Treasure in a Tin Box (Wall of Silence Book 1)

by Dorey Whittaker

  We burst out in laughter at Ruth’s enthusiasm, but we all agreed with her idea. We knew this was a wonderful idea and a great opportunity to show the love of Christ to others.

  We started with the vacant lot next to the church. In order to avoid the winter frost, we began by building raised planting beds. We started with carrots, beets, parsnips, rutabaga, onions, cabbage, leaf lettuce, and spinach. In one weekend, we had all twenty raised beds planted.

  At my aunt’s house, Sulley and several others built raised planting beds and started broccoli, cauliflower, mustard greens, and parsnips. These would grow all winter and could be harvested well into spring.

  Ruth and Rev. Johnson decided their garden would be filled with herbs. They planted thyme, basil, chives, dill, lemon grass, marjoram, mint, garlic, and parsley. Ruth knew that their garden would make the other gardens produce perk up in soups and casseroles.

  Although both of my aunts were now eighty years old, they wanted to help. Gardening and canning was simply out of the question. As word got around to other churches about our “Mercy Gardens,” these churches began sending a small committee over to check out what we were doing. Ruth came up with a wonderful idea of how best to use my aunties. “Once a month we can invite people to our church who are interested in starting their own Mercy Garden. The men can share what we have learned about growing vegetables year-round. We can do the same for the women who want to start a canning pantry. Aunt Pearl and Aunt Ruby can tell them the story of how their Momma saved everyone on the plantation from starving during the Civil War. If we can get four or five other churches to join us, we can make sure food will always be available to share here in Atlanta.”

  Hearing Ruth’s idea brought a new realization to me. “You know, Ruth, using that terrible situation my great-grandma went through to help bless people today is wonderful. First, it means that many other people will hear what she went through, but most importantly, her experience can help others overcome the struggle they are going through.”

  During the worst years of the Deep Depression, our church family experienced our greatest years of blessings. We had no idea how long this depression was going to last, but we all proved that when we stand united, care for the needy, and share the Gospel, life can be rich and full—even in times of great stress.

  By the summer of 1930, our church was operating four Mercy Gardens. In addition to ours, we helped other churches start eleven more around the greater Atlanta area. Ms. Pearl and Ms. Ruby loved telling their momma’s story. If a church was having a hard time getting their people to see the vision, the ladies of that church would call a meeting, and Ms. Pearl and Ms. Ruby would tell their story. By the time they were finished, the majority of the people were willing to sign up to help. Many were able to survive those first, and most fearful, years of the Depression. Many of those who benefited from Mercy Gardens began attending church, though church attendance was not required to receive our help. Once the people realized the love that was being shown to them, they wanted to find out more. Outside, in the garden, they received one kind of mercy, but inside the church building, they learned of God’s great mercy. At first we fed their bodies, but then we fed their souls.

  Ruth, Whippoorwill, and Gladys made sure the canning pantry remained stocked all year round. Because jars and lids were expensive to replace, Whippoorwill asked Sulley to build a lean-to beside the church. As people came up to the side door to receive their Mercy supply, they would drop off their empty jars and lids at the lean-to. One of the young men, usually Sulley’s boy, Van, would gather up these used jars and carry them into Rev. Johnson’s kitchen. There, Ms. Ruby would be ready with boiling pots of soapy water to clean the jars and set them out to dry so they could be refilled by the canning committee.

  Ms. Ruby loved teaching the younger women how to can. Seeing the young men out in the garden brought back sweet memories of Brother Samuel, and passing along Momma Hannah’s talent meant she would live on in these young women’s memories.

  Ruth and I kept a close eye on the two sisters. Their excitement tended to overtake their energy. Many an afternoon, Ruth would walk into the canning kitchen and make Ms. Ruby sit down. “You can instruct these young girls from here, Ms. Ruby. You have been on your feet for hours.”

