Herbert Martin, Summerfield, Alabama 1917-1918

HERBERT MARTIN

Source: WWI Draft Registration Card
Dallas County, Alabama; Roll: 1509379; Draft Board: 0.
County: Dallas
State: Alabama
Birth Date: Apr 1900
Race: Black
Roll: 1509379

Address: Summerfield, AL
Occupation: Farm Laborer
Employer: Sol (Solomon) Green(e)
Nearest Relative: Lucy (Callens) Green(e), She is the wife of Sol
Height: Medium
Color of Eyes: Black
Color of Hair: Black
Signed By: R.J. Moore, 9/12/1918

Luke & Melyena Martin 1920, Valley Creek AL

Source: 1920 Census
Location: Valley Creek, Dallas County, Alabama
Rangeline Road

Luke Martin, Farm Laborer
Born 1883, Alabama

Melyena Martin, Spouse
Born 1893, Alabama

Children:

Julia Martin, Born 1913
Laman Martin, Born 1914

The Lively Circus: A Day in the Life of a Single Mom

By Lynn Mari, ⓒ 2008.

“God can jumpstart any battery!”—Pastor Moore

As a single mom, I have learned that an ordinary day can quickly become a lively circus.

I begin the morning tripping over Norrie’s toys; DP’s shirt is growing moldy on the bathroom floor… Cheetah Girls are bumpin’ in the CD player. As I reach for my cup of coffee on the counter I unexpectedly slip across the kitchen floor. A shimmering pink surface of Wonder Bubbles was invisible until I am ice-skating across ceramic tile! DP and Norrie are laughing at my wild antics, arms and legs flailing. Both children are pouring Wonder Bubbles into a toy with a built-in fan that was made to shoot plastic balls into the air. My kitchen is boogie wonderland, with bubbles flying in all directions.

I sigh, add maple syrup to my coffee. Raooow! DP and Norrie are squaring off at the table. Norrie is bouncing in her chair, squealing, “Jelly face! Jelly face!” DP crosses his arms over his chest, glaring at his little sister. DP ate a croissant with blackberry jam that is now smeared on both sides of his face like sideburns. I do my best to regain my composure, while holding my sides, “DP, honey, you have jam all over your face—go look in the mirror. You really are a jelly face. And I’m a jelly belly all full of these rolls!” Tension is released as quickly as it comes, in peals of laughter. DP runs to the mirror to inspect his new look. He “shaves” blackberry sideburns with one finger, running it across his face then licking it clean. Just as I am about to relax, I glance at the clock—we have to move if we want to be on time for church!

Coffee half gone, better top it off. I ask DP to hand me the syrup and next thing I know he is dumping the bottle in my cup! I breathe a sigh of relief when both kids are finally out the door. As I am locking the door, Norrie is running down the hall, waddling like a duck. She has decided to wear the too big sandals that no longer fit DP, proudly asking her beloved big brother, “Am I cool?” With each step Norrie is loudly flopping against the pavement. Not even halfway down the block, we see our bus pass by. I grit my teeth…then look across the street at my neighbor’s beautiful yard. Pastel flowers greet my eye from afar. Thick bushes in radiant shades of emerald shine in the sun. Marigolds gather beneath the bushes, lining a cobbled path. DP, Norrie and I stop over to say “hi”. The beautiful Himalyan cat with ice blue eyes purrs at our feet then rolls on the sidewalk, begging to have his back scratched. The children are fond of the cat and dash to the ground, ready to indulge. When we leave, both children resemble the Abomidible Snowman of the Himalayas, shaggy with cat hair and neat church clothes now worn. They couldn’t be happier, racing down the sidewalk towards the bus.

DP, Norrie and I arrive at church and are greeted with hugs. When Pastor Moore begins to sing, DP is excited to play the “shaker” he made in school—two Styrofoam plates decorated with banners made of crepe paper. Inside the plates is dry rice. Norrie accompanies DP, shaking a penguin shaped tambourine. Pastor’s bellowing voice fills the chapel, “…You’ve got to move, But when the good Lord gets ready, you’ve got to move…” It takes but a moment for Norrie to dash from the pew, to the front of the chapel. Once reaching the front, Norrie begins to dance. Pastor, an imposing man standing well over 6 feet tall, with hands the size of bear paws, gently takes Norrie’s small hands in his. Together they dance. Norrie stands barely the height of Pastor’s knees but excitement keeps her steps in time. DP raises his shaker, cheering loudly. This is a memory I will always cherish.

