The
Secrets
of
Success:
The
Black
Man’s
Perspective
is
a
twentieth
century
classic
which
explores
the
hearts,
souls,
and
minds
of
African-American
men.
In
this
rich
and
diverse
collection
of
quotations
and
essays,
Paul
Robeson,
Muhammad
Ali,
Sean
Combs,
Malcom
X,
Bishop
T.
D.
Jakes,
Chris
Rock,
Michael
Jackson,
General
Colin
Powell,
Reverend
Al
Sharpton,
Laurence
Fishburne
,
and
many
others
reveal the secrets of success.
The
Secrets
of
Success
is
a
motivational
masterpiece
that
uses
the
power
of
the
word
and
art
to
inspire
and
uplift.
It
includes
special
essays
by
publisher
Ed
Lewis
and
the
late
Secretary
of
Commerce, Ron Brown.
The Secrets of Success
Truth
Beyond
Illusion
uncovers
rarely
seen
photographs
of
African
American
women
from
the
1860s
to
the
1950s,
revealing
their
beauty,
grace,
and
style.
This
book
is
a
collector’s
item
which
confronts
the
Hollywood
images
of
Prissy,
Beulah,
and
Aunt
Jemima,
disclosing
a
reality
where
African
American
women
of
the
late
19th
century
and
the
early
20th
century
are
poised,
sophisticated,
and
glamorous.
Glenda
R.Taylor,
a
brilliant
cultural
historian
and
prolific
writer
and
Mary
J.
Taylor,
a
retired
college
administrator,
use
few
words
and
many
images
to
unveil
truth
beyond illusion.
Truth Beyond Illusion
Book
Of
Letters
is
a
literary
archive
of
historical,
sociological,
psychological,
and
cultural
data
mined
from
the
lives
of
early
to
mid-twentieth
century
Americans
of
African
descent.
It,
in
the
tradition
of
Richard
Wright’s
Black
Boy,
Toni
Morrison’s
The
Bluest
Eye
,
Maya
Angelou’s
I
Know
Why
The
Caged
Bird
Sings
or
Jacob
Lawrence’s
The
Migration
Series,
offers
a
captivating
glimpse
into
the
early
twentieth
century
rural
southern
United
States.
Mary
Jestina
Taylor,
an
eye
witness
and
active
participant
in
the
Great
Migration,
shares
her
evolving
perspective of American history, culture, and life in the twentieth century.
This
series
of
short
epistles
evolved
as
a
result
of
Taylor’s
status
as
an
elder.
She
desired
to
share
her
wisdom
and
life
experiences
with
the
next
generation
whom
she
believes
can
empower
themselves
by
understanding
the
roots
of
their
history
and
culture.
In
the
fashion
of
a
griotte,
Taylor
is
informative,
instructive,
entertaining,
and
sometimes
mesmerizing
in
her
storytelling.
A
conscious
observer
of
her
life
and
times
since
she
was
a
small
child,
Book
of
Letters
is Taylor’s contribution to the historical record.
Book Of Letters
Books
Blog
Poet and Songstress Amanda Crews Interviews
Mary J. Taylor on April 23, 2017
Crews: how old are you and where were you born? What is your story?
Taylor:
I
was
born
in
Hallandale
Florida
on
July
15,
1937.
I
will
be
80
years
old
this
year.
I
migrated
to
New
York
after
graduating
from
high
school
in
august
1955.
It
was
the
year
Rosa
Parks
refused
to
give
up
her
seat
on
the
bus
in
Georgia
and
the
year
Emmett
Till
was
murdered
for
staring
at
a
white
girl.
I
worked
on
various
types
of
assembly
line
factory
jobs.
I
sewed
in
a
factory
and
then
worked
as
a
salesgirl.
I
went
to
secretarial
school
to
learn
typing,
office
practice,
and
IBM
key
punch.
My
dream
was
to
obtain
a
better
job.
I
finished
my
training
typing
95
words
per
minute
and
was
able
to
take
notes
with
ABC
shorthand
at
85
words
per
minute.
In
1968,
after
passing
the
civil
service
test,
I
obtained a secretarial position working for the Commissioner of Social Services.
In
1971,
I
heard
about
the
hiring
of
secretaries
at
one
of
the
City
University
of
New
York’s
newest
colleges,
Medgar
Evers
College
(MEC).
I
transferred
to
MEC
in
September
of
1971
and
became
secretary
to
the
Dean
of
Planning.
