To Mom and Dad with Love
This is a Black woman who graduated from Tuskegee Institute somewhere around 1951 or ‘52. As you may have gleaned from the uniform, she was a registered nurse. When she completed her degree, she went on to work in New York City, far from her home in Northern Alabama. In the city, she started work on a graduate degree in Public Administration, or something, at Columbia. There she met the man who would become her husband.
This woman went on to become a public health nurse. She and her husband lived in Harlem when they were first married, and then moved out on to Long Island in the mid 1950’s. They settled in North Babylon, in Suffolk County. It was so unusual at the time that her husband, who was by this time in public administration in New York City was, essentially, debuted by the town fathers in North Babylon, or Suffolk County…however those duties were divided up at that time. There is a photo of three men posing on the edge of a table, two older white men, and this woman’s husband, all in tweed jackets. Oddly, it was a habit of white people to say things like, “you are the reason people wont come here”…and other such silliness. They actually went to this length to discourage the viral rejection that white people liked to level against Black people. The photo ran in the local newspaper with a story about these people, the woman, her husband, and their young daughter Deborah.
The attitudes depicted in the photo were quite friendly. It looked like a Perry Como album cover…with two additional figures. The attitude of the family was not quite so jovial. These people held each other in suspicion, and the photo was arranged to say otherwise. It was a necessary thing to show the community that Black people could be trusted in what had been a rather uniformly white area. The woman and her husband had college educated parents from Alabama and Harlem, respectively. The woman’s parents were graduates of Talladega College, and the man’s parents from CCNY. It was a bit of an adjustment to be required to make a public case for themselves, having come from environments where their status was assumed to be civilized. But, this was the post war world. A new world. There were many changes, so introductions were necessary.
The woman and her husband eventually had a second daughter, whom they named Jonni, after her father, John, the woman’s husband. They probably figured that would be their last child. They were wrong. 6 or 7 years later, they had a third child. This time, it was a boy, William David. The three children went on to do their various things. Deborah went on to become a college administrator somewhere in the SUNY system. Jonni studied at Hampton Institute and went on to teach high school. David, the 3rd child became the most interesting. He was interesting from the start. He was quite brilliant, and musically talented. He played many instruments, but his main focus was the viola. He played in a traveling youth orchestra which traveled the world every summer. His mother, the woman in the photo traveled with the orchestra and served as their nurse.
David went on to Harvard University after high school. In 1979 he was awarded by President Carter as a Presidential Scholar. David started as a Biology major, but eventually switched to Philosophy. His degree is in Philosophy, and while studying, he became something of a computer expert. He set up the system that Harvard had when he was a student there, and then upon graduation, he took a job in Boston with a connection from someone who worked with him to do what they did at Harvard…whatever they did. After a year in Boston, David moved to St. Mary’s in the US Virgin Islands, with the same company.
I had the good fortune of meeting and getting to know the woman in the photo. When I was a teenager she came to visit when my Dad was in the hospital with colon cancer. Aside from the fact that my father was dying of cancer, this was not an unusual experience. We had spent quite a bit of time with her family in my lifetime to that point. By this point, she had not been a nurse for a long time. (She was a public administrator in Suffolk County, at one point she ran the department of public health nursing. I don’t recall if that was what she was doing at that particular time.) I developed a love for public health from knowing her. I recall a number of dinners with our families where we discussed public health issues. One in particular involved a child who needed an organ transplant. (Keep in mind, I was still a child during this discussion). They searched all over for a compatible organ for the child, but one was never found. They were at the desperation level, which is how I became aware of it. I remember saying, that’s awful that the mother wont give her one of her kidneys. She should be required by law to do so. (It turned out that the mother was a match, but no others could be found and she was unwilling). Upon hearing me say that, the woman from the photo said, “I understand how you feel about the situation, and if it were one of my children, I may well donate one of my kidneys, but under no circumstances should I required by law to do anything with my body, no matter what the stakes are for anyone else.”
