A Little History
My full name is Perri Kathryn McCary. I have always loved this name. I love it more knowing how that name came to be. My mother was the first in her family to finish high school. When she graduated, she went to work that summer helping my grandmother out with the family of Dr. Perry Priest. My grandmother had worked for his family for a number of years watching his family and cooking for them. My grandmother was a great cook, by the way.
Anyway, as the story goes, while helping out at the Priest home, Mom had a talk with Dr. Priest. Dr. Priest asked my mother what she intended to do having graduated from high school and she replied that she thought she would try and get a job at the Mill or maybe somewhere at the railroad. Not much was opened to a young black woman in the 1940s.
The Late 1930s in Texarkana
The early history of Texarkana is intimately linked to the development of the railroad in the area.The city of Texarkana grew out of construction camps that were established at the western end of the Cairo & Fulton railroad line and the eastern end of the Texas & Pacific line. For a while there was work, but it was hard work and it didn't always include blacks.Dr. Priest admired my mother's tenacity. It took her 20 years to get a high school diploma. Sometimes times were so tough that they didn't have shoes to wear in the winter, but my Mom--she stuck with it and finished high school when others were giving up, having babies. So, here was my mother, 20 years of age, having shown her mettle in finishing school and she's being asked, "What do you want to do with the rest of your life?"
I believe that this is a question we should ask ourselves each day. What are we doing with the rest of our lives? Some people have a plan--have plotted out their lives in great precision. Others of us make it up as we go along. Oh, we know what we want to do and some of us even know what we're called to be, but doing it--being it--well, some of us are slow learners.
"So, Savantha, what are your plans?"
Cutting vegetables in that precise way that was part of how she did things, Savantha didn't look up. She shrugged. Scraping the vegetables into the pot she was readying for my grandmother's soup, she shrugged again. "I'm putting in some applications," she told him. "I'll get something."
I know nothing about Dr. Priest except he was white, but I know that he was a man of humor. I know that he often teased my grandmother that she was too frank and one time wished that he had the power to sanction her tongue. But, it was good natured. My grandmother loved him, had taken care of him when he was younger and now was taking care of his kids. He loved my grandmother, too. He called her a healer. I think he saw that in my mother.
Then he asked my mother the important question. "Savantha, if you could do anything or be anything you wanted, what would it be?" My mother took a breath and said, "I'd be a nurse. I'd help deliver babies." Then reality set in and she shrugged again. "Fancy dream, huh?" She laughed and started cleaning up the remnants of her cuttings. Dreams come and go sometimes and I think for an instant--for a few moments, my Mom hoped. And then she didn't.
God has a strange way of answering prayers and I think sometimes God answers the prayers of the heart that haven't been put into words. Finishing high school, my Mom was reaching for something and then an angel--Dr. Priest--helped put it within her reach.
"So, be a nurse," Dr. Priest prompted.
"It takes money, sir. I have to help my mother." For my Mom, her one goal in life was to take the burden from her mother who had taken care of 7 children essentially by herself. Her mother, whose baby boy swallowed lye and died when he was only 2, loved her babies, but always blamed herself for being too busy trying to put food on the table, that somehow her son got hold of something dangerous. My mother, whose parentage was questionable--not having a father herself--decided that she owed my grandmother a rest.
Then there was Dr. Priest who knew of my grandmother's talents and gifts and who also knew that my grandmother could not have helped him in the hospital where he worked. Blacks weren't allowed there. But, Elaine's daughter could. She showed him that she would work hard and Dr. Priest handed mother something that day. He told her that while she couldn't afford to pay for school, he could. He would. He did.
It took about 3 years, but my Mom went to nursing school in Kansas City, Kansas. Dr. Priest kept his word, paying for her tuition and giving her a stipend to live on. His only requirement was that Miss Elaine, his housekeeper, probably surrogate mother, would be taken care of. It was a promise my mother fulfilled.
Two years into my mother's education, Dr. Priest died. It was said that he had cancer and so, rather than suffer, he committed suicide. I don't know that for sure, but I believe it. My mother was ready to come home, but Dr. Priest's wife honored his gift and told my mother to continue with her studies, continuing the payment of her tuition and stipend. In 1953, just when my mother was getting ready to graduate, she found out she was pregnant. My Dad didn't marry her--not then. But, that tenacity, that talent for hard work, helped her survive.
On July 31, 1953, I was born. I was christened Perri in honor of Dr. Perry Priest. Dr. Priest had a niece who was also named Perri Kathryn. Everyone called her P.K. For years, I had P.K. stitched on socks, sweaters, skirts--but the name I love best is the one given to me in honor of the man who gave my mom a chance to prosper. In many ways, he played it forward. So, Mom--on this mother's day I remember your sacrifices and the sacrifices of others. In many ways, you and Dr. Priest gave me life, one I will not waste.
Thank you.