During
my
tenure
at
MEC,
I
held
many
administrative
positions
and
served
on
many
committees.
My
positions
included:
Deputy
Chairperson
of
Student
Services,
Acting
Chairperson
for
the
Humanities
Division,
Academic
Advisor,
Recruitment
Coordinator,
Coordinator
of
Tutorial
Services,
Administrative
Coordinator
of
Counseling
Services,
Coordinator
of
Student
Loans
and
Grant
funds,
Instructor
for
Freshman
Seminar
I
and
II,
and
Coordinator
of
Academic
Advisement
and
Academic
Warning
Probation
and
Dismissal.
I
served
on
numerous
committees
and
received awards for service to the community as well as service to the college.
In
1975
I
earned
an
Associate
Degree
in
Liberal
Arts
while
working
full
time.
I
transferred
to
Brooklyn
College
in
1975
and
completed
my
Bachelor’s
Degree
in
English
in
1978.
After
graduating
with
my
Bachelor’s
degree,
I
was
appointed
to
the
position
of
Academic
Advisor/Counselor.
In
1983,
I
enrolled
in
a
Master’s
Degree
program
in
Guidance
and
Counseling,
and
received
my
M.S.
degree
in
1985.
After
I
received
my
Master’s
degree,
I
was
appointed
to
the
position
of
Director
of
Academic
Probation
and
Dismissal
with
the
authority
to
dismiss
low
performing
students
from
the
institution.
Also,
I
had
the
power
to
reinstate
the
students
if
they
qualified
to
return.
I
held that position until I retired in 2000.
Crews: Where did you grow up and under what circumstances? Where do you live now?
Taylor:
I
grew
up
in
a
time
when
racism
was
the
norm
in
America.
It
was
a
time
when
African
Americans
were
not
allowed
to
attend
schools
with
White
children.
We
had
to
attend
our
own
colored
schools.
We
lived
in
a
community
with
only
people
of
our
race.
If
we
wanted
to
attend
college,
we
had
to
move
out
of
town
and
live
on
campus
in
a
town
that
had
colleges
for
colored
people.
We
were
not
allowed
to
eat
in
the
restaurants
and
stay
in
hotels
where
white
people
were
occupants.
It
was
a
time
when
the
signs
read:
White
Only
and
Colored
Only.
These
signs
were
posted
on
the
doors
of
restrooms
and
lunch
rooms
at
the
bus
stops
and
in
the
train
stations,
identifying
where
we
were
not
allowed
to
enter.
Small
windows
in
the
back
of
the
bus
and
train
stations
held,
above
them,
signs
where
we
were only allowed to buy snacks.
In
our
neighborhoods
we
had
our
own
corner
grocery
stores,
barber
shops,
beauty
shops,
Ice
cream
parlors,
theatre,
and
car
repair
shops.
If
we
went
in
a
grocery
store
down
town
or
an
ice
cream
shop,
we
had
to
wait
until
every
white
person
was
served
first.
If
we
were
next
and
another
white
person
walked
in
the
door,
we
had
to
wait
until
that
white
person
was
served.
We
had
to
sit
in
the
last
seats
in
the
back
of
the
bus,
and
if
the
bus
got
crowded
and
a
white
person
wanted
a
seat
we
had
to
get
up
and
let
him
sit.
Those
rules
are
what
caused
Rosa
Parks
to
refuse
to
give
up
her seat.
We
were
poor,
but
never
hungry.
There
were
hundreds
of
fruit
trees
in
our
neighbor’s
yards
that
we
all
shared.
My
father
worked
as
a
gardener
for
the
small
Town
of
Golden
Beach,
trimming
the
beautiful
hedges
on
the
main
highway.
Our
cousin
owned
a
small
farm
on
which
he
grew
vegetables
and
shared
them
with
us.
Mama
grew
chickens in the back yard as well as vegetables.
Crews: Where do you live?
Taylor:
I
lived
in
Brooklyn,
New
York
until
1989.
After
a
number
of
real
estate
investments,
my
oldest
daughter
and
I
purchased a house in Manorville, New York, where I am presently living.
Crews: How did you deal with the racism growing up in the south?
Taylor:
Growing
up
in
the
south,
we
were
trained
to
ignore
the
bad
treatment
from
the
people
across
the
tracks.
We
lived
in
fear
that
any
day
or
minute
we
could
be
attacked
or
picked
on
or
called
nigger.