As a single mom, I have learned that an ordinary day can quickly become a lively circus. I have learned how to be the juggling bear—balancing work, children and long bus rides. The ringmaster keeping everything in order. The clown indulging my children in stories or play. And my favorite—the magician, awaiting a surprise.

——————————————————————————–

DP and Norrie, I thank God everyday that he blessed me to be your “Mommy”. I love you from the top of your head to the tips of your toes… (you finish the rest)…
xoxoxo Mommy xoxoxo

The Heart Speaks: Lessons from my Grandmothers

By Lynn Mari, 2008

In a memory, my family is enjoying my son’s Christmas program at school. The theme of the program was “Christmas Around the World”. The program began with the children circling the room, waving flags that represent various countries. I made cornbread for the potluck—using a recipe that had remained in my family for generations. The children celebrated by dressing in costumes that represent their heritage. My son was dressed as a farmer. He wore a straw hat, overalls and a plaid shirt with a boll of cotton in the front pocket. Designing the costume became a time to reflect on family stories, passed down through generations of women.

I closed my eyes to imagine the life of Momma Judge, the earliest ancestor I had traced in my family. Momma Judge was the daughter of slaves, who were bought at auction in Virginia, then shipped to a plantation in rural Alabama. The first and last impression in the life of Momma Judge was of brittle stalks of cotton, the red earth staining the hem of her skirt. Amid the familiar line of her family, she hummed spirituals as she stooped over the prickly bolls. She’d live in a cabin heated by a pot-bellied stove with rags stuffed in the cracks to keep out the cold. Meals cooked over that stove would become recipes passed between generations of women, sharing a connection in the food that brought our family together at mealtime.

I thought of Big Momma, the granddaughter of Momma Judge. Shortly after Big Momma gave birth to my grandpa, she returned to the same fields her ancestors worked, her baby snug in a burlap sack slung at the hip. Big Momma had her first child, Grandpa Bud, when still young and raised him alone after her husband disappeared. Disappearance was a way of life back then. The threats of violence against Blacks, the migratory seasons of sharecropping, the poverty and debt perpetuated by cropping and the hope for something better fluctuated between leaving and coming back–or not being seen again. Big Momma raised six children on her own. She saved up for a house in the city and managed to get a job out of the fields. Faith and determination saw her through.

My thoughts turn to Grandma Dee, the wife of Grandpa Bud. She was a beautiful woman who was devoted to her family. Grandma Dee met Grandpa Bud at a juke joint in the hollows of Bibb County. Together, my grandparents made a dazzling couple; twirling to a rhythm only they shared. Grandpa Bud was a handsome man with a honey colored complexion and wavy hair. He was quiet, and when he spoke he was known to be nobody to fool with. My grandparents were passionately in love, even when they fought there was a spark between them. At my age Grandma Dee would have three children and was preparing to move up North, where Grandpa Bud landed a good job. She was proud to give her children a better life, where they wouldn’t have to work the fields and could go to school. The lives of my grandparents would end in tragedy; they died before I was born.

When I remember stories of my ancestry, I am grateful to the grandmothers whose determination and faith provide a well of strength to draw from. My grandmothers were born into a world where their bodies were worth only a few coins. They gave birth to children whose lives were limited by slavery and racism. My grandmothers were denied an education; they knew only a life in the fields. In deprivation, they gave birth to new life—they prayed until the church shook, they fought for change even if it meant they had to do a man’s work or move to a distant city, and they reminded their children that they are loved, precious and worth so much more. In hardship my grandmothers not only persisted but also thrived. One day I will stand among my grandmothers, and my children will know that I never stopped fighting to provide something better for them, that I never stopped loving them.

I am blessed to be a daughter of a lineage of such intelligent, determined and spiritual women. Women whose ability to love was not diminished by loss. Women who infused their faith, creativity and love into the little they had to create a better future for their children. Women of deep faith in God. Women, who, despite all challenges, impressed a sense of hope that was passed down to the next generations, to me.

