One of Albert and Mattie Ray’s daughters, Angelena, was a serious piano student who went to college to obtain a degree in education. She then taught music and science at Fairfield Industrial High School in Fairfield, a predominately black, tidy southwest suburb of Birmingham set on a hill overlooking the steel mills.
While teaching at Fairfield Industrial, Angelena met a young Presbyterian minister who was also teaching at the school to supplement his minister’s salary (as most ministers did in those days). John Wesley Rice was also the head coach of the basketball team and assistant coach of the football team. When he wasn’t at the church or Fairfield High, he was working as a guidance counselor at Ullman High School in downtown Birmingham.
John was born in Baton Rouge on November 3, 1923, to John Wesley Rice and Theresa Hardnett Rice, and he and his sister, Angela Theresa, grew up attending the public schools in that city. After graduating from high school, he enrolled in his father’s alma mater, Stillman College in Tuscaloosa, but transferred to another Presbyterian-based black college Johnson C. Smith University in Charlotte, North Carolina. This historic school was founded in 1867 by two Presbyterian ministers and began as a small high school and Bible institute. By the early 1920s it had grown into a four-year liberal arts college and seminary and was renamed after one of its benefactors.
After receiving his bachelor’s degree at Smith, John spent two more years working on a master of divinity degree, which he completed in 1948 at age twenty-four. He led his first congregation in Baton Rouge before moving to Birmingham to take over his father’s ministry at Westminster Presbyterian Church in 1951. When he arrived, the church had completed its new, red brick building on South Sixth Avenue.
John’s sister, Angela Theresa Rice Love (Condi’s aunt), left Louisiana to attend the University of Wisconsin, where she received a Ph.D. in English Literature. She specialized in Victorian literature and was a professor at Southern Illinois University Edwardsville, where she received the Outstanding Faculty Award in 1989. Her book, a study of Dickens entitled Charles Dickens and the Seven Deadly Sins, was published by Interstate Press in 1979. One of her colleagues, Professor Betty Richardson, recalled that before coming to Illinois, Theresa spent a great deal of time building the curriculums of black schools in the South—struggling to win budgets for programs and foregoing her own academic advancement in the process. “Dr. Love was absolutely committed to African-American studies and dedicated to her students,” said Betty. “She is a woman whose total career deserves nothing but the highest respect. She was in the South creating curriculum for black schools when it was not fashionable to do so.”
When John and Angelena met, they discovered they shared a deep faith, a love for teaching, and a commitment to their own professional development. They both had aspirations for graduate school and for helping the youth of Titusville, and they both wanted to have a family. They were married in the early 1950s. Angelena has been described as a petite, light-skinned beauty who was nearly inseparable from her sister, Mattie (named after her mother). Friends called them the twins because they dressed alike and did everything together. “Angelena was very beautiful, very elegant,” said her sister-in-law, Connie Ray, and Condi has said that her mother always dressed beautifully.
John and Angelena’s marriage brought together two family lineages that believed strongly in religion and achievement through education. Condi, described by one political journal as “the very picture of American over-achievement,” recognizes that she is the product of a family legacy that has always made education a priority. With three generations of college-educated family members, including preachers, teachers, and lawyers, the bar has always been set high. “So I should have turned out the way I did,” she told the Financial Times.
“I don’t know too many American families, period, who can claim that not only are their parents college-educated, but their grandparents are college-educated and all their cousins and aunts and uncles are college-educated,” said Coit Blacker, a Stanford professor and friend of Condi. Upon hearing that Condi grew up in Birmingham, many assume that her childhood was deprived and underprivileged and that she did not see the light of opportunity until the Civil Rights movement began to bear fruit. But that is not Condi’s story. As she has often repeated, it is not a matter of America’s civil rights struggle but of her own family legacy.
With the birth of Condi, John and Angelena funneled all the family support, strength, pride, faith in God, and sense of responsibility that had shaped their lives into their child. “They wanted the world,” said Connie Rice. “They wanted Rice to be free of any kind of shackles, mentally or physically, and they wanted her to own the world. And to give a child that kind of entitlement, you have to love her to death and make her believe that she can fly.”
THREE
Twice as Good
“My parents had me absolutely convinced that . . . you may not be able to have a hamburger at Woolworth’s but you can be president of the United States.”
—Condoleezza Rice
CONDI was born on a Sunday morning while her father was leading the eleven o’clock service at Westminster, a fitting time for a child of deeply religious parents to enter the world. The congregation often glanced over at the empty organ bench that morning, wondering how Angelena was doing and offering silent prayers that all would go well. They knew that Reverend Rice wanted a son—a football-, baseball-, and basketball-playing boy with whom he could share all the joys of sports. But if it was a girl, that would be wonderful, too—whatever the Lord delivered. On November 14, 1954, Angelena gave birth to a girl, and she named her Condoleezza. John simply named her his “Little Star,” and he continued to call her that for the rest of his life.