We
made
sure
we
didn’t
look
them
in
the
eyes.
That
was
the
law.
We
were
taught
we
were
just
as
good
as
any
other
human
being
in
the
world.
We
had
to
work
hard
and
focus
on
what
we
wanted
to
accomplish
in
life.
We
learned
to
travel
together
in
groups
to
avoid
being
snatched
and
abused.
We
lived
in
a
world
trying
to
tip
toe
through
life
without
making
a
mistake
or
drawing
attention
to
ourselves.
Our
parents,
knowing
the
conditions
of
society,
were
very
strict
with
us
and
made
sure
we
listened
to
their
orders.
Children
passing
our
house
on
their
father’s
trucks
yelled
out
niggers.
If
we
yelled
back
crackers,
Mama
demanded
that
we
shut
up,
and
never
yell
back
because
their
father
could
return
with
a
group
and a shot gun.
Crews: Where do you draw inspiration to write?
Taylor:
We
live
in
a
phenomenal
world.
The
changes
that
have
taken
place
are
amazing.
I
have
always
been
curious
and
observant
since
I
was
very
small.
Observing
the
many
changes
and
how
so
much
has
been
misinterpreted,
I
realize
the
world
I
grew
up
in,
and
my
life
experiences
are
fading
right
before
my
eyes.
Therefore,
in
order
for
that
small
part
of
history
to
be
preserved,
I
need
to
write
my
story,
the
way
I
remember
it.
I
believe
we
are
born
into
this
world
with
a
responsibility.
At
this
point,
I
am
inspired
to
write
because,
I
believe
it
is
my
responsibility
to
document
those years.
Crews: What do you do to keep your mind alert?
Taylor:
To
keep
my
mind
alert,
I
meditate
at
least
once
each
day.
I
was
introduced
to
meditation
in
1975,
and
I
have
continued
to
meditate.
Meditation
clears
the
mind,
relaxes
the
body,
and
gives
the
body
energy.
I
am
an
avid
reader.
I
listen
to
and
watch
educational
programs.
I
spend
time
thinking.
My
mind
is
never
idle.
I
keep
up
with
what
is
taking
place
in
the
world.
I
write
down
and
keep
a
journal
of
my
future
plans.
I
spend
hours
having
intellectual
conversations
with
my
daughters
and
friends.
I
go
to
sleep
thinking
positive
thoughts.
I
spend
hours
writing
my
stories.
Without
meditation,
my
mind
would
not
be
clear,
and
I
would
not
be
as
energetic.
I
have
tested
it
by
skipping
my
morning
schedule,
and
I
feel
sluggish
by
evening.
So,
if
once
in
a
while,
I
miss
the
morning
meditation,
I
will
meditate
in
the
evening.
Crews: What do you do to keep your body strong, especially without the help of medication?
Taylor:
I
keep
my
body
strong
by
doing
Yoga
exercises
at
least
5
days
each
week.
I
learned
yoga
exercises
over
forty
years
ago,
and
I
have
continued
to
do
it.
Prior
to
that
time,
I
jumped
rope
or
jogged.
Also,
I
drink
eight
to
sixteen
ounces
of
green
(vegetable)
juice
each
day.
I
eat
healthy
foods
and
stay
away
from
too
much
junk
food.
I
do
not
overeat.
I
eat
dinner
before
seven
o’clock
at
night
and
do
not
eat
after
that
time.
I
limit
my
intake
of
sweets
and
limit
the
amount
of
processed
foods
that
I
eat.
I
eat
a
small
amount
of
dairy
products.
I
fast
and
clean
out
my
colon
at
least
twice
each
year.
I
drink
eight
glasses
of
water
each
day
and
get
at
least
eight
hours
of
sleep
every
night.
I
am
not afraid of hard work.
Crews: Do you think using herbal/organic products has had a direct link to your overall extraordinary mental
and physical health?
Taylor:
Yes.
I
believe
herbal
and
organic
products
have
had
a
major
effect
on
my
physical
and
mental
health.
More
than
twice,
I
have
tested
not
taking
the
herbal
and
organic
products
for
a
month
at
a
time,
and
after
two
weeks,
I
begin
to
feel
not
as
strong.
I
realize
that
not
taking
the
herbs
I
use
to
strengthen
my
mind
for
a
month
or
more
causes
me to have less clarity.
