Nita was Rod’s neighbor and watched him and his siblings while his mother worked at night. Nita was 18 and married. Rod was 14 and had been the man of the house since he was five years old. Not old enough for first grade, but old enough to help raise two younger brothers and sister after their mother kicked his father out and tossed his clothes out the door.
“His mother told me not to let them go outside, so they came into my apartment and I let them drink and smoke,” Nita said.
Larry works the gate at the Fairhope pier, charging $5 a person or $20 a car for the ones who don’t live in town. He makes every person who drives past his window laugh or smile and says he should be paying the city to let him work that window. The best part of his job is when people give in and play along. The ones who cuss or act insulted because they have to pay get a lesson in respect.
“Hillary is the boss and queen of our house and we do everything on her schedule.”
Farish Street, one of the oldest black business districts in the country, is only blocks away from the Jackson, Mississippi that I grew up around, but I had never been to that side of town. It felt off limits. A place where I couldn't go.
Hillbilly sits under a shade tree at a mall parking lot in Mississippi with coffee, ice water, cigarettes and a small radio playing classic rock. Four days a week he watches the drop off box for a thrift store where the proceeds go to veterans. Being in the Army gave him a bad leg and a few benefits.
She is 16 and wants to be a Senator to prove that the world is not filled with hate. She has worked as a page in the House and Senate in Mississippi. She has seen how politics works and still wants to be a part of it.
"I am just trying to stay above ground and keep the oil well pumping," said a man in a neon yellow shirt buying a Budweiser at Tater's Exxon Food & Grill in New Augusta, Mississippi. A plastic angel kneels in prayer on the dashboard of a car by the front door. Barefoot boys wearing Hangout Music Festival wristbands toss out Miller Lite cans, a little unsteady as they walk into the restroom in the back.
Love, forgiveness and compassion are the ingredients of life for the 76-year-old man who makes some of the best soul food in lower Alabama. Cozy Brown was forced to learn to cook 16 years ago after his seafood market burned. He had no insurance and no other options.
Four years ago today John Oldshue sent me a picture of a dog in a cage at the Mobile County Animal Shelter. The caption said, "Grady. URGENT. Severe skin condition. Please help."
On the day of Zakry Flint's high school graduation, the couch from his living room is next to the curb, waiting to be picked up with the trash. The sofa with the green and pink flowers was moved out of the family's small living room to make room for a hospital bed. Hospice brought his dad, Jason, home from the hospital that day so he could be comfortable at home with his family.
I am learning to live with my imperfections and quit trying to be a perfect woman. A perfect mother. Motherhood is joy and fulfillment that give me pride. It is also dark times and making mistakes that I want to hide. It’s not just me. I hear it over and over during talks with friends and interviews for Our Southern Souls.
A knife is what killed 26-year-old SatorI Richardson on July 4, 2014. Her boyfriend stabbed her 32 times, strangled her, put her in the bathtub, then set their apartment on fire. Her four-year old daughter saw it happen before she got out. Satori had almost been killed by another boyfriend the year before. I met Satori's mother, Davona Tinsley, today. A victim of domestic violence herself, Davona is raising her two grandchildren and using her daughter's death to encourage other women to get out of abusive relationships.
Michael A. Figures Community Center is at the heart of the neighborhood with a pool, tennis courts and baseball fields. Mr. Woody, a student mentor, helps run the center and offered to buy me a Coke and candy bar when I walked in
They gather together every morning at Kountry Korner gas station in Union Church. Steam rising from coffee in styrofoam cups as they sit in plastic chairs between the wine and potato chips aisle and the wall of drink coolers.
We don’t have to leave home to find our purpose. We can stay here and look between the lines and through the cracks to find it. Serving our communities with purpose. This may not make the news, but it is how we make this country better.
Brittany shouldn't have walked into Serda's to meet me and tell her story. She shouldn't even be hugging her two kids every morning. On May 11, 2015, the day after Mother's Day, her ex-boyfriend and father of her children, found out that she was seeing another man and broke into her apartment seeking revenge.
I have been to the Fairhope pier hundreds of times and have never seen anyone fishing off the end of the boardwalk in a wheelchair. Her name is Patricia and she can't walk today because she was shot in 1996 by friendly fire while she was a nurse in Germany. The soldier was on PCP. She had been a military nurse for 16 years and started life over after her medical discharge.
It hurts to hear one of the most optimistic people I know talk about losing ground. He is one I turn to for honest conversations about race, often the issues that we as a community avoid talking about. Maybe it takes a crisis to make us ask questions and pay attention to the reasons for the emotions behind the anger.
