Ruby Dee
Michelle R. Gipson
Most people don’t know that I started out as an intern for Black Issues Book Review.
It was the summer after I finished graduate school and I was looking to rest my mind and write and New York was the place I decided would be best for that. A school colleague, Cori Murray, heard about the internship opportunity and passed it along to me. For two months, I worked for the sum total of a monthly-unlimited MetroCard and all the free books I could handle.
One of the books that came to the office was an audio book of Their Eyes Were Watching God written by Zora Neal Hurston, read by Ms Ruby Dee. The publicist called the office multiple times to see if the magazine wanted to do an interview. Because I had a background in journalism, they let me do it. The publicist had her call the office and as I answered the phone, “Black Issues Book Review,” on the other end responded, “Yes, this is Ruby Dee for Michelle Gipson.”
My heart hit the floor. I was too in awe to ask her anything useful so we just talked. I told her how much I loved audio books and especially her reading of “Their Eyes Were Watching God” and she responded, “It is a form of theater for the mind.” Her voice alone was able to bring Zora’s words to life, but they needed my participation to give them spirit. Like her plays on stage, She engaged the audience to help her give the performance the space it needed to live. We talked for more than 15 minutes and as I later went on to teach “Their Eyes Were Watching God” at the College of New Rochelle, I used Ms Dee’s recording to help my students understand the dialect of the writing.
Nearly 10 years later, I had the opportunity to meet and interview Ms Dee at the Shrine of the Black Madonna in Atlanta for Written. Surrounded by her granddaughter and “play grandchildren,” Ms Dee spoke to a standing room only audience for more than hour. Her memory was sharp and the details that she could recall were amazing. She spoke of her mother and aunts, Malcolm and Martin, and then she spoke of Ossie. Her eyes and voice were full of the love she had for her late husband, the work they accomplished and the life they built. She spoke of movies and television shows she was working on and then took the time to talk and take pictures with everyone that asked. I watched as people kneeled at her feet, kissed her hands, and teared up after hearing her words of encouragement. Afterwards, my mom took her to Wendy’s to get something to eat.
Reviewing her accomplishments and remembering her words on that day as an intern with the now defunct Black Issues Book Review magazine, it is hard to imagine how she packed so much into one life. And yet, she did. It says a lot to those of us who often claim we are tired.
Michelle R. Gipson
Most people don’t know that I started out as an intern for Black Issues Book Review.
It was the summer after I finished graduate school and I was looking to rest my mind and write and New York was the place I decided would be best for that. A school colleague, Cori Murray, heard about the internship opportunity and passed it along to me. For two months, I worked for the sum total of a monthly-unlimited MetroCard and all the free books I could handle.
One of the books that came to the office was an audio book of Their Eyes Were Watching God written by Zora Neal Hurston, read by Ms Ruby Dee. The publicist called the office multiple times to see if the magazine wanted to do an interview. Because I had a background in journalism, they let me do it. The publicist had her call the office and as I answered the phone, “Black Issues Book Review,” on the other end responded, “Yes, this is Ruby Dee for Michelle Gipson.”
My heart hit the floor. I was too in awe to ask her anything useful so we just talked. I told her how much I loved audio books and especially her reading of “Their Eyes Were Watching God” and she responded, “It is a form of theater for the mind.” Her voice alone was able to bring Zora’s words to life, but they needed my participation to give them spirit. Like her plays on stage, She engaged the audience to help her give the performance the space it needed to live. We talked for more than 15 minutes and as I later went on to teach “Their Eyes Were Watching God” at the College of New Rochelle, I used Ms Dee’s recording to help my students understand the dialect of the writing.
Nearly 10 years later, I had the opportunity to meet and interview Ms Dee at the Shrine of the Black Madonna in Atlanta for Written. Surrounded by her granddaughter and “play grandchildren,” Ms Dee spoke to a standing room only audience for more than hour. Her memory was sharp and the details that she could recall were amazing. She spoke of her mother and aunts, Malcolm and Martin, and then she spoke of Ossie. Her eyes and voice were full of the love she had for her late husband, the work they accomplished and the life they built. She spoke of movies and television shows she was working on and then took the time to talk and take pictures with everyone that asked. I watched as people kneeled at her feet, kissed her hands, and teared up after hearing her words of encouragement. Afterwards, my mom took her to Wendy’s to get something to eat.
Reviewing her accomplishments and remembering her words on that day as an intern with the now defunct Black Issues Book Review magazine, it is hard to imagine how she packed so much into one life. And yet, she did. It says a lot to those of us who often claim we are tired.
Remembering without Regret
Michelle R. Gipson
When we loose important treasures like Maya Angelou, I mourn for two reasons: because I didn’t do enough for them when they were alive for the void of their voice now that they are gone.