Crews: Do you find it more difficult, or no more difficult to recall memories, as you did 10 years ago?
Taylor:
No.
My
memory
is
just
as
good
or
better.
I
find
that
meditation
helps
me
to
remember
things
that
I
had
forgotten
for
years.
Before
I
sit
down
to
write,
I
meditate.
In
fact,
I
remember
things,
now
in
great
detail,
that
took
place when I was a little girl.
Interviews
Blog
The Mind
Summer
2010,
I
returned
to
my
hometown
in
Hallandale,
Florida
for
a
family
reunion.
Driving
out
of
the
airport,
I
couldn’t
resist
the
pleasure
of
enjoying
the
thick
white
clouds
floating
low
beneath
the
beautiful
blue
sky,
releasing
wonderful
memories
of
the
hours
I
spent
lying
on
my
back
on
the
porch
staring
and
watching
the
transforming
clouds
take
mystical
shapes
that
invited
me
upward.
So
much
of
the
thick
green
landscape
that
enhanced
the
scenery
is
lost
to
the
brick
and
mortar
neighborhoods
and
businesses.
The
abundance
of
stately
palm
trees
which
died
from
the
“fusarium
wilt”
disease
no
longer
lined the highways downtown and around the yards of neighboring homes.
I
remember
my
sister
telling
me
that
without
notification,
she
woke
up
early
one
morning
in
2000
to
a
loud
noise
of
workers
from
the
town
of
Miami
walking
around
on
her
property
cutting
down,
not
only,
the
palm
trees
in
front
of
her
house,
but her fruit trees in the backyard. Horrified and angry she asked, “Why are you cutting down my trees?
“Your fruit trees like more than 180,000 others have the Citrus canker disease.”
“How could you just come on my property and cut down trees without at least letting me know in advance?”
They
dismissed
my
sister
and
continued
to
finish
the
cutting.
I
didn’t
realize
until
this
trip
how
the
disease
that
attacked
Florida had caused the loss of so many gorgeous, stately palm trees that decorated the main shopping area of Hallandale.
Two
days
before
returning
to
New
York,
I
decided
to
pass
by
the
house
where
I
was
born
and
raised.
Now,
fifty-five
years
later,
the
house
has
been
stuccoed,
painted
white
with
pink
shutters.
It
no
longer
has
the
yellow
wood
frame
with
green
shutters.
The
unpainted
wooden
fence
that
surrounded
the
backyard
shielded
its
view
from
the
street.
The
missing
house
on
the
empty
lot,
next
door,
where
my
sister
used
to
live,
gave
me
a
feeling
of
loss.
My
reason
for
going
to
the
house
was
to
knock
on
the
door
and
ask
if
I
could
look
inside.
The
delicate
square
building
looked
so
small,
it
was
hard
to
believe
we
all
lived there. But, from my childhood memory it was big.
When
we
parked
in
front
of
the
house,
my
brother
Isaac
who
still
lives
in
the
same
town
said,
“I’m
sorry,
I
forgot
the
man
who
lived
here
died,
and
it’s
been
empty
for
at
least
a
year.”
Unfortunately,
I
was
locked
out.
We
walked
up
to
the
house.
The
porch
was
bare,
with
no
sign
of
life.
We
walked
around
to
the
side
of
the
house
near
the
window
and
looked
inside. Suddenly, it was as if a tape on a recorder had been reverse, stopped, and was replaying.
As
a
child,
when
I
was
locked
in
that
room
as
a
punishment,
I
would
peep
out
of
the
window
and
could
see
my
sister
Catherine,
next
door,
moving
around
back
and
forth
across
her
kitchen
window.
We
moved
towards
the
back
of
the
house,
looked
over
the
wooden
fence
that
surrounded
the
yard
and
to
my
surprise,
I
saw
Mama
bent
over
the
tin
wash
tub
scrubbing
clothes
with
her
apron
still
tied
around
her
waist;
my
brothers
George
and
Isaac
were
on
their
knees
shooting
marbles
next
to
the
chicken
coop;
my
sister
Harriet
who
is
seven
years
older
than
I,
had
long
braids
that
were
dangling
as
she
reached
in
and
out
of
the
basket
for
clothes
to
hang
on
the
line;
Jimmie,
my
third
brother,
was
pumping
a
bucket
of
water
and
then
strolling
towards
the
outhouse
unfastening
the
strap
of
his
faded
overalls;
and
Helen,
the
sister
everyone
says
I
look
like,
is
sitting
on
the
step
shelling
peas
for
dinner.