John Rice preached at Westminster Presbyterian for eleven years, making the church Condi’s second home. When she was born, the Rices still lived in the pastor’s quarters, a set of rooms in the church building. Later, the church built a parsonage about eight blocks south at 929 Center Way, and the Rices moved in. The small, brick house sat on the corner of a brand-new, tidy block in a newly developed section of Titusville, one of Birmingham’s black middle-class neighborhoods. The area would continue to grow, encroaching into the lush forest with block after block of attractive, well-landscaped homes. Because Condi’s house was so close to the church, she spent most of her time in this small, protected enclave of friends and family.
This close-knit community of Birmingham’s black teachers, preachers, and other middle-class citizens was a parallel world in which the Rices sheltered Condi from the harsh realities of segregated Birmingham. All the parents in their neighborhood dedicated themselves to nurturing strong, self-confident children. “They simply ignored, ignored the larger culture that said you’re second class, you’re black, you don’t count, you have no power,” said Connie Rice, Condi’s second cousin. But that was just one element of the type of parenting that Condi received. John and Angelena showered their daughter with love, attention, praise, and exposure to all the elements of Western culture—music, ballet, foreign language, athletics, and the great books. “I had parents who gave me every conceivable opportunity,” she said. “They also believed in achievement.” When Condi was born, Angelena devoted herself to her intellectual and artistic development. With piano lessons and a full schedule of training in other subjects, Condi gained self-discipline long before she started attending school. “It was a very controlled environment with little kids’ clubs and ballet lessons and youth group and church every Sunday,” Condi said. “The discipline comes from that.”
Music had always been at the center of Angelena’s life, and she was determined to give her daughter every opportunity to become a professional musician. From the first days of her life, Condi was immersed in church and classical music, listening to the piano, the organ, and the choir. Her relatives recall that she was an early reader, but Condi has remarked that she learned how to read music before learning to read books.
Condi was the fourth p
ianist in her mother’s line. “My mother played, my grandmother and my great-grandmother all played piano,” she said. When Angelena went back to work, Condi spent each weekday at her grandmother Mattie Ray’s house. Hour after hour the piano students marched in, and Condi was fascinated with the sounds they made and all the attention her grandmother gave them. Little Condi would walk up to the piano and bang on the keys, trying to copy her grandmother’s playing. Mattie felt that there was more to Condi’s interest than simple curiosity, and she wanted to explore it. “So she said to my mother, let’s teach her to play,” Condi said. “I was only about three. My mother thought I might be a little young, but my grandmother wanted to try it and as a result I learned to play very, very young.”
Angelena could not have been happier. She had always planned to immerse her daughter in music, like her own mother and grandmother had done with her, and was thrilled to discover that Condi was already attracted to the piano on her own. “Condi’s always been so focused, ever since she was really, really young,” said her mother’s sister, Genoa Ray McPhatter, who was a school principal in Chesapeake, Virginia. “She would practice her piano at a certain time without anyone having to remind her.” Angelena set Condi upon the fast track immediately, not only with piano lessons but also by accelerating her education.
Because Condi could read fluently by age five, Angelena wanted to start her in school that year. The principal of the local black elementary school said that she was too young, however, so Angelena took a leave of absence from Fairfield High for one year and stayed home to homeschool Condi—it just didn’t make sense that her perfectly capable child should be forced to waste a year of learning. Down the road, Condi was so advanced that she skipped the first and seventh grades.
Condi’s year of homeschooling was regimented and intense. Juliemma Smith, a long-time family friend, said that Angelena organized Condi’s day as if she were in a regular classroom, but her lessons were more rigorous. “They didn’t play,” she said. “They had classes, then lunch time and back to classes.” Juliemma, who taught at Davis Elementary and helped John with the church youth fellowship, recalled seeing a reading machine at the house. “Condi learned how to read books quickly with a speed-reading machine. I had heard that President Kennedy used one, but I had never seen one before. That was also the first time I heard of homeschooling. Angelena and John were just interested in Condi maturing and getting the best of everything. It paid off.”
Angelena also wanted Condi to have every chance to develop into a first-rate pianist, which meant she would need a sharp memory as well as excellent technique. Mother and daughter spent long hours together exploring the worlds of music and language and art, both at home and on trips into the city. And Condi adored her for it. “My mother was stunningly beautiful,” she said. “She was tremendously talented. . . . I remember how much exposure she gave me to the arts. I remember when I was six she bought me this recording of Aida.”
Angelena’s unflagging guidance of Condi’s musical training from a very early age is typical of parents who have produced world-class musicians. Many of the great pianists had, like Condi, at least one musically trained parent who nurtured their talents early and was devoted to the child’s training. Van Cliburn, for example, began taking piano lessons from his mother at age three and studied with her until he entered Juilliard at age seventeen. Earl Wild heard classical music in the home from the day he was born and also began taking lessons from his mother at age three. Claudio Arrau began lessons with his mother as a toddler and read music before he read words. Clara Haskil, Alicia de Larrocha, Glenn Gould, and Arthur Rubinstein (one of Condi’s favorite pianists) each received very early encouragement. Duke Ellington also started piano lessons as a child, and even though he often complained that he would rather be out playing baseball, his parents made him stick with it.
