the quiet beauty of her days the simple dignity of her ways

a lived-in space            warm with touch and look and word                                              a hot cup of tea                                              a few minutes of healing                                              a smile            bright with sunlight and desk lamps and fluorescent bulbs            green with philodendron and wandering Jew,                                             rooted-watered-fed

6:35 a.m., August 21, 1985, “I just called to let you know you’re on my mind.  Bye,” she said.

And again in February 1986.  “Here’s a little care package [two aspirins, a bandaid, an herbal tea bag, a note] to get you through today.”

10:35 p.m., October 20, 1988.

She sensed the shapes and contours of things unspoken, the mysteries of yesterday, the ragged unravelings of today, the formless intuitions of tomorrow.  She had this feeling for things, this intuition about people that was uncanny and sure.  Open but guarded, warm but reserved, she held back with dignity and strength while the rest of us rushed out to embrace life with a wild, frenetic passion.  We just took for granted that she would always be there, solid and unshakable like a rock . . .

“But I’m so slow,” she often complained, unaware that the predictable rhythm of her life, the steady beat of her tempered hours, the inevitability of her measured offerings were the balm that calmed and soothed those of us who moved, always under pressure, with a quicker step in a wider circle.

“But why? Twelve hours and so many students, classes after school, classes in the evening, classes on Saturday, meetings with students on Sunday?”

“Black students need us,” was the simple explanation for everything: too much work, too long hours, interminable summer months without hiatus.  “But I’m going to do better, I promise.  I’m going home early on Tuesdays and Thursdays.  I’m going to start thinking about me.”  She never did, of course.

Note on Fannie Delk

Rudy, one of the projects that I finally got around to during this trip is organizing the rest of my papers to donate to the library here.  I have a stack of unfinished articles, notes, and papers, among which is this piece that I wrote on the death of my dear friend Fannie Delk.  We were colleagues, co-founders of the Memphis Black Writers Workshop, and co-editors of Homespun Images.  Right after the book came out in January, she started complaining about stomachaches and two months later she underwent surgery for colon cancer.  I moved to D. C. in August, and two weeks later she died.  As you can imagine, finding this piece brought back a lot of memories.  I'm not a poet but I wanted to express some of her beauty.  I never published this, but I'm submitting it to you, in case you think it's okay, as a tribute to her.

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Whenever I'm working on Memphis projects, in this case two—the Etheridge paper and "Notable Black Memphians"—I connect with so many people who've been out of my life for years.  I just got through talking with an older friend, who was in my workshop and also Etheridge's, and I discovered that she's in a nursing home and has an amputated leg.  She was so moved to hear from me.  I've probably talked with 25 or 30 friends & acquaintances since I've been here, and that's evoked all kinds of mixed emotions and complicated memories.  I've driven through parts of town—once elegant or neat with green grass and picket fences—where the houses are now crumbling, boarded up, and graffiti-covered.  It's very sad.  But it's getting me in the mood and frame of mind to write this blues-sad testimonial.  —Miriam

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Notable Black Memphians (Miriam DeCosta-Willis)—This biographical and historical study by Miriam DeCosta-Willis (PhD, Johns Hopkins University and the first African American faculty member of Memphis State University) traces the evolution of a major Southern city through the lives of men and women who overcame social and economic barriers to create artistic works, found institutions, and obtain leadership positions that enabled them to shape their community. Documenting the accomplishments of Memphians who were born between 1795 and 1972, it contains photographs and biographical sketches of 223 individuals (as well as brief notes on 122 others), such as musicians Isaac Hayes and Aretha Franklin, activists Ida B. Wells and Benjamin L. Hooks, politicians Harold Ford Sr. and Jr., writers Sutton Griggs and Jerome Eric Dickey, and Bishop Charles Mason and Archbishop James Lyke—all of whom were born in Memphis or lived in the city for over a decade. . .  .

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The Memphis Diary of Ida B. Wells Edited by Miriam DeCosta-Willis Foreword by Mary Helen Washington. Afterword by Dorothy Sterling

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posted 22 March 2006