My
father,
Eli,
is
talking
to
our
neighbor
across
the
fence
while
using
his
hatchet
to
chop
a
piece
of
wood
to
build
a
stand
for
the
Christmas
tree
that
he
and
my
brothers
had
cut
down
from
the
woods
across
the
street.
It was hard to move. For a moment, I wanted to stay there and hold on to the sight of those memories.
Snatching
my
mind
away
from
the
fence,
I
turned
to
walk
around
to
the
other
side
of
the
house
and
made
a
step,
when
pain
shot
through
my
foot
and
up
my
leg.
I
lifted
my
leg.
Attached
to
the
bottom
of
my
shoe
was
a
small
piece
of
board.
Isaac
pulled
the
board,
and
we
discovered
that
a
long
nail
had
plunged
itself
through
my
shoe
and
into
my
flesh.
The
blood
dripped
slowly.
I
hopped
on
one
foot
to
the
porch
and
sat
down.
Isaac
picked
up
a
piece
of
wood
and
said,
“I
could
beat
the
spot where the nail penetrated so that it could bleed more. You know it will heal faster if the poison from the nail bleeds out.”
All
of
a
sudden,
it
was
Mama,
not
Isaac,
standing
there.
I
was
a
child
again.
She
beat
my
foot,
cleaned
it
with
alcohol,
put
on
salve,
a
piece
of
potato,
a
penny
on
top,
and
tied
my
foot
with
a
clean
white
rag.
She
said,
“Tomorrow,
the
potato
will
be green. You’ll see. The poison from the nail will be drawn right out on the potato.”
For
a
moment,
I
was
sad,
sad
because
in
the
physical
world,
mama
is
gone;
my
father
is
gone;
Jimmie
is
gone;
seven
other
older
sisters
and
brothers
are
gone;
and
so
many
other
family
members
and
friends
who
were
on
that
recording
with
me
are
gone.
Then,
I
stopped
my
thoughts
for
a
second
and
remembered
that
life
goes
on,
and
the
memories
were
only
a
small
part
and
just
the
beginning
of
the
recording.
There
was
no
reason
to
be
sad.
It
was
a
wonderful
experience
to
be
able
to
replay
those
times
and
to
see
how
far
I
have
come
and
how
much
wisdom
I
have
gained.
A
look
into
the
past
is
good,
but
I
do
not
want to bury my thoughts there.
Our
mind
is
like
the
most
updated
computer.
It
stores
a
life
time
of
information-
our
stories.
Some
are
sad,
some
funny,
some
happy,
but
they
all
are
there
waiting
for
us
to
be
still
for
a
moment,
click
on
reverse
and
move
forward.
As
a
child,
I
used
to
spend
a
lot
of
time
on
the
porch
daydreaming
about
how
I
wanted
my
life
to
be
when
I
grew
up.
Now
as
an
adult,
understanding
the
power
of
the
mind,
I
realize
that
even
then,
I
was
creating
my
future.
Looking
back,
I
know
now
that
many
of
the
things
that
I
pictured
in
my
mind
came
true.
Our
mind
is
magnificent,
we
can
use
it,
not
only,
to
review
our
history,
but
to
move
forward
and
to
create.
Our
thoughts
can
change
our
lives.
What
we
think
about
we
create.
As
2011
approaches,
I
plan more than ever to keep my thoughts focused.
Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year.
December 2010
Anything Could Happen
Have
you
ever
attended
a
concert
to
see
the
entertainer
you
love
the
most?
Did
you
experience
the
excitement,
the
joy,
the
thrill
of
being
there?
What
about
the
energy
in
the
room
that
gives
the
natural
feeling
of
being
high,
lifted
up
from
ordinary
life?
You
feel
thankful
for
being
alive
and
want
that
moment
to
last
forever.
Well,
that
was
the
experience
I
wanted
to
have
when
I
saw
Jackie Wilson in 1955.
At
that
time,
I
learned
what
Mama
was
trying
to
say
about
carpooling.
When
my
sister
Henrietta
graduated
from
9th
grade,
there
was
no
high
school
in
town
for
colored
people.
We
were
not
allowed
entrance
into
the
High
Schools
across
the
tracks
in
white
town.
