He said, “I’m not gonna buy a car.”
I said all right and from that I learned that you don’t have to wait on a man. I thought I couldn’t buy anything without my husband signin’, but I learned that I did. This family sold trucks. I saw an advertisement in the paper; it was a Chevrolet and it wasn’t a big payment a month. Before that, I talked to the car dealer here about it and this salesman tried to discourage me; oh, I had to have so-and-so much down.
So, all right, the next day, I decided to go to Memphis and try again. I wasn’t sure I could without my husband signing. I took my clothes one day and instead of coming home I got dressed and caught a bus to Memphis. I told the people who I worked for what I was going for and that I would be back at 5 o’clock to go to work. I went straight to the Chevrolet place and told them what I wanted and the car I wanted. That particular car had been sold, but they had another one with the same price. It was nothin’ down and $130-something a month. They was supposed to get the car cleaned up and ready for me. They called me in first and asked what I did and what my salary was. They didn’t hardly believed that, but anyway, they were gettin’ the car cleaned up. Anyway, they were so long. And they called me back in and requestioned me, some of the same questions. I said, “Man, do you think I came up here to lie?” But what had happened, the man I was working for had gone out of town that day and he didn’t get back in until about 4 o’clock. That’s when they called me back in and requestioned me. But I didn’t know what it was. I said, “I’m supposed to be back at work at 5 o’clock and y’all holdin’ me up.” He said, “We gonna getcha back on the road, gonna getcha back on the road.” I wasn’t sure I could make it. Had an older son who lived in Memphis and I called him to ride home wit’ me. So he and his wife did.
I still didn’t know what was happenin’ until the next mornin’. My boss called me in. He said, “Glennie Mae, they made you kinda hot up there yesterday.” And that’s when I knew he had information.
I told my chil’ren then, I said, “White people can help ya and then they can harm ya.”
CHOWCHOW
I was first introduced to chowchow during my interview with Mrs. Houston. Hers is one of many ways of preparing a traditional Southern pickled relish made from a combination of late-season garden vegetables. Stored in a canning jar, chowchow could be part of a family’s food supply during the non–growing season. It is served cold as a condiment or as a sweet-spicy side.
4 C. ONION, CHOPPED
4 C. CABBAGE, FINELY SLICED
4 C. GREEN TOMATOES, CHOPPED
5 C. GREEN PEPPERS, CHOPPED
1½ C. RED BELL PEPPERS, CHOPPED
½ C. PICKLING SALT
6 C. SUGAR
2 TBSP. MUSTARD SEED
1 TBSP. CELERY SEED
1¼ TSP. TURMERIC
5 C. APPLE CIDER VINEGAR
1 QT. WATER
Combine the vegetables in a large bowl, sprinkle with salt, and let sit overnight. Rinse and drain the vegetables, then place in a stockpot.
Combine sugar, mustard seed, celery seed, turmeric, vinegar, and water. Pour over vegetables and cook at medium heat until tender.
Spoon into canning jars and seal according to directions.
Makes 9 pints
MRS. VIRGINIA HOWER, 94
CLARKSDALE
BORN APRIL 1920
MARRIED 30 YEARS WHEN WIDOWED
NO CHILDREN
Mrs. Hower was referred by Francine Luckett, wife of Mayor Bill Luckett of Clarksdale. She said I must interview a woman she loves dearly, and when I tell her she has to be an elder in the church, she replies, “Oh yes, she’s an elder. She’s adorable. I just love her. She reminds me of my mother.” Francine is white.
“Francine… this is a book about black grandmothers…”
“Oh, she’s black. I met her at a church one day. I just love her and it’s so funny, she looks just like my mother. I just love her so much. She’s such a sweet woman. Please just go talk to her.”
I agree to meet Francine on a day she can take me to Mrs. Hower.
After riding the elevator, we knock on Mrs. Hower’s door, which bears a sign stating NO SOLICITATION. She’s seated in the tiny living room, watching her favorite judge, Judge Judy. Next to her on the TV stand is a pistol—a .38—in case someone tries to burglarize her. She looks white. I wouldn’t have believed she was black, had Francine not told me. She talked about passing for white, saying, “And if you could pass for white, all was well,” but also, “We [Blacks] always had to be better.” She advised me, “Don’t get mad, get smarter.”
