Floyd
Petersen, 2009
While
glancing through the local newspaper recently, I came across an obituary. Along
with the obituary was a picture of the deceased. The picture was of an elderly African
American woman. Nothing unusual about that, except, well, let me tell you the
story.
We
had arrived at the Reagan International Airport in D.C. a bit early. Our flight
to California via Chicago would leave in an hour. The waiting area near the
boarding gate was almost empty as we settled into a seat among our carry-on’s.
In
addition to being a university professor I am the mayor of a small city and
chairman of the board of directors of a regional public transportation agency
in Southern California. Once or twice a year I make a trip to Washington D.C.
on business. My wife, Eileen, had accompanied me on this trip and now with an
hour to spare she said she wanted to look around the airport.
Eileen
had been gone only a short time when an elderly African American lady appeared
and, actually pushing one of our bags aside and, seeming not to notice me,
proceeded to occupy the seat Eileen had just vacated.
Well
now! With so many empty seats in the waiting area, did she have to sit right here in my wife’s
place, I thought to myself. This was an intrusion into my personal space. Why
hadn't she occupied one of the many other empty seats where she could spread
out her bags and be comfortable?
She
had on a funny knit black cap and was wearing glasses. Not just ordinary
glasses but thick glasses. The kind of thick glasses that makes the person
wearing them seem to be peering about in a strange disoriented sort of way.
Now,
I like people. To be a mayor, one should.
I also like nothing better than a good conversation with interesting
people. I like new ideas. But an 80 year
old lady wearing a funny cap and peering through thick glasses? To be honest,
she would not have been my first choice to spend an hour with in an empty
airport.
Pardon
me, she said. Could you tell me what time it is? She adjusted her glasses to
better see the ticket she held in her hand. Her question was my first
indication that she knew I existed.
Eleven
O'clock, I answered glancing at my watch. And then trying to appear friendly I
added, "where are you going"?
"Chicago"
she said, "My plane leaves at one o'clock and I wanted to be on time".
Since
my wife and I were going through Chicago and our plane left at twelve, I thought that she might be mistaken about
the time of her flight. Asking to see her ticket I took it up to the attendant
at the desk to verify her departure time and flight number. Her plane did
indeed leave one hour later than ours. On returning to my seat, I assured her
that everything was correct and that she had plenty of time to rest before her
flight was called.
Well,
if I was going to share my space with this stranger I may as well find out who
she was. I asked her if she lived in Chicago.
"Yes",
she replied, "a good many years".
"What
brought you to Washington, D.C. - were you here to visit family", I
inquired?
"No",
she responded, "I came here to receive an award".
"An
award" I said? I probably looked a
little surprised though she didn't seem to notice.
"Yes"
she said.
"Have
you seen the morning paper"?
"Here,
I have one", she added, pulling
from her bag a copy of the Washington Post.
As
she held up the morning news paper, the first thing that caught my eye was that
part of a large headline containing the words "First Lady".
Well,
what is this all about, I wondered?
"You can read about it in my paper if you
like". And: "Oh, I have a copy of the program, too" she offered.
"I'd
love to see it", I replied. A
boring hour in the airport was suddenly turning interesting.
"First
Ladies Salute first Women" the title on the richly decorated program
announced.
As I flipped it open I immediately began to
see names that I recognized - Barbara Walters, Mistress of Ceremonies; Hillory
Rodham Clinton; The Honorable Madeleine Albright; The Honorable Dianne
Feinstein, senator from my state; The Honorable Shirley Chishlom; The Honorable
Sandra Day O'Connor.
Whoa!
What do we have here? The program went on to list more 'Honorables' then I knew
existed.
And
then the five women who had received the National First Ladies Library Award
the previous evening were introduced.
Second on the list after the Honorable Madeleine K. Albright appeared
the name Gwendolyn Brooks.
"That's me" she said. "It was
so much fun".
I
quickly began to skim the biography. But when the words 'Pulitzer Prize'
appeared in the first sentence, I started again, reading more slowly now:
Gwendolyn
Brooks; first African-American female Pulitzer Prize winner for poetry; the
second Poet Laureate of Illinois, succeeding Carl Sanburg; 1997 recipient of
the Lincoln Laureate medal; current writer-in-residence at Chicago State University
where the Gwendolyn Brooks Center for Black Culture and a Chair has been named
in her honor.
And
there was lots more: Miss Brooks, the recipient of more than 75 honorary
doctorates; a member of the National Institute for Arts and Letters; appointed
to the Presidential Commission on the National Agenda for the Eighties;
Consultant-in-Poetry to the Library of congress; named Jefferson Lecturer by
the National Endowment for the Humanities; and in 1995, awarded the prestigious
National Medal of the Arts. Gwendolyn Brooks, author of more than twenty-six
books.
My
wife returned to find her seat occupied. I introduced her to my new friend.
Miss
Brooks was a delightful person, a great conversationalist and well informed on
a wide range of topics. We talked about poetry. She asked what had brought us
to Washington. I told her about my job
as a mayor and university professor.
"I'm
so impressed to be sitting here next to the mayor" she said.
What?
Gwendolyn Brooks, a Pulitzer Prize winner with 76 doctorates, glad to be
sitting next to me?
"You can keep that copy of the program -
here, I'll sign it for you" she offered. Then she added: "if you
write to me I will send you an autographed copy of my latest book of poetry".
She kept her promise.
All
too soon our flight was called. I lingered, not wanting to break the spell. As
we walked toward the gate, I turned to look at her again; old, wrinkled, funny
knit cap, thick glasses. Somehow that didn't matter now. I had just spent an hour in the presence of
Royalty.
Thank
you Gwendolyn Brooks for intruding. And thank you for reminding me again to
never judge another.
