...want of learning is a calamity... - Liz Flaherty and Helen DePrima

by Liz Flaherty 
         
 I haven’t seen Helen’s post for February yet, so I apologize for us not "matching." Sometimes our row of ducks is startlingly crooked!


Shirley and Laurie mentioned Black History Month the other day. I’ve been reading a lot about it, particularly black women in history, and have been inspired. Here are a few links in case you haven’t seen them. Since I’m a retired postal worker, Mary Fields is a particular favorite. Watching the stories of Katherine Johnson, Dorothy Vaughan, and Mary Jackson, the heroines of Hidden Figures, was a life-changing event. Both times I've seen it. Every time I read a quote from Frederick Douglass, I am amazed by his wisdom. My favorite (and it must be everyone else's, too--it's everywhere) is "It is easier to build strong children than to repair broken men." Amen, Mr. Douglass.

Chubby Checker came out with "The Twist," in 1960 (I was 10, so I don't

remember it all that well) and I remember watching him on "American Bandstand." I grew up in a farming community that was more diverse in its breeds of livestock than it was in races or ethnicities of its residents, and I knew very few African-Americans. But what I remember was that when I watched Chubby Checker, I just saw a cool guy who could sing and dance better than anyone I'd ever seen. It was the first time--and thankfully not the last--that I saw the person instead of his or her color without thinking about it. It was a great lesson for a 10-year-old. I'm glad it stuck.

It is a time of strife in this country. Of divisiveness. Of anger and pain and hurt. Our history, particularly that which we celebrate this month, shows that all those things have been around a long time. It's disappointing how little we've grown in some areas. And exhilarating how much we've grown in others. 


I wish I'd done more during my life to open things up. To make that anger and pain and hurt better. But I'm still enthralled by our country's history, hiccups and all. And I'm so glad I was there when Chubby Checker was on "Bandstand." You remember him. He's the cool guy who sings and dances better than anyone you've ever seen.



by Helen DePrima


February in northern New England is a test of endurance. Christmas is long past (although I haven’t gotten around to taking down my wreath), and my gardening catalogues have been studied and dog-eared for new flower and vegetable varieties. Unless you’re a winter sports enthusiast, which I’m not, February is a month to curl up beside the wood stove with a mug of coffee and a favorite book, to read or to write.

I grew up with my grandmother’s books. She read voraciously, and new books came into the house on a regular basis. I was allowed to read anything I could puzzle through, from history and poetry to essays and fairly steamy novels, for the day. One of my favorites, which I’ve reread almost to death, was Mrs. Appleyard’s Year, somewhat like today’s blogs, with chapters devoted the specialness of each month. Mrs. Appleyard was a proper and prosperous Boston matron living on the brink of World War II – little did I suspect that I would become familiar with her world, light-years removed from my grandfather’s Kentucky farm or the Colorado mountains where I worked after college. In our forty-plus of living in New Hampshire, we’ve made many trips to Boston for plays and concerts and Celtics games. Now our visits center more on the superb medical facilities, but I still delight in the pre-Revolutionary buildings rubbing elbows with modern glass and steel, the peaceful resting places of early patriots occupying prime city real estate.

Mrs. Appleyard liked that February could produce both snowballs and snowdrops. Her year must have included a mild winter, because just an hour north of Boston, we’re still a good month from seeing any kind of flowers that don’t come from the florist or blossom on my geraniums spending the winter on a south-facing windowsill. But the snow is receding around our big maple as sap begins to rise, and robins peck industriously in sunny spots thawing on the south side of the ell. Most exciting, a bluebird and his mate are visiting my suet feeder regularly; I hope they’ll decide to homestead in the birdhouse properly sited at the edge of the woods. And with luck, in a few weeks I’ll find last fall’s spinach making a brave comeback under the mulch.



Comments

  1. I have Hidden Figures saved so I can watch. And, I agree, I wish we could all view the world from the lens of a child who sees people, not colors.

    I was the first avid reader in the family. Truly. My parents often looked at me askew because I'd pick a book over a toy.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. I think my parents were confused by that in me, too. I wasn't the first reader, but I was the first one who didn't want to do anything else! :-) I loved reading about Mrs. Appleyard. I'd never heard of it.

