I Shared the Dream. Georgia Davis Powers
most of all, I didn’t like having to jump up and do something any time Mom assigned me some chore. I knew even then that “A woman’s work is never done” would not be the motto for my life. I wanted to do what was necessary and then be done with it. So I made a deal with Mom. Since she didn’t like to iron, I would do the ironing and she would do the rest. I developed a system that allowed me to finish in one day. The night before ironing day, I would sprinkle the clothes with water, roll them tightly, and put them in a tin tub. The next day, the clothes would be damp all the way through and ready for ironing. I feel similarly compelled to exercise control over what I do and when I do it to this very day.
Though I did what my mother asked as quickly as I could, such tasks still took time—in my opinion, too much time—and gave me a lifelong perception of the hard role women had, staying home, having babies, and cleaning up after other people.
At the same time, I was accumulating other perceptions as well. Many of them came from getting to know all of our neighbors on Grand Avenue. Little did I know how fortunate I was to be growing up among such nice people. They were my extended family.
There was the soft-spoken Miss Brown, whose first name I never knew. I sat on the steps of the sidewalk every day, waiting for her to get off the bus. A school cafeteria worker, she carried a brown bag with sandwiches left over from the day’s lunch and gave them to the waiting children. The tasty sandwiches were either tuna fish or Waldorf salad mix on white bread. To this day, I think they were the best sandwiches I have ever eaten.
Six-foot-two Joseph Ray Sr., usually dressed in a black suit and stylish hat with the brim turned down, was another of my favorite neighbors. He was a gentleman and tipped his hat to me when he passed. It made me feel like a real lady. No wonder Mr. Ray was always one of my role models on the block. He was president of a Black-owned bank, First Standard Bank of Kentucky, until it closed during the Stock Market Crash of 1929. After that, he went into real estate.
Mr. Ray and his wife, Ella, had one son; Joseph Jr. spent more time at our house than he did his own. His mother was sick, but I didn’t know what was wrong with her. The neighbors would just say, “Mrs. Ray is not well.” In those days, people didn’t openly discuss their impairments, especially with children nearby. Many years later, I learned that Ella Ray had undergone a bilateral mastectomy.
One year, Joe Ray got a white bicycle for Christmas. I thought it was beautiful and asked, “Joe, can I ride your new bike?”
“Not till it gets old,” he said, and raced off. Bicycles were just the beginning for Joe. He graduated to motorcycles and later became famous as an accomplished race car driver, one of the first Black drivers for the United States Auto Club. He bought a Henry J. stock car, and my brothers Jay and Phillip were his mechanics. They traveled with Joe to the races, and sometimes I was allowed to go along and watch.
Teachers, doctors, educators, coaches, politicians, and athletes—Grand Avenue had them all. Nearly every field open to middle-class Blacks at that time was represented on Grand Avenue, my childhood community. Many who left Louisville found recognition both regionally and nationally. Herbert Ralston became chief of staff at Chicago Hospital, Wade Houston became head basketball coach at the University of Tennessee, and the inimitable Muhammad Ali became famous as the heavyweight boxing champion of the world. He lived with his parents, Cassius and Odessa Clay, four doors away from us.
I’m sure my desire to “be somebody” came partly from observing the people around me as I grew up. I was blessed to have lived among people who had such high standards and values. They wanted to do something meaningful with their lives. There was only one problem. I was a wise child and quickly figured out that all those I wanted to emulate were men. To me, they were the ones out in the world doing interesting things.
First among the men I idolized was my father, who many people thought resembled the movie star Clark Gable. I saw him as a powerful figure, both in his towering physical stature and in his air of authority; to me, if he said it, it was true.
Once, two police officers came to our house to question my brother Robert about some tire slashing in the neighborhood. At that time, White policemen routinely entered the homes of Black people without knocking. That day, one went to the back door and another to the front. Without knocking, they strode into our house, grabbed Robert, and took him to the Jefferson County Children’s Center.
My father wasn’t home, but when he heard what had happened, he was furious, insulted that they had crashed in and frightened my mother that way. He hired attorney Leon Shaikun to get Robert released from the Children’s Center and to challenge the officers’ behavior. Within a short time, Robert was released into my father’s custody, and later the two policemen were fired. I felt so proud of Pop. After that, I thought he could right any wrong.
Money was not my biggest worry as a child. I always thought my father had lots of it. Of course he didn’t, but he made good money for the time, more than some of the professional people on our street. He bought new cars, Fords, while many people owned second-hand cars or none at all. If my father didn’t have it, he could always get money for whatever I needed.
I felt close to my father. As long as he was there, I felt I was safe. He was not demonstrative with Mom or us children, but he was a good and loving man. During the Depression, Pop was not only good to us, he was good to everyone. He was literally his brother’s keeper—a true, practicing Christian. Through the Depression, he worked three days a week making fourteen dollars a day. When neighbors with children had their water or electricity turned off, Pop paid to have it turned back on. Once a month we went to Nelson County to Aunt Celia’s farm to get food for the neighbors and us. We would bring back smoked meats—ribs, backbones, sausages, and hams. Pop would load the car with a hundred pounds of potatoes, canned fruits and vegetables, jellies and jams, bags of pears from the orchard, and other foodstuff. Back in Louisville, he’d divide the food and send it around to the families with children.
I’m sure other members of my family would say he was partial to me. He was quick to stand up for me whenever I needed his support, and he made sure that my brothers never hit me. He whipped them with peach tree switches for their frequent misdeeds, but he gave me only one small spanking, though I probably deserved more, during my entire childhood.
Who doesn’t remember being thirteen?—that in-between time when you’re neither child nor adult. Overnight I seemed to stop being a child, yet I wasn’t a woman either. Confusion and restlessness reigned. Along with wondering what I would do when I grew up, I was now trying to cope with puberty. No one told me anything about the changes that were occurring in my body. Even with all those babies born in our home, I didn’t understand the reproductive process. I just knew that having babies caused my mother to get terribly out of shape, with swollen ankles and a swaybacked walk. Why do girls have to have babies, I wondered. Why not boys? It wasn’t just having them, either—it was all the work afterward. I felt that it all fell on Mom.
Boys had all the advantages. My brothers had to work in the garage and learn to be mechanics as soon as they were old enough. They probably thought I was the one who had it easy, but I wanted to work in the garage with them. I begged my father, but he refused to let me.
“What are they doing in there that I can’t do?” I protested.
“Now, now,” my family placated me.
Like her sister Mary Kaufman, Mom was also religious. She continually told us to be good and to avoid sin. On any appropriate occasion, and on some occasions that I considered inappropriate, she would quote the Bible. One of her favorite exhortations was “What doth it profit a man if he gain the world and lose his soul?” I’m sure setting her children’s thoughts on higher matters was ultimately very beneficial. However, during the years I went through puberty, it became painfully apparent that it was my body, not just my soul, about which I needed more information.
My breasts started to develop and my brothers teased