started to pack. The phone rang. It was a student from the University of Michigan asking if Moody could return tomorrow, Sunday, because Black Action Movement III had started and the University was shut down. Jesse Jackson was due on Sunday to help with negotiations and he needed Moody to assist in the discussions. I told the student no problem, I had already changed our tickets.

Moody returned, shaking his head at my crazy impulse. As I was telling him about the call from the student, the phone rang again. It was a Vice President of the University with the same request. Could we return to Ann Arbor tomorrow?

Ten Things That Make Me Happy - Tagged

2010-01-21T20:44:00.000-08:00

And now, I will tag ten other blogs to do this happiness post!

When I read that statement from the blog, When a Woman Shakes Her Tablecloth, I was puzzled about what I would write. Reading her list I knew that it doesn't take BIG things to make me happy, if you don't count winning the lottery. We are not rich people with money, we're rich in other ways, but I often tell my husband how happy we were when we had NOTHING.

TEN THINGS THAT MAKE ME HAPPY!

1. Someone with a baby. I'm just happy it's not me. Of course it would get me some needed money since I'm over seventy.

2. The look on a child's face when he or she finally "gets it." Love that "light bulb" moment.

3. Hearing from someone, or seeing someone I haven't seen in a long time, who remembers and reminiscences about a special moment we shared.

4. World War II movies and books, which is strange because I hate war. I used the movie, Twelve O'Clock High, to demonstrate leadership styles when I was conducting leadership workshops.

5. Conquering a new recipe and adding my own touches. I always try it just as written the first time. Then I begin to make additions or subtractions until it is ready to serve my bridge club. They are good cooks and I have to be at the top of my game.

6. Meeting new people and hearing their stories. I believe that everyone has a compelling story. I think that's why I like reading blogs; you can learn something from everyone you meet.

For example, we went to a jazz club with another couple and I saw an attractive woman, sitting alone with her eyes closed, singing quietly along with the band, while she tapped her fingers to the beat of the drums. She exuded glamour and loneliness yet I could visualize an intriguing past. The couple we were with, and my husband, thought I was crazy when I left them, walked over to her table, introduced myself, and stated that she looked like she had a riveting story to tell. "Please tell me your story." I said. "I want to hear it." She stared at me for a little while, invited me to have a seat, and proceeded to tell me her story. She was the first wife of Sammy Davis, Jr., and what a story she told about an "arranged marriage."

7. Star Trek. I'm a Trekkie, I watch reruns, wear Bajoran earrings, and read the The Physics of Star Trek.

8. A beautiful sunset over the mountains. I don't see many sunrises because I don't get up early, but a sunset with breathtaking, muted colors is so calming.

9. My friends. I have some of the best friends in the world, even the ones as crazy as me. Couldn't make it without them.

10. Last, but not least, my family. They make me happy because they have allowed an eccentric woman, (sounds better than crazy) to do a lot of spontaneous (sounds better than impulsive) things and still support me, even when I'm wrong, which happens more than I would like to admit.

This list could grow, but I'll stop (except to add milk chocolate peanut clusters because I can eat one pound in one sitting and how having an iphone would make me happy, I think) and tag others.

Get ready, you're tagged.

The K is no longer silent

b. vikki vintage

Chocolate covered daydreams

Peeling an orange with a screwdriver

At Twilight

A Fabulously Good Life

Fifty and Still Figuring it Out...

A Woman's Life Stages

The Eighties - Part 2 Where is the family now?

2010-01-20T21:44:00.000-08:00

We became "in-laws" and grandparents in the 80s. I'm doing this posting because I can't believe how quickly children become adults and some postings of struggling, young parents remind me of our past.

There were days I wanted to give up and throw in the towel. I want to tell them, hold on, this is a part of life...it will get better. One day you can laugh at your children when they struggle with their own family.

We've been blessed with the best daughters-in-law, sons, and grandchildren.

David and Karla's Wedding Picture

David and Karla's family 27 years later.

David owns a construction company in Atlanta that helped build the 1996 Olympic Stadium and is now working on the airport addition in Atlanta. Granddaughter, Karia, a graduate of Spelman College, is an aspiring singer and actress. Grandson, Charles, a graduate of Morehouse College, works in the family business, but has decided to go for his Ph.D in education.

Corey (Middle Son) and Kim's Wedding

Corey and Kim's family, 23 years later. Kelsey is a senior in high school, Katelyne is at Purdue, and Kourtney is at the University of Michigan. On Friday, January 8, 2010, Corey will open his second CPA office in Las Vegas. The first one is in Atlanta. Kim is an administrator with the Clark County School District.

Cameron, the youngest, never married. He is Director of Administration for the Executive Office of the President of the United States. He lives the life, spending the last twelve years working for the Democratic Conventions (1996, 2000, 2004, 2008) and the Summer and Winter Olympics, and has lived all over the world.

Whenever I feel unsure and wonder if we were good parents, I look at our sons and their families and think we did OK. When you are young, and the kids are driving you crazy, it easy to believe that you're doing something wrong. This makes me feel we did OK.

It was worth all we gave up or never had.

Why a Blog on Memories

2010-01-17T13:02:00.000-08:00

Someone asked me why was I doing a blog on our life? I'm just trying to make sense about where we've been and what's it all about. We are ordinary people from humble beginnings with hopes and dreams for a good life. We worked hard, even when we watched some of our dreams crash. We've been blessed to live in a remarkable time, from segregation to integration.

Dr. King's birthday offers an opportunity to write about the why. We were in Montgomery on a segregated bus the same year that Rosa Parks refused to relinquish her seat, and because of King's actions, our lives, and many others, have been transformed.

This blog is my attempt to offer a peek into the lives of a typical, middle-class family that lived and worked in America when, as Bob Dylan wrote, The Times They Are A-Changin'.

African Americans lived in the shadows. Our lives weren't documented or studied, except in some sociology texts where a deficit model was used. Yet, throughout America's history many lived quiet, unassuming, unnoticed lives. Some were successful; others were not. The Civil Rights Movement changed how we were viewed and the election of Barack Obama put a spotlight on the Black family.

Blacks moved from slaves to honored guests in the White House — President Abraham Lincoln met with abolitionists Frederick Douglass and Sojourner Truth in the White House — to indispensable parts of White House life. President Andrew Johnson appointed William Slade as the first White House steward, the person charged with running the domestic side of the White House.

Not only did Blacks work in the White House, they also started working at the White House. E. Frederick Morrow was the first African-American appointed a White House aide by Eisenhower in 1955; (The year we married.) John F. Kennedy named Andrew Hatcher associate press secretary in 1960.

The progress was hardly smooth.

In 1901, President Theodore Roosevelt formally invited Booker T. Washington to the White House for dinner.... Southern newspapers were outraged and publicly condemned Roosevelt after they learned of the invitation from an Associated Press dispatch. Roosevelt never invited another African-American to a White House dinner. http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/28109794

In 1935, Mary McLeod Bethune, was chosen as Roosevelt's special advisor on Minority Affairs. Now, today, an African American family lives in the White House. Many of us older African Americans are still processing this. Because of our country's past history, we still find it hard to believe.

It is nostalgic as well as enlightening to rewind all these experiences, smile and remember them again.

I have to admit that I was unsure in the beginning if it would be of interest to anyone. Many of you been very kind with your comments and I hope you continue to find our memories worthwhile. One thing is sure--we have had some wonderful adventures.

One philosopher said ...When you create beautiful memories you get to enjoy them twice, once while doing them and again when remembering them...and it is not the number of breaths we take but the moments that take out breath away...that's the measure of your life... !!!

Please allow me to repeat a favorite poem of mine:

I am old and need to remember.

You are young and need to learn.

If I forget the words

Will you remember the music?

from Swaziland

A Salute to my Mom

2010-01-07T16:12:00.000-08:00

Love you, Mom

Today is my Mom's birthday, it's either today or yesterday. She wasn't sure which day but we usually celebrated on January 7. She was born in 1896, 114 years ago. This is the earliest picture I have of her.

My drawing of Mom

Every year she had a big party. The entire family, and all of our friends, were invited. You were expected to bring a gift even if you were broke from Christmas. She cooked all of the food for her party and after several beers would entertain us with her way of dancing. We would play Keno, knowing that she would cheat, and take all of our money.

Mom with her beer.

When we lived in Chicago it was easy to make her birthday party but after the move to Michigan the weather could cause problems. I remember our struggling through the snow, hoping we would make it. Many times we went to Chicago early, if snow was predicted, to make sure we attended the party.

She raised the seven of us the best way she could, without a husband. My youngest sister will be 70 this year and my oldest sister would be 95, if she were alive. Three sisters were married when I was born so she never had seven children in the house at one time.

She was so strong. What was she like when she was young? A beauty, we know for sure. Petite, slim, and vivacious, with long, flowing red hair. Many men found her irresistible. I imagine her as a carefree, young woman, teasing men with her flirtatious smile.

Then reality takes over. She worked many hours in a cotton field and could drag a bag that was at least half her weight. She sun must have been merciless in Georgia. There were no pretty clothes for my Mom to wear to parties and parades. Instead there were many floors to scrub, innumerable dishes to wash, and an abundant stack of diapers for the children she raised.

We would often ask her about our fathers, there were several, but she refused to discuss it. We never told her how much we discovered from other family members, nor did we ever tell her that we knew that our grandfather, who I never knew, was not her father.

Yes, she was the Queen of the family. Anything she wanted, she got.

We were on welfare and she did daywork, cleaning homes, but she taught us that any work is honest work. She had one wish, that none of us would end up on welfare, and none of us did. That was very important to her.

She left home early in the morning to clean homes. No matter what the weather, she rode many buses and streetcars to homes that were far removed from us on the South Side of Chicago.

Mom would come home, tired and sore, but proceed to the kitchen to prepare dinner. She bought "good" meat from the stores in the white neighborhood. Her cooking warmed the heart, as well as the spirit.

Education was also important to her. She went to elementary school and was one of the smartest woman I knew. She would go to downtown Chicago, to the most expensive store, look at a dress, come home and sew an exact copy. She never liked anything cheap.

Everybody in the family, and I do mean everybody, has a afghan she made. Whenever someone mentioned that a baby was expected, we had to take her to the yarn store so she could make the afghan before the baby was born.

She lived 97 years, over twenty years after being diagnosed with inoperable cancer. She refused to believe she had cancer and never let it stop her from doing anything.

Even though we loved her, we still discuss how she was an enigma to us, a mysterious beautiful woman with a past, that none of us knew or would ever know.

The Eighties - Part I

2010-01-06T12:35:00.000-08:00

"It's time to start living the life you've imagined" - Henry James

We are without children. We have an empty nest. We have three children in college and no children at home. Did I mention that we have an empty nest? How quickly it came.

Now, we could get about living the life we've imagined.

Us in the late '80s

The '80s were frantic because our careers were in high gear. Writing about the '80s and '90s is going to be difficult because there was so much going on. Perhaps I'll just do tidbits.

At the beginning of the '80s I was working as Coordinator of Staff Development and Multicultural Education for the Ann Arbor Public Schools. In the middle of the decade I left the Ann Arbor Schools and was working at Eastern Michigan University in the Student Teaching Office.

My husband was Director of the Program for Educational Opportunity at the University of Michigan. In the late '80s, he was promoted to Vice Provost at the University and our lives and experiences would soar. (More about that later.)

Our hours were long because most workshops took place after school. We downgraded to one car, (couldn't afford two with those college bills) didn't take any vacations, and bought very little for ourselves.

Both of us also traveled as consultants so we did stay on the road. NABSE (The National Alliance of Black School Educators) was growing and we were active, he as Founder, (NABSE was an outgrowth of his dissertation) and me as Historian. This meant traveling not only to the National meetings but also to local meetings as there were now over 100 affiliate chapters all over the USA, Canada, several Caribbean Islands, and in Germany.

The Past Presidents of NABSE with the Founder, Charles D. Moody, Sr.

The lady in the middle, Dr. Deborah Wolfe, was one of the most dynamic women I've ever met. She knew George Washington Carver. I don't know why that fascinates me.

NABSE took up a great deal of our time. We had such high hopes with a membership of over 6,000. From 1970 until the middle 1990s it was flourishing and the possibilities were endless. Our mission to improve education was the most important reason for the organization. Our national convention was the highlight of the year where we greeted old friends, enjoyed dinners, workshops, and deep conversations. We met and mingled with the "stars" and worked hard to improve education for African Americans.

Earline and Dr. Jerome Harris, (He is a former Superintendent of the Atlanta Public School.) The Moodys, and Dr. and Mrs. Thomas (He is a former Superintendent in Illinois.)

However, in the 2000s, many factors contributed to the decline of what should have been a stellar organization. I won't go into the reasons, but NABSE was important because it was the biggest focus of our life during the '80s and now it is our biggest disappointment.

And what a ride it was. We thought we would change the world and help all of the "diamonds in the rough." The friendships we made and the ones we did help made it all worthwhile. We, and the early members (those who are still living for we have lost so many) who really wanted to make contributions, are now all old, tired, and frail. We're tired of fighting, but we still try to help others.

Us with Andrew Young at a NABSE meeting

Our life has been full. We've soared with the eagles and fought with the chickens.

A New Year - 2010

2010-01-01T11:46:00.000-08:00

Happy New Year to all. Hope you had a wonderful, joyous holiday.

No explanation for my eye problem--just continued medication and a visit to the doctor scheduled for February.

I hope my friend, Pat, who fell in July and is now paralyzed, walks again. She made the beautiful jewelry that she's wearing but does not have good use of her hands now.

Will I make resolutions? No.

What do I want?

Peace.

Harmony.

Love.

Back to the Past - 1980

2009-12-12T15:33:00.000-08:00

Thanks again for all of your good wishes. I return to the doctor on the 17th but wanted to do just a short posting.

The '80s and '90s are going to jumbled because I lost my momentum with the eye problem. I think it was the end of the '70s and beginning of the '80s when I left off.

For us, the most memorable event of 1980 was the celebration of our 25th Wedding Anniversary, a snowy day in March.

We awoke the day before the celebration at 6:30 a.m. The weatherman forecast 1-2 inches of snow. I began to panic as I looked out the window and saw the snow flurries softly covering the street. My sister, Ruby, called from Chicago and said it looked bad there, also.

We arose and began our preparations and trips to the bakery, rental agency, florist, airport, train station, and bus depot. The snow continued and blizzard conditions were obvious. We had many tasks to complete and the snow had already reached three inches.

My nerves were frazzled as we heard the travel advisory. When we returned from the bakery at noon, the prediction was seven inches and visibility was down to 30 feet. My tears began as I realized the impossibility of it all. What a disaster we faced.

There was no way our relatives could get through from Chicago and Louisiana and the people in town were snowbound. I began to worry about having dead relatives and friends all over the highway because they were trying to make it to Ann Arbor. I was inconsolable at that thought.