The benefits of a family background in music, dedicated parents, an exceptional aptitude that is recognized early (often at age three), a deep feeling for music, and prodigious raw talent have been the prerequisites for most great performers. Condi possessed all of them.
Angelena knew that her daughter was exceptional in many areas, as did the rest of the family. “My sister always knew that Condoleezza was a different child,” said Genoa Ray. To confirm their notion that she was gifted, the Rices took Condi to Southern University in Baton Rouge for psychological testing. The results were undoubtedly impressive because Angelena told the family, “I knew my baby was a genius!”
The first song Condi learned to play on the piano was “What a Friend We Have in Jesus,” and shortly afterward she began “accompanying” her mother at church by sitting beside her on the organ bench. At age four, she mastered a handful of pieces and gave her first recital. The intense focus on piano cut into her playtime, as did the other projects Angelena set up for her. Condi spent more time indoors—practicing piano and French—than did most of the other girls on the block. Two girls who lived across the street remembered “waiting for what seemed like hours for her to finish her latest Beethoven or Mozart and come outside.” When she did come out to play hopscotch or jump rope or play school, it wasn’t usually for long. “[She] wasn’t an outdoors child, running in the neighborhood,” recalled Ann Downing, one of Angelena’s neighbors and a member of her church. “She played with her parents, her family more or less,” she said. Angelena and John lived to fill Condi’s waking hours with productive, enriching experiences; to pour as much knowledge and culture into her young, impressive mind as possible. This dedication was based on love as much as on their longstanding family standards of achievement.
A specific incident sheds light on the depth of Angelena’s devotion. Mrs. Downing dropped in one day while Angelena was ironing the tiny lace edges of Condi’s anklet socks. “What in the world are you doing?” she asked. “I just love her so much,” replied Angelena. Mrs. Downing then remarked that with so much love, she should have another child. “I can’t take this love from Condi,” she said. John Rice held an equal amount of reverence for his daughter and felt an equal obligation to give her every opportunity. One member of John’s congregation recalled him saying, “Condi doesn’t belong to us. She belongs to God.”
By the time she began elementary school, Condi was already a serious music student and more ready to get down to business than most of her classmates. One day, while the other students were noisily blowing on their plastic flutophones and generally raising a ruckus, Condi raised her voice above the din and said to her teacher, “I’m waiting for my instructions. And would you please write the music down for me?” She was accustomed to paying attention, behaving well, and keeping an orderly routine. She acted mature because that was the way she was treated at home. “John and Angelena were the perfect parents,” said Moses Brewer, a friend of Condi’s from the University of Denver. “They never talked to her like she was a child, which is why she was mature beyond her years.” Some of her schoolmates took this maturity and perfectionism, as well as her dainty manners and habit of walking nearly on her tiptoes, as a sign of being prissy. But Condi got bored in situations where time was being wasted. And after seven years of piano, she got bored with that, too.
“I remember when I was about ten I really wanted to quit playing the piano,” she said. “I had been a child prodigy, now I was ten, there were lots of kids who could play the piano at ten.” For Condi, the uniqueness of being “the cute little piano prodigy” was over and she was ready to move on to something else. “[But] my mother said you’re not old enough or good enough to make that decision, and she was right.”
Instead, she enrolled in a local conservatory and took her playing to a new level. At age ten, she entered the Birmingham Southern Conservatory of Music, which had recently opened its doors to black students. “I think I was the first black student to go to that newly integrated conservatory,” she said, “and I began to compete in piano at that point.” The conservatory also introduced her to the basics of flute and violin, which ro
unded out her private study of ballet and French. And in her spare time, Condi tackled a carefully selected pile of books—always the best literature for her age group. One of the down-sides of her attentive mother’s efforts was that books were always an assignment, never a relaxing way to escape. “I grew up in a family in which my parents put me into every book club,” she said. “So I never developed the fine art of recreational reading.”
Another way Angelena sought to expand Condi’s horizons was to enroll her in different public schools, exposing her to a variety of social and educational experiences. At every school—as well as in all of her extracurricular activities—she was told to go beyond what was expected of her, always hand in work that was above average, always rise to the top. This was the unwritten yet firm law of Titusville families: to raise children who were “twice as good” as white kids to gain an equal footing and “three times as good” to surpass them. This was the driving force behind the high, uncompromising standards that the Rays and the Rices expected of their children. By encouraging them to always be far above average, they gave them the best shot at competing at an equal level when they left the secure enclave of Titusville and their families. “It wasn’t as if someone said, ‘You have to be twice as good’ and ‘Isn’t that a pity’ or ‘Isn’t that wrong,’” Condi said. “It was just, ‘You have to be twice as good.’”
“My parents were very strategic,” she explained. “I was going to be so well prepared, and I was going to do all of these things that were revered in white society so well, that I would be armored somehow from racism. I would be able to confront white society on its own terms.” Children who asked their parents about racist comments they overheard or about Jim Crow codes they observed on a rare trip to another part of Birmingham were told not to worry about it: “It’s not your problem.”
Condi Page 4