  We knew the sisters felt they were running out of time, and they wanted to get in all the opportunities they could before their age closed the door. Pearl loved talking to the church ladies about getting their children educated. She had already been doing this for years. Once Sulley and I were grown, Pearl missed the thrill of teaching boys how to read. From an early age, girls were put to work and had no spare time for learning. Girls were busy caring for their siblings and cleaning their momma’s house; or they were hired out in order to bring in much-needed money.

  Pearl had started visiting the neighborhood schools back in 1921, reading to the children every Friday afternoon. She knew if she could just get them “bitten” by the love of reading, their desire would carry them forward. Pearl cherished sharing her love of books and spent nearly every day talking to one church group after another about the importance of sending their children to school. She was always distressed when a mothers said, “My boy can’t never read. He’s good for not’n but labor.”

  Pearl would tell them the story of Sulley and how black children are every bit as capable of learning to read. She would come home after one of these meetings and storm around the house, saying, “If their own parents have swallowed the lie, how are we ever going to convince the children? It’s bad enough the white people think we are incapable of learning, but when our own people believe it—that mountain is almost insurmountable. We have to prove to them that they can learn. We also have to show them why they must learn. I love it when I sit in a classroom and start reading a book about some exciting adventure, watching all the boys leaning on the very edge of their seats. They are fairly beside themselves in anticipation of the next page. Once they realize that learning to read will open all these books for them, I have them!”

  From 1921 through 1931, Pearl had been responsible for starting six different church- reading clubs. She had made it her mission to find good, exciting readers who were willing to help out. She collected copies of the best adventure books available and set up a club schedule, which accomplished two goals: 1) the boys became excited about reading, and 2) they stayed out of trouble.

  By 1931, at the age of eighty-two, Ms. Pearl was a most beloved woman by all of the black boys of Atlanta. She would walk around town, stopping in to the reading clubs to pay a visit. She loved to see the boys piled on the floor at the feet of the reader. You could almost hear a pin drop until the excitement overtook the boys, and they would leap up and scream in pure joy.

  During her final year, Ms. Pearl started four more clubs in the city. We tried to get her to slow down, but there was no stopping her. After all, she was on a mission. That winter was an especially wet one, but Ms. Pearl was determined to get these four clubs up and running. No one could read a story like Ms. Pearl could. While reading Treasure Island, young Jim Hawkins was right in the room, climbing the ship’s mast and hanging on for dear life. Every boy could see him clear as day—just like I had so many years before.

  Ruth was the first to notice the deep, persistent cough, but Ms. Pearl refused to stop. She would argue, “My boys need me today. We are right at the most exciting point, and I want to see their faces when they learn the truth.”

  In late fall of 1931, my eighty-two-year-old Auntie Pearl took to her bed with a bad headache—something she never did. After two days, we were all concerned and called a doctor. Pearl’s vision was so blurry she could not read, and the headaches were getting worse. The doctor said he could give her something for the headaches, but he feared her blurry vision was a sign of a brain tumor. “At her age,” he warned us, “There is really nothing we can do for her. Just keep her safe and warm.”

  Once the headaches were under control, Pearl enjoyed resting in bed whi
le we all took turns reading to her. Aunt Ruby and I took our turns first, but then Ruth, Sulley, Pastor Johnson, Karl, and even Gladys took their turns. Over the past eight years, Gladys had become one of Pearl’s closest friends. Seeing the change in Gladys’ heart gave Pearl hope for a better tomorrow. She always said, “If God can change Gladys so completely, we dare not question what He can do for all of the others.”

  Ms. Pearl’s last six weeks went by much too quickly, but the number of people who came to celebrate her life was a real blessing. At her service, I told her story.

  Apart from my wife Ruth, my Aunt Pearl was the strongest woman I have ever known. She was born and reared a slave on the Stewart Plantation. At the age of six, my Great-Grandma Hannah would put my Auntie Pearl to work in the dry goods pantry, measuring flour, cornmeal, lard, salt, and sugar. As Pearl worked, she listened to the Master’s children having their lessons, and Pearl was bitten by the desire to read. For two years, she quietly sat by the entry to the children’s classroom and listened. She had a hunger to know words, and that hunger lasted until the day she died. Auntie Pearl was a determined, stubborn person, which were very dangerous attitudes for a slave.