Among His Ancestors – Quote by Helen Keller

“There is no king who has not had a slave among his ancestors,
and no slave who has not had a king among his.”, Helen Keller

1918: Pettis Ford (Mobile, Alabama)

Registration Card #3415

Name: Pettis Ford
Permanent Home Address: 400 North Claiborne Mobile Ala
Age: 37
Date of Birth: July 27, 1881
Race: Negro, Native Born
Occupation: Laborer
Employer: Ames Transfer Company
Place of Employment: Royal Box State S?? Mobile Ala
Nearest Relative: Adelona Ford (wife)
Permanent Home Address: 400 North Claiborne Mobile Ala
Signed X Pettis Ford, his mark

Build: Medium
Height: Medium
Color of Eyes: Brown
Hair: Black
Disabilities/Impairments: None

Certified By: CD Showhan 9/02/1918

Source: Ancestry Library Edition

Note: I am researching my grandfather Pettus Ford, who resided in Dallas County and Jefferson County, Alabama. Any information on Pettus Ford or relations is much appreciated!

Who’ll Bid? – Slave Narrative

Tracing my lineage through blood and spirit, within a slave narrative.

Awhile back, I visited the site of the slave auction block in Cahaba. It is a grassy area, an otherwise unassuming square.

In truth, the auction block was a place of horror, of cruelty–and the stage for countless African-American families to be formed or broken. Shackled together, new families formed as they trod on dusty feet into uncertain fate. Families were torn asunder as mothers grabbed and screamed for lost children. Many begged or bargained for mercy, in a desperate attempt to save something–their loved ones, their pride, their lives. The lash struck against naked skin, cutting through until blood and pus spilled on the soil like so many tears.

The crumbled auction blocks lie in ruins, unseen amongst long grass and faded memory. Let us not forgot. The labor of every slave is the foundation for our very lives, and the hope for our children. It is my hope that my ancestors will be proud of how I received the hard fought inheritance of freedom, of dignity.
Lynn Mari, 2008

A slave narrative that struck a cord…

State: Alabama

Interviewee: Fitzpatrick, Reuben

“One time I was taken to the slave market and I was screwed on the block and Mr. Martin bought me and my Mamma. The man who was selling us would holler, “Who’ll bid? Who’ll bid?” We was supposed to be spry and fidgety as to make the men bid. My furst Marster was Wash Jones. He wan’t no good to us. He would hit us wid his cane jes’ as if it had been a switch. Be like the way Marse Wash treated us niggers. He bought us for his son.”

Source: Ancestry Library Edition

For More Information:

The Slavery and Civil War Museum (1410 Water Ave., Selma, AL)
http://www.theslaveryandcivilwarmuseum.org/

Wickipedia: Cahaba, Alabama
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cahawba,_Alabama

Celebrating Jack Johnson on July 4th

In my family’s lore, 1910 will be remembered as the year Grandpa Bud was born. My great-grandmother, Big Momma had only know the life of share cropping when her first child, Robert (also called “Bud” and “Spicey”) was born. The sun rose and lowered over fields of cotton, small shadowed figures stooped beneath the horizon, their lives followed the path of the sun–to the fields and back. Big Momma was the only child of Sarah Jane Martin and Simon Robbins, both who died or disappeared in her youth. Big Momma would be sheltered among various relatives who live among the wooded culverts and sparse fields of Summerfield, Valley Creek and Pleasant Hill. Big Momma was a proud woman who learned independance early in life. She had her first child, my grandfather, at a young age and raised him among a familiar circle of relatives after her husband disappeared. Disappearance was a way of life between the migratory patterns of farming. the threats of violence against Blacks, the burden of debt and poverty created by sharecropping and the hope for something better that fluctuated between leaving and coming back–or not being seen again. Generations of my family, from Big Momma to the first Africans that set foot in Alabama, had worked the fields of Dallas County, never to be acknowledged as a cornerstone of labor, faith and sacrifice upon which this nation was established. In truth, our history goes beyond the fields of cotton, in which families had their own love, loss and drama recalled through family stories and tall tales, song and through the lives of heroes. Jack Johnson, against all odds, became a legend–and his victory should be celebrated on July 4th, for it is a great moment in American history.

History and fate join my family story into the legendary life of Jack Johnson, the first African-American Heavyweight Champion of the World. Johnson claimed his victory on July 4, 1910 after knocking out James J. Jeffries, the heavyweight champion of the time–and the White contender who represented the supremacy of his race. Born in 1910, Grandpa Bud was an intelligent man with the spirit of a fighter–he succumbed to the struggle, and both his intelligence and spirit would prove to be weapons of his own demise. There were many men like Jack Johnson and Grandpa Bud in American history–Black men who were spit upon from birth, refused opportunities to succeed, and experiencing a struggle that had enveloped the generations before them in poverty, violence and social inequality. The fight to overcome the immense challenges faced was a dangerous walk between being and outlaw and being a survivor. Or being killed for even trying, or daring to hope for something better.