That statement became the foundation for how I saw personal rights versus public responsibility. It didn’t take further clarification. It made perfect sense. It was how I eventually settled the abortion conundrum in my mind…several years later. Over the years, we discussed all sorts of public issues. She had a special love for public health, so many of them were public health. I remember in the lead up to the ‘96 Olympics in Atlanta, I mentioned to her that with all of the new construction for the Olympics, they were not adding in water fountains. They planned to get water to their patrons by selling bottles of water. We take bottled water for granted now, like we used to take public water fountains. When I mentioned this to her, she yelled at me as if I had done it. I recall her saying, “Billy! You can’t have no public water fountains and attract crowds in Atlanta in the summer? People will die.”
I shudder to think what the woman in the photo would think of the state of public service today generally, and public health specifically. Often when something develops, I imagine telling her, and having her respond to be with a lot of shock, and a little anger. She would wonder what has become of this country. She passed away a few years ago from breast cancer, after having survived it a couple of times, over about 20 years. Cancer took her, just like it took her brother, my dad. I knew this Black family well. They were my family. William David is named for my dad. David was born two years before me. So, John is my uncle. The photo is of my aunt Bessie. At the bottom, the inscription says, “To Mom and Dad with love.” They were my beloved paternal grandparents.
12/14/2020 @ 12:53 am
I imagine your Aunt Bessie would be appalled, horrified, angered – no probably furious at the state of American public healthcare.
This is a lovely reminiscence. The last paragraph teared me up a bit. Probably because when I do my own remembering and compare then (the fifties) and now, my heart breaks a little. My people were dirt poor and crazily dysfunctional but the country or maybe it was just New York – was trying to get it somewhat right.
Or maybe that newspaper image of your uncle and the others was the real story. Since WW2 there have been half hearted efforts to right wrongs, to modernize, to integrate. Or maybe it’s all been busy work showpony go nowhere bullshit. I can’t say looking at us now.
12/14/2020 @ 7:05 am
Thank you. I have not settled on how I feel about how departed loved ones think about life on Earth, if that happens at all. There is the way that we remember them, and how they thought, which is along the lines of what the post says. And then there is my favorite way of thinking of them. I imagine they have graduated from the torments of life on Earth and live in a way that is summed up in a song lyric. “Suspended animation in a state of bliss.”
12/14/2020 @ 8:46 am
This reads like a passage from Alex Haley’s “Roots”.
Very nicely written as a personal story.
Very well done as a slice of African-American History.
12/14/2020 @ 9:29 am
Thank you, Professor. That means a lot.
12/14/2020 @ 10:04 am
I couldn’t get my own aunt off my mind yesterday. Holidays do that.
This is a compelling story, short enough to have a punch but long enough to create intrigue.
I wonder too how those who have left might think about this world. I delve further at times into a sort of necromancy, asking them, but never receiving a reply.
We are not meant to know is my usual conclusion, given the choice as they were in their own time to either drift aimlessly or paddle furiously to avoid going over the falls at the end of the rapids.
Thanks for this piece.
12/14/2020 @ 10:28 am
There is another sing lyric that I like when I contemplate this sort of thing. It comes from the film, “Fame”. The song is, “I Sing the Body Electric.” The line goes; “we are the emperors now, and we are the stars, and in time, and in time we will all be stars…”
It is a bit of a switch from the story, and the title because the line is not referring to stardom. Rather, it is talking about how we are made of the stuff from stars, and when we move on, we transition back into star stuff, on a trip across the universe.
Of course, there is also the classic “Woodstock” by Joni Mitchell. It has the line, “we are stardust, we are golden. We are billion year old carbon, and we’ve got to get ourselves back to the garden.”
That’s how I like to think of us.
12/14/2020 @ 11:47 am
Quite a story. Very accomplished people.
And a great way to learn to frame abortion.
You have a lot of education in your background. Do you happen to know where in the SUNY system your cousin worked (or works)? My wife is in the SUNY system.
12/14/2020 @ 1:28 pm
Debbie worked at SUNY Buffalo. Sadly, Debbie is gone now. She died before my aunt, also of cancer. David is gone too. He died in St Mary’s of a congenital heart issue.
Interestingly, my 3 cousins attended the same high school as Billy Hayes, the NY kid who got busted in Turkey trying to smuggle hashish back to the US. He was sentenced to life in prison, and the subject of the film “Midnight Express.” Billy Hayes is about 6 years older than Debbie, the oldest. Debbie would be about 1 year older than you.
