Spirit letters
26th January 2015 · 0 Comments
By Edmund W. Lewis
Editor
I was at home recently looking through some boxes and files in search of some old photos and mementos when I stumbled across some of my prized possessions — hand-written messages in cards and letters that remind me of simpler times and brighter days.
Although Katrina claimed my McDonogh 35 high school yearbook, Gregory Jr. High School baseball jersey and spiked cleats, some of my earliest published writings, my Mac laptop, several unfinished screenplays, my phone/address book and a couple of crates of Xavier yearbooks and African-centered books passed down to me from my pops, I managed to save some things that had fortuitously been placed on the second floor of our home.
Those include an original hard copy of James Baldwin’s book, Blues for Mister Charlie, which contains my pop’s signature and autographs I have collected over the years from everybody from James Baldwin, Caribbean poet Derek Walcott, poet Nikki Giovanni, writer Maya Angelou, Douglas Turner Ward and the late, great African-centered scholar Dr. John Henrik Clark. I also recovered some childhood photos.
But those letters and notes were the big-ticket items, as far as I was concerned.
Some of these letters, cards and notes were very informal, like one from a former college professor who made a point of scribbling a message to me encouraging me to fight the good fight as I, along with some of my classmates, challenged unfair practices at LSU.
Señora Carmen would always add something to my graded papers about how very important it was for young people who see injustice around them to speak up about it. Those little notes lifted my spirits many a day as I summoned the strength and audacity to challenge systemic racism and inequality at LSU.
I found letters from former Los Angeles Mayor Tom Bradley, South Africa’s Bishop Desmond Tutu, a note from Baba Kwame Toure (born Stokley Carmichael), old letters from friends studying abroad, letters from several of my former mentors, essays and letters from students I taught during a stint as a substitute teacher, and notes and letters from fraternity pledges.
Let’s just say it was a good day.
From the time I was a kid, I have been enthralled with the written word.
I have been moved by these writings’ power to uplift, transform and inspire sender and recipient alike. Each letter allows the individual to travel through time, taking him or her back to how they felt on a particular day about some event or period in his or her life.
It has been my experience that the spirit and energy found in those letters never die.
They just go on and on and on.
One of the most valued mementos I found was a handwritten note with a card from the late Mama Estelle E.B. James, a lifelong member of the Universal Negro Improvement Association, which was founded by the Hon. Marcus Garvey. For those not familiar with the leader, Garvey was a fiery and dynamic Black nationalist, Pan-Africanist and international businessman who led the Back-to-Africa Movement and captured the imagination of Africans around the world.
Mama Estelle was still a little girl when Marcus Garvey was deported from the United States. New Orleans was the last U.S. city Garvey stood in before he was placed on a ship docked at the Jackson Avenue Wharf and forever banished from the nation.
Mama Estelle reached out to me in 1996 and invited me to come out to Marcus Garvey Day in Armstrong Park. Once there, she shared her story with me and introduced me to her brother Ulysses and others who grew up in the Movement. After spending the day in the park, I was invited to visit her in her home on N. Dorgenois Street.
I visited her the following Saturday and quite honestly didn’t know what to expect. It was 1996, my first year at The Louisiana Weekly. Mama Estelle invited me into her home with a wide grin and a warm hug and showed me photos of herself dating back to her childhood days as a Garveyite as well as images of others in the Movement and articles about their local, national and international activities.
There are still some bundles of letters that I haven’t had a chance to go through yet and I am looking forward to locating a letter from my brother Eric that he wrote when I was in college. Even though he was busy going to UNO and working at the airport, he apparently kept up with my activities and took a moment to tell me to basically keep up the good work. He ended the short but power-packed letter with “We are proud of you.”
Because we were only two years apart, it seemed like we were always rivals.
But in between our impromptu boxing matches and minor squabbles, he taught me how to make a bonafide slingshot, fix flat tires and introduced me to some very cool recording artists. He also took me along when he visited some of his friends in junior high and high school on the weekend, allowed me to hang out at his job at a neighborhood record shop and rented “Little Rascals” movies from the public library which he played for me, my siblings and friends.
After a lengthy battle with cancer, Eric passed away last October. But he remains with me daily as I recall his sense of humor or those bewildered looks he would give anyone who tested his patience or kindness. Every time I listen to John Coltrane, Charlie Parker, Sadao Watanabe or Frank Morgan, I think of Eric. And every time I glance at my mother, I am reminded of how grateful I am that God chose her to usher Eric into the world and raise him to be an amazing human being with a heart of gold. It is her love for her children that best helps me to understand the love the Creator has for all of us.
Although I will continue to miss Eric, knowing that I have that letter in my possession helps. It is a constant reminder that the things that really matter — love, hope and friendship — never really die.
This article originally published in the January 26, 2015 print edition of The Louisiana Weekly newspaper.