Jack Johnson was born in Galveston Texas on March 31, 1878 to Henry and Tiny Johnson, former slaves. Johnson was the second of six children born into the Johnson family. Jack Johnson left school in the fifth grade to work odd jobs and found his way into the highly controversial, often illegal boxing circuit. Early boxing matches often pitted Blacks against each other in free-for-all fights known as “battle royals”, where only the strongest was left standing. Whites then tossed coins to the winner. Johnson got his start in these bloody battles and would later refuse to fight Blacks to fought for titles against White boxers, who held not only a title but gained social status aand larger financial rewards with their win. Johnson was a giant of a man known for his imposing size, his dark skin (he was often called derogatory names such as “pygymy”, “coon” and “Ethiopian”) and his predatory style of boxing. Johnson’s style of boxing was deceptive in that he often enertained his audience while simulataenously punishing and taunting his opponent. In many ways, it was as if Johnson was mimicking and then knocking out the ministrel shows popular at the time. Entertainment was familiar to Johnson, when not boxing, he performed in vaudeville shows. Johnson was known to smile, joke and fake injury before landing a hard jab or knocking the teeth out of an opponent. Johnson was also reknown for his aggressive, even arrogant, defiance of Jim Crow laws and the prevalent grip of racism. Johnson was a self-educated man who lived life on his own terms. Johnson did not play into the accepted role for Black men to be an entertaining fool or to be an emasculated, non-threatening figure. Johnson also went beyond the ideals of popular Civil Rights activists. Johnson provoked society as a whole by desegregating the boxing ring, marrying and carrying on affairs with White women and displaying himself publicly in ways that offended social norms (whose rules were often defined by racist ideology).

In the most celebrated and contested victory of his career, Jack Johnson faced “The Great White Hope”, James J. Jeffries, in a battle for the World Heavyweight Title. After Johnson had thoroughly pounded champion Tommy Burns in 1908 in Australia, then flaunted his win, a “Great White Hope” was sought to defeat Johnson. It was believed that the reputation and supremacy of the White race was at stake–and Johnson represented a very real threat with his popularity, wealth and attraction to White women. Many fighters came forward to battle Johnson, all were soundly defeated. James J. Jeffries, a former champion, came out of retirement to fight Johnson after it appeared that no one else could stand against Johnson. Jeffries originally refused to fight Johnson because he was Black but was persuaded to return to the ring, after six years of retirement, because it was believed Jeffries was the only one who could redeem the White race. The fight was so controversial that it was banned from its original location in California by an act of the governor and had to be moved to Reno, Nevada. Johnson faced Jeffries with his signature smile and throughout 15 rounds joked, danced and talked to the crowd. In the 15th round, Jeffries was pulled from the ring before Johnson could knock him out. Johson was declared the winner, against Jeffires who entered the fight solely to prove, “…that a white man is better than a Negro.” Johnson would return to his home in Chicago, by train, on July 7, 1910 a hero. By then, race riots broke out across America, hundreds of Blacks were killed and injured as racist Whites sought revenge. Film footage of the Johnson-Jeffries fight was banned from the public to avoid further rioting. During his boxing career, from 1897 to 1928, Johnson had 114 bouts, winning 80, 45 by knockouts.

Johnson lived by his own ideals, he was led by his passions and fought for what he believed in. Johnson was flambouyant and arrogant, speeding down the street in racing cars, capping his front teeth with gold and openly flaunting his White wives and mistresses. Johnson’s relationships with White women would draw scorn from Whites, who demanded revenge (death threats also were common). After a lengthy FBI investigation, in which Johnson was interrogated and put on surveillance, he was charged for violating the Mann Act (transporting women across state lines for prostitution)–a racially motivated charge. In 1913, Johnson would be sentanced to a year in federal prison for marrying a White woman–accused of being a “white slaver”. Johnson would live as a fugitive for seven years to avoid prison, and return to the US in 1920 to surrender while simultaenously receiving a hero’s welcome. While in Leavenworth prison, Johnson was appointed atheletic director and helped stage fights. Johnson was popular in prison and largely did as he pleased, and ignored the rules that typically applied to prisoners. Johnson was a jack of all trades, when not boxing he owned and operated several nightclubs, gave lectures, sold stocks, wrote two memoirs, patented a wrench and worked in the movie industry. Johnson was inducted into the Boxing Hall of Fame in 1954. Johnson’s life was the basis for the 1970 movie, “The Great White Hope”, starring James Earl Jones.