Suddenly, I heard a grinding in the driveway. I looked out and our son was stuck. We finally dug him out while the phone rang continuously. Prayers were being offered for the snow to stop.

My friend, Barbara, called to see if we were canceling the rehearsal. I hesitated and suggested that we wait. One son finally arrived from the airport with guests, another son left to pick up guests from the train station and someone else picked up relatives at the bus station. Several relatives called at 3:30 p.m. alerting us that they were at Exit 52 on I-94 and should arrive in Ann Arbor in two hours. I knew then that everything would be OK. Let's get it on, Barbara.

Our prayers were answered as the snow stopped in the early evening with close to 10 inches of snow. We skidded all the way to the church. The organist, soloist, best man, and a couple of ushers and attendants were still trying to make it, but I no longer worried.

Someone found a snow removal service to help up get to the rehearsal dinner which was a beautiful affair. Back home and then another trip to the airport to pick up our son, Corey, at 10:00 p.m.

The next day, Sunday, the sun glistened on the silent snow. When we arrived at the church for the Renewal of Vows, over 200 guests had made it through that dangerous storm.

The Anniversary Party

By the time we made it to the Open House at our home, the snow was melting at a furious rate. The elegant buffet would not go to waste.

I never felt closer to friends and family.

Getting Better?

2009-12-06T19:41:00.000-08:00

Well, I thought I was better until this morning (at 4:30 a.m.) when the pain returned. I started my eye drops again and should see my doctor in the coming week. But I'm OK. Thanks for caring and stopping by to visit.

I miss you, I miss reading your blogs, and I miss blogging.

Who knew how therapeutic blogging was or how close you feel to people you don't see physically?

Thanks Kass

2009-11-21T13:35:00.000-08:00

Kass, thanks for checking. No I am not OK. I cannot sit at the computer too long because I'm having trouble with my eyes, severe pain and red eye, which the doctor thinks might be related to something else. Her gave me some eye drops, which I'm taking every two hours, and I'm doing better. I do hope to get back to blogging. I try for a few moments to check some sites, but as I said, the time has to be short.

Also, I've been very low, lately...just trying to get through each day. I really appreciate your concern.

Thank You, Ann Arbor

2009-11-10T21:42:00.000-08:00

“We begin to find and become ourselves when we notice how we are already found,

already truly, entirely, wildly, messily, marvelously who we were born to be.”

— Anne Lamott

Our life in Ann Arbor was often idyllic. The unspoiled charm of a small town is the polar opposite of our beloved, crowded, noisy Chicago. There are people in Ann Arbor who never want to leave town because they think there is nothing else for them to see. Often we took several of the boys' friends to Chicago with us and they were terrified.

We knew two men, one Black, one white, both in their 60s, who had never left the county and never wanted to leave. Both had the funds and ability to leave; they just could find no reason to visit anywhere else. I could never wrap my mind around this no matter how hard I tried. To them, Ann Arbor wasn't the center of the universe, it was the universe. I tried to understand how they had no interest in the outside world, but I couldn't.

We had mixed emotions about the city. It is a beautiful, tree filled city. The town and gown metaphor is appropriate. Perhaps that is why our emotions were mixed. We weren't used to being identified with only one group, and we refused to be restricted. There were speed bumps along the way but we survived.

Memories of Ann Arbor include the many conferences and seminars we developed, consulting trips, dinners, luncheons, more meetings, and learning to golf. We were active in clubs and fraternal organizations, served on charity boards and mentored many students. I shouldn't forget Hash Bash.

In early April the campus is flooded with thousands of pot smokers who smoke in broad daylight. The atmosphere is festive for Ann Arbor is know for being tolerant of pot.

In spring, the blooming forsythia, crabapple, and redbud trees encircle the city and you are dazzled by the beauty.

In summer the town feels deserted. The students are gone and you enjoy the empty spaces even though you know visitors will flood the city for the Art Fairs, a group of five award-winning art fairs that take place annually, the Summer Festival, and the Blues Festival.

Over 500,000 visitors attend the Art Fairs each year, which always take place during the third full week of July, running from Wednesday through Saturday. Many locals leave the city because it is so crowded. In addition to art exhibits, the fairs also feature music performances and children's activities.

In a twinkling students return and the city comes to life again. Soon, all too soon, the leaves begin to change.

Brilliant reds and audacious yellow leaves are everywhere. There are so many leaves that the city sends trucks to gather the fallen leaves. By Halloween, you know that winter is coming and you pray for just one sunny day a week.

Cold winds and drifting snow are on the way. Hurry, hurry, spring.

Did I like Ann Arbor? Yes. Am I glad to be gone? Yes. Do I miss it? Sometimes, I miss the intellectual stimulation and our friends. It was the perfect place to raise a family and perhaps that's the problem. It can dull your senses to the rest of the world. Because of Ann Arbor we were able to travel all over the world. We had dear friends and neighbors, an exciting lifestyle, and incredible professional opportunities. So, thank you Ann Arbor, for 31 endearing years.

Home is a place you grow up wanting to leave,
and grow old wanting to get back to.
~John Ed Pearce

Diamonds in the Rough

2009-11-05T21:35:00.000-08:00

One of the joys of Ann Arbor was the large number of students who came to our home. While many have done well, I have to mention two who spent so many years in our home that we think of them as "ours."

Rosalyn was a foster child in Detroit and once you finish high school you are out of the welfare system and on your own.

When she graduated from high school in 1992, we had formed our own foundation and was looking for someone to give a scholarship. I didn't know her but she applied for our scholarship for future teachers. When I read her essay, I stopped and declared her the winner. There was no need to read anymore. Her writing, about her childhood and ambitions, was that powerful.

She came to Eastern Michigan University, where I was working, so that I could watch over her. When I retired she transferred to the University of Michigan and watching over her was transferred to my husband. She worked several jobs the entire time she was a college student yet there were days she would come over, despondent and depressed, needing only a couple of dollars to make it through the semester. We would give her what she needed and away she would go...another semester down.

One summer we sent her to Atlanta to live with our son and his family. She babysat, worked in his office and became a "sister" to our grandchildren. This was a new experience, an intact family unit and it gave her more hope and determination.

Rosalyn with the granddaughters she baby sat one summer at our

50th Wedding Anniversary in 2005

Long story, short, she finished college, taught school in Detroit, bought her first home, and is completing her doctoral dissertation this year. Her new husband finished his doctorate this year. We are so proud of her.

Us at Rosalyn's Wedding in 2007 in Detroit with daughter-in-law, Kimberly

The other student I must mention is Tony. He began staying with us when he was in 5th Grade. My son told me about a boy who was staying alone in public housing. I sent him to fetch Tony and asked him about his circumstances. His mother was in the hospital so we called her and asked if he could stay with us until she was released. She cried and said yes. She was suffering with cancer so he spent many months with us.

She died when he was in middle school so he moved in again until his family could find someone to take him. After he left to live with his older brother, he still spent a lot of time in our home because he was one of Corey's best friends.

He completed college in four years, (1983) always working 2 or 3 jobs. We encouraged him to travel so he get out of the safe environment of Ann Arbor and see the rest of the world. He was so close to our family that our sons and my husband were groomsmen in his wedding. When we put our house up for sale in Michigan, he told us we couldn't sell his family home.

Again, to make a long story short, he received his Ph.D on his 30th birthday and is a Department Head at Arkansas State University in Jonesboro. Check him out, Janie, if this is close to you. Click link to see his page. Anthony Troy Adams

Tony in his office at Arkansas State

Both were without parents, both worked hard in school, both never gave up, both always had at least 2 or 3 jobs, both had outgoing personalities, both never felt sorry for themselves, and both achieved at a high level. They are my favorite Diamonds in the Rough.

Days with my Sister

2009-11-02T09:55:00.000-08:00

My sister had a good trip. She wanted the trip because a few months ago they removed part of her lung. Lung cancer. She will know about chemo when she returns to Chicago.

Shirley, Sister Mary, and Lorraine (My right hand)

Because a Keno game has only twelve cards and I had two other guests, she played in my place and won the final coverall. It was all of $11.00 but that is the largest pot we've ever had. You would think that she had won a million dollars.

The Keno Club

We call ourselves The Forgettables because no one remembers anything. I'm on the far right. Without friends, old age must be unbearable.

We didn't grow up in an affectionate family. Hugging and kissing were not something we saw or did. Our feelings were kept under wrap, only discussed in our heads. She is the sister who helped me through college.

Even though I had a scholarship I still needed pocket money to buy necessities, such as toothpaste. In 1953, at the age of 18, she earned $1.07 an hour and sent me $5.00 cash each week, enough to get me through. I didn't realize it at the time but she worked almost a full day just for me.

Sometimes another sister would send a few dollars and I was grateful for every cent. What memories surface when we're together, many are in earlier sections of this blog.

We shared a bed when we were children. She was the beautiful, popular sister and I was the skinny nerd. I was such a nerd that I started a Trigonometry Club and was President. Two people so different could not have been closer. She always had scores of boyfriends but I was lucky if I had one at a time.

When we moved from Chicago in 1970, I made my husband promise me that he would not fuss about the telephone bill because it was imperative that I always have access to her.

We're old now. She's 75 and I'm 72. Where did the years go? I still think of us as silly children sharing our thoughts and dreams. She wanted the glamourous life of a movie star and I was interested in academics. She's the only person who knows my deep dark secrets and yes, Jonas, my regrets.

This is rambling because I'm still processing the past and how it affects the future. I'm processing.

I guess my point is just love each other. Show affection. The end comes before we know it.

The '70s - One by One They Leave Home

2009-10-26T22:19:00.000-07:00

This will be my only post this week, the boys graduating high school and leaving home, because we have several out-of-town guests and I'm hosting my Keno and Bridge Clubs.

Old folks are busy in Las Vegas. We do volunteer work and have many social activities. We have one goal--enjoying the last years. We understand that this is not a dress rehearsal. A few friends have died and many have serious ailments. Those who can, help those who need some support and some of us have driving problems. I'm blessed to have some younger friends (50-65) who help me.

For example, tomorrow Lorraine will drive me to the strip to pick up my sister from Chicago, take her shopping, lunch in Henderson, NV with friends visiting from Ann Arbor, back home to finish dinner (Chicken Creole that cooks all day in the slow cooker), take sister back to strip, and start cleaning for Keno Club. I'm tired just thinking about it.

One by one, the boys became men and began to leave home.

I was not one of those mothers who was upset about the empty nest. However, I did make one mistake. It was August. David left for Howard University in Washington, DC on Saturday. Corey and Cameron left on Sunday for Morehouse College, and my husband and I planned to meet them in Atlanta on Monday. Yes, we had three children in college at the same time.

Since it was Sunday I cooked my normal BIG, BIG Sunday dinner (including a cake and 2 pies) and my husband never said a word. I cooked and cooked and cooked. When I set the table for five he finally spoke. He reminded me that it was only us. What did I plan to do with all that food? I looked at the table, fell into my chair, and cried for all of 15 minutes. I couldn't believe it. We were alone.

We had a tradition. In 1970, our kitchen table had five seats. As each child left, a chair went to the basement, to return only when that son was home. Now, our table had only two chairs.

*********************************************

David as a youngster

David graduated from high school in 1974, finished his degree from Morehouse College in 1978, and then went to Howard University where he received two degrees in architecture.

David and his prom date. Can you believe that suit?

Cameron and Corey as youngsters

Corey graduated from high school in 1979, went to Morehouse College on a track scholarship, and received his accounting degree.

Corey and his prom date

Cameron graduated in 1980 and went off to Morehouse.

Later he transferred to North Carolina in Greensboro, graduating with a degree in engineering. This move also helped him become active in the Civil Rights Movement and politics because two of his classmates and friends were Jonathan and Jesse Jackson, Jr. and he traveled with them and Jesse, Sr., on many missions.

I couldn't find Cam's prom picture, but I found this one of him escorting a deb.

Hope to see you next week.

Is That All There Is?

2009-10-24T00:09:00.000-07:00

Is that all there is, is that all there is

If that's all there is my friends, then let's keep dancing

Let's break out the booze and have a ball

If that's all there is

We live in an age restricted, guard-gated community that is built around a golf course. It's a lovely development of single story homes with great views of the mountains and the strip. We have a beautiful community center, an exceptional fitness center, a friendly beauty shop, and a bistro for quick meals. It's a perfect place to live the golden years.

The view from our back patio

Husband and his golfing buddies after winning medals

at the Senior Olympics

We read the obituaries in the newspaper and count how many of the recently departed are younger than us. We speculate about how many years we might have left. We remind our children what things in the house are valuable so they won't throw them away. We are conscious of the fact that "once you're over the hill you pick up speed" so "we dance as fast as we can."

Last week a neighbor told me that a coroner's car was parked down the street. We knew this meant someone had died. We didn't know who lived in the home and our sadness reminded us of our limited stay here on earth.

Because of the ages of our residents, death is a frequent visitor. There is generally a short discussion of who died, who are the survivors, and are any services planned in Las Vegas? And then, we move on. Life continues.

Earlier this week I was driving down the street and saw this big, red dumpster in the driveway where the coroner was seen. There were two younger adults in the garage scratching their heads and moving items into the dumpster.

My first thought was "and this is what it all amounts to." All the stuff we accumulate over the years may be just a bunch of junk to those we leave behind. How sad that we spend tons and tons of money on stuff, and when we die, others might see trash.

What memories did they trash? Who lived there? Did they have a good life? Are the people in the garage sad? How often did they visit the people who lived there? What will happen to the house? Did they put everything in the dumpster and were some things important enough to take with them? A song recorded by Peggy Lee floated through my morbid state of mind as I slowly drove away.

Is that all there is, is that all there is

If that's all there is my friends, then let's keep dancing

Let's break out the booze and have a ball

If that's all there is

The Seventies - Part III - Raising Boys

2009-10-22T11:20:00.000-07:00

You don't raise heroes, you raise sons.

And if you treat them like sons, they'll turn out to be heroes,

even if it's just in your own eyes.

~Walter M. Schirra, Sr.

Often people would ask what it was like in a house full of boys. It was noisy, messy, relaxed, and entertaining. If the boys are in sports, so are you. Some weekends we had four games to attend because we also had to attend Michigan's games, tailgates and post game parties. Fall revolved around football, winter was spent in the basketball stadium, spring meant hanging on the track field with a stop watch, and summers were spent on the baseball field.

Boys eat a lot and their friends like to eat, too. Even though I worked, I cooked dinner every night and they consumed everything. Sometimes I would rush home from work, start dinner, take boys to practice if it was my carpooling day, return home, finish dinner, and then go back to pick up boys. Around nine o'clock I would announce that the kitchen was closed.

Our boys didn't have a curfew because you felt so safe in Ann Arbor. If they were out and not coming home, they had to call by midnight so we could go to bed. Many times when they were with their friends they would just stay wherever they were. We never knew how many people were staying in our house until breakfast time.

