Once more I realized the terrible burdens most people carry around everyday.
Rose and Linda admitted during one of our first conversations that they knew little about marketing. They used a couple of my ideas to build the Holey Moley's business, but struggled to get people from the interstate to downtown.
Sitting in my office one day, I stared out at a line of snowy white Bradford pear trees along the edge of the newspaper's property, and it hit me. Why couldn’t The News-Item lead an effort to bring back downtown, to get people to clean up their property and to shop in their hometown? What would it take to make downtown vibrant again? Maybe this was a way I could make a difference in this little community.
The pretty spring and the short burst of increased interest in the area had given me a glimpse of something new in Green, an indefinable characteristic that almost felt like hope. Even though The News-Item only had a dozen employees, we were one of the biggest businesses downtown, plus we had a small measure of clout in town, mostly from the social standing of the McCullers.
“We can use the power of the newspaper to try to rally residents,” I said to Tom. He seemed delighted, ready to tackle an editorial crusade.
“We can tie that into profiles of downtown businesses,” Alex said. “We can also examine how the area got into such rotten shape and how it might get out.” He paused. “Maybe you could even splurge and let me visit a similar place or two that have turned their downtowns around.”
Visiting with Rose one Saturday, I broached the idea of forming a Downtown Green Association. She was initially excited about the possibility but deflated fairly quickly after talking to Linda.
“We tried something like that once, and it didn’t work,” Linda said. This was another of those sentences I’d learned to despise. The number of things Green had tried before with bad results confounded me. To hear local people talk, nothing had gone right since about 1959.
I took a deep breath and persisted. “What could it hurt to try again? We could just get together with some snacks and visit about new ideas. I’m new. You have new vendors. Maybe we could even talk Eva Hillburn into coming.”
My contact with Eva had been minimal, but I had learned she was quite important in Green. Very little happened without her stamp of approval. She was deeply involved behind the scenes in local politics and a generous donor to many nonprofits. Although her older brother had the public persona, I’d come to believe Eva was probably more powerful.
Setting up the first meeting took some doing, but I managed to pull it off. We gathered in the boardroom of the newspaper and had box lunches from the Cotton Boll. I almost felt like I was back in Dayton, except the boxes had smiley faces drawn on them with a black marker and a note with each person's order.
Eva arrived late, but she did show up. Rose was out delivering the mail, but Linda was there, along with Iris Jo and a variety of others from downtown businesses. Pastors from the big Baptist and Methodist churches downtown came, including Pastor Mali, the new foreign guy wearing his native dress, a tepenu. His arrival in town had caused somewhat of a stir, and I always enjoyed seeing his cheerful face. Lee Roy did not bother to show up, a point I planned to challenge.
“Let's open with a quick recap of what has been done before and how we can build on that,” I said, after thanking everyone for coming.
“I beg your pardon, Miss Lois,” one of the bankers said. “We haven’t had our prayer yet.”
This was something that intrigued me about Green. People had not gotten ashamed of their religion down here. The prayer, by the Baptist preacher, was almost poetic, including asking God to “look after Miss Lois and help her as she tries to guide us.” I was always overwhelmed at how quick people were to pray for me, and I thought the words set just the tone we needed for the meeting. In fact, I got so wrapped up in the idea that I asked Pastor Mali from the Methodist church to close us in prayer.
From that meeting, we made progress with fits and starts. At first members got hung up on a name and mission statement, but Eva moved us along. “Friends,” she said with a firm but friendly tone to her voice, “we need to make something happen. Downtown Green needs our action.”
In just a handful of meetings, we came up with what we called our Green Forward Goals, which quickly became the GFGs. These included a downtown cleanup day, a special Fourth of July ice cream social and sale day, and a Fall Festival the first weekend of October.
Sometimes I would notice Eva watching me with a serious look on her face, but she seldom had much to say to me. She was out of town a lot and extremely busy, so I was always happy to see her arrive. Something about her presence gave the group some heft.
After the third meeting, she stopped on her way out. “Lois, I’d like to invite you to dinner with me at the country club one night. I apologize for not connecting with you sooner, welcoming you properly to town.”
I hesitated before I said “yes.” I had been to the Oak Crest Country Club several times already, always on business, usually courting an advertiser with Lee Roy. I did not find it very welcoming. In part, the décor looked like something out of the mid-1950s, with heavy drapes, sea foam green walls, white linen tablecloths, and a parquet dance floor. Beyond that, it seemed snooty. I owned a business and was approaching middle age, but I felt like a kid eating at the grown-up table.
However, I could not turn Eva down after all she had done for Green Forward and the newspaper. “Sure, I’d love to go,” I said, smiling. “That’ll be great.”
Wearing a nice outfit I bought from Miss Barbara, who was still complaining about her ads, I met Eva on Saturday night. We were seated at a table in the corner, far enough away from the combo playing sixties songs. We each ordered sweet iced tea. I noticed with a small measure of amusement that several vocal people in the local anti-liquor-by-the-drink campaign were having wine, beer, or a strawberry daiquiri with their meals. Maybe the newspaper should do a story on where liquor was sold and consumed in the parish.