So,
the
only
way
we
could
attend
a
high
school
was
to
carpool
or
pack
up
our
family,
our
belongings,
and
move
to
a
location
near
the
school.
Mama
was
adamant
about
her
girls
traveling
in
a
carpool
especially
with
boys.
Her
famous
words
were
“Anything
could
happen.
Somebody
could
take
advantage
of
you.”
So,
that’s
why
my
sister
Henrietta
never
finished
high
school.
By
the
time
I
was
ready
to
attend
high
school,
seven
years
later,
the
city
had
arranged
for
a
school
bus
to
pick
up
colored
children
to
transport
us
to
the
town
of
Dania
where
the
closest
high
school
(Attucks)
was
located.
Many
of
the
junior
high
school
students
who
graduated
with
my
sister,
as
well
as
my
classmates,
carpooled
to
Dillard
High
School
in
Fort
Lauderdale
or
Booker
T.
Washington
High
School
in
Miami.
The
students,
as
well
as
their
parents,
believed
the
school
the
county
selected
which
was
closest to our area was new and inferior to Dillard and Booker T.
Our
neighbor
around
the
corner,
Nazell,
the
girl
who
tried
to
beat
me
up,
years
earlier,
before
I
was
a
teenager,
knew
I
loved
Jackie
Wilson.
So,
she
invited
me
to
go
with
her
and
a
girlfriend
to
a
Jackie
Wilson
concert
which
was
out-
of-
town.
I
had
turned
eighteen
years
old
a
month
earlier
and
just
knew
I
was
grown.
I
accepted
Nazell’s
invitation
to
go
to
Jackie’s
concert.
My
sister
Elaine warned, “You know Nazell hangs with a wild crowd. You shouldn’t go anywhere with her.”
I
stared
at
her
with
my
hands
on
my
hips
and
an
attitude.
When
I
didn’t
say
a
word,
she
realized
I
was
going
anyway.
So,
concerned about me, she passed me a dollar bill.
“Here,
in
case
you
have
to
get
back
home
you’ll
need
to
have
money.
I
took
the
money
thinking
she
must
have
remembered
another one of Mama’s rules, “Never leave home in a car with anybody without enough money in your pocket to get back home.”
On the night of the concert, after picking me up, Nazell informed me, “I have to make a stop.”
When
three
young
men
walked
out
of
the
house
with
her,
I
didn’t
think
much
about
it.
But,
when
they
began
to
climb
into
the
car,
fear
rose
in
my
throat
and
I
felt
like
my
heart
sunk
to
my
stomach.
But,
the
way
they
took
their
seats
in
the
car,
I
realized
one
of
the
young
men
was
her
boyfriend
who
sat
in
front
and
became
the
driver.
I
was
left
in
the
back
seat
with
the
two
strangers.
I
was
shocked
because
Nazell
had
said
we
were
going
with
her
girlfriend.
All
kinds
of
thoughts
flooded
my
mind.
Is
she
setting
me
up?
Why
didn’t
she
tell
me
these
men
were
going?
I
tried
to
shrink
into
the
corner
of
the
back
seat
as
closely
as
I
could
against
the
door.
My
thoughts
went
wild
because
I
was
locked
in.
I
figured
maybe,
as
my
brother
would
say
“if
push
comes
to
shove,”
I
could
jump
out
of
the
car
when
it
slowed
down.
I
felt
like
screaming
wouldn’t
help.
Cursing
the
stranger
would
only
make
him
angry.
So,
I
tightened
my
muscles
and
prepared
to
fight
if
I
had
to.
Then,
I
got
angry
with
myself.
I
had
not
listened
to
Elaine,
and
I
knew
she
was
right
about
Nazell.
Then,
I
had
the
audacity
to
start
praying
Lord
help
me
to
be
safe,
after
being
stubborn
and
not
listening. The idea of being safe had not entered my mind until the moment the men got into the car.
At
the
next
stop,
two
girls
were
picked
up.
One
girl
sat
in
front.
The
other
girl
had
to
sit
on
the
lap
of
one
of
the
young
men.
I
wanted
to
say
I’m
not
going
put
me
out,
but
we
had
already
driven
two
towns
towards
the
location
of
the
concert
which
was
very
far
from
home,
and
I
did
not
have
a
clue
where
or
how
to
find
a
bus
to
get
back
home
from
where
we
were.
As
I
sat
silently,
Mama’s voice began repeating in my head, Anything could happen in a carpool.