We never had a set bed time or many rules. You could stay up all night, talk on the phone as long as you wanted, but you had to get up on time for school. We thought having too many rules gave them too many opportunities to break them and we wanted them to think for themselves. We stressed leadership instead of following; we stressed giving instead of taking. They received average grades in school but we were satisfied if they were doing their best.

Our complaints? Cluttered rooms, funky athletic shoes, dirty uniforms that even Tide couldn't clean, and their fussing over whose turn it was to cut the grass. We stayed out of that argument. They had to figure that one out themselves. However, we are really proud of them.

My husband liked to say that he raised 4 children, me being the fourth one. I was so young (17 when we married) that I missed a part of growing up and missed single adulthood all together. I was raised by a single mother with 5 sisters and 1 brother and I didn't know that much about male needs. I just did my best and thankfully, they were, and still are, fun to be around.

There are times that I regret what I must have missed because my attention could never just focus on one thing. My mind at times was scattered and there are things I don't remember because it was all happening so fast.

To the younger readers, please enjoy your children now. I still can't believe how quickly it all went.

The Family in 1977

Check out our afros.

We celebrated birthdays on a regular basis.

Moody's 40th Birthday with my girl friend Mary Hamilton in the back.

Sports were really important.

Corey and Cameron played from Junior Football through high school.

Don't forget basketball

Corey was co-captain of the basketball team but went to Morehouse on a track scholarship.

David played football in high school and for Morehouse College.

Son, you outgrew my lap, but never my heart. ~Author Unknown

The Seventies - Part II

2009-10-19T20:23:00.000-07:00

Stranger in a Strange Land

Robert Heinlein (A favorite author )

We moved to Ann Arbor in August 1970, and into our new home on our 16th Wedding Anniversary where we continued a moving tradition. Moody goes to work on moving day and I stay with the movers. He leaves from the old house and returns to the new place. Instead of going out for dinner, a special home cooked meal is planned.

Moody with David and Corey

At the time, Ann Arbor's Black population was very small (It is still less than 9%.) and there had been racial incidents in the city and schools. When our son, David, graduated from high school in 1974, he had less than 15 Black students in his graduating class. By the time Corey and Cameron finished, there were more Black students.

Ann Arbor is kid friendly and very diverse because of the University. We began to have friends from all over the world. We didn't realize it at the time, but the boys were being prepared for a multicultural world.

We were the only Black family in the neighborhood and the only problem we had was a neighbor next door. He definitely wasn't ready for us. He would lay down a string when he cut his grass to make sure he only cut on his property, watched the boys when they cut our grass or a serviceman came to work, told our friends not to park in front of his house, and came over often in an attempt to harass us. It was downright funny when he watered his lawn because he had a hard time keeping the sprinkler only on his property. He was so distressed that he finally moved.

Cameron in the early 70s

The best neighbors in the world, part of the Ludema family

First day of school, 1971

Family - Mid '70s

Nineteen-seventy was the year six Black men were killed by local policemen in Augusta, Georgia and school desegregation was still being fought in courts. Ronald Reagan, then Governor of California, signed into law a bill that prohibited the busing of students "for any purpose or any reason without the written permission of the parent or guardian." Protests against integration were held in the North and South. This made Moody's job very relevant. Additionally, students at the University of Michigan had just staged the Black Action Movement, securing demands for 10% African American student enrollment and increased African American faculty.

Moody's job meant traveling to districts and universities all over the country. He was conducting research and workshops, testifying in Courts, writing grants and continuing his study of Black Superintendents. The following article can explain PEO much better than I can. (Click article to read full size.)

He finished his doctorate and instead of a party we went with a group of friends to see Muddy Waters at a club in downtown Chicago. We didn't know that they were recording the session, and as usual asked Muddy for a particular song. We had been following him for years in small bars and clubs in Chicago and he was familiar with our requests. Years later, I brought home a new album by Muddy, and gave it to Moody. All of a sudden he shouted, "It's our song." The album was recorded on graduation night and you could hear Muddy dedicating "She's Nineteen Years Old" to his friends from Ann Arbor, Michigan. Wow. We were overjoyed.

True riches can be measured by the friends one has and we have been blessed with many. The Moores went to Central State with us and they welcomed us to Ann Arbor as soon as we arrived. They made sure we got to meet their friends and introduced us to their Church, Bethel A.M.E., which we promptly joined.

Our home was always filled with students and professors working on research projects, seminars, or just wanting to talk about a dissertation.

Moody and Freddie, one his doctoral students. We loved to mess up Freddie's afro so he would have to pat it back in order. Freddie was pretty and always had a beautiful woman on his arm.

By 1971, I had a full time job, working as a human relations specialist and assisting the social studies coordinator. A report was written our first year in Ann Arbor called the Humaness Report that sought more integration and inclusion in the district. Our focus was integrating multiculturalism into the curriculum. This was extremely difficult at the time because some people were not ready to make changes to the curriculum and others didn't believe that people of color had done enough to be included. Still, there were many who embraced the new ideas and helped Ann Arbor become one of the early districts to embrace multiculturalism. You'd be surprised at the ugly mail you get when you have a position like this, but it goes with the territory.

Party at our home to meet the new superintendent, Bruce McPherson, as he talks with the Moores.

After a couple of years a new superintendent came to town and he made me take a job as a building administrator. When I said made, I mean it. At first he asked and I said no. So he looked at me and figured out how to do it. He eliminated the job I had. Therefore, I had to take the job.

It was a middle school with three houses (grades 6,7,8) and instead of principals, they called us House Leaders. I kept that job for about three years. Loved the kids but missed teaching and went back two years as a teacher at Burns Park. That lasted about two years. Bruce only stayed a couple of years and we became good friends. Then another new superintendent recruited me into central administration as Coordinator for Staff Development and Multicultural Education, a position I held until I was hired by Eastern Michigan University as an assistant to the Dean in the College of Education in the '80s.

Halloween was big at Burns Park. Yes, that's me in my husband's uniform.

I was one of those teachers who liked to dress up when teaching a particular subject

As the boys grew, so did my responsibilities at work. Since Moody traveled a lot, I was often responsible for cooking breakfast and getting the boys off to school, instead of him. This was a tragedy in our house, because as I said earlier, I love my bed. They had to leave earlier than me and would wait for me to call them before they got up. They loved my running down the hallway, clapping my hands, and telling them to get up because we were late. They still imitate me when we have family gatherings. Their next words would be, "burnt toast" as they knew my rushing around would produce an ill-prepared meal.

We have always been big on entertaining. I think it's because when I was little we always had a house full of people. One memorable party was the one we gave for Jesse Jackson when he received an honorary degree from Michigan. This is when he was in his prime and over 200 people attended, not all invited. People came from everywhere. Fortunately, the weather was nice and we could use the back yard in addition to the house. Friends helped prepare the food, people brought their children to meet him and have their picture taken, flowers were everywhere, the music was soft and smooth, and no one wanted to leave and go home.

Chris and Hank at the party

Lunch with two friends, Letitia and Joetta

The Seventies - Part I

2009-10-16T10:15:00.000-07:00

He who rides a tiger cannot dismount when he pleases. ~Author Unknown

The idealism of the '60s curved 180 degrees into the cynicism of the '70s as Watergate took center stage. The flower children began to wilt.

For me, music tells a decade's story. As Dick Clark said, "Music is the soundtrack of your life." Marvin Gaye asked, What's Going On, and we responded, Mercy, Mercy, Me. Roberta Flack wanted to know Where is the Love? and Aretha told us to Respect ourselves. Mandela was in jail but Donny Hathaway sang, Someday, We'll All Be Free. Inexplicably, living in a housing project was Good Times. Was it Just My Imagination or were we Up, Up, and Away?

I always liked to stay in bed, sleeping or not, just enjoying the warmth and security of my bed. It's a sunny day in July 1970. The phone rings. I answer. Someone wants us in Ann Arbor for a job interview for my husband. Big joke and I tell them that. Hang up phone. Go back to sleep. Friend calls husband that night and tell him about the call, but they want to know if his wife is crazy. He doesn't answer. He's afraid to tell them the truth, might hurt job interview.

OK. Let's take the free trip but promise me you won't take the job. Town too small. I love Chicago and couldn't bear to leave my family. We go to Ann Arbor. He breaks promise and takes job at the University of Michigan. We say good-bye to family and friends in Chicago. They don't want us to go. We pack. We move. And so begins a new adventure that will last 31 years.

We found an apartment with four bedrooms and three bathrooms to live in until we found a house. Pure luxury after living in a 900 sq. ft. home in Chicago. It was strange, we could live anywhere. No one cared that we were Black. They only wanted to know if we had the down payment.

I missed Chicago so much that I drove back 27 times the first year. Right after the children left for school I would get in my car, drive to Chicago, chit chat, drive back to Ann Arbor to fix dinner. It was a 240 mile trip and my record, that is documented, is two hours and 40 minutes.

No one was hiring and I needed a job. I discovered that the school system needed someone who knew the Taba Curriculum Development Model, a concept development model for social studies. I researched the model until I knew it well enough to get through the interview process and finally found myself a job. It was only part-time but it kept me off of I-94.

This was a totally different lifestyle for us. It was casual, free-thinking, intellectual, liberal, and everybody knew everything about you. In Ann Arbor, football is everything. Go Blue!

We finally found a home in an area called Glacier Highlands, with an elementary school in walking distance. Plus, they only had like 20-25 children per classroom. We were the only African Americans in the neighborhood and our children had white friends for the first time in their lives. They adapted and found their new life exciting and rewarding. You didn't need to lock your doors and boys and girls popped in at any time of the day.

Our home in Ann Arbor. I loved that redbud tree.

Our oldest son went to middle school the first year and the younger two were in elementary school. Of course, they all loved sports, and Ann Arbor was the perfect place for young families with athletic children. Before we knew it our schedule was bursting. I think this might work out.

David, third from left on back row, baseball team

Corey pitching

Cameron, after falling off his bicycle

It does not matter how slowly you go so long as you do not stop.

~Confucius

A Salute to my Grandchildren

2009-10-11T21:29:00.000-07:00

Grandchildren are God's way of compensating us for growing old.

~Mary H. Waldrip

On October 10, 2009, I took this picture of Kelsey, my youngest grandchild. She was preparing to go to her homecoming dance. It was a nostalgic shock for me because I knew then that I had no more grand babies.

No more grandma scary ghost stories until Katelyne cried;

no more babysitting, giving them candy, gum, and cookies, and keeping them up beyond bedtime;

no more, "Grandma, make some macaroni and cheese;"

no more, "Grandma, you're crazy;"

no more fashion shows with new clothes for school;

no more, "Grandma, I having a heat stroke," when they were tired of museum trips;

no more, "Grandma, I didn't break it, the floor broke it.;"

no more holding their hands when we cross the street;

no more loud laughs at ridiculous jokes;

no more Judge Judy plays;

they are now grown.

So what's a grandma to do? I want to thank my grandchildren for some wonderful, playful days. I want to thank them for being such disciplined athletes and scholars, yet keeping the ability to have fun and enjoy life. I want to thank them for keeping me young in heart. I wish them health and happiness. I want them to keep their joie de vivre. I know, it's getting sappy, but trust me, I'm feeling very old right now, yet happy to see what wonderful human beings they are.

So, please allow Grandma Moody to showcase them for a few moments.

The first grandchild, Charles, III

In 2007, Charles received his bachelor's degree from Morehouse College, and is a master's candidate at the University of Georgia and then plans to continue towards his Ph.D. He likes to tease the girls that he is my favorite grandson. Of course, he is.

Karia as a youngster

Today, Karia is an aspiring actress and singer. She was an intern on a production this summer and has also attended Yale's Summer Drama Program. She sang at our 50th Wedding Anniversary Celebration.

Karia received her bachelor's, with honors, from Spelman College in 2009. She is pictured here with her proud parents, Karla and C. David Moody, Jr. They live in the Atlanta area.

Karia at Kourtney's graduation

Grandma with Kelsey, Kourtney, and Katelyne

Kourtney

Kourtney, with her parents, Kimberly and Corey, was named one of the top ten student-athletes of Nevada in 2008. She was the top female athlete in Las Vegas and graduated high school with a 4.5 gpa. She is on the track team at Michigan. Go Blue!

Prom 2008

Katelyne

Katelyne and Yul

Prom 2009

She graduated high school with honors and is a freshman at Purdue University.

Many say that she is just a younger version of me.

Katelyne is an outstanding soccer player

Kelsey, Kim, Katelyne, Kourtney, and Corey

Kelsey and Katelyne perform at our 50th Anniversary

Who's your Uncle? Uncle Cameron has no children but loves his nieces and nephew.

Kelsey

Kelsey and Malcolm, ready for Homecoming 2009

Thank You,

Grandma Moody

The Sixties - Part IV - Serendipity

2009-10-09T23:48:00.000-07:00

Tough Times Never Last But Tough People Do

In an earlier post I stated that our life has always been ruled by serendipity in a beneficial way. Mystical occurrences are commonplace and an invisible presence seem to follow and help us. For example, we never discovered how we got our first apartment and never discovered who recommended my husband for his job in the '50s as a lab technician. We were blessed the way some things just kind of happened. We just went with the flow.

Twice in my life, it was expected that I was die. The first time was in elementary school when I was ill with pneumonia. It was June, the school year was almost over, so they took up a collection for flowers for my funeral, which was expected to be sometimes in July. The second time was in 1962, when pneumonia presented itself again. After spending three days in the hospital, I left, because the bills that were accumulating made me sicker. Somehow, I made it again.

After the birth of our third child, we were having financial problems. Back in those days female teachers didn't take maternity leave because they wanted to, nor could you use sick days for pregnancy. You had to leave in your fifth month and returned, with a doctor's note, when your baby was six months old. During that year of "leave" you received no pay so it was tough.

Neighbors, like the Wootens, used to bring us meals, claiming they had accidentally cooked too much food. My sister, Susie, would accidentally buy too much food for her refrigerator and ask us to eat it so it wouldn't spoil.

Front Row: Sister Susie, who would bring food, Moody's sister, Martha

It was 1962, and Moody was a substitute teacher making $25 a day, our only income at the time, with no fringe benefits. He came home from work, and asked me how we were doing. I told him that if we had $300 everything would be OK. A moment later, the doorbell rang. It was a special delivery with a $300 check from his sister, Mary. In the letter she wrote that she had been thinking of us and sent the check in case we needed something.

Moody, Martha, George, Mary, Joe, James, Horace, Albert

Seated is their Father, Professor Moody

One day, in August 1964, we were were over to a neighbor's house listening to his new stereo, which was high tech at the time. The neighbor wanted to hear my new Dinah Washington's album so I went home to get it. The phone rang while I was at home and I hesitated to answer it because I wanted to go back to hear the new stereo. Fortuitously, I lifted the receiver, and it was the Evanston School District, one of the best districts in the state, offering my husband a science teaching position. Because it was so late in the school year, they were offering jobs to the first people they found at home. I ran back to the neighbor's house, shouting the good news. Suppose I hadn't answered that call?