I was introduced to Maya Angelou’s poetry before I knew of her life. My cousin and Written’s editor Sheronda Gipson so amply stated that every little girl who has done any pageant has done “Phenomenal Woman”. And she is right. I remember reciting the sass of the words with hands on my imaginary hips and attitude swinging from my lips. She made me proud to be a woman. And then as I got older and read of her struggles and watched her triumphs, she became the “fairy godmother” of all that I wanted to do with my writing.
And then I got a chance to meet her.
It was by complete happenstance. I was 18 and on a trip with INROADS coming from Chicago and we had a layover in Arkansas. I saw her sitting, waiting at the same gate and I knew instantly who she was. I had never had one course in journalism, but I knew I had to say something. I convinced my friends Wanda and Shundra to come with me and we introduced ourselves to her and she invited us to sit and talk with her. I remember feeling like I had known her versus just meeting her. I remember feeling beautiful and encouraged. And without thinking, I ran to get my 110 camera and snapped a picture with her before she boarded the plan. I don’t remember the specifics of what she said, but I remember her being encouraging of everything that we told her we dreamed we would be.
I have been in meetings debating whether or not to honor her and her work with accolades and covers. I have watched people disagree with what they called the merit of work. As I defended her, I had to watch my tone to not come across like this was a school bus and someone had said a crude “Your momma” kind of jokes. In the end, I said, she deserves to be honored because she is important to so many women.
When I learned of her passing, I was sad in the same kind of personal way. Like I should have visited her more or told more people how much I cared about her. She had not appeared in Written and I wonder if in the back of my mind, I was waiting for they’re to be a “good time”. I am disappointed that this is how she will make her appearance in the publication that her encouragement made possible.
I also miss her in the way that you wonder what she would have said if she knew I was working on a memoir. I want to send her copy for her to tell me that she is proud of me for finishing or even more proud of me for saying what I have tried my whole life to keep silent.
When I look at the landscape of women for our youth to idolize, I hope that they have Maya Angelou and others like her to help give voice to their greatness and if they ever run into them in an airport, I pray that they speak words of encouragement and love over them, like Dr. Angelou did over me. And unlike me, I hope those girls grow up honoring their idols without the grief of regret from not doing enough with them or waiting for a more opportune time.
Michelle R. Gipson
When we loose important treasures like Maya Angelou, I mourn for two reasons: because I didn’t do enough for them when they were alive for the void of their voice now that they are gone.
I was introduced to Maya Angelou’s poetry before I knew of her life. My cousin and Written’s editor Sheronda Gipson so amply stated that every little girl who has done any pageant has done “Phenomenal Woman”. And she is right. I remember reciting the sass of the words with hands on my imaginary hips and attitude swinging from my lips. She made me proud to be a woman. And then as I got older and read of her struggles and watched her triumphs, she became the “fairy godmother” of all that I wanted to do with my writing.
And then I got a chance to meet her.
It was by complete happenstance. I was 18 and on a trip with INROADS coming from Chicago and we had a layover in Arkansas. I saw her sitting, waiting at the same gate and I knew instantly who she was. I had never had one course in journalism, but I knew I had to say something. I convinced my friends Wanda and Shundra to come with me and we introduced ourselves to her and she invited us to sit and talk with her. I remember feeling like I had known her versus just meeting her. I remember feeling beautiful and encouraged. And without thinking, I ran to get my 110 camera and snapped a picture with her before she boarded the plan. I don’t remember the specifics of what she said, but I remember her being encouraging of everything that we told her we dreamed we would be.
I have been in meetings debating whether or not to honor her and her work with accolades and covers. I have watched people disagree with what they called the merit of work. As I defended her, I had to watch my tone to not come across like this was a school bus and someone had said a crude “Your momma” kind of jokes. In the end, I said, she deserves to be honored because she is important to so many women.
When I learned of her passing, I was sad in the same kind of personal way. Like I should have visited her more or told more people how much I cared about her. She had not appeared in Written and I wonder if in the back of my mind, I was waiting for they’re to be a “good time”. I am disappointed that this is how she will make her appearance in the publication that her encouragement made possible.
I also miss her in the way that you wonder what she would have said if she knew I was working on a memoir. I want to send her copy for her to tell me that she is proud of me for finishing or even more proud of me for saying what I have tried my whole life to keep silent.
When I look at the landscape of women for our youth to idolize, I hope that they have Maya Angelou and others like her to help give voice to their greatness and if they ever run into them in an airport, I pray that they speak words of encouragement and love over them, like Dr. Angelou did over me. And unlike me, I hope those girls grow up honoring their idols without the grief of regret from not doing enough with them or waiting for a more opportune time.
