Moody's Memories

The Seventies – Part II

sienasenior — Wed, 21 Oct 2009 00:43:35 +0000

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.

Cameron in the early ’70s

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.

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

sienasenior — Wed, 21 Oct 2009 00:24:01 +0000

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

sienasenior — Wed, 21 Oct 2009 00:11:12 +0000

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 oldest clan in 2009 with friends and parents

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

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

sienasenior — Tue, 20 Oct 2009 23:47:24 +0000

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

sienasenior — Tue, 20 Oct 2009 23:33:22 +0000

Let us be grateful to people who make us happy,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

sienasenior — Tue, 20 Oct 2009 23:24:16 +0000

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.

Thanks, Blogger Friends

sienasenior — Tue, 20 Oct 2009 23:15:13 +0000

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

sienasenior — Tue, 20 Oct 2009 23:02:40 +0000

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.

Corey and Cameron During the ’60s

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

sienasenior — Tue, 20 Oct 2009 22:47:30 +0000

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

sienasenior — Tue, 20 Oct 2009 22:42:30 +0000

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 definitely 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