In 1968, when my husband was a school superintendent in Harvey, Illinois, he was sitting at his desk while his secretary took lunch. The telephone rang and he answered it. It was a wrong number. The caller was looking for someone in East Chicago Heights, and instead of hanging up, he identified the party for the caller and got the number for her. They continued talking and the woman told him about her job, which was providing funds for people who needed grants. Moody said, "That's ironic. I'm looking for someone to fund my dissertation."

Well, before you knew it, he was on his way to New York to meet with Hylan Lewis, Dixie Moon, and Dr. Kenneth Clark, the psychologist who provided much of the research in the Brown v. Board of Education case that desegregated schools. It was a fruitful meeting and the Metropolitan Applied Research Center decided to fund his study to form the organization and help him complete his dissertation.

He wanted to study Black superintendents because there was zero research on the topic. Therefore, his dissertation had no review of the literature, usually a very vital part of a study. At the time there were less than twenty in the entire country, all of them male in Black districts. He was keeping a roster as he traveled to meetings around the country. His idea was to form an organization, the National Alliance of Black Superintendents that eventually grew to include all Black educators, the National Alliance of Black Educators (NABSE) that at its peak had over 10,000 members. (More about the organization in later posts.) This happened because he was nice to someone who dialed the wrong number.

We try not to dwell on disaster. He sees the glass as half full and I see the glass as half empty. I began to tip over to his side when I heard a speaker in Tulsa. She told the story about a young man who fell into the river after his boat tipped over. He could not swim and was in danger of drowning. His father, who also could not swim, watched in agony while standing on the shore. He found a rope, threw it to his son, and began to reel him in. The young man clutched the rope and as he began to pull, noticed there was a break in the rope. Danger still awaited. He yelled to his father and asked him what should he do. His father examined the rope, shouted to his son to reach beyond the break, which he did, and the father hauled his son to safety.

Dedication of Martin Luther King, Jr. School

That sort of summarizes our life. We try to reach beyond the breaks.

Hard Times Will Make a Monkey Eat Pepper and Swear It's Sweet

The Sixties - Part III

2009-10-06T23:30:00.000-07:00

Let us be grateful to people who make us happy,

they are the charming gardeners who make our souls blossom. ~Marcel Proust

My speed (or drug of choice) was racing with my sister, Mary. She drove a Buick and I drove a Cadillac, both with BIG engines. We wouldn't think of driving with only six cylinders.

This is my sister, Mary with her husband, who raced with me.

My mother, in front of the Cadillac I would use to race

We each had three children and after midnight, we would load the kids into our respective cars, leave our husbands at home, and find a lonely stretch of road on the far south side of Cottage Grove Avenue. We would wait at a red light and at the first inkling of the light changing to green, we would literally push the pedal to the metal. The first person to reach the next red light would win the race. Our children, in the back seats, with no seat belts, would jump and cheer us on as we would race over 100 mph on a CITY STREET. We were crazy and didn't even know it, but it was fun. Can you imagine that happening today? What was the most foolish thing you did in your twenties?

On all family road trips, I was the chief driver, and I was always trying to set a record. We didn't worry about gas mileage because a gallon of gasoline only cost between 30 and 35 cents. The children preferred my driving because they liked speed, also, and Daddy drove too slowly and carefully for them.

My mother had a large old-fashioned porch. It was not unusual to find at least ten of us sitting on the porch on any given day. The children waited for the ice cream truck and we hoped that my Mom was cooking dinner. As neighbors walked by, everyone spoke. It was like living in a small town.

Once, and only once, I took Moody to the Opera House to see Boris Godunov. Since it was our first trip to the opera, I borrowed clothes from my sister, so I could look like I belonged. He slept through most of the opera and I awoke him during intermission so we could go buy a drink. In the lobby we saw his former ROTC Colonel and his wife. Mrs. Ray was very elegant; she had a diamond pin on a sleek, black silk dress. Every hair was in place and her make-up was impeccable. Colonel Ray was tall, dark, and handsome in his black suit and stiff white shirt. They looked like they belonged.

We exchanged greetings and Mrs. Ray asked if we were "patrons of the opera." While I tried to compose some reply that didn't sound provincial, Moody responded. "No," he said. "We're just here because we have free tickets. This dude started dying in the first act. Every time I think he is about to die, he jumps ups and sings another song. Will this guy ever die?" Stunned, everyone just looked at him and smiled. In 1989, when we traveled to Russia, we saw a statue of Godunov in a museum. I pointed it out to him, saying, "Look, Moody, your opera." "Well," he responded, "that guy finally died."

As popular culture changed so did the music. The music of Motown flooded the country and many teenagers formed groups, sang on corners, and waited for Barry Gordy to discover them. Motown is credited, by many, with helping music to "crossover." Before, Blacks listened to so-called race music on Black stations and white radio stations did not play Black music. Some Black music could only be played on white stations if the song had been "covered" by a white group. The sixties changed that.

We loved our parties

The new music meant new dances. Boy, did we dance during the sixties. The Twist started the rage in non-contact dancing. You could dance with a partner or dance alone. No one cared. There was the Mess Around, the Hucklebuck, the Fly, the Watusi, the Stroll, the Mashed Potato, the Hitchhike, the Monkey, the Chicken, the Jerk, the Stroll, and many more.

This is a picture from the Snowstorm of the Century, January 1967. This storm provided the biggest disruption of the city since the Chicago Fire of 1871. A record 23 inches of snow fell, with drifts of over 6 feet. The city was paralyzed with the airports, schools, and many business closed. Cars and buses were abandoned. My husband could not get home from Evanston but I made it home. Evelyn Gay's husband brought friends and literally picked up our cars in the parking lot at our school and placed them into "ruts" so we could make it home. The drive home was terrifying. You didn't dare leave the ruts because you would get stuck in a drift. A fifteen minute trip took almost an hour. Once I arrived home, neighbors gathered to determine what food each of us had and how we could share to make sure no one was hungry. A few of us trudged up to 95th Street, looking for any open store and buying any staples we could find. This is truly one of those times when you had to be there to appreciate it.

Our life has been filled with contrasting images. One benefit of the '60s (for us) was the rich man we met who used to fly us first class across the country to integrate parties and dinners. We stayed in fancy, five star hotels and had a driver at our disposal. He lived in a fabulous home in the Bay Area Hills and he introduced us to a life we only knew about in the movies. Riding in a limo after being shot at in Mississippi can jar your senses. Which is real? Having cocktails in a home that overlooked the bright lights of the city before being chauffeured to a five star restaurant to eat foods we didn't even know existed can awaken your awareness. We had no idea how large the gap was between the rich and the poor. It strengthened our resolve to do more for others, especially in the field of education.

Husband with two of our children, 1961

L. to R. - Sisters Mary and Evelyn, Betty, and Valjean

During this decade we began a soon to be life-long experience of bringing other children into our home and working with young people on an individual basis. They call it mentoring now. I wish I had kept count of the number of children who call us Mom and Dad. We wanted to adopt a couple of my eighth graders but were told that we were too young and already had three children. So, we did the next best thing. They just came when they could and we helped when we could. We didn't know that our mentoring would increase exponentially in the next three decades.

Article in paper when I worked in Park Forest

On June 20, 1969, we took the children fishing with my sister, her husband, and their children. It was a relaxing, carefree day. In early evening, we rushed home to sit in front of our television to see something President Kennedy had asked Americans to do. We watched with disbelief as Americans walked on the moon. It was riveting. The entire country was enthralled as new heroes were born. My mom, and she was not alone, refused to believe that they were on the moon. She said they were televising this from Wyoming or Montana.

One of the most dynamic decades was winding down. We didn't realize it but our time in Chicago was coming to an end.

Bookends of the '60s:

Kennedy and Nixon;

cold war and real war;

segregation and integration;

black and white television and color television;

talking about space travel and traveling to the moon;

back of the bus and anywhere you want to sit;

colonialism and independence;

race music stations and music on all stations

Relationships are all there is.

Everything in the universe only exists because it is in relationship to everything else.

The Sixties- Counterculture Part II

2009-10-04T13:18:00.000-07:00

I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: "We hold these truths to be self-evident: that all men are created equal."

I have a dream that one day on the red hills of Georgia the sons of former slaves and the sons of former slave owners will be able to sit down together at the table of brotherhood.
I have a dream that one day even the state of Mississippi, a state sweltering with the heat of injustice, sweltering with the heat of oppression, will be transformed into an oasis of freedom and justice.
I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character.
I have a dream today.
Martin Luther King, Jr.

There was so much going on in the '60s. It was like a crazy quilt and trying to make sense of the decade can be mind boggling. We witnessed a shared history that was filtered by our life's experiences. To some the decade of the sixties was all about rock and roll, drugs, and free love (helped along with the pill) as a protest to conservatism and social repression of earlier years.

To others it was the rise of feminism: burning bras, ditching restrictive girdles, and trying find a ladder to climb up and break the glass ceiling. Others spent part of the '60s protesting and marching against the war in Vietnam, leading to the downfall of President Johnson. Still, others were immersed in the civil rights movement, marching, sitting in at lunch counters, and riding the bus to freedom. It was an exciting and radical decade. Somehow many of these causes, while separate, intersected and built to a huge crescendo by the end of the decade. Remember the 1968 Democratic Convention in Chicago? That was wild.

My Aunt Osie in the 60s

What did we do during the 60s? We missed the wild side of the sixties. I was never a flower child, we didn't do drugs, and didn't go to Woodstock. Our chief focus was the civil rights movement, raising our young family, and working hard to achieve the so-called American Dream. However, we were like Rosa Parks, tired of being at the back of the bus. The seminal event of the '60s to us was King's March on Washington where he delivered his prophetic I Have A Dream Speech.

Rosa Parks was one of the gentlest women I've ever met. She was also composed and friendly.

We were old enough to understand the power and passion of his speech, and young enough to have hope and optimism for the future. We were on the cusp of a new way of life for Black Americans. Our parents, who were born in the late 1800s, did not have the same confidence. They had seen too much and been the recipients of many broken promises and prejudices.

The Sixties changed America and the world. A blog is not the place to rewrite an entire decade, and much of what happened outside of my home is a blur because teaching school (sometimes two shifts), working on my master's degree, and being a mom/housewife took all of my energy. Sometimes I was overwhelmed. My husband was a school superintendent in the southern suburbs, worked on his Ph.D at Northwestern in the northern suburbs, and we lived in the city. It was tough for both of us, but worth every minute.

Central State Alumni Club picnic in the 60s

Easter was a big Day. You dressed in your best. Sons Corey and Cam with me.

My mother with four of her 10 brothers and sisters. The aunt on the far right is still alive and well at 102.

David and his daddy in the '60s

The Moody Clan in Louisiana, late '60s for my husband's mother funeral. He had six brothers and two sisters.

The 60s impacted the entire world.

Africa awoke and 32 nations received their independence from colonialism.
The first African America mayor of a major American city was elected.
James Meredith registered at Ole Miss.
Martin Luther King, Jr. won a Nobel Peace Prize. He was the second African American to win it, Ralph Bunche in 1950 was the first.
A wave of assassinations threaten to disrupt the movement.
Thurgood Marshall was appointed to the Supreme Court.
Sidney Poitier won an Oscar for Lilies of the Field.
Bill Cosby starred in a TV series, I Spy.

The times were a-changing.

Thanks, Blogger Friends

2009-09-29T19:11:00.000-07:00

You didn't know this, but I was going through a difficult time in my life when I started this blog. I was depressed and looking for something to do while wondering about my purpose in life and what had I contributed to this world after being in it for 72 years. Yes, I know that's selfish, but what is life is we don't know our place? My life has always been full with family responsibilities, work, travel, clubs, friends, and other activities, yet I still felt there was something I wanted to do.

As you can see by the pictures, I am blessed with a beautiful family: one faithful husband of 54 years who has watched me do many wacky things in life and shook his head in amazement as I continued along my own, not always sterling path; three successful sons who grew up with me and brought me much joy; two wonderful daughters-in-law, who call me Mom; five exceptional, witty, intelligent grandchildren; and five surviving, supportive siblings, who never got the breaks I had.

We have fun as a family and they give me lots of love but I was still struggling with many issues, especially from my childhood and being young at a time when low expectations were held for women and Blacks. I was itching to do something...didn't know what, but something. My head felt like it was exploding with pleas for an outlet.

I tried painting, after retiring, as something to do, but most of my paintings ended up stacked in my garage or in the hands of friends and family who knew I needed a pick-me-up and wanted to let me know that I was OK. Painting was an experiment in learning something new because I just like learning. The journey is what is important to me and I plan to continue learning as much as I can about painting.

One day, with nothing to do, I was surfing the web, and accidentally ran across an article about blogging. What the hell is that? I read some more and thought, "why not?" Give it a try. I stumbled, got up, and tried again. I tried blogspot and wordpress and thought that blogspot was easier. I timidly put my foot in the water, and walked out into a beautiful, welcoming pond. I knew about my life and hoped that if I poured those memories into the pond, perhaps a ripple in the water would bring me some comfort and knowledge. It's also cheaper than a therapist.

I'll never forget the feeling when I saw the first comment. What? Someone actually read what I wrote! What a thrill. Then someone else read it (or looked at my artblog) and I felt rejuvenated. I visited other blogs and began to connect with other bloggers, people, I called in my mind, blogger friends. I even visit blogs in foreign languages that I don't understand and feel connected.

So, this is my tribute, to you, my blogger friends. You and your blogs have helped me more than I can tell you. I won't call names because I will forget someone, but offer a few examples of how you helped: kudos from family members, encouragement from a teacher, a crucial perspective about my life from the Village Idiot, (that's not an insult, that's what he lists as his occupation) intellectual stimulation from someone in advertisement, and the joys of motherhood from a baker.

You have done more than you will ever know. You have erased my depression. It might be an online virtual life but if it helps me with my offline life, it has done its job. I am more at peace and grateful for your presence in my life.

Thanks, hugs, and kisses.

I am old and need to remember.

You are young and need to learn.

If I forget the words

Will you remember the music?

from Swaziland

The Sixties - Part I

2009-09-26T18:57:00.000-07:00

You must be the change you wish to see in the world.

~Mahatma Ghandi

If you are neutral in situations of injustice, you have chosen the side of the oppressor.

Bishop Desmond Tutu

The 60s were a whirlwind, a time of tumultuous social, cultural, and political change. The decade opened with optimism and ended with radical changes in every aspect of American life. It was a decade of freedom riders, sit-ins, voting rights drives, demonstrations, the rise of the Kennedys, the horrific bombing of the Church in Birmingham, the War on Poverty, boycotts, feminism, space exploration and the murders of John, Bobby, Martin, and Malcolm.

