By Dahime Gordon
When I was a little girl, I had a neighbor whose name was Ms. Ella. Back then, she was an anomaly because she was a single elderly woman who went about the Brooklyn streets on her own. This isn’t the new Brooklyn of today; I’m talking about the mean streets of Brooklyn that you didn’t want to be caught on at night. We lived in a four-story walk-up, Ms. Ella on the 2nd floor and my grandmother and I on the 4th floor.
Oftentimes, most African Americans that lived in New York, migrated from the South. Ms. Ella was no different. Looking back, I realized that she was a woman of faith before I knew what that meant. I never recalled her going to church because I would only see her during the week or on Saturdays, but she would speak of Jesus.
I spent most Saturdays with Ms. Ella. We were an odd couple; I would imagine many who may have seen us together might’ve thought she was my grandmother. We really had nothing in common. She was in her 70s and I hadn’t hit double digits yet. I used to love sitting with Ms. Ella because she would share her life stories. I was fascinated that she was like a walking history book because she would share things I read about in my school books.
I loved to come down and listen to her stories. She was an avid baseball fan and loved the New York Yankees, especially the player Reggie Jackson. Oh, how she loved Reggie. She would watch him on her black-and-white television and talk to the screen every time he came up to bat. When the Yankees won the back-to-back World Series, you couldn’t tell her anything! It was a proud moment for her. Every once in a while, her niece would come around and check on her to see if she was okay. Looking back at it now, it seemed like she had a lonely life because no one was around her. What I thought was loneliness was peace to her.
Every Saturday she would make a trek to downtown Brooklyn to sit at the Woolworth counter and drink her a cup of coffee and a corn muffin with butter and jelly. I eventually became her travel buddy. She would tell me on Friday, “I’m leaving tomorrow morning at 9:00 am to catch the B26 bus; you’re welcome to come, but if you’re not down here before I leave, I’m getting on that bus. I’ll admit that giving up my Saturdays of sleep-ins, morning cartoons, and cereal was a sacrifice, but I enjoyed my time spent with Ms. Ella.
I was too young to understand the significance of our weekly trek, but I enjoyed going with her. We NEVER sat at a booth, even if one was available. We would sit at the counter, put in our order of corn muffins and coffee (yes, at nine years old, I was drinking coffee,) and wait. She would tell me how blessed we were to be there sitting at the counter. For the most part, she would have my undivided attention, as much as a nine-year-old attention span would hold.
I didn’t realize how important it was to her, and the sacrifice of others that allowed me the opportunity to sit without incident. You see there was no bloodshed for me, all I had to do was ride along and sit at the counter. No cost to count, just sit. When I think about it, Ms. Ella might’ve been my first window into a view of Jesus. The Woolworth sit-ins happened when she was 60, some 18 years prior, but she took joy in sitting at the counter. She never missed the opportunity to sit because there was a time when she wasn’t allowed. I don’t remember when she said she came up to New York, but I would never have had that experience without her.
This brings to life, “They ran so you could walk.” I work in the education field, and every year around this time the same question comes up as to why the school should teach black history. Many don’t want to talk about it because it makes them uncomfortable. We learn about MLK, Rosa Parks, maybe Malcolm X, and a handful of others, but black history is so much more. Every day we see the positive impact that black history has made. We are surrounded by black history, and because of the pain, many don’t want to relive those memories, but if you have the opportunity to talk to someone who will share, I urge you to sit, listen, and glean from those who are willing to share a counter with you.. Ms. Ella has left an impact on my life over 40 years later, and I will always remember her for that imprint. Often times, she was an outlet for me, and I don’t know if she knew that. Black history is a rich heritage of love, triumph, and perseverance. And it’s necessary. Thank you, Ms. Ella; you will always be remembered.
To read about the story;
https://www.npr.org/2008/02/01/18615556/the-woolworth-sit-in-that-launched-a-movement