  My Auntie Pearl was given a rare opportunity for a slave. The Mistress of the house, Ms. Victoria, decided that Pearl would be taught how to read and write—not for Pearl’s benefit, but for her own. She intended to raise Pearl to take over the household after Great-Grandma Hannah passed away. Ms. Victoria was tired of all the hours it took filling out supply lists for the kitchen, so Pearl was tutored for five years; she never wasted a single day of her education.

  After being emancipated, Auntie Pearl insisted upon teaching my Grandpa Samuel and my Auntie Ruby how to read. She also taught her dear friend, Estée Washington, how to read. Many of you have heard the story of Estée and what she went through as a captured runaway slave. You’ve heard how broken she was and how her fear of white people kept her a prisoner in her own home. But through books, Estée got to see the world and sail the seven seas. Through reading, Estée had lots of wonderful friends—both black and white.

  Throughout her lifetime, Ms. Pearl taught many in this room how to read.

  As I made this statement, Auntie Ruby, Sulley and Whippoorwill each stood up and raised their hands in praise to Ms. Pearl. Suddenly, dozens of boys, who had been standing at the doorway, began to walk into the church and raise their hands. One boy announced, “There are many, many more of us. We cannot all fit into the church, but ten reading clubs of boys are standing outside. Ms. Pearl was our friend and our hero.” With grateful tears in my eyes, I repeated one of Ms. Pearl’s favorite mantras.

  Reading will open doors that no one can shut. It will take you places you are not allowed to go. It will introduce you to people, both living and dead, who struggle with the same things we struggle with. Reading shows us that we are not so very different from everyone else.

  Because Aunt Pearl had been so ill, Ruth and I had temporarily moved into my old bedroom to help care for her. After the funeral, Ruth suggested that we give up our rental house and permanently move in with Ms. Ruby. We did not want Auntie Ruby left alone, and since her house was paid for, the money we would save on rent could go into the supplies for the Mercy Garden. Many families were joining forces during the Depression just to get by, but we were doing it out of love—not out of necessity.

  We had barely recovered from Pearl’s loss, when we lost Ruth’s father. He had been in failing health for almost a year, but the Mercy Garden project had kept him going. For many months I had taken over most of his duties, but the first Sunday after his passing, I was embraced as the full-time pastor.

  That afternoon, Ruth and I met with the leaders of the church. Because we were settled and happy with Ms. Ruby, we requested they offer the church parsonage to Sulley and Whippoorwill. Sulley was already spending every evening and weekend at the church organizing Mercy Gardens, and Whippoorwill had taken over the canning ministry when Pearl became ill, so it made sense to give the house to them.

  The gardens’ flourished under Sulley’s care. The church family increased in numbers as people experienced the love our church showed in their time of need. Even though we were growing and flourishing, funds were still tight for everyone. Ruth and I decided that I would continue to work at the freight yard, using the pastor’s salary to keep the church doors open.

  Out of love for Aunt Pearl and love for her young boys, Ruth and Gladys decided to take over Aunt Pearl’s reading clubs. Right after her funeral, one of the clubs decided to rename themselves, “The Pearl Bascom Reading Club,” and soon all the others followed suit. Twelve chapters were located in various parts of the city, and the boys who formed the clubs were fiercely loyal to her memory.

  One evening we invited Karl and Gladys over for dinner, and Ruth recounted her first meeting with one of the chapters.

  At first the boys were uncomfortable with my presence. I’m sure they considered me an interloper until I started talking about Ms. Pearl. Once I showed them how much I loved her, I became one of them. One young boy, about nine years old, came up to me with the club’s copy of Treasure Island. He did not say a word, just handed it to me. At first, I assumed he was telling me that this was the book they were currently reading, but I knew they had already read that book. The boy tapped his finger on the cover and with tears filling his eyes, he said, “Look inside.”