Our first new house - 9544 S. Union - Chicago

During the sixties we moved into our first new home, (mortgage payment, including taxes, $118.00) had two more children, worked every day, earned my master's degree from the University of Chicago and my husband began work on his Ph.D at Northwestern. He started teaching and by 1968 was the first Black Superintendent of Schools in Harvey, Illinois. I taught in the Chicago Public Schools and by the end of the 60s was a multicultural consultant in the Park Forest, Illinois School District. We thought we would spend the rest of our life in Chicago and didn't have a clue that our stay in the Second City was coming to an end.

Our life settled into a comfortable rhythm. We were active in our alumni club and spent a considerable amount of time raising money for the college and encouraging young people to stay in school. We also became politically active because Chicago was Mayor Daley's town and politics was the way to get things done.

I loved teaching, much more than administration where I spent most of my working years. I had 52 students one year in an eighth grade class. Our school was so crowded that we had to go on double shift. (8:00 a.m. - Noon and Noon - 4:00 p.m.) Many days I taught both shifts and made double salary. The school was one of the poorest in the city but the children were hungry to learn. There were many gang bangers in my class but I never had a problem. When they were planning a gang fight they were polite enough to notify us so that the students who weren't in gangs could get home before the fight.

We had school parties at my home and some of the students would come out on the weekends to help me work in my garden. Once I asked a group why they used their weekend that way and they told me that they liked working in the yard because after working they could take a bath. (They didn't have a tub at home.) Each class was offered a reunion party at my home when they finished high school and at one party only one of my eighth grade students was not graduating. She was so impressed that she vowed to go back and complete high school.

Reunion at my house of eighth graders that I taught when they finished high school

The girl on the right in the maroon sweater became an editor at Essence Magazine.

The girl on the far left is the one who went back to finish high school.

Another former student, who is now a judge.

We ran into each other in the Bahamas at a conference.

Our segregated neighbor was very friendly and safe. There were a few white neighbors who refused to move no matter what the "blockbusters" offered them. We knew each other's life stories including the warts and successes, socialized together, and looked out for each other's children. We walked to the neighborhood park to watch the boys' baseball games, shoveled snow together to keep our street clear, shared food when someone didn't have any, and spent evenings on our porches where we gossiped, discussed daily happenings in the world, and made plans for the future.

We supported King when he came to Chicago, and sat up the night he was killed watching parts of the city burn. Could not understand the burning of the businesses that supported our community. It was a very terrifying, violent time. It was frightening because no one could predict what would happen next, like the time I was entangled in one of the marches with King and thought I would be killed by the angry protesters.

We were shot at twice during the 60s. The scariest one was the time we were driving with the boys to see my husband's family in Louisiana. There were no hotels we could stay at along the way. The interstate system wasn't completed so much of the trip was on two lane roads. We would pull into the woods to eat the food we had packed, to take naps, or to relieve ourselves as it was a very long trip with few facilities available for Blacks. A truck load of white guys saw us in Mississippi and they had a truck load of rifles which they started using on us. Luckily I was napping under the steering wheel and took off immediately, driving over 100 mph. We did manage to escape. It happened again in Cairo, Illinois so it wasn't just the South. We called the North, up South.

Sometimes, a neighbor would light up a grill and other neighbors would rush into their homes to gather meat for an impromptu, communal bar-b-que. On one of those occasions when we went to get our meat, I looked out our front window before we returned, and saw an army car parked in front of the neighbor's home and two soldiers walking up to their front door.

"No." I screamed. I knew immediately what they would say. Our neighbor's son, Richard, the favorite child of the neighborhood, was killed in Vietnam. We had a funeral to plan.

All of a sudden Richard's father ran wailing out of his house. The men in the neighborhood chased and caught him. A loud shriek from the house sent the women rushing to comfort his mother. Waiting with his parents for his body to be returned was difficult and agonizing. To honor Richard we put flags in our yards and became anti-war zealots.

One poignant memory of the 60s involved a visit we made to see a neighbor who was confined at a mental institution. While we were visiting, I was surprised to see a friend from my high school dance class pirouetting down the hallway. We were startled and taken aback when we saw each other, asking each other why was she in this place.

An older, wise woman, who was quietly rocking in a rocking chair and was also a patient, glanced at us and made a pronouncement I've never forgotten.

"Well," she declared. "Like I've always said. You never know who you'll meet in the crazy house."

What is you most memorable moment of the '60s?

When we remember we are all mad, the mysteries disappear and life stands explained.

~Mark Twain

Madness need not be all breakdown. It may also be break-through.
~R.D. Laing, The Politics of Experience

Dusty Books Thoughts

2009-09-23T20:35:00.000-07:00

A good book should leave you... slightly exhausted at the end.

You live several lives while reading it.

~William Styron, interview, Writers at Work, 1958

You know you've read a good book when you turn the last page

and feel a little as if you have lost a friend. ~Paul Sweeney

I love to read. I read everything: cereal boxes, milk cartons, several newspapers a day, nutrition information on food packages, magazines, fine print on contracts, anything with words.

When we moved to Las Vegas, we gave away over two thousand books. It was pure torture. We had the luxury of a library in our Ann Arbor home and spent many hours at book stores, book signings, and book readings. We now live in an open one-story house with few walls. However, we still brought several hundred with us because I need my books. With my Kindle, I have replaced some of the books we left. I will loan books to you but a few books never leave my presence, such as Middle Passage, by Charles Johnson. I probably won't even let you lift it and turn the pages. Do you have a book you would not loan to anyone?
There are various reasons I read. Sometimes I read for knowledge, sometimes I read for style. At different times I've had favorite authors. For example, when I read One Hundred Years of Solitude and Love in the Time of Cholera by Gabriel José de la Concordia García Márquez, he was my favorite. Who is/are your favorite author(s)?

Sometimes I am a lazy reader, only reading for escape. Then I choose a mystery, preferably one written by Michael Connelly or John Sanford. I prefer Michael Connelly and hate it when I finish one of his books because I've read all of his books and know that it might be almost a year before he has a new book. It was hard to accept new lead characters in any of his books because I thought Harry Bosch, his character who is a detective in Los Angeles, was my friend. When he introduced a new character, Michael Haller, in the Lincoln Lawyer, I was prepared to dislike him, but bought it anyway. "A trial is a contest of lies. And everybody in the courtroom knows this." Well, I loved him and now I have a new best friend.

Love first editions. I always bought my books on the first day they were published. In Ann Arbor I would browse used books stores hoping to find a gem and got lucky on many occasions. However, one of the best used book store I've discovered is at the Milwaukee airport.

All of my books that are signed by the author are kept in a special place. My children know this and I told them that when I die and they clean out the house, do not throw these away.

When I took a Children's Literature course in college we were required to read at least 100 books, including all Newberry and Caldecott Medal winners and the runner-ups. (Since it was a long time ago, there were as many winners.) I was in heaven. Piece of cake.

I must be obsessive compulsive because if I discover a new (to me) author that I like, I have to read every book that person has ever written. Sometimes I'm disappointed by some of the books but I continue my journey to complete my quest.

My friend, the late Dr. Ted, and I read Winds of War and War and Remembrance together. Each night on the telephone we would discuss the story so far. Our spouses didn't quite get it. They thought we were loony and too involved in books.

Several years ago, my eyesight began to dim was told that I needed cataract surgery. I was terrified that during the surgery the doctor would slip and I would never be able to read again. He told me about crystalens, which would improve my vision so much that I wouldn't need glasses. Even though medicare wouldn't pay for it, I thought my eyesight demanded the best, and coughed up the dough to pay.

What a relief. It worked.

Everyone in Las Vegas complains about dust and I was very smug about the fact that I didn't have dust in my home. It was clean. After the surgery, I came home and went to bed. When I awoke that evening I looked at my shiny black night table that held over thirty books on its shelves. It was covered with dust! The books were dusty, too. How could dust appear that quickly? Then I realized something, I had the dust all along, I just couldn't see it. But now, with my crystalens, I saw my house was as dusty as everyone else's home, sort of like my life.

Our house is clean enough to be healthy, and dirty enough to be happy. ~Author Unknown

Say Something Good About Margaret

2009-09-20T18:16:00.000-07:00

It is not the mountain we conquer but ourselves. ~Edmund Hillary

Bob Greene wrote a thought-provoking commentary, America on a Collision Course, on CNN.com.

http://www.cnn.com/2009/US/09/20/greene.political.anger/index.html

In the article he wrote,

At the height of the Barack Obama-John McCain race last fall, I decided to conduct an experiment as I traveled around the nation.

As I met people, I would ask them which candidate they were for. Then I would request of them:

"Say something good about the other guy."

At first they would think it was a trick question. But that wasn't the intention.

After collecting the remarks, he stated:

People seemed to welcome this exercise -- the refreshing challenge of acknowledging admirable qualities in the politician they disagreed with.

Somehow, it feels that a similar experiment would be doomed to failure now. Even though many citizens tell pollsters that they favor moderation, the needle of public acrimony seems permanently stuck in the red zone.

The article pushed me into thinking about saying something good about people other than politicians we might not agree with.

When I was in elementary school, there was a classic, school yard bully, Margaret, who was intent on making my life miserable. We were both plain, skinny, and poor. She often wore dirty clothes, was not a good student, and didn't have many friends. She tormented me verbally and physically. I didn't run from her, unless I hurled the first insult, and sometimes I won the fight.

Everyday I had to check my back and get ready to fight or run. Most days I could make it home before she had a chance to taunt me. Once I arrived home, I was safe, until the next day. And then, it would start all over again. She died when we were in seventh grade and I went to the funeral home to make sure she was dead.

She was the first person to pop into my mind after I read Greene's column. I started thinking, "What could I say that was good about Margaret?" What might have happened, if instead of fighting her, I had befriended her? Why didn't I offer to help her with her school work? Was she sick? Is that why she died early?

Well, she was definitly tenacious. She never let up.
She was a good fighter. She beat me more than I beat her.

She was a good teacher. She taught me how to fight. I still don't run from a fight.

She was memorable. I still remember and think about her more than any other classmate from elementary school.

What good can you say about somebody with whom you've had disagreements?

It is easier to forgive an enemy than to forgive a friend. ~William Blake

On Being an African American in The Fifties - Part IV

2009-09-19T19:03:00.000-07:00

The test of courage comes when we are in the minority.

The test of tolerance comes when we are in the majority.

~Ralph W. Sockman

(The Quotegarden)

Back in the real world, Chicago, after living in a fantasy land in Panama, it was time to get about the business of becoming an adult: finding a job, finishing school, raising a family, and finding a place to live.

Our first son, Charles David, was born May 21, 1956, in Chicago and Moody was transferred to Ft. Benning, Ga, where we lived on base. White officers could live in the city, Columbus, but Blacks could not live in all areas. This worked to our advantage because we had a big house on base. For once, white officers were jealous of us because we didn't have to pay rent. When we went to visit them they would leave their garage door open and we would drive directly into the garage so their neighbors couldn't see us visiting.

In Chicago, in October 1956, we had a difficult time finding affordable housing. The practice of blockbusting by real estate agents encouraged white property owners to sell their houses at a loss, by fraudulently implying that racial, ethnic, or religious minorities — blacks, Hispanics, Jews et al. — were moving into their previously racially segregated neighborhood, and so would depress real estate property values. Sometimes they would even hire Black people to walk around a neighborhood to scare white people into selling. White people were terrified about Black people moving into "their" neighborhood. (Sounds almost like the town hall people who want to take back "their" country.) A community could "turn" almost overnight from white to Black.

Somehow we finally found a very nice one bedroom apartment in a neighborhood that was "changing." Our rent was $100 a month and my husband made $50 a week screening dog feces at the University of Chicago. People in factories said he was too educated and places where he could use his degree didn't want to hire a Black person. These experiences honed our determination to fight injustice. There was a resentment of our circumstances but it did not diminish our expectations for a better life.

To help bring money into the house while I was completing college, I worked evenings as a coder at Time Magazine, as a secretary during the day at the college, and carried 20 credit hours my student teaching year. One of my fellow students and friend was Emmett Till's mother and we spent time talking about his death but she refused to let his murder stop her from living her life. I always admired her strength and calmness. African American student teachers were not allowed to practice in white schools and in 1958, I finally finished college, only a year late.

Graduation Day with my Mother

Another way to bring in money was for Moody to go back to school. He could receive $160 a month since he was a veteran and college only cost $1.50 a credit hour. ($1.50 is not a typo. Can you believe these prices?) He dropped his plans for medical school and earned a master's degree. Needing money worked out to our advantage because he eventually received a PhD from Northwestern University.

Chance and adaptability entered our lives. Mystical occurrences and serendipity became commonplace and an invisible presence seemed to follow us. We never found out who recommended us to the real estate agency when we got our first apartment. Someone, we never found out who it was, found him a job in Oak Forest as a lab technician. Life was looking better and once I started teaching we could buy a car, a new 1958 Ford that cost $2400. He now made over $300 a month and I made $400 a month.

The Montgomery Bus Boycott (December 1955-December 1956) was a protest that was sparked by Rosa Parks, who refused to give up her seat on a city bus to a white person. The boycott protested the practice of Black passengers having to sit at the back of the bus, but if it was crowded they were expected to give up their seats to white passengers. When Mrs. Parks was arrested, the Montgomery Improvement Association was established to lead the boycott. The boycott catapulted Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. to national prominence and gave the Civil Rights Movement a big victory. A national struggle was born.

Little Rock was a defining desegregation event of the decade. The Little Rock Nine was a group of nine African American students who were selected to desegregate Little Rock Central High School in 1957. The Governor, Orval Faubus, the National Guard, and rowdy crowds had protests and blocked their entrance to the school. After many days of violent protests, President Eisenhower sent the 101st Airborne Division of the United States Army to Little Rock and federalized the entire 10,000 member Arkansas National Guard. President Eisenhower stated in his radio and TV address:

Mob rule cannot be allowed to override the decisions of our courts....

Whenever normal agencies prove inadequate to the task and it becomes necessary for the Executive Branch of the Federal Government to use its powers and authority to uphold Federal Courts, the President’s responsibility is inescapable. In accordance with that responsibility, I have today issued an Executive Order directing the use of troops under Federal authority to aid in the execution of Federal law at Little Rock, Arkansas. This became necessary when my Proclamation of yesterday was not observed, and the obstruction of justice still continues.

It is important that the reasons for my action be understood by all our citizens. As you know, the Supreme Court of the United States has decided that separate public educational facilities for the races are inherently unequal and therefore compulsory school segregation laws are unconstitutional....

On September 25, the nine students finally successfully entered the school. However, they were subjected to vicious physical and verbal abuse by students, parents, and community people and all but one, Minnijean Brown, graduated. She was suspended, not because of something she did, and transferred to a high school in New York.

Incidents starting taking place all over the country, in the North and South, as people resisted desegregation. Change was coming to America because this time whites were working with Blacks to help achieve equality. This time there would be no turning back.

I am an invisible man.... I am a man of substance, of flesh and bone, fiber and liquids -

and I might even be said to possess a mind.