Johnson died in 1946 in a car crash, thousands attended his funeral and celebrated his life. He is buried at Graceland Cemetary in Chicago. Grandpa Bud died in 1959. His grave lies hidden among the weeds and underbrush in a segregated cemetary in Valley Creek, all that is recalled of where he is buried is that a red flower was once placed on his headstone.

Johnson is a champion but also a man with flaws, both aspects which so strongly resonate with the stories I have heard in my own family. That Jack Johnson, as controversial and contrary as he once was, survived several attempts on his life, incarceration, public outcry and personal struggle is a miracle. Johnson’s win on July 4, 1910 should be commerated as a victory for all those who dared to rise above the limitations society had unjustly set. What Johnson won is more than a Heavyweight Title but represents the core spirit, the fundamental values that America was built on–to fight the good fight, to challenge oppression and to inspire vision and courage in the next generation so that they will become our leaders, our heroes.

Lynn Mari: July 4, 2008.

A Pardon for Jack Johnson?
http://www.infiniteboxing.com/articles/jsands/071404.htm

IBHOF/Jack Johson
http://www.ibhof.com/jjohnson.htm

Jack Johnson, The Galveston Giant…“Master of Ring Science”. by Monte D. Cox
http://coxscorner.tripod.com/johnson.html

“Johnson boxed, lived on his own terms.” by Ron Flatter, Special to ESPN.com
http://espn.go.com/sportscentury/features/00014275.html

Sermon in Church by Jack Johnson (NY Times):
http://query.nytimes.com/gst/abstract.html?res=9B05E4DB173EEE3ABC4953DFBE66838A639EDE

Unforgiveable Blackness a film directed by Ken Burns (PBS)
I have seen this documentary and highly recommend it.
http://www.pbs.org/unforgivableblackness/about/

The Wacky Villian: A story by DP and Mommy

Mr. Wackypants the Burglar has just gotten out of jail after robbing a bank, he made off with $20,000–all in rolls of pennies. Mr. Wackypants was caught after using the bus as a getaway. It took 10 minutes to dump all those pennies in the meter. A really smart boy named DP figured out something was wrong and alerted the driver to the strange passenger who wore a polka dot clown suit with a black mask across his eyes. The driver pushed the emergency button near his seat, calling for help. Mr. Wackypants tried to run away. DP jumped over the seat, then grabbed Mr. Wackypant’s leg and bit him as hard as he could. Mr, Wackypants screamed so loud that he alerted Underdog, who has a nose for helping people. When Underdog saw the bank robber, and the little boy who was trying to stop him, he sprang into action. Underdog punched Mr. Wackypants, knocking out several teeth as well as all the polka dots on his clown suit. Mr. Wackypants fell to the the ground in a daze. Not soon after the police came, and threw him in jail.

After spending 12 years in jail, Mr. Wackypants vowed he would never get caught again. He would rob another bank–this time by climbing on the outside of the building, and sneaking through a window rather than taking a chance of being caught during a hold-up (where a very smart 7 year old may try to stop him). Mr, Wackypants waited, very excited, until the darkest of night to pull of the heist. He crept towards the bank building, with super glue on a special gloves so he would be able to crawl up very high. Mr. Wackypants pries open a window and creeps into the bank. He find a broomstick to defend himself with. He heads towards the vault, hoping he is well disguised in his polka dot clown suit. Wackypants nears the vault and then realizes he doesn’t have the code, and can’t get it! So he hits the vault with broomstick…over and over and over again. Nothing happens. Mr. Wackypants hits harder, this time sounding an alarm. Before he can get away, a super hero dog named Underdog flies through the open window and pounces on Mr. Wackypants. Underdog lifts his leg and pees on Mr. Wackypants, trapping him inside a stinky web. Mr. Wackypants slips on the puddle of pee, unable to get away. Using his super radio, Underdog signals the police who nab Mr. Wackypants–again! Mr.Wackypants is now in jail, dreaming of escape but so long as Underdog is here justice will be done.