As we ate, Eva told me again how glad she was to have me in Green.
“I enjoy watching you lead the downtown group,” she said. “I can’t believe it, but I’m thinking we may get something done this go-round. You are something when you go into action.” She hesitated. “I hope I don’t sound patronizing when I say that you have the gift of leadership. You are a bright spot in our community.”
I almost choked on my tea and covered the sound with a little cough that came out more like a hiccup. One of the things I most enjoyed about my new job was it brought me in touch with such a wide range of people. Earlier that day I been trying to convince Rose to put a billboard on the interstate and to add a regional crafts booth to her store. Tonight I was dining with the most influential businesswoman in town, and she was paying me a gigantic compliment.
“Thank you,” I said, “but I think you are the one with that gift. I admire you and what you do for the Green area.”
Immediately she blew that off in her elegant, somewhat old-fashioned way of speaking. “I’m obligated to give back to Green because it has given so much to me and my family through the years,” she said. “I’ve had to work for lots in my life, but I’ve had many opportunities other people never have. I don’t take that for granted.”
Dabbing a tiny blob of Thousand Island dressing from the corner of her mouth, she continued. “As I was saying, I believe deeply that to whom much is given, much is expected. That is part of why I asked you here tonight. I want to know if you’d consider helping me stir things up.”
12
Betty Brosette's dog, Elfie Smith, remains missing and has
been at-large since Thursday. He had not been found at
press time. Betty lives off Old Bayou Boulevard, and so did
Elfie Smith, a mixed breed that most of you know: white,
brown ears and feet, loves liver and tomatoes, which you
remember from a story we published and ran in May.
—The Green News-Item
News-Item, Lois Barker,” I said, picking up my phone on a day when it had not stopped ringing.
The McCullers had called to complain about a package we had done on proposed roadwork near the lake. Major Wilson contended we were ruining his business with our negative coverage, and Lee Roy had rushed into my office, demanding to know if I meant to completely kill our revenue streams.
“You are some firecracker, aren’t you?” a gruff, sort of wavery woman's voice said on the phone, a voice that sounded old but not the least bit unsure.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Miss Barker, you are stepping on toes right and left in this town, and I can’t tell you how much fun it is to watch.”
“May I help you, ma’am?” I said, surprised at how close to the surface my old irritated city editor voice was.
“Oh, get off your high horse, missy. This is Helen McCuller, and I wanted to thank you for dusting off my history of the community and running that piece. It reminded me of the days when I was the one stirring things up.”
“Oh, Aunt Helen!” I said, then immediately realized what I had done. “I mean Miss McCuller, how good it is to hear from you. I apologize for not contacting you before the history ran. I’ve been meaning to call. The feedback has been outstanding.”
“Well, girl, I’m glad it worked out, and you just call me Aunt Helen. Most people in town do.”
“I want to thank you for all you did at your house, too,” I said. “You probably know I’m living out on Route 2 now. That yard is something else.”
“Did the dogwood bloom? Last time I was out that way it looked like the cold had nipped it back a little.”
Helen's call lasted nearly an hour. Before it was over, I had a new supporter, which meant a lot in a month when I was turning people off right and left. “Don’t worry about big people with little minds,” she said. “And don’t take the politics of life in Green too seriously. Local politics are seldom as good as they could be, nor as bad as they seem.”
She suggested I drop by to see her sometime. “Keep fighting, firecracker.”
While I had never thought of myself as a firecracker, my role in Green did suddenly seem to be that of troublemaker, ranging from annoying half the businesses in town with the Downtown Dollar Days to attempting to become the first female member of the Oak Crest Country Club.
Eva, who had led me into part of this stink, told me it had always bothered her that the country club, such an integral part of Green life for movers and shakers, had never invited women as members. “I’m an ex-officio member, through my family connections, but I am not a voting member,” she said. “I find that insulting. And I am quite troubled that there are not members of color.”
This topic clearly mattered to her. “How can we as community members—as Christian people—shut out one of the biggest groups in our community? And if you try to tell me that they like to hang out with people of their own kind, I’ll throw up my tilapia right here.”
I had not known for certain that the club excluded minorities and women but had suspected it. For the past six months or so, I had been funding Lee Roy's membership, knowing in my heart it was wrong. “This is immoral and unethical,” Eva said, “and I need your help in getting Dr. Kevin Taylor to seek membership, too. She's the perfect person to be our first minority member.”
I sighed, half out of frustration that we were still living divided by skin color, and half because I did not need nor want another battle. For the first time in several weeks I thought of Ed and wondered how the sixty-year-old, white male would have handled this. But I knew I couldn’t squirm out of it, no matter how uncomfortable it made me.
Eva was a bit too gleeful when I said I would be her female guinea pig.
Kevin came along more slowly.
“I’m just not sure,” she said. “I don’t want to stir things up … but I would like to see our town be more accepting.”