I am invisible, understand, simply because people refuse to see me.

~Ralph Ellison, The Invisible Man, 1952

A few selected events of the '50s

The Korean War (1950-1953)
The Red Scare and anti-Communist hysteria of the McCarthy era.
The U.S. reaction to the 1957 launch by the Soviet Union of the Sputnik satellite, a major milepost of the Cold War.
Francis Crick and James D. Watson discover the helical structure of DNA at the Cavendish Laboratory at the University of Cambridge.
Polio vaccine developed.
Suez Canal crisis.
Emmett Till is murdered in Money, MS for allegedly whistling at a white woman.
Althea Gibson becomes the first African American tennis player to win a major title by winning both the women's singles and doubles championships at Wimbledon.
Lorraine Hansberry's Raisin in the Sun is the first play by an African American woman to be produced on Broadway.
Chuck Berry travels from St. Louis to Chicago, recording Maybellene, an immediate sensation among teenagers. The hit helps shape the evolution of rock and roll.
Fullback Jim Brown begins his professional football career with the Cleveland Browns. He leads the National Football League in rushing for eight of his nine seasons.
Singer Ray Charles records What'd I Say, which becomes his first million-seller, and exemplifies the emergence of soul music, combining rhythm and blues with gospel.
Motown Records is founded in Detroit, MI by Berry Gordy, Jr.
Baseball player Ernie Banks is named the National League's Most Valuable Player for a second consecutive season.

Thanks for the Award from Janie

2009-09-16T20:39:00.000-07:00

Now to the rules for this Award:

This award is bestowed on to blogs that are exceedingly charming.
These kind bloggers aim to find and be friends.
They are not interested in self-aggrandizement.
Our hope is that when the ribbons of these prizes are cut, even more friendships are propagated. Please give more attention to these writers.
Deliver this award to other bloggers who must choose others to pass it on to and include this cleverly-written text into the body of their award.
I would like to pass this Award on to:

karinjurick.blogspot.com/
A Painting Today

http://pioneerproductions.blogspot.com/

Ennyman's Territory

http://attwilightblog.blogspot.com/

At Twilight

http://365drawingsofood.blogspot.com/

365 Drawings of Food

http://perilousplaces.blogspot.com

Perilous Places

http://themoodyman.blogspot.com/

Moody Man

For Jonas, I Didn't Know My Own Strength

2009-09-15T11:55:00.000-07:00

I Didn't Know My Own Strength

A comment that posted on this blog compelled me to examine how the memories of my life might be viewed by others. Jonas made a rather astute observation, a mixture of joy and sadness. I think most of our lives have this mixture but what contributes to some of the sadness are the things we have to endure that we should not have to endure. The key, for me, is not letting the sadness overtake the joy.

My generation has lived through much--from a lack of voting rights to the presidency of the United States. I think we have a story to tell because we are a living respository of history. I hope that seeing how one family made the journey can put a face on historical facts because we've seen and lived through more than what the history books tell. We can't sugarcoat it. It was difficult but inspiring. We want you to know the highs and lows, the peaks and the valleys, but I also think it is a story also of a redemption of our country.

Restraints and low expectations that are placed on us contribute to the sadness. Friendship, family, and faith help joy to flourish.

My Strength

My Immediate Family - 2007

In the fifties, continued resistance to oppression helped to subdue some of the sadness. Thank God for people like Martin Luther King, Jr.

This morning I heard Whitney sing her new song on Oprah and I think it helps me explain how I dealt with some of the pain. Thanks to the writer of these lyrics, Diane Warren, and the producer, David Foster.

I didn’t know my own strength
And I crashed down, and I tumbled
But I did not crumble
I got through all the pain
I didn't know my own strength

I guess I really didn't know my own strength. We survive because of that strength.

We have a saying in the Black community, Black don't crack and I heard it in the song.

My faith kept me alive

I picked myself back up

Hold my head up high

I was not built to break

Thanks, Whitney, you made my day with this song and I wish you well. You've been to the abyss and you're finding your way out.

Found hope in my heart,

I found the light to life

My way out the dark

Found all that I need

Here inside of me

Jonas, thank you. I needed that comment to help me put everything in perspective. I started this blog for that reason and you saw something I needed to see.

Found hope in my heart,

I found the light to life

My way out the dark

Found all that I need

Here inside of me

As we said in the sixties, peace and love.

On Being an African American in the Fifties, Part III

2009-09-14T18:43:00.000-07:00

The Fifties, Part III

We're all accidental soldiers in the army of life.

Ymber Delecto

In June, not long after my 18th birthday, I went to Ft. Hamilton, New York to board my ship. I arrived early for orientation. There was only one other Black woman on base, and we became friends. She had been traveling with her husband for years, mentored me, and we ate together every day at the NCO Club. The day before we left they posted the wives' names along with their husbands' names and rank. She was shocked when she discovered that my husband was an officer and told me we couldn't be friends because her husband wasn't an officer. I shrugged my shoulders and said, "We will be friends." On the ship I would slip down to her room and we would visit. When we got ready to dock she told me she was a beautician and she did my hair the whole time we were in Panama. Suppose I had obeyed the rule about not being friendly with women whose husbands weren't officers? Lesson learned.

My roommate on the ship was from South Dakota and she had never seen a Black person. We became fast friends and on the fourth day she got up the courage to ask me how did I hide my tail? I was puzzled. What did she mean? She had been told that Black people had tails and I was very successful at hiding mine. We both had a good laugh when I told her that was a lie. I thought I had heard every stereotype but this was a new one for me. It gave us an opportunity to discuss other myths about both races and we stayed friends the whole time we were in Panama.

I still remember the day in June 1955, when the ship full of soldiers' wives arrived in Colon, Panama. We all dressed our best and my new friend did my hair. The warm, tropical air hit me like a warm sauna. The female passengers on the ship waved to the many waiting soldiers, each looking for only one person, her husband. A scream could be heard whenever one woman found her spouse. It was easy for me. There were only two Black officers waiting for the ship and I knew both of them. What an overwhelming, romantic way to begin a marriage. Who knew it would last over fifty years?

Our Home - Ft. Davis, Canal Zone

We spent a magical year in Panama, young and in love, enjoying the perks that officers had and traveled around the area. I played bridge, bowled, shopped, and went to luncheons and parties. This was a very different lifestyle for a woman who grew up on welfare and lived in a one bedroom apartment with 10 other relatives.

Black officers in an integrated army was still rather new. Even though President Truman desegregated the armed forces in 1948 it wasn't done with deliberate speed. Integration in the armed services was still in the early stages. My husband was the only Black Officer in his company and a few others were scattered over the Canal Zone.

He didn't like army food. When he was officer of the day at the locks I would take him lunch and dinner. We would sit by the locks and lazily watch the ships going through the canal. One of the most exciting days was the day the Ile de France docked in Colon. Everyone went down to see the majestic ocean liner. Sometimes we would get with a group, rent a boat, and take a ride through Gatun Lake.

I guess we're blessed because we didn't have problems on or off base. This was the first time in our lives that we had white friends and for most of them it was the first time they had Black friends. It was a learning experience for all of us.

We were all newlyweds since most of the younger officers got married when they received their orders. After nine months we all had a "go to hell" party for the people who said we got married because we were pregnant.

For some reason I could never learn to drive our 1947 Dodge. I kept having accidents and running into palm trees. The children who lived in the area would run when they saw me coming. Sometimes when I returned to base, the guard would stop my car and insist on driving me home.

I was surprised to find that segregation existed in the Canal Zone, also, but it was more by color than race, the lighter the better. The water fountains were labeled "silver" and "gold," instead of white and colored.

Our maid was from Jamaica. Yes, the young lady who used to clean white people's homes on Saturdays now had a maid, but having a maid was mandatory for officers and a culture shock for me. Maids had to wash clothes by hand in outdoor tubs and iron them in their quarters behind our house. Because of the humidity sometimes my husband had to change uniforms twice a day. We would surreptitiously buy her pasteurized milk (We didn't have homogenized milk then.) at the PX because only raw milk was available in town.

Since I had finished only two years of college, I took classes at a branch of Louisiana State University (LSU). My professors were surprised to see me because they had never taught a "Negro" student. LSU was white. They were even more surprised that I could do the work and asked me to come back to the states to see if they could force desegregation on the Baton Rouge campus. I thought about it but refused because I wanted a degree in a hurry since my Mom wouldn't speak to my husband until I finished. It was 1964 before African American students would be admitted to the Baton Rouge campus.

Finally, I did get pregnant and the doctors expected complications. They advised me to return to the States because the men spent a lot of time away and the trip to the hospital was through the jungle to Coco Solo Naval Base. It's a good thing I came back to the States in case my son wants to run for President. The birthers won't get him.

A mother is a person who seeing there are only

four pieces of pie for five people,

promptly announces she never did care for pie.

~Tenneva Jordan

On Being an African American in the Fifties, Part II

2009-09-13T22:40:00.000-07:00

If you want to understand today, you have to search yesterday. ~ Pearl Buck

One of the reasons I wanted to do this blog.

The Fifties

The end of World War II brought thousands of young servicemen back to America to pick up their lives and start new families in new homes with new jobs. With an energy never before experienced, American industry expanded to meet peacetime needs. Americans began buying goods not available during the war, which created corporate expansion and jobs. Growth was everywhere and the baby boom was underway.

Compliance and attempts at social perfection were hallmarks of the 1950s domestic scene, where the two-parent families in which the father worked in industry and the mother remained home as a homemaker were idealized in television programs such as Leave it to Beaver, but it was also the time of Amos and Andy. Fear of the bomb, McCarthyism, and desegregation attempts heightened tensions. Unnecessarily, race created a circumscribed context for our lives.

On May 17, 1954, the landmark decision, Brown v. Board of Education of Topeka, overturned the 1896 Plessy v. Ferguson ruling, which legalized segregation. The Supreme Court Ruling stated that "separate educational facilities are inherently unequal." As a result, de jure racial segregation was ruled a violation of the Equal Protection Clause of the Fourteenth Amendment of the United States Constitution. This victory paved the way for integration and the civil rights movement. There was massive resistance to the ruling and it was many years before some institutions were desegregated.

We were married March 5, 1955, in Chicago, Illinois, in my mother's living room. I was 17 and he was 22. When we returned to campus after a week-end honeymoon, I was suspended for a month because married women could not live in the dorms. Before we left campus, two professors gave us gifts, the only gifts we received. We still use those gifts today.

The question was where would we go until Moody left for Panama? My mother was upset about the marriage so we couldn’t go back to Chicago. Moody suggested that we go to Baton Rouge with the few dollars we had, so I could get to know his family better. I packed my clothes, Moody got his duffel bag, and off we went on a bus to catch a train in Covington, KY. In 1955, because of segregation, we couldn't board in Cincinnati because they couldn't legally separate the races. So they sent Black people across the river to Covington to board the train. In Kentucky there was a white section and a colored section on the train so the new Lt. and Mrs. Moody had to take their place in the colored coach section. We played cards, while traveling, and talked about our future.

As the train ambled into Montgomery, AL we noticed a lot of stirring among the train staff. After being in the station for an inordinate amount of time passengers began to get nervous. Finally, we were told what was happening.

Train strike. The train was not moving another mile. Everyone had to get off the train and find another mode of transportation The airplanes were reserved for white people but Greyhound allowed us to board a bus to finish our trip.

This was my first ride at the back of a segregated bus. I was unprepared mentally and physically for the strain of the ride the rest of the way, after all, I was a suspended college student on her honeymoon. The colored restrooms at stops along the way were incredibly nasty and the food we were allowed to purchase was substandard.

Us in Louisiana on our honeymoon

The bus rolled slowly toward Louisiana, making stops at every town along the way. When the bus reached Baton Rouge, Moody remarked that he lived not too far from where the bus was stopped, waiting for a traffic light to change. I could take it no more. I yelled to the driver to stop. We got our bags, jumped off the bus, and began to walk toward Moody’s parents’ home. In winter clothes, we were overdressed for the Louisiana sun. By the time we reached the house, we collapsed.

Moody’s family made sure we had a good, relaxing stay. Too soon, it was time for me to return to school and Moody left for Panama. We would be apart in April, May, and most of June.

Love puts the fun in together, the sad in apart,

and the joy in a heart. ~Author Unknown

On Being an African American in the Fifties - Part 1

2009-09-11T11:33:00.000-07:00

I am working for the time when unqualified blacks, browns, and women

join the unqualified men in running our government.

~Cissy Farenthold

It's complicated, race in America. While I have plans to do blog posts on memories of each decade, I feel it is necessary to also do a separate posting on my memories of race for that decade. I thought about it because of Rep. Wilson shameful heckling of President Obama with, "You lie," on September 9, 2009, while the President was giving his stirring speech on health care at a Joint Session of Congress. Without the background on race, the rest of the story might not make sense. And that's the purpose of the blog, to help me make sense of my life and experiences.

Real life has a way of making us change our focus as memories of past incidents creep forward in our mind. His comments, the rowdy town hall meetings, and the frenzied actions of the birthers and teabaggers remind us that we've seen this before. "It's deja vu all over again," as Yogi Berra remarked. It also reminded me how much of our lives has been defined by race.

Segregation in the 50s' was legal (de jure segregation) in the South. In the North it was called "de facto segregation" "in practice but not necessarily ordained by law" or "in practice or actuality, but without being officially established". (Wikipedia) That meant that we went to segregated schools, even though we had neighborhood schools, because we lived, not by choice, in Black neighborhoods . In practice, landlords would not even show Blacks an apartment in a white neighborhood and banks would not give you loans to buy a home in a white neighborhood. There were some white areas of the city and suburbs where African Americans did not even think about visiting, (think Cicero, Illinois) unless they were working, and then they got out before dark.

In the North we could go into department stores try on clothes and buy what we wanted. We could eat in restaurants and stay in most hotels. The South was different. Everything was separate, but definitely not equal.

I remember my first visit to Georgia in 1951 at the age of 14. I was born in Chicago but all of the older family members were born in Georgia and came to Chicago during the Great Migration. They thought it important that those of us born in Chicago take a trip South to see what it was all about.

An aunt took me on my trip because she was making her annual trek back to Georgia. I was excited, not knowing what to expect. Even though we left from Chicago, we traveled in segregated trains cars; they told us they had to do this because we were going South and the races didn't mix. We couldn't eat in the dining car because that was reserved for whites. We had to pack enough food to last almost 20 hours.

I loved standing on the gangway connection between the cars, relishing the country smells of cut grass and animal life, listening to the clickety-clack of the train wheels, observing the dilapidated housing the further South we went, and wondering about the shoeless people in the shabby clothes who waved to us on the train. The further South we went, the worse the housing became. The ramshackle houses were occupied by whites and Blacks and I noticed that most of the houses had another small shack out back.