They were extraordinarily ordinary people. David is the exception. You could sit next to him and hear his brain hum. Everyone else was just like anyone else. I love them, and that makes it difficult to be objective, but they were Americans in the main stream. Each of them did some extraordinary things…but don’t we all?
12/14/2020 @ 1:12 pm
My nephew’s father refused even to be tested to see if he matched. My nephew’s had two cadaver kidney transplants.
You come from one hell of an accomplished family, bitey. I especially like the cousin named Jonni because they got it almost right there. Just that one letter at the end…
12/14/2020 @ 3:17 pm
Honestly, if I thought they were extraordinary, I would not have shared it. My wife and I sat and talked about it afterwards, and I can’t really grasp it. I admit that I thought my grandparents were the center of the universe, but I imagine everyone thinks that. I thought my grandfathers invented the beard tickle, and baseball. I thought my grandmother bestowed her holiness upon their local Baptist church, rather than the other way around. When she hugged you, she’d squeeze you until your eyeballs popped out of the sockets. Extraordinary yet ordinary experiences.
I had an uncle who had a relationship with one of his professors in college, and when it was discovered, he was expelled. Since the professor was also a man, my mom’s family received him back at home, and marched him into a marriage to my aunt Frances. My aunt Frances, being from my mom’s parents hometown, which was coincidentally also my father’s parent’s hometown, was a childhood friend of my father and aunt, and introduced my father to my mother. Wild story, yet ordinary people.
12/14/2020 @ 4:27 pm
Just the fact that your grandparents both graduated college is extraordinary – in their generation not may did and even fewer black people did.
My grandparents – if I had more skill I might be able to make something of the details of their lives, their survival of hardships, because I do believe there’s an interesting story in every one you look at close enough, or at least in groups of them. They really were just more hardscrabble 2nd generation Europeans who barely made it, worked hard, drank at the level of sickness and abused the hell out of each other. The most exceptional thing may be that they decided the 3rd generation should abandon the German language and speak English at home. It helped get them through grade school which is about all any of them managed and more than their parents had. They suffered through hardship and survived it but didn’t overcome it or rise above it. Could be interesting and strong and whatnot but not what anyone would call extraordinary. Peasants to the bone.
It occurs to me that you are descended from what I think of as the black gentry – really it’s just the black middle and upper middle class. The stories we hear are told as if all black people of past times were sharecroppers and/or slum dwellers, ignoring the strong, educated black middle class. Anyway, it seems as if that’s an accepted truth though I know better.
I became aware of this years ago when a black woman I knew who had grown up in the DC black middle class, they vacationed on Martha’s Vineyard, told me about her father thinking his daughters shouldn’t do heavy work (washing windows was at issue here) because it might hurt their uteruses (uteri?) and so they always had maids for that sort of thing.
So maybe it’s not that your family was extraordinary as much as that they are from a much higher class of people than I am used to?
12/14/2020 @ 5:27 pm
Also, my parents and grandparents grew up in Baptist churches. I grew up in a Mennonite church. I am no longer religious, although I hold to the ethical principles. Do you know any Mennonites?
12/14/2020 @ 6:20 pm
To my knowledge, I’ve never know a Mennonite.
12/14/2020 @ 4:38 pm
I bet I know where the woman you knew in DC vacationed. I wish I remembered the name of the colony – lot of small really cute houses. In Oak Bluffs. I used to go to the Vineyard once or twice a year because Jonah went to summer camp there – the oldest cerebral palsy camp in the US. He started because of a connection when we lived in Indiana whose older brother was there and who headed the counselors. She was his assistive communications technology therapist. The camp is called Jabberwocky.
I spent most of my life around DC, starting in high school. DC has old upper middle class Black neighborhoods.
12/14/2020 @ 5:13 pm
koshersalaami:
~A~dovable as the Dickens your Jonah
~!\/!~
12/14/2020 @ 6:53 pm
kosh, I think I’ve even read a novel or two about that part of MV!
12/14/2020 @ 5:24 pm
Jonna, I know there is such a thing as false modesty. This ain’t it. While your “gentry” compliment is very kind, it makes me want to scream and run…away.