One Minute Café was on Issaquena Street and they had the best burgers. They just didn’t allow us [Blacks] to go into that hamburger place. We had to go into the alley to get a hamburger. You began to wonder why. My grandparents used to send me in the restaurants to get the hamburgers if we didn’t go in the alley, and they never knew the difference.
Going to the café, I felt dirty. If you could pass for white, all was well. I guess you got acclimated to the condition. I used to come down here [from Indiana] on the white coach [train]. My grandmother would meet me downstairs. She didn’t want to let anybody know. It was horror. You felt bad because you couldn’t be with your grandmother or your grandfather. You just accepted it. I couldn’t be with them because they were darker. Sometimes you felt bad because you could ride in a clean coach and just to think that your grandmother couldn’t kiss you as you stepped off the train. But they accepted it, so why not enjoy the clean train? And then when I got down on the streets, we all kiss and carry on. Those were happy moments.
And then you got to thinkin’ how foolish this life is, how foolish. Then you got to thinkin’ about it and say take advantage of it and a lot of people down here in Clarksdale, they went to Chicago in ’41 and never revealed they were colored.
If you were colored, that’s what they used to call it long years ago. Now it’s black or African-American. I’m used to colored because all the signs were on the restrooms, I think even at the courthouse they had a sign that said colored and you couldn’t drink out of the fountain in there. You just, you accept it, the situation. If you wanted to live peaceful, you just accepted it. You accepted the signs.
This is our second time going to see Mrs. Hower. Bobby and I love her. We love all of the women, but we are especially close to several. A few days prior to a trip to Clarksdale to go to a blues club, I call Mrs. Hower, whom I affectionately call “Bad Butt,” and tell her we want to see her.
“Come on by, baby. I’ll be home,” she says.
“Do you want anything? Do you need me to bring you anything in particular?”
“Some mangoes. I love mangoes.”
“Okay, I’ll try to find some mangoes.” I can’t find any mangoes and I’m not sure I can make it to her house today, after all. I have an appointment in Clarksdale and I’m running late. I try to call. No answer. I give her a few minutes. I call back. No answer. I shift in my seat. Maybe she has company. I wait another 10 minutes and try again. No answer. Mrs. Hower has a one-bedroom apartment filled with quality antique furniture. She sits in the living room, not even a foot away from the tiny television set.
I chuckle when I remember when I first took Bobby and my mom, who was visiting, and a former student to meet her. Bobby reached for the remote to turn the volume down so my mother could hear Mrs. Hower talking. Bad Butt stopped talking midsentence, turned her head to Bobby, looked him dead in the eye, and said, “That TV hasn’t been cut off since President Obama was elected. In 2008.”
He sat still. “Can I just cut it down so I can hear you? It’s a little loud.”
She nodded.
I smile and tilt my head to direct Bobby to the gun next to Mrs. Hower. I’ve told him she has one and is not afraid to use it. She keeps it in case anyone tries to break into her home.
The day I am trying to reach her, I know her apartment is only so big. She said she was going to be home all day. I call at least five more times
in 45 minutes. No answer. My chin quivers.
Bobby is driving. He looks over at me. “Babe, maybe she went on an errand.” “No, she has trouble walking. If she said she’s going to be home, she’s going to be home.” Mrs. Hower is 94. She has fallen before. “I know I said I was calling to tell her we can’t make it, but I have to go by.”
Bobby says okay.
Tears are forming in my eyes. “What if something happened to her? What if she fell? What if she passed away and she’s just lying there?”
After a few minutes, he asks, “What are you going to do, God forbid, when these grandmothers start to pass away? Are you going to be able to handle it?”
“I have been thinking about it. I am still grieving Gram and now I have 54 more grandmothers.” I look out the window.
He looks at me.
I’m sobbing. I don’t know if I can handle the loss of 54 grandmothers.
It’s after 4 p.m. and the front door to Mrs. Hower’s building is locked. There isn’t a buzzer for her to let us in. No one is in the hallway to open the door. I call her apartment. No answer. I call again and her niece Benita answers. “Ms. Benita, this is Lisa Steele. I’m the woman doing the book. You met me, my mom, and husband a few months ago.”