We
arrived
at
the
concert
early.
Jackie
Wilson,
the
lead
singer
of
the
Dominoes,
was
one
of
Rock
and
Roll’s
(now
called
R&B)
biggest
entertainers
in
1955.
He
sang
hit
songs
like,
“Rags
To
Riches”
and
“Learning
The
Blues.”
Other
famous
entertainers
such
as
James
Brown
and
the
Flames
were
also
popular
in
1955.
James
Brown
and
The
Flames
sang
the
song
“Please,
Please,
Please”
on
stage,
at
the
Palms
Park
on
teenage
night,
before
it
was
released
in
1956.
Clyde
McPhatter’s,
“Money
Honey”
was
a
big
hit
and
Ivory
Joe
Hunter’s,
“I
Almost
Lost
My
Mind,”
kept
dancers
on
the
floor
at
parties.
Many
other
male
and
female
entertainers
were
also
popular.
I
could
still
see
my
sister
Catherine’s
face
laughing
hard
with
tears
rolling
down
her
cheeks
when
she heard that women from across the tracks were throwing their drawers on the stage to Jackie Wilson.
What
great
expectation
it
was
to
attend
that
show.
As
the
auditorium
lights
shut
down
to
pitch
dark,
the
bright
lights
surrounded
the
athletic
figure
dressed
in
a
sharkskin
black
suit
moving
towards
the
center
of
the
stage.
First,
loud
claps
filled
the
room. Then, just as quickly, silence penetrated the space while the crowd waited with anticipation.
Jackie’s
first
ballad
with
his
smooth
tenor
voice
in
its
low
and
high
octave
sent
chills
up
my
spine.
When
he
hit
the
notes
with
bebop
and
began
dancing,
the
movement
of
his
feet
was
fast
and
spectacular
as
he
kept
the
audience
mesmerized.
And,
when
he
did
the
split
with
his
buttocks
hitting
the
floor,
before
the
crowd
could
absorb
the
magnificence
of
his
drop,
he
made
a
quick,
smooth
rise
upward
on
his
strong
legs,
slid
his
feet
together
to
a
stance,
and
never
missed
a
beat.
Once
on
his
feet
again,
he
spun
around,
threw
the
mike
in
the
air,
slid
across
the
stage,
caught
it,
and
dropped
to
his
knees
while
his
shoulders
and
arm
movements
stayed in harmony with the music.
Close
to
the
stage
he
winked
and
flirted
with
the
female
audience.
The
crowd
went
ballistic;
some
rose
out
of
their
seats,
screaming,
running
up
the
aisles
towards
the
stage
as
he
crooned
and
popped
his
fingers.
That’s
when
drawers
began
to
fly,
hitting
the
stage.
What
a
show!
I
hated
for
it
to
end.
On
our
way
home,
for
a
long
time,
I
could
still
hear
the
sound
of
the
music
beating
in
my head and the rhythm vibrating under my skin, making me want to tap my feet.
Much
of
my
enjoyment
of
Jackie’s
performance
that
night
was
lost
because
I
knew
I
had
to
get
back
home,
and
I
kept
hearing
Mama’s
voice,
Anything
could
happen.
The
fear
of
what
Mama
meant
tortured
my
mind
and
made
me
wish
I
didn’t
have
to
get
back into the car to go home with Nazell.
When
we
arrived
at
my
house,
I
jumped
out
of
the
car
and
gave
a
sigh
of
relief
that
I
made
it
home
safely.
I
was
mentally
tired
from
watching
the
girl
on
the
young
man’s
lap
fight
off
the
groping.
I
knew
in
my
heart
I
was
lucky
because
the
strangest
thing
happened;
the
young
man
next
to
me
slept
all
the
way
to
the
show
and
then
again
on
the
way
back
home.
I
promised
myself,
I
would never trust Nazell again.
Thinking
back
about
that
trip,
I
realize
that
when
we
are
young
we
take
chances
that
we
know
we
should
not
take.
But,
for
some
reason,
we
take
the
chances
anyway.
Sometimes
we
are
lucky,
and
other
times
we
are
not.
I
learned
a
lesson
that
night.
Our
parents
might
annoy
us
with
their
advice
or
what
they
will
not
allow
us
to
do
when
we
are
young,
but
we
should
always
think
about what they say. They are trying to tell us what is best for us and save us from danger. They are older and wiser than we are.
I wish you a happy New Year.
December 2015
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