In Social Circle, Georgia I had my first experience in a segregated movie theater. We sat in the balcony and I still can feel the hard, wooden bench we had for "seats." The whites had comfortable, separate seats on the first floor. I cannot remember the movie that was on the screen because I kept trying to process the separation of the races and couldn't understand why we had to sit on hard benches.

And then we went to a restaurant to eat and had to enter though the back where we had segregated seating. I scratched my head trying to figure why we ate in one area and whites ate in another area, even though the food that was served to both groups came from the same kitchen. It didn't make sense to me.

I stared and stared at the colored and white drinking fountains. By then I thought the South was crazy. How could people live like this? Don't get me started on the nasty, nasty, places they called colored restrooms.

The relative we stayed with had an outhouse and I made the mistake of looking into the hole we sat on. I was always curious about how things work and was never the same after that. I developed the strongest bladder after that incident. There was a gas station down the road and I walked there twice a day, once in the morning and once in the evening after dinner, because they had real toilets. I was only 14 years old but I convinced the owner that he had to let me use his toilet. I think he felt sorry for this northern "fool" and never turned me away, even though he didn't have a colored restroom.

The best part of the trip was the food. Each morning we went out to the fields to "get dinner." Whatever we wanted to eat was in the yard: corn, peas, greens, and the best watermelon I've ever had. Then we had to kill a couple of chickens. I'll never forget how fresh and tasty everything was.

After that trip, I understood why members of my family who were born in the North had to make the trip down South. We needed to know why our relatives left the deep South and how "lucky" we were to live in the North. We needed to experience what legal segregation was and why we shouldn't accept it. We needed to know that our ancestors had suffered much worse. We needed to know that we should never forget.

I swear to the Lord

I still can't see

Why Democracy means

Everybody but me.

~Langston Hughes, The Black Man Speaks

Sunrise to Sunset -Grow Old With Me

2009-09-10T15:15:00.000-07:00

Grow old with me! The best is yet to be. ~Robert Browning

Sunrise in Las Vegas - 2001

I took this picture a week after September 11. The sky was so fiery I thought we were being attacked. I'm not known for getting up early so many will refuse to believe that I took this picture.

When my husband and I moved to Las Vegas eight years ago, we were 64 and 69. We were still young enough and vibrant, or so we thought. We had worked hard and were always active in charitable and educational organizations. We had raised three sons and mentored many others. After working over 45 years it was time to celebrate and let our hair down.

Us in Ann Arbor - Before Las Vegas

How different Las Vegas was from the intellectual and cultural energy in Ann Arbor, Michigan, our previous home. In Ann Arbor, we were dignified college administrators. We attended dinners, seminars, conferences, football parties, (Go Blue) the Big Boule Christmas Party, many college functions and traveled extensively. (There will be more about Ann Arbor in future posts.)

Us after moving to Las Vegas for the Pimp/Ho Party

Our lifestyle changed completely. No make up. Have you ever tried to keep make up on when it is 110 degrees? No more designer duds. Shorts, tank tops, sweats, and jogging suits became our everyday dress. Pantyhose was a thing of the past. Heels and dress shoes were discarded; sandals and flip flops now. We even gave our group a name, The Wild Bunch. Several friends, after visiting, sold their homes in the Midwest and bought homes in Las Vegas.

In Las Vegas it was party in the house, party on the strip, party, party, party. Don't be late for the party as it will start on time. Party with this group, party with that group. Many weeks at least two parties and often several parties in a night. The Links, the Boule, the sororities, the fraternities, the Bridge Club, the Urban League, the Carrousels....

We dress for formal affairs several times a year but mostly we have casual parties such as, the Pimp and Ho Party, the Roaring Twenties, Po Ass People, patio parties, swimming parties, birthday parties, picnics, election parties, quick potlucks, anniversary parties, lunch just because, card parties, out-of-town visitors, any excuse work for a party. Even our children, who are in their late 40s and early 50s, came to our parties because we were jammin' and dancing as fast as we could.

Remember we are seniors.

The Wild Bunch at the Pimp-Ho Party

The Wild Bunch Wives dressed for the Roaring Twenties

Winners at the 70s' party

How glad I am that we lived vigorously when we were younger. Life changes so swiftly. The seventies are different. Old age manifests like itself with a slap in the face and warns you that there is no going back; old age doesn't care how many days you go to the gym, or how many miles you walk. You will never be young again.

Friends began to get sick, others passed away gently in the night. The infirmities of old age are upon us. Arthur acts up (arthritis), diabetes demands insulin, (at some of our parties diabetics are allowed to get in line first because of the insulin they just took) blood pressure climbs, kidneys fail, knees need replacement, hearts don't pump as well, cataract surgery, chemo, radiation...the body is literally falling apart.

Our party mode has slowed but we are still hanging. Everyone is tired. Who wants to clean up after a party? Now we are glad the party starts at four so we can be home by seven or eight.

What's on TV tonight?

One Summer Evening

Sunset in Las Vegas

None are so old as those who have outlived enthusiasm. ~Henry David Thoreau

King and Obama

2009-09-06T16:15:00.000-07:00

Last week I told my husband that I did not want to get into politics in this blog. After reading the following statement , I changed my mind.

In the end, we will remember not the words of our enemies, but the silence of our friends.
- Martin Luther King, Jr., "The Trumpet of Conscience", 1967

Our oldest son, David, with President Obama

Those of us who support President Obama should no longer maintain our silence. I have followed some of the assertions of his enemies but I don't do it often because I recoil at their disgusting, ignorant rantings. It reminds me of the injustices that African Americans have had to endure since the first Africans came to this country in 1619 as indentured servants. Actually, there is proof that Africans were here long before that date but that is another post. Let's just stick with 1619, and notice that date is before the Mayflower arrived at Plymouth.

As a former educator I am saddened by the vocal minority that have a problem with President Obama speaking to school children. I will not restate or discuss their rambling comments because they have received enough coverage owing to the fact that in America we have freedom of speech.

People demand freedom of speech as a compensation for the freedom of thought which they seldom use. ~Soren Kierkegaard

Instead, I would like to publicly support President Obama, a man who is known to be a deep thinker, and suggest that the following quote might explain why some have a hard time dealing with him.

Rarely do we find men who willingly engage in hard, solid thinking. There is an almost universal quest for easy answers and half-baked solutions. Nothing pains some people more than having to think.
- Martin Luther King, Jr.

Godspeed, Mr. President

College Days 1953-55

2009-09-05T16:34:00.000-07:00

Labor Day always reminds everyone of the start of school. Back in the day no one started school in August. Everyone waited for Labor Day...the last day of summer vacation. Elementary, high school, college-everyone started after Labor Day.

I had just turned 16 in June 1953, and my high school principal, Dr. Lewis, made sure that I had enough scholarship money to go to Central State College, a historically Black College, in Wilberforce, Ohio. No one in my family had even considered going to college so my dream was not encouraged. But somehow, Dr. Lewis knew and she made sure that I had enough money. After all, it cost just about $700.00 a year, including out-of-state fees, tuition, room, and board, and no one in my family had ever seen that much money. One sister, Mary, sent me my allowance: $5.00 a week from her salary of $40.00 a week. I could never thank her enough.

Someone in the family took me to the train station and I boarded the train with over $750 in cash stuffed in my bra. How excited I was. It was only about 250 miles from Chicago, but I was traveling alone and did not even think about being scared. I just saw possibilities and was open to each and every one.

Seniors met new students at the train station and we took a bus to campus. My guide was a student named Charles Moody. (Who knew that in two years we would marry?) He took me to the bursar to pay my bill and everyone was horrified when I went into my bra to get my money. My tuition was already paid so I had just over $300.00 left. Moody suggested that I leave it in an account in the bursar's office but he needed to borrow $40.00 for his books. I loaned him the money but made him take me to the Campus Grill and buy me a milk shake.

Moody and Chris on campus in 1953

Some rambling thoughts on college in the 1950s....

Central State was small, less than 1000 students and everyone knew each other. Less than 10 students had cars so everyone walked.
If you took less than 16 hours of classes, people assumed you weren't very smart. Most people took 17 or 18 hours and finished in four years. Many classes met every day. You were busy from 8:00 AM until 4:00 PM.
This is before computers and calculators so we did calculations on paper or in our heads. We would borrow a typewriter for our papers.
We could visit our professors in their homes and they would feed us while we discussed class assignments.
The sunken gardens, in the middle of campus, was a favorite spot for fraternity and sorority members to meet and sing.
Sometimes fraternities, carrying burning torches, would serenade the women in the female dorms after midnight. We would be asleep and all of a sudden we could hear a frat chant and the stomping of feet. We would hurry downstairs in our pjs to listen and swoon.
Our athletic teams were very competitive. We played other Black Colleges and since I was a cheerleader I got to travel with the team. Homecoming was big. The graduates would return in stylish clothes and we had a big parade and dance. The game was incidental.

Homecoming 1954

Central State also had a farm and we had fresh food. Our food, which was delicious, was actually cooked on location, not shipped in by a catering company.
However, a big event was when a box of food from home would arrive. Cakes, fried chicken, spam, vienna sausages, cookies--all arrived by mail. Can you believe we ate cooked food that had been in a box for several days? You became very popular when you got a box.
We also had a couple of small grills in the area but seldom did anyone have any extra money.
Females had to be in the dorm by 7:30 PM but males did not have a curfew. Of course, there were ways to sneak out and ways to sneak back in.
If we wanted to leave campus on the weekend, or to ride in a car, we had to have a signed note from a parent. Sometimes we would go home on a weekend with another girl who lived in Ohio.
Our rooms were inspected every week and they had to be clean. The school did our laundry. No one had a refrigerator or stove, but they were available in the dorm.
Each dorm had one black and white television in the lounge area and girls were not allowed to sit too close to a boy.
Late movies were brought to campus on a regular basis which we watched in Galloway Hall. This was one time we could stay out past 7:30.
Clubs also met after 7:30 so I joined lots of clubs. Oh, we could also sign out and go to the library.
We would meet in each other's room to play cards, gossip, eat and drink.
I joined Delta Sigma Theta Sorority. We didn't have sorority houses but we always found a place to meet for our business.

My Sorority Picture 1954

(Notice the white gloves and hat)

Campus parties, formal and informal, were frequent. We also had many famous Black entertainers and speakers come visit the campus.
If we had 15 cents we could take the bus to Xenia to shop or go to the movies. If we didn't have the money we would hitchhike or walk.
Our president, Dr. Charles Wesley, was the most handsome man on campus and he actually walked the campus and talked to us.
We didn't like going home on vacations, we preferred the campus with our friends.

Moody's Graduation - June 1954

Who Will Cry for the Little Boy

2009-09-01T11:27:00.000-07:00

Who will cry for the little boy

by Antwone Fisher

"Who will cry for the little boy, lost and all alone?
Who will cry for the little boy, abandoned without his own?
Who will cry for the little boy? He cried himself to sleep.
Who will cry for the little boy? He never had for keeps.
Who will cry for the little boy? He walked the burning sand.
Who will cry for the little boy? The boy inside the man.
Who will cry for the little boy? Who knows well hurt and pain.
Who will cry for the little boy? He died and died again.
Who will cry for the little boy? A good boy he tried to be.
Who will cry for the little boy, who cries inside of me?"
The last time I went to a movie theater was in the late 70s. Therefore, I have missed a lot of movies unless they are scheduled for TV. I didn't see the movie Antwone Fisher (2002) until yesterday. I actually bought the DVD several years ago but I couldn't bring myself to see it because I thought it would be painful to watch. And I was right.
While it was painful, the joyful ending made the pain bearable.
The reciting of the poem, which Mr. Fisher wrote, was the most heartbreaking scene to me because I grew up without a father and I just inserted the gender girl for boy. We often hear about boys needing fathers but seldom do we hear the same about girls.

Three sisters with the same father in New York, 1951

Chris, Cozette, and Mary

As a female I can state that a father's love is just as important to a girl because she needs that unconditional love from a male. All of my youth I yearned for my father and the only time I saw him was when I was visiting some relatives in New Jersey. I was with an older sister who pointed to a short man standing in the yard with his family.
"That's your father," she said.
I was so startled I couldn't open my mouth. I was paralyzed. I was too afraid to go speak to him and wondered if he knew who I was. I wanted to tell him that I was a good girl who did well in school, hoping one day he would find out and come to tell me how proud he was of me. I wanted to tell him I loved him, even though I didn't know him, and to ask him if he loved me. I did nothing.
I had my camera with me, which I always carry, and snapped his picture from afar. This was before digital cameras and I had to wait until I got back home to develop the film. I took numerous pictures on that trip and they all were perfect, except the picture I took of my father. The negative was completely black. I was horrified. Now I had no proof that he existed and even though this happened over fifty years ago, it is a picture that is burned in my mind.

How Will You Be Eulogized?

2009-08-30T13:26:00.000-07:00

The death of Senator Kennedy left me thinking about how I would be eulogized. Even though I have told family members I don't want a funeral, there will be discussions about what type of life I led. There were some who remarked that not enough was said about the bad things in Kennedy's life and that should have also been stated.

Do we want the focus to be on the bad things, which we all have, do we want them to remember only the good things, or is this the time for balance? The dictionary defines eulogy as a speech or piece of writing that praises someone or something very highly, especially a tribute to someone who has recently died.

The totality of our life will be judged by someone else, not the people who hear or speak the eulogy. I only hope that when I die, people remember that I helped people more than they remember the people I hurt. I hope they say that I was a good mother, not an absent mother. I hope they say that she taught many children how to learn not that she failed some. I hope they say she was a pleasant, friendly person, not a vixen. I hope they remember that, in spite of all of my failings, I did my best.

SUMMER'S END - 2009

2009-08-28T12:10:00.000-07:00

As summer ends, we reflect on the exuberance of summer. The summertime of life is bright, hot, and exhilarating. We think it is going to last forever and the Fall time of life is distant in the future.

We wear skimpy clothes that expose our bodies.
We swim in the ocean with full abandon.
We think our summer romances will last forever.
We read the books we want to read, not the books on the required list.
We attempt to savor every ride in Disneyland.
We vacation to exotic places and welcome cultural exchanges.
Tree leaves are bright and green, flowers are in full bloom, and fruits are juicy and succulent.
We are at our peak: vibrant, strong, healthy, and so we think, wise.

Soon, the first whispers of fall are heard.

Night temperatures drop
A sense of urgency develops
Wardrobe needs are assessed
Final picnics are planned
Leaves begin to change colors
School reopens

The Fall of life begins.

THE HIGH SCHOOL YEARS 1949-1953

2009-08-25T18:33:00.000-07:00

High school was fun. That's the first thing that comes to mind when I think of my years at Phillips High School in Chicago. Friends, classes, athletics, parties--everything was the best. We walked to school in a group, picking up classmates along the way. Couldn't afford bus fare.

We were not allowed to wear pants in school. In the winter we wore pants under our dresses or skirts and had to take them off at the door.