“Oh yes, I remember you.” Ms. Benita is probably in her fifties, youthful looking, funny, and has no filter when she talks. She is a Jewel in the making, pure comedic relief.
“Ms. Benita, my husband and I are downstairs. I’ve been trying to reach Mrs. Hower for over an hour. I’ve been worried. I’m downstairs. No one is in the hallway to let us in. Can you?”
“Yes, I can come down. I was worried when I couldn’t reach her, too. She’s fine. She was across the hall at the neighbor’s. She was using bleach to clean her stove and the fumes made her sick. She’s been across the hall for a couple of hours.”
“Can you let me in? I just want to see her. We won’t stay long.”
“Sure, I’m on my way down.”
We make it to her apartment and Bad Butt is sitting in her chair. I am happy to see her, but I’m upset. Tears are in my eyes.
“Why are you crying?” she asks.
“I thought something happened to you. Don’t scare me like that again.” I look her right in the eye. I’m worried that I’m being morbid, but scared that something might have happened to her. I’m not ready to let any of them go.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I know this book couldn’t have happened without God’s blessing. This is so much bigger than me, and I believe the ancestors are walking with me, smiling down.
To Bobby, my rock, my best friend, the one who has always believed in me. I know I couldn’t have done this without you. You have loved this project almost as much as I have, and you know the stories better than anyone. Thank you for pausing the music and television when I wanted to read something to you. I love you.
My grandfather, Mr. William L. Burton, you and Gram were married for 46 years when she passed away. She would be so proud of this book. Thank you for raising me and for being a good role model while I was growing up.
To my father, Mr. Walter “Rocky” Burton, who has always loved me very deeply and who has been fiercely protective. You taught me to say, “Yes, ma’am” and “No, sir.” I thought for years you could only count to 1, because that was the only number you were going to count to when you told me to do something. I treasure the races down the street (thanks for letting me win) and for my love of sports. I hate that you still mess up my hair, but I always want to hold hands with you, and I always will. I love you, Dad.
To my uncles—Joe Duncan, who introduced me to photography, Bill Duncan, Richard Larson, and Ian McCargar—for being constants in my life; sister Angela Burdick and brother-in-law Philip and their family; cousin Monica Scott Sheppard and her husband, Reginald—I love you both. Reggie, your mom will always be the good in you; Cousin Theresa Aiken Hill for family history; mother-in-law Esterlyn Mendez and sister-in-law Amber Michael, who have always been loving; in-laws Bobby and Kande Steele, and family—thank you for always supporting me. I have a very large family and I cannot name everyone, but to all of my relatives and loved ones, thank you.
To the Bearden family: Mrs. Lela J. Bearden, Dr. and Mrs. John McAdory (Cynthia Bearden), and Drs. Lloyd and Marilyn Robinson (Marilyn Bearden), and James Bearden, Esq. What love, support, encouragement, and counsel, just to name a few, that I have gotten from this incredibly loving family. I know Hawk is smiling down. So proud to know you all and so honored to share these stories. Thank you for every single thing you have done to help make this book a success. My cup runneth over.
To Dr. Samir “Mr. Magazine” Husni: Thank you for believing in this project and the generous donation. Thank you for the kind words of encouragement and support. Your support means so very much and I’m very grateful.
To friends Paul L. Newby II, we have been friends more than 20 years and I love and respect you; Jason Johnson for making me laugh; and John Patterson, who took my phone calls when I was in the Delta. You’ve been right there with me. Love you. To Michael and Patrice Christian, thank you for the love and friendship. To Raymond Snyder, my first photography teacher. Good teachers change lives. Thank you for believing in this city kid when she didn’t believe in herself.
To Curt Chandler and Martha Rial, my first mentors. You both made time for me and you paying it forward reached me. I hope I am leading by example. To Barth Falkenberg, who allowed me opportunities for growth. To William Snyder, who was hard on me for a reason and I loved working for you.
Stan Alost, I could not have done this without you. Thank you. You were the best graduate committee chair a girl could ask for and now you’re my friend. Thank you for your photographic eye and kind words when I was doubtful. The picture editing is superb and you created a wonderful map of Mississippi.
