Learn to Read, Read to Learn

INTRODUCTION

When you write “recent” historical fiction, sometimes you are fortunate enough to interview people who were alive during your story’s period. I am one of those authors.

HALF-TRUTHS takes place in Charlotte in 1950, and when I started researching the book twenty years ago, I searched for people who were alive in the 1950s. It wasn’t too much of a stretch. After all, people who were born in the 1930s and were young adults or teens in 1950, were in their 70’s in 2005. Thankfully, I was able to speak to many people and weave parts of their life experiences into my novel.

But now, twenty years later, few of my “experts” are alive. Nine years ago, Price Davis, the man who always ended our conversations with the advice, “Be authentic, Carol. Just be authentic,” passed away. Four years ago, I lost Thereasea Elder, the first Black public health nurse in Charlotte. She never failed to ask me how the book was coming along.

Two weeks ago, the woman who was my first reader (through an app on her phone since she was blind)–Vermelle Ely–passed away. She was a former first grade teacher, an encourager, and always, an educator.

She and I visited in person and talked on the phone. I still have voice mails that she and Thereasea left me. Neither woman got tired of answering my questions.

Here are a few of the historical tidbits they told me which helped me understand what it meant to be Black in Charlotte, NC during the Jim Crow years.

• Lillian could have gone anywhere with Kate because she was light; but Kate would have stuck out in the Black community. Blacks would have accepted her, but the police might have questioned Lillian why she was in a White neighborhood. 

• They could only have gone to a park together since Lillian was very fair and could pass–if her mother didn’t know about it.  She would have been too scared to go to the movies or library with Kate.

• Blacks couldn’t go to the restaurant in the mezzanine at Efird’s as adults. “We weren’t supposed to be there.”

• Blacks could shop and try on clothes at Ivey’s but not at Montaldo’s. In that upscale store, Blacks had to go up the back stairs- they couldn’t go in the front door. A Black person who tried on clothes would have been asked to leave. During WWII, Black WACs had to go up the back stairs to try on their uniforms.  

• In schools, all of their books had “been around the block” several times. On the inside cover there was a page with signatures of those who had read the book. The lines were filled up–ten other people had already used it. The pages were ragged and the covers were about to come off. Everything passed to us from Central High. That’s why our school colors were blue & white–because that’s what theirs were. Even our athletic uniforms came from them.

• A Black person would have always gone through the back door at a White person’s home. Unless they were taught that this was wrong, most teens would have seen this as normal–just the way it was. 

• None of us were the same color. “If you’re black get back, if you’re brown stick around, if you’re light and bright you’re damn near white.” Lillian’s folks would protect her from the knowledge of her ancestry. Even though everyone was brown and knew in general what that meant – that white blood was there—the specifics wouldn’t have been shared. 

The last time I visited Vermelle, she had moved into assisted living. As soon as I walked into the room, she recognized my voice and was so happy that I had come to visit. We talked about HALF-TRUTHS and I gave her a copy. Later I found out that she kept it on her pillow next to her.

Two weeks ago, when Vermelle’s niece texted and told me to call her, I guessed the reason why. I choked up when I heard Vermelle had passed, and we spoke of how much she meant to me. I felt honored that I was included in the list of people who her niece notified.

The following week I went to her funeral which was officiated by Reverend Michael Butler, of New Hope Baptist Church. Vermelle frequently tuned in to his services that were broadcast from McCormick, SC.

In his eulogy, Reverend Butler emphasized how being an educator was an important part of Vermelle’s life. For thirty years, she taught first-graders to learn to read. Her goal was that they would grow up and read to learn. That phrase stuck with me. No wonder Vermelle was such an advocate for Second Ward High School; it was pivotal in the life of the Black community. Her life was about learning–and teaching others to learn. She taught me too–about history, grace, and perseverance in trials.

If you’re interested, you can find her obituary here. I was surprised and honored to be listed as one of the individuals who “cherished fond and precious memories” of Vermelle. I certainly do.

After the service, one of her relatives told me how much Vermelle enjoyed our conversations. Suddenly I realized that not only was Vermelle important to me, but I was important to her.

We give our elders appreciation and respect when we listen to their life stories. In turn, they give us their experiences and wisdom.

Who have you learned from?