When I went to high school in 1949 high schools were as segregated as our elementary schools, but we didn't care or notice because we had wonderful teachers and stimulating classes. It goes without saying that our athletic teams were at the top. Some of the famous alumni from Phillips include: Nat King Cole, Gwendolyn Brooks, first African American to win the Pulitzer Prize; Archibald Carey, Jr., lawyer, judge, politician, diplomat and clergyman; Sam Cooke, Pop and gospel recording star; Paul Des Jardien, Member of College Football Hall of Fame; George E. Johnson, Sr., Founder, Johnson Products, the first African-American owned company listed on American Stock Exchange; Buddy Young, football legend; Alonzo S. Parham, the second African-American to attend West Point; Al Pullins: Original member, Harlem Globetrotters; and Dinah Washington, legendary recording artist.

Our principal in 1949 was Maudelle Brown Bousfield, the first Black principal in Chicago. She retired in 1950 and was replaced by Dr. Virginia F. Lewis who at the age of 100 remained involved in her career, making frequent visits to Eckerd College engaging students as a lecturer. Her teaching and administrative career experience included the roles of teacher, principal, district superintendent and assistant superintendent with Chicago Public Schools. She died in 2008 at the age of 101.

Dr. Lewis is the person who saved my life. Okay, I'll admit it. Even though I was a good student I was pretty bad. I liked to fight and caused trouble. When Dr. Lewis "adopted" me instead of suspending me, (which surely would happen today) my entire present and future changed. She got me out of gangs and put me in academic and athletic activities. The only thing she could not change in me was my habit of cutting classes. When I was in my 50s she told me that she used to follow me in the halls and could not understand how I cut so many classes. I told her my secret. I had a permanent hallway pass.

Before Dr. Lewis (BAL) I was an excellent student but after Dr. Lewis (ADL) I became ambitious. I wanted to do something with my life.
BDL I didn't know much about college. ADL I wanted to go to college.
BDL I took regular classes. ADL I took honors classes.
BDL I thought of myself as ugly and unworthy. ADL I thought I had possibilities.
BDL I was a gang leader. ADL I was a school leader.
We had a college preparatory class where we learned social graces, how to study, how to take a test, and other things that weren't taught in regular classes. The class was taught by Miss Hogan, a petite, white haired, white woman who terrified everyone in the school. Best foundation I could have had for college.
Dr. Lewis took me to restaurants so I could learn how to eat in a restaurant.

Our school was a nine period day. We had major regular subjects and minors, such as art, music, and physical education. Our teachers were the cream of the crop because at that time it was hard for African Americans and women to get jobs in many fields. The students reaped this benefit.

Our biggest rival in athletics, was DuSable High School. We were the two premier Black high schools and we competed on and off the field.

We had many clubs at Phillips, even a trigonometry club, service clubs, a school newspaper that everyone read for the latest gossip, and honor societies. We had clubs and activities at the YMCA and the Lincoln Center. We were as busy as students are today. We also competed with other schools in debates and other intellectual pursuits.

Pictures tell a better story than words.

Elaine, Toots, Chris, and Elaine

Cheerleading Team

The Football Team - A Legend in its own time.

Phillips High School Students in Springfield, IL when students took over the government.

Chris as Director of Revenue in Springfield

Chris at Red Cross Camp in Lake Forest, IL

Prom in 1952 - Chris and Carl

Prom 1953 - Chris and Danny

FULLER ELEMENTARY SCHOOL 1942-1949

2009-08-25T13:22:00.000-07:00

No school buses in the city for us. We walked to school. My school was all Black, with a few exceptions. The term that is now used is de facto segregation, that is in practice, not necessarily by law. Chicago was called the most segregated city in the country and we went to school in our neighborhood, which was a Black neighborhood. In the South, schools were segregated by law and public Black schools were very underfunded and underequipped.

Since many African Americans were migrating from the South our schools were crowded. Unfortunately and wrongly, school officials thought that students from the South were not prepared for schools in the North and most of them were put back several grades. It was not unusual to find a 16 year-old student in an eighth grade class. This was another type of prejudice.

We had over 40 students in each class and 48 desks and seats were fixed to the floor. Notice how each student is seated with hands folded. You were expected to sit like this whenever you were not working on something. We had an inkwell in each desk where we dipped our ink pens. Most of the time we wrote with pencils. Good students, and the students teachers wanted to keep an eye on were seated in the front.

We didn't dare talk back to a teacher because discipline problems were handled differently. We were whipped in school or at least we were smacked on the hand. If we were disciplined in the schools, our parents didn't want to sue the school, they brought the teacher a cake and thanks.

Rote learning was the rule: a focus on memorization and repetition. Every morning, after The Pledge to the Flag, we would repeat (in rhythm) our multiplication tables in unison. We didn't have to understand it, as students do today, we just repeated: 6X6 is 36, 8X3 is 24, etc. It worked. Have you ever been to McDonald's and the cash register was broken? You have to tell them how much you owe them and how much change to give you because without a calculator or computer they don't know what to do. Whatever you tell them they believe.

Spelling tests every Friday... naming the Great Lakes...listing the continents...knowing the capital of each state(48 states then)...diagramming a sentence...singing the Negro National Anthem at assemblies, Lift Every Voice and Sing...memorizing poems and still knowing them today, Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary...knowing the Latin Names of plants, this and more. We read, read, read. Book reports were due every week. We didn't buy many books but we all had library cards and we used them.

We were very patriotic. We learned a lot about World War II and the places where our soldiers were fighting. We recycled at school and, even though we didn't have much money, we bought savings bond stamps. Whens we completed a book with ten cents stamps, we received a $25.00 savings bond. Air raid drills were common.

During recess we played ball games and had swings, slides and a pole with a rope hanging off of it for kids to swing around. We also played hopscotch, jump rope, or marbles.

We wore gym uniforms: ugly green short jumpsuits and you had better polish your white gym shoes, even though girls only played half-court basketball.

Graduation from 8th grade was a big event because many students didn't finish high school. Notice the graduation ribbon. We received those about a month before graduation and you wore it everywhere you went. Everyone needed to know that you were graduating to high school. There was a party and flowers celebrating this achievement.

GROWING UP IN CHICAGO - The Early '40s

2009-08-24T18:07:00.001-07:00

GROWING UP IN CHICAGO - The Early '40s

When I was growing up most of my life was spent outdoors. We didn’t have computers or television, but we did have radio. Our home was small and crowded, over 10 people in a one bedroom apartment, but outside we had lots of space. We were poor, but didn’t know it. Everyone we knew was poor, after all it was the late 30s and early 40s.

Our entire neighborhood in Chicago was our playground. We knew everyone and they knew us. If we did something bad, any neighbor who saw us felt comfortable enough to confront us and insist that we change our behavior. Our favorite place was the vacant lot across the street from our home. We could play baseball in the spring and football in the fall. Boys and girls played together; we didn’t care. In the winter the lot became a skating rink or a place to build a snowman. Sometimes we would go to the playground at Fuller Elementary School. It had real swings and a jungle gym.

There were so many games to play: Red Rover, Little Sally Walker, Jacks, Come and Get It, etc., and we even had cussing contests. If we had cliques, I don’t remember them. We played with whoever was outside and it was safe. We had to be home “when the street lights” came on but we didn’t have to go into the house. We could stay outside after the lights came on as long as we were on our block. We would sit on the porch and tell stories, especially ghost stories.

During WWII, the lot became a victory garden. Anyone could plant fruits or vegetables without permission. I don’t know who owned that lot, but it was a common practice. We also had rations during this time. With the ration stamps we received our allotment of necessities like sugar and shoes. Since you couldn’t buy shoes as needed, you bought sensible shoes that you knew would last. Women wore make-up on their legs to simulate stockings and with an eyebrow pencil someone would draw a line up the back of their leg to mimic the seam. Everyone knew it was fake but looks mattered. Sugar was at a premium along with stockings and elastic waist panties. (Our panties were tied together with a string and sometimes that string broke! Yes, your panties fell down.)

Nothing was wasted. We saved grease from cooking, flattened every can we opened, had meatless Tuesday, and took our hangers to the cleaners if we wanted our clothes returned on hangers. We listened to President Roosevelt on the radio and took part in air raid drills. When the sirens blew you didn’t take chances. Chicago was a big railroad stop and most soldiers traveled by train. There would be a knock on the door and an African American soldier would appear, asking for a place to stay overnight. There was always room for another person and of course,this added income to our home. It was especially exciting when a soldier came by that we knew. He would jingle his pockets, like he had a lot of money, and allow us children to put our hands in to see how much we could grab. Sometimes they had souvenirs from faraway places and stories of exotic locations. Homes had banners with stars, announcing their sons’ participation in the war.

My favorite time was the first snow. No matter what time it was, all of the children in the neighborhood would run outside to throw snowballs or ride their sleds. Our parents would bundle us up in snowsuits. Do children still wear snowsuits? It was exhilarating, letting the snow touch your tongue, or building your first snowman. It was cold–we called the wind, The Hawk.

Another favorite time was after a rainfall and the street would flood. Then the street became our swimming pool. We didn’t know or care about dirty water because we weren’t that clean to begin with. We were lucky if we got a bath on Saturday night. We did have to be clean for Church and if you had any morals your family went to Church.
The two most important things in our lives were Family and Church. Almost everyone in our family, extended and otherwise, went to West Point Baptist Church for Sunday service and during the week for meetings and choir rehearsal.

We would walk to 36th and Cottage Grove and it was difficult staying clean that long. Adults had service upstairs and we had a children’s church downstairs. My sister and I would listen for our mother getting “happy.” When the choir sang certain songs or the minister preached moving sermons, some of the parishioners would become moved and “feel” the Holy Spirit. They would shout, dance, throw their hands in the air, and need the help of the ushers who would fan and try to get them quiet.

We weren’t allowed to go the movies on Sunday. This was the Lord’s Day and after dinner we would visit and talk. We always made extra food because somebody would drop by. If they did, you had to have something to offer. I never remember anyone turning down my mother’s food. My mother was 41 when I was born and already a grandmother. She was known for her good cooking.

My mother was a terrible disciplinarian. In those days, everyone whipped children if they did something wrong. My mother couldn’t bring herself to hit us and would cry if we did something wrong because she knew it meant a whipping and she just wasn’t up to it. Sometimes she would ask Uncle William to come and whip us but he was as bad as my Mother was. He would look at us and tell us to be good and then say to my mother that he couldn’t whip those children. We were amazed at their utter dislike for whipping children.

My nemesis was another student named Margaret. For some reason, she got a big kick out of taunting and teasing me. It meant many fights and many punishments. No matter how hard I tried I couldn’t get her to leave me alone. I never did discover why she had it in for me. One day, when I was in seventh grade, she disappeared. I didn’t know what had happened to her and frankly, I didn’t care. Soon we were told that she was dead. I felt so much relief. At last I could walk to school and get home safely. But I thought I had better check. I went to the neighborhood funeral home when her body was ready for viewing. I looked into the casket, and thought to myself that it was true, she was dead.

My older sisters and their husbands lived a totally different life. They went to real parties and clubs like the Club De Lisa. They would put on their best clothes and men would look fine in their double-breasted suits and highly polished shoes. They would tell us about the famous people they saw and heard. Billy Eckstine, Lena Horne, Cab Calloway, Louis Armstrong, etc.

A big night in the neighborhood was a Joe Louis fight. We would gather around the radio, listen to the announcer, and “see” the fight in our heads. People left their windows open so people who didn’t own a radio could hear the commentary. He was the biggest hero in our world—Joe Louis, Heavyweight Champion of the World. There was no one we admired more. If he won a fight, we all won. After a victory, everyone would run out of his or her home and we would literally dance in the street. An even bigger thrill was hearing when he was in town and trying to get a glimpse of him and his beautiful wife.
My mother did daywork; in other words she cleaned homes. During the summers and on Saturday, I would accompany her and help. My sister, Ruby, cleaned houses sometimes, while Susie, another sister, and Lee, my brother-in-law, worked in a laundry. After the war, Delawerence, Ruby's husband, was hired as a mailman. A number of family members had jobs in the stockyards and made what we thought was real money. No one had a professional job but everyone worked.

MOMENTS OF CLARITY

2009-08-24T11:21:00.000-07:00

MOMENTS OF CLARITY

In all of our lives, certain events provide an electric moment of clarity. They are unexpected, yet the power they contain keep us grounded and wondering what does it all mean. While I have had several, one moment that never leaves me is the first one I remember in my married life. I had always been a spiritual person so I was not surprised when it happened.

In 1955, we were living in the Panama Canal Zone on the post at Ft. Davis. We had only been married a few months. I was 18, an officer's wife, and ready for whatever the world offered. It was an extraordinary life for a welfare child to all of a sudden be living in a large home with a maid in a foreign country. My husband was in the army and since he was training to be a jungle expert, it meant I was alone a lot. That was not a problem for me for you feel very safe on an army base and officers wives stick together. (It's funny I should say that because I was stalked during our time there by a soldier I didn't know.)

Everything was new and there was an adventure everyday. I had to learn to cook, after my husband complained about the maid's cooking, but at least I didn't have to clean the house or do laundry. The women had bridge clubs, trips to close countries, bowling leagues, sewing clubs, teas, and parties. I even took classes at a branch of Louisiana State University as I had only finished two years of college and had promised my mother that I would finish college as no one in our family had a college degree. I was to be the first.

Anyway, this was before a/c and our home on the base had screens that allowed a cool breeze to circulate throughout the space. It was late evening, I had finished dinner, and went to look out before going to bed. I was standing by the screen, looking at the bright stars against a deep black night, thinking how peaceful I felt. I heard music from the NCO club and I could "see" people dancing to the music. I still remember the song I heard just before my moment.

Isn't it romantic?

Music in the night, a dream that can be heard.

Isn't it romantic?

Moving shadows write the oldest magic word.

I hear the breezes playing in the trees above

While all the world is saying you were meant for love.

Isn't it romantic?

Every note that's sung is like a lovers' kiss.

Sweet symbols in the moonlight,

Do you mean that I will fall in lover perchance?

Isn't it romantic?

I rocked to the music feeling serene, thinking how beautiful it all was, when all of a sudden a presence came to me and "told" me I was going to have a great life. It startled me but it didn't frighten me. It could only have happened if I were alone, yet I felt as if someone had wrapped his arms around me and held me close. Whenever I hear that song, and I hear it in my mind everyday, I feel grateful that someone is watching over me.

PURPOSE OF BLOG

2009-08-15T21:24:00.000-07:00

This will be a blog of my memories and thoughts after living over 70 years. Looking back, I hope, it will help me make sense of where I've been. I hope that older people can relate to the blog, and I hope that younger people will see that we are really not that different.

Our generation lived through more cultural and technological changes than any other generation. We lived through WWII, Korea, Viet Nam, Desert Storm, Afghanistan, and Iraq. We participated in the Civil Rights Revolution, going from the back of the bus to the Presidency of the United States of America. It is been some ride.