My dear friend and neighbor, Mary, suffered a stroke several weeks ago. She is the star of the second half of my film "Under the Kudzu", because her voice is the central narration for the history of the Pender County Training School. She began attending school there is the 1930s, but you would never guess her age upon meeting her, with her smooth complexion and lively eyes.
Fortunately, Mary can still understand what is said, but she lost speech and is just starting to say a few words again. No one can say for sure whether or when she will recover her former eloquence, although I can see she is full of the same intelligence and grace as before. I can see her frustration over not being able to express much; she can nod her head yes and shake her head no. When I visit I try to carry on conversation with her as always, only broken into segments and phrased with her current communication limits in mind. I tell her about the conference at Tuskegee, and ask her whether she wants some of the pudding that sits on the tray next to her. She cannot reach over to lift the container to her, so why the nurses leave her tray sitting next to her as if she will eat without help is a mystery to me...but her family is usually there to help her with these things. She eats three small bites of pudding, then starts coughing. I pat her back and she sits back to rest. Tears come into her eyes. She looks at me mutely as if to say "You see how things are? I cannot even eat this little bit without trouble."
The Bible next to her is open to Proverbs, so I begin reading aloud, but I look up after a little while to comment "This seems a little dark for you!" Mary nods her head and smiles, she sees the humor in what I am saying. Mary is the finest person I know, and does not need reminders to love the Lord. I flip to the Gospels, intending to read from Paul, when Mary's husband comes in. He hugs me and tells me she will be moved to a rehab center soon. The next week I learn that they are starting to plan to bring her home from the rehab center; I am glad, because it is a dour place.
Sometimes people ask me why, meaning, why have I been so driven to record oral histories related to the Rosenwald schools? Why have I spent so much time since 2003, and more money than I could reasonably afford, on these projects? I recall the time when I was unemployed in 2009 and planning the first Rosenwald school conference at UNC Wilmington. My rule for myself was that I applied for three jobs per day, but I also spent hours each day on conference planning with no compensation in sight. There have been times when I emptied the gas can for our lawn mower into my vehicle, so that I could drive way out into the country to talk with yet another elderly person about his or her school experience.
Why? I don't have a good answer, or more accurately, I don't have an answer that makes sense on a practical plane. I feel have been driven by something larger than myself. Now six of the people I interviewed while making the film have passed away, and Mary has fallen mute, at least for now. Sadly, these voices don't stay with us forever. It is so important to speak with our older friends, take time to ask them about their stories, which are personal and yet reflect the weaving of the larger fabric of our nation.
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