For Alma, Wherever She Is

Isn't it strange how obscure memories can pop into our minds at odd times? It happens to me a lot these days. I'll have a brief flash of memory of a place, a road, or a house I haven't been to in decades. A face I haven't seen or a name I haven't heard since I was a child will suddenly pop into my head.

Recently while I was puttering around the house that's what happened. Alma popped into my mind.

Alma was a black woman, probably in her late twenties or early thirties, a tall, slim lady with sad, brown eyes and long hands with tapering fingers. I was about nine years old when my mother took me with her to meet Alma.

In the town where I'm from the ratio of African American to Caucasian was (and probably still is) pretty small. I'm from a Northern Kentucky small town in a very rural county -- no industry to speak of --, one of the largest counties in Kentucky. The native population of African American was made up of the descendants of slaves for the most part. There were very few black people out in the county, but small populations of African Americans could be found in each of the three major "towns" in the county (population 2400 or less), and they usually lived within their own prescribed neighborhoods. (I can only think of a couple of local educators who were black and who lived in white communities in my hometown when I was a child.)

There were two such black neighborhoods in my home town, and they went by indelicate names. One was near the feed mill and was made up of small houses and mobile homes. It wasn't extremely isolated from the whites, though; you could turn a corner and be in an all-white neighborhood. The other was more secluded from its white neighbors and consisted of a lodge, a church, a few decent houses and a lot of what can only be described as shacks. This is where Alma lived.

My mother and our friend Julie (the one who died of breast cancer last year) were teaching Alma to read, or at least trying to. And sometimes I would go with them when they visited her. She really wanted to learn to read, although it was quite a struggle for her. I can remember being embarrassed for her because I could read and she couldn't.

Alma lived in a shack that was the remains of a burned-out house if I remember correctly. I remember that part of the house was enclosed but the rest of it was out in the open. She had fashioned a sort of living area right out in what should have been a yard. She had rugs on the ground, a sofa and chairs, and a few tables, all arranged very nicely, but completely in the open. I think there was a part that connected this lawn-room with the enclosed part of the house that was partially covered, and if I remember correctly there was a stove in this part; a wood stove with burners.

She would offer us a glass of water or cup of coffee when we came, and once she had cookies. She was always sweet to me.

A couple of times when I was there a man came up and pushed his way into the lesson. Even at that age I knew the man was drunk or had at least been drinking. He would talk badly to Alma and I can remember her bowing her head and not looking him in the eyes, and I knew she was so embarrassed. He would get sarcastic with my mom and Julie, too, and he would bad-mouth them and make fun of Alma for trying to learn to read. He said she never would, that she was too dumb. I don't know if he was her "man" or if he was a family member. My mother and Julie inspired me during those visits because they remained very calm. I saw the spark of anger in my mother's eyes and the fire leaping out of Julie's, but they held back. They stayed calm, but they answered him back firmly when he spoke to them. They didn't let him shake them, and they didn't leave, but remained "ladies" through it all. They waited for him to get tired of his game and then went on with their visit and their lesson.

I probably only went with them four or five times, but I can actually close my eyes and see her and her "house" clearly even after all these years. Within just a few years all the shacks and falling-down houses in that neighborhood were gone and the area was built up with new houses and modular homes. When I saw Mom on Saturday I brought up Alma and Mom told me that Alma had eventually moved in with a relative in a proper house. I asked Mom if she had ever learned to read, and she said that she had not as far as she knew. But she had loved the visits and she at least learned her alphabet and how to read a few small words.

Like I said, I don't know why this woman came to my mind, but I'm glad I had the opportunity to go with my Mom and Julie when they visited her. At even just nine years old I was impressed by her quiet dignity when she welcomed us into her "home", which, such as it was, was kept clean and neat. I learned a wonderful lesson from my Mother and Julie about patience and brotherly love, and that it is possible to be angry in the face of ignorance and hate without reacting in kind, to stay cool and calm, to answer reasonably when the person you're answering is being unreasonable, and that being a lady doesn't mean being weak.