      Delete
    2. Like Liz, my early experiences with black people were overwhelmingly positive. I counted the elderly lady who occupied a cottage walking distance from my grandparents' house as family, and her grandson, just my age, was my earliest playmate. When I was a teenager, Mattie Johnson kept our family functioning during my grandparents' decline into dementia -- I used her name for a character in the same role in my novel set in Kentucky. As for reading, my grandmother was sure I'd grow up with a deformed arm from always carrying a book around.

      Delete
  2. Two very thoughtful - and thought-provoking posts- whose topics differ yet convey the same theme of hope for better days. Thanks ladies, for reminding us of this. Hope is a good thing!

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Gets us through a lot, doesn’t it?

      Delete
    2. The racial anger and division we've seen in recent years saddens and puzzles me. Desegregation came into Kentucky with little strife while I was in high school. Not until bussing started years later did any outcry occur, over small children forced spend hours each day riding to schools far from their neighborhoods.

      Delete
  3. My parents never were afforded much schooling and yet both were very intelligent and my dad could figure gear ratios in his head when I struggled with trigonometry. And mom saw that my sis and I always had books to read. I was lucky to take two black history classes in college and also worked with a group in Seattle for open housing at a time in the sixties when things were dicey. We all just need to be kind and respectful of everyone. I believe that's the only way we will get beyond bigotry.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. My experience in the '60's was a little more direct. During my public health rotation in nursing school, I got assigned cases on bus route because I didn't have a car. Sometimes my patients lived in (I like your word) dicey neighborhoods. My tactic was to approach the biggest, meanest-looking dude on the corner and ask him to be my guide and protector. I never had a moment of trouble with the proper escort.

      Delete
  4. I hear such good things about Hidden Figures. I'll have to find it and watch it one of these days. And fresh spinach-yum!

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. It’s a wonderful story. And I am still shocked not only by the way it was, but that we were so unaware of it.

      Delete
  5. Thanks for mentioning Hidden Figures--such a fabulous movie. And it's no small feat that it could be made today, thanks to decades of activists who raised consciousness and dusted off these stories. And thanks for the mention of the novel and New England winters. I've never seen a bluer sky than on sunny, clear days in New England and here in the upper Midwest. The white landscape is dazzling! Somehow makes winter worth it.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. For a Southern gal like me, snow from Thanksgiving till April Fool's Day is too much of a good thing. I comfort myself by considering the revenue NH gathers from out-of-state skiers as well as the healthy condition of my well from plenty of ground water.

      Delete
    2. I love clear winter days, but I’ve had enough of them for the year! We definitely owe a great debt to historians who stick by their principles and get it right and true.

      Delete
  6. Thanks Liz, I won't go into my experiences over racism, they aren't pretty and I don't dwell on them. I have changed over the years and I am glad to hear about and learn some of the accomplishments of Black Americans that were never given to us. Even books about them were not shelved in the local libraries. So opportunities to learn about the history was limited to people like George Washington Carver and Ralph Bunch.

    I watched Hidden Figures a couple of nights ago. It's saved on my DVR. I loved it and will watch it again.

    Thanks for your post. It's heartwarming.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Thank you, Shirley. Like you, I remember learning about G. W. Carver and Booker T. Washington. Oh, and Harriet Tubman. But very few others.

      Delete
    2. One of my grandmother's books to which I was allowed access was The Foxes of Harrow, a generational novel of plantation life in Louisiana. Its unflinching but even-handed depiction of race relations before the Civil War impressed me. Years later, I learned Frank Yerby's parents were a racially mixed couple before such a union was sanctioned.

      Delete
  7. I was blessed to be taught early on by my merchant marine father that all people were the same beneath the skin. I hate what's happened in our country with race relations.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Me, too. Actually, with violence in all its horrible forms.

      Delete
    2. I noticed early on that my father treated every employee he met on the old L&N RR with the same courtesy, from the president to the waiters and porters serving the passengers. As far as I'm concerned, the Southern practice of using Sir and Ma'am is always appropriate. As for the current racial anger and unrest, I'd love to see the individuals orchestrating incidents from a comfortable distance dragged into the midst of a riot and then charged with criminal intent.

      Delete

Post a Comment