I jumped in. “If we don’t take a stand, who will? This is really a small thing, and it could help in big ways later on.”
“I wouldn’t even consider it if that house issue hadn’t come up,” she said. “I just can’t believe you can’t buy a house somewhere because you’re black.” She finally agreed to apply for membership. The three of us had lunch at the club to seal the deal, a meal that got more attention than it should have.
I also implemented an aggressive community outreach program to get lots of different people in the paper, making it more representative of the parish as a whole. I had to do this because it was the job of the newspaper to reflect the area, and I had to do it from a business standpoint.
“We need to be more open about asking for news and opinions from different groups,” I told each of the small staff. “And we need to be helpful in publishing it in a timely and fair way.” The coverage prompted a wave of calls that we were running too many blacks in the paper and I would be the ruin of the town. Only two or three of my older “coaches” called to tell me I was doing the right thing, ranging from Miss Gertrude with another pound cake to Miss Pearl.
The former owners and my business manager were not as kind, chiming in for the second time in less than a week. The Big Boys stopped by together, something unprecedented since the day I took over The News-Item. They seemed determined to make me change my mind about the country club and the kinds of news we put in the paper, subtly reminding me I was a short-timer in Green and should not make a fuss.
“Miss Lois, we’re sure you mean well,” Dub said, “but you are sticking your nose in something that doesn’t really concern you. This has long-term implications for our little town. Things are working fine just like they are.”
Chuck jumped in as soon as Dub paused. “This is the South, and things just aren’t done like they are up north … bad for business.”
When they left, they were annoyed I had not readily agreed with them.
“I’m trying to do what's best,” I said. “What's right. I’ll keep considering the best steps to take—for the paper and for Green.”
Lee Roy's eyes nearly popped out of his head when I told him what I was doing, in the community and the newspaper. I also told him if Kevin and I did not get into Oak Crest, I would cancel his membership, unwilling to contribute to a business that was unfair.
Not thirty minutes passed before I had another call from Major.
“Miss Lois, I’m calling as your friend to tell you to let things stay the way they are. People pay for their memberships, and they have the right to invite whoever they want to join. If someone does not want to join because of club policies, that's his or her choice.”
I waited for him to continue, certain the pause was not the end of his speech.
“Those people have all sorts of clubs that let them in,” he said.
My voice trembled when I answered him, but I hoped it did not show. I acted as though I had totally misunderstood his point.
“I look forward to your support on this issue,” I said, “knowing you represent so many of the fine people of Green in your police jury district, women and men, African Americans and Whites. I know that as a Realtor and a public official you do not believe in discrimination because of the color of someone's skin or their gender. I’d appreciate you reminding your friends at Oak Crest of that.”
And I hung up on him.
It was the only time in Green I ever hung up on anyone. I was not proud of myself, but I did not want him to know I was crying. His call came just after I had taken a contentious call from a preacher who told me how wrong I was. The two combined were too much. Between offending people by trying to bring some equality to Green and offending small-town businesses by “playing favorites,” I was homesick for the anonymity of the city desk at a big paper.
Several downtown businesses had gotten their feelings hurt that they were not included in a group advertisement we ran, promoting the upcoming Homemade Ice Cream Social and Downtown Dollar Days. The other bank, where the paper did not have its accounts, complained to the
chamber of commerce that I was trying to “take over,” and the chamber should do something about it. While some people, such as the Baptists and Methodists, seemed thrilled and were planning downtown activities for children every Saturday in July, others were annoyed and thought the efforts a waste of time and energy. The grumblers came out in full force.
I was discouraged, but not deterred.
I had expected this to be a tough job and a rough year, but I was stunned by how raw some of the issues left me, how I doubted myself and the people around me. Over and over I asked myself if I was doing the right thing, if it was my right to try to change this little town where I was basically a visitor. I cried to my dead mother and asked what she would do. I sought out like-minded people to tell me I was doing the right thing, and people who disagreed with me to try to talk sense into me. I thought about Pastor Jean's sermon on wisdom and tried to figure out what she might have been telling me.
In the end, I prayed—deep, heartfelt, on-my-knees prayer, for the first time since the day my mother was buried.
Amazingly, interesting dominoes began to fall. First Methodist Church pastors had traditionally been members of Oak Crest, but now the pastor was a foreign man who never wore a suit and sometimes still wore what looked like a skirt. He did, however, like to play golf. His church leaders stepped forward to recommend him for the church's membership slot at the club and included a letter announcing their support of the membership of Miss Lois Barker and Dr. Kevin Taylor. The congregation at Grace Community Chapel, most of whom had only been to a wedding reception or high school reunion at the club, wrote a moving letter, signed by nearly thirty-five members, an accomplishment, considering the average attendance at worship.
Kevin's elderly partner endorsed her with vigor. Although he had expressed some reservations to her in private, in public he told the world such prejudice had to be wiped out. The chamber of commerce wound up endorsing Eva Hillburn as a full member, pointing out her leadership stature.
Gone to Green (Green (Abingdon Press)) Page 10