THE END

by D.Poet and Mommy , 6/9/2008
©2008

More about Underdog on Disney:
http://disney.go.com/disneyvideos/liveaction/underdog/

Underdog Movie Photos
http://movies.about.com/library/weekly/blunderdogpicsa.htm/

In Memory of Bernice “Bern” Morton

Bernice Morton, 82 of Selma, Alabama passed away on May 26, 2008. Funeral Services will be held on Thursday May 29, 2008 at 11:00 a.m. at Calvary Missionary Baptist Church with the Rev. Dr. Charles A. Lett officiating. Visitation will be held prior to the service from 10:00 a.m.-10:45 a.m. Interment will be at Pineview Memory Gardens under the direction of Lewis Brothers Funeral Home.

Mrs. Morton was preceded in death by her parents Mr. and Mrs. Earnest King, husband, Mr. Ennis Morton and son Ernest Sigmon Sr. Survivors include daughters: Dr. Janice Hunte (Eyston), Marcia Bailey (Marshall), Jenorice Haynes (Japp Sr.), son Ennis Morton Jr. (Carol), grandchildren: Rochelle Ramano (Thomas), Emerson Hunte, Dane Dougherty, Ernesto Sigmon, Erica Peck-Love (Shon), Sheila Smitherman (Juan), Marshanda Bailey, Erin Sigmon, Jasmine Hoffman (Justin), David Hunte (Valerie), Katherine Hunte, Japp Haynes IV, Eyslyn Hunte, great grandchildren: Jasmine Lacey, Solomon Sigmon, Seth Sigmon, Lily Moon Quintero, Brooklin Blu Peck Love, Thomas Ramano, Brock Tristan Smitherman, Brooke Nicole Smitherman, Brianna Simone Smitherman, sister-in-law: Queenie Ferguson, cousins Annie, Bessies, and Mildred Baker, special loved ones:

Hernice Mutuku, Rev. and Mrs. Reese , Fannie and Lester Bailey, Lois McGee, Wanda Tyler (God Daughter), Beloved Friend and Physician, Dr. Glenton Davis and a host of nieces, nephews, cousins, special family and friends too numerous to mention.

Born on November 6, 1925 in Selma Alabama, she served the Lord in her community through her work at Selma University and her long time membership at Calvary Missionary Baptist Church.

Mrs. Morton was well known for her work during the civil rights movement and was often mentioned on CNN for her role in preparing meals for thousands of freedom fighters including Dr. Martin Luther King, Rev Ralph Abernathy, Joseph Lowery, Andrew Young, and Rev. Jesse Jackson in the 1960’s. Her life and story was recounted in the book entitled “The Selma Campaign 1963-1965.” She also received numerous awards for her leadership and dedication including the prestigious Drum Major for Justice Award and The Faithful Servant Award presented by the Southern Christian Leadership Conference in Atlanta in 1989.

She received an Honorary Degree of Doctor of Humanities from Selma University in May 1989 for her outstanding contributions in the field of Education. She loved people. In 1995, she was again honored for her contributions toward equality and fair treatment for everyone and received the Invisible Giant Recognition and Award during the 30th Anniversary March for Voting Rights. She has also been featured in the Selma Voting Rights Museum and has been the focus of several documentaries detailing the civil rights movement and the events leading up to Bloody Sunday. She is one of Selma’s famed “Foot Soldiers.”

She was loved by many and will be dearly missed. In lieu of flowers, the family requests that donations be made to the Calvary Missionary Baptist Church, Selma.

http://www.selmatimesjournal.com/articles/2008/05/30/news/obituaries/obit%2018.txt

~*~*~*~*

In loving memory of Auntie Bern. I will always remember your kindness, warmth and gracious heart. When I first attended the family reunion, your smile beckoned to me from across the room. You are a woman of strength and pride. You made sure to tell me of the struggle of the Freedom Fighters, that the quiet streets I walk were once slippery with blood and tears. You instilled in me a sense of purpose; to not only remember my family’s history but to fight for our place in history itself. Not as slaves or dejected citizens but as people of faith, people of great diversity and most of all–as people worthy not only be remembered but honored. I wish I lived closer, so I could have known you better. But I can say, Auntie Bern, that you will remain in my thoughts and prayers, and your memory will be celebrated in the stories passed down to my children. God bless and keep you <3

Your Niece, Lynn and Family

“At last you have departed and gone to the Unseen.
What marvelous route did you take from this world?

Beating your wings and feathers,
you broke free from this cage.
Rising up to the sky
you attained the world of the soul.
You were a prized falcon trapped by an Old Woman.
Then you heard the drummer’s call
and flew beyond space and time.”
Gone to the Unseen, Jelaluddin Rumi