I'm glad I made the effort (walking about 3 miles, standing in line for 3 1/2 hours) to get into Greater Grace Temple where Rosa Parks' funeral was held yesterday. It was a glorious Indian summer day and I parked my car about a mile or so away from the church on a small neighbor side street because 7 Mile Road was closed--(I know you only know 8 Mile, but we have lots of mile roads in Detroit.)
Anyway, I walked to the end of the line- which was about 1/2 mile long by the time I arrived and found myself next to a tiny, well dressed, elderly, light-skinned American American woman, using a cane. We struck up a conversation and I learned that she was 85-years old and had been born in Kentucky, but raised in Michigan. Since it was 7:30 a.m. and the funeral was to begin at 11:00 a.m., we faced a long time in line together--and the possibility of never getting in at all.
I told her I was a teacher and had a strong interest in American history--particularly of the civil rights era --since I was tangentially aware of it as a child and became more outraged by injustice as a teenager. I told her of my dual upbringing--born in the south, raised in the north--school year in the north--summers in Mississippi. I asked her to tell me about her life--as much as she wanted to. It was fascinating to hear her own version of the Rosa Parks' incident--she was 19 years old, taking the bus from Wayne State when she was asked to stand and move to the back. She reported that she had resisted only briefly. But it was 10 years before Rosa Parks! I reminded her that Rosa Parks had the backing of SCLC and was much older than she had been.
As we talked, the few people within earshot began to listen intently to our conversation. She was quiet, well-spoken and warm, and I gently prodded and asked more and more questions, pushing for more details. She told me of how she marched in Detroit with Dr. King and of problems she had as the only black dietician in her class at Wayne State. She had attended a private school in Kentucky that was run by northern white women who believed in the education of young black women...Reminiscent of Zora Neale Hurston's experiences. One of the people in the crowd asked where we "stayed"--thinking we were together. It was only then that I realized that she and I were really about the same "shade." I never asked her, but I wondered if she had ever been about to "pass."
I told her of some of my experiences and how proud I was that many of my former students, all African American women, were in college or working professional jobs. I didn't tell her how many were pregnant and I failed to mention the one who had been fatally shot while at an after- hours club. I figured she'd already had 85 years of bad news.
Finally, just before being allowed to enter the church, I asked to know her name and gave her mine. We shook hands and found ourselves nearly the last two people allowed inside. I had to keep up with her as she wove her way through the enormous corridors--she had been in Greater Grace before--and she led me to the side chapel where an enormous screen had been set up. As we entered, the service was beginning and she burst into song--with a voice as strong and pure as I had ever heard! She knew all of the scriptural readings by heart, too.
Together, we sat for the next 5 hours listening to some of the most moving and powerful speakers this country has to offer--people who can move others to tears, laughter, and shame--all with words! Starting with former President Bill Clinton, who had to leave early, and moving to Rev. Al Sharpton who was unbelievably followed by Minister Louis Farrakhan, and Barak Obama, and so many others, one after another, they seemed to be able to lift the crowd to higher and higher ground. To see all of these people at once--together-- was unbelievable. My own little Rosa Parks and I clapped together, bowed our heads together and laughed together, too.
As I left, I thanked her for spending the day with me--I don't know what compelled me to go to that funeral, but meeting this woman was just what I needed--.
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