  On the inside cover the boys had written, “Miss Pearl Bascom read this book to us,” and it was signed by all thirteen boys. The young boy smiled and said, “You might be a really good reader, Ms. Ruth, but no one can read a story like Ms. Pearl.”

  Ruth laughed, “I felt like I was being challenged. Ms. Pearl had set the bar very high, and these boys expected nothing less from me.” Turning to Gladys, Ruth asked, “Did you get the same treatment, Gladys?”

  Gladys smiled, “Not exactly, Ruth. It helped that I had been going to the club meetings with Pearl for the past several years. All of the boys were used to seeing me with her, so I was already one of them. Every few days, Ms. Pearl would hand me the book and say, “Your turn to read to them, Gladys,” which would be greeted by a groan from the boys and from me!

  Ms. Pearl would stop the boys and remind them, “Good readers are not born; they are developed. One day, all of you will become great readers. Give Gladys a chance.”

  Ruth smiled as Gladys confessed, “At first, I was embarrassed. I was afraid to let go, fearing I would look foolish, but Ms. Pearl taught me how to read with expression and emotion, lifting my voice to match the tension in the scene. Ms. Pearl told me, ‘You have to give yourself to the story, Gladys. When you do, you will disappear, and the characters will be all the boys can see. A well-written story, read with great emotion, will transport those boys anywhere in the world.’

  Karl sat at the dinner table beaming with pride at his wife. Only eight years had passed since she had given her heart to God and had surrendered her anger. “Tobias, can you believe how far our Gladys has come in eight years? None of these boys are BLACK boys to her. They are just boys who loved Ms. Pearl and now love her. Ms. Pearl knew she could trust Gladys with her boys because when God changes a heart, He changes it completely.”

  For the next ten years, Ruth and Gladys kept the reading clubs going. Many of the older boys took over some of the clubs. They loved telling the newcomers stories about the good ol’ days. They would open a book and show the boys their name on the inside cover. “See, I was here when Ms. Pearl, herself, was the reader.”

  To this day, all over Atlanta, grown men still remember my Aunt Pearl with love and affection—not because she gave birth to them, but because she believed in them and took the time to invest in them. When Ruth and I struggle with the fact that we will never have children of our own, we remember Ms. Pearl. She was loved by countless children because she dared to believe in them.

  SECTION TEN

  TOBIAS:

  The War Came To Us

  1941-1945

/>   36. Shattered, But Not Destroyed

  37. The Gift of Wise Counsel

  CHAPTER 36

  Shattered, But Not Destroyed

  ALTHOUGH WE WERE experiencing great blessings throughout the Depression, the threat of racial tension was always present. Pastor Johnson had not believed in getting involved in the political arena. He felt strongly about sharing the Gospel and dealing with people’s souls, rather than their rights. When I was a child, this was the main reason my aunties decided to join his church. For years, I felt this calling was also my mandate. I tried to stay out of social causes, believing I had a higher calling; however, times change, and sometimes, we must learn to change with it.

  As I struggled with my thoughts and responsibilities, other issues forced their way in. In 1937, I received word that my Momma Ruby had taken ill. She only lasted a few weeks and then was gone. I spent days locked in my office, reading all her wonderful letters over the years. Each letter was a precious gift to me, and they brought me great comfort.

  By 1938, talk of war in Europe began to cause tensions to increase at home. Years of going without and then talk of sending our boys to war again, brought out the ugly side of men. They seemed to need a scapegoat for their frustrations, and black boys had always been an easy target. Sulley’s boy, Van, was now sixteen. Sulley kept Van close by his side. He was not allowed to wander around alone. Van was a gentle giant—much like his father. He loved helping with the gardens and would often carry the heavy boxes back home for the older folks. Sulley wanted to forbid him to do this, but Van’s heart was determined to be helpful; Sulley knew he could not interfere.