Seann Anderson, you did a great job on the family tree. Thank you. You and your lovely wife, Carissa Anderson, are two of my favorite people on earth.
To Ohio University’s Viscom program and professors, especially Terry Eiler and Julie Elman.
Larry Wells, this project would not be what it is today without your constant guidance. Southern Living would have never seen it. Thank you believing in me and trusting your gut. I love you dearly and am proud to call you a mentor and friend.
To all of the Jewels in the book, thank you for sharing such personal stories so that others could learn. You are giving, strong, independent, and loving mothers. My life has forever changed. How lucky am I? And to their families who have helped along the way. Your knowledge and encouragement made huge differences in this work. Could not have done it without all of your support.
Rev. Juan Self and Rev. Andrew Hawkins, I know for sure that this could not have been done without your guidance, patience, and love. Thank you for praying with me and for me. I love you both dearly.
To all of the pastors who guided me to the Jewels, a special thanks to Rev. Tony Anderson, Rev. Albert Calvin, Rev. S. L. Blake, Rev. Mark Buckner Sr., Rev. Benjamin Hall, Rev. Calvin Collins, Rev. Reginald Griffin, Rev. Larry Hervey, Rev. Clarence Hunt Jr., Rev. Jessie Payne, Rev. Lorenzo Robinson, Rev. Edward Thomas, Rev. W. E. Tinson, Rev. Clarence Tolbert Sr., Rev. Derrick Williams Sr., Rev. Jerry Walker, and Rev. Freddie Wince.
To Mrs. Myrlie Evers-Williams, a legend. It took me nine months to get your interview. I bugged everyone. They say the best things in life are worth waiting for, and you, my dear, were worth every minute. Thank you for the knowledge. To Mrs. Reena Evers-Everette, you are the next generation of Jewels. What a heart of gold. Stay strong and steady because your work is important.
To Veronica Fields Johnson, who so kindly introduced me to my agent. To my agent, Janell Agyeman, of Marie Brown Associates, I heard passion in your voice and am so very thankful that you love this project and wanted to take it on. I am in good hands. To Ms. Marie Brown, thank you for the support. To Adrienne Ingrum, a sharp editor who kept me on my toes and made this book better. Tha
nk you for pushing me. I’ve learned so much from you. To Mr. Rolf Zettersten, publisher at Hachette Book Group, thank you seeing the value and importance of this work. I’m so thankful to you. To the entire Hachette crew, especially Jacob Arthur, Laini Brown, Andrea Glickson, Melanie Gold, Virginia Hensley, Joan Matthews, Antoinette Morgan, Andrea Santoro, Alexa Smail, Erin Vandeveer, Jody Waldrup, Danielle Young, and everyone else who was instrumental in making this a success, I’m honored to be a part of the team.
To Samuel Freedman, what a beautiful column. I am forever grateful and I will never be able to adequately and properly thank you for changing my life. One man, one column in the New York Times, and this project took on a life of its own.
I am blessed to work for, and have worked for, wonderful bosses, including Will Norton and Charlie Mitchell. Thank you for everything. You are good men. I am proud to be a part of the Meek School of Journalism and New Media at the University of Mississippi. Ed Meek, who supported me and made a donation that allowed me to continue interviewing women. To all my Meek School colleagues, especially John Baker, Shannon Dixon, Scott Fiene, Paula Hurdle, Darrel Jordan, Cynthia-Cynthia Joyce (you know I had to do it), R. J. Morgan, Mykki Newton, Charles Overby, Evangeline Robinson, Darren Sanefski, Chris Sparks, Pat Thompson, Mike Tonos, Curtis Wilkie, and Kathleen Wickham. To Vanessa Gregory for the brainstorming, Mikki Harris for the introduction to Dean Norton, Bill Rose for the introduction to the Delta, and Deb Wenger, you made this rookie professor better by example. Thank you for the constant shoulder to lean on and for the donations. Nancy Andrews Mitchell, you gave the best Southern reception a Northern girl could ask for. I love you dearly. Susan Glisson, thanks for all the help and support, including the William Winter Institute grant and for connecting me to Mrs. Evers-Williams. To Billy Meyers, a kind man who also has a wonderful spirit and listening ear. You’ve helped me find peace within stressful moments.
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