That college educated generation of grandparents that I revealed went to the college in their town. One of the fathers of the 4, my paternal great grandfather, was born enslaved and emancipated as a child. I love that fact because I love the crunchy substance of that history. He was born with the name Clayton, and changed it to Beck. I can’t express how much I love that. When I have told over the last 40 plus years about my enslaved grandfather to numerous white friends of mine, they look and me with pity and say that must be awful to know. I have never felt that way. He was neither determined by that status as his children and grandchildren were by their accomplishments. I believe that we are who we are as a result of who we choose to be, not the manner or capacity in which we consume.
My mom’s mom was a teenager in the Jazz age. Her father owned a cartage business in Alabama. My grandmother took off as a teen with some Jazz performer who came through town and went to New York. My great grandfather went and got her back, and put her in college in town. There, she met my grandfather and a large family blossomed. Her husband received a college degree, but put his 7 kids through college as a steel worker. Their oldest son, my mom’s oldest brother died in a steel mill accident working with my grandfather. Often in the North, college educated Blacks could not easily gain entrance to certain professions. When my mom’s youngest brother graduated from college, the 7 kids and my grandparents were also photographed and the story ran in the local paper. The story was about how a steel worker put 7 kids through college.
My dad used to say things like this to me when I was young. Once, when we were visiting my grandparents, he said to me, “you know how sheets wear out in the middle? When sheets get that worn patch in the middle, you cut the sheet into quarters, and make them into pillow cases.” I said, “sheets wear out?” He said, “that’s right. You were born in a generation where things get thrown away. We used to”….blah, blah, you get the picture. Everything in my bones resists the concept of class. It wasn’t until really recently that I realized that in the US, our culture is based on a class system that it denies having. It was probably last year when I realized we really do live under a caste system. I’m not into it. I accept that I am wrong in this regard. I am on the outside in the way that I think about it. But, believe me when I tell you that I reject the concept of class. And I sincerely appreciate the manner in which your comment was offered.
12/14/2020 @ 6:52 pm
Your family history is full of the details that fascinate me about post civil war black history in this country. It’s about the level of achievement despite the horrendous conditions that society imposed to try to prevent it. Not to mention white society’s denial that it even could be. My recognition of class differences is in that – depictions of black people in art and popular culture don’t reflect the true diversity of black society. Most of the black people I’ve known in my life have been smarter, more affluent, better educated and with stronger families than I which may distort my view of things.
I’m fascinated by your great grandfather’s name change – there has to be a story behind his choice of a new name. It must have taken some grit to make that happen. I like your view of him.
I have some slight familiarity from reading with stories of highly educated black people having to work blue-collar jobs because of race. It really highlights the grotesque stupidity of racism. Your family’s story seems like it could make one of those big, thick novels that covers multiple generations of a family.
I have just about 17 million pillowcases because I think like your father.
I don’t think of class in terms of a person’s worth. Not at all. It’s a question of society and manners and style. It’s a convenience of categorization or something. It’s complicated but it’s not about the value of a person. You know where I experienced, or witnessed, this the most? In Communist Poland. I lived there for 6 months in 1975 when they had been Communist for almost 30 years. My exposure was really second-hand because the strongest experience of it was my ex-husband’s. In his academic environment there was stiff formality between professors and students, even among professors based on their rank. An assistant professor would never have addressed a full professor by his first name in that “classless society”, for example, while we were used to even undergraduates doing that. Status, rank, classifications – humans seem to insist on them and they can become even stronger, more rigid, when denied. IMHO
12/14/2020 @ 7:15 pm
I think I understand what you mean. Honestly, I am really just seeing class in a real way for the first time. I rejected it so I was somewhat blind to it growing up. I wish someone had made some of this more plain to me sooner.
As humans we can speak, and we can create principles. How we are more like other animals is that we tend to operate by their principles rather than the ones we claim civilize us. My mistake was believing that more humans hold to the principles that they espouse. That’s actually quite rare. What’s worse is, when humans espouse principles, and you presume to believe them, the resulting transactions are actually worse than one would have with an animal. You can understand how an animal will operate. It is existential. Humans lie more often than they fart.
12/14/2020 @ 8:27 pm
We act like chimps in many respects.
12/14/2020 @ 8:28 pm
No, my avatar is a baboon.