About this author: Contact this author at: DDavis1174(at)aol.com

Done

by Dannie Davis
October 2006

In daily conversations with others, or when certain events occur in my life, I find myself repeating my grandmother?s words of wisdom. Grandma seemed to have an adage or solution to any of life?s problems, big or small.

My grandmother's influence on our lives and anyone who came to know her was lasting. Black and white members of our segregated community respected my grandmother?s integrity. She was fair in her personal and business dealings with others. If she felt someone was taking advantage of her, she wasn?t hesitant about telling them, ?You let your conscience be your guide.?

My grandmother was a large woman, ?paper bag? brown, 5?5? tall, with straight black hair that she wore in a pageboy. Her round face was smooth and unwrinkled even at age seventy-two when she died. Grandma, like the rest of my family, was born and lived on Saint Simons Island, located off the coast, of the southern most part of the state of Georgia.

Grandma was always teaching in everything she did. For example, when she and my grandfather purchased a major item, it became a lesson on the importance of good credit for working people. She would say, ?Keep your credit good so that when you need money you can get it.? I can still hear her say, ?Your word is your bond.?

Another time, she heard about a young lady in the neighborhood who went out of her way to seduce a woman?s husband. Grandma?s comment to us was, ?If he?s that easy to get, it won?t be long before somebody takes him from her.?

Grandma?s first husband the love of her life, was tragically shot and killed by Miz Mamie Blue, a married woman in the community. It was a terrible loss for Grandma. She was left with two small children to raise, my mother and aunt. Miz Mamie Blue told the investigating authorities that my grandfather tried to ravish her and she shot him in self-defense. There was a lot of talk in the community about the circumstances surrounding my grandfather?s death. I am sure it was difficult for my grandmother since Miz Mamie Blue was exonerated and remained in the community.

Members of my grandfather?s family shunned his killer and pressured my grandmother do the same. However, when grandma encountered Miz Mamie Blue, she always spoke to her as if nothing happened. She responded to critics by saying, "I will let God handle it.?

Miz Mamie, my grandfather?s killer, suffered severe debilitating headaches for years after the murder, and told people she saw the figure of my grandfather walking up and down in front of her house most nights. Shortly after the murder, the blood-soaked floorboards were replaced in the room where my grandfather?s murder occurred. Visitors to the house noticed that on rainy days a peculiar odor emanated from the room where my grandfather was killed, some said it smelled like fresh blood. This phenomenon continued for years, but only on rainy days.

Years later, a witness came forward and told my grandmother what really happened. According to the witness, who was sitting outside on the back steps of Miz Mamie?s house, my grandfather was shot because of a remark he made, that Ms. Mamie thought disparaged her character. Ironically, a few years later, Miz Mamie?s son killed her husband, his stepfather, during an argument on the steps of the house where my grandfather died.

Grandma worked as a domestic, her second husband was a gardener/landscaper/laborer and neither ever made more than $50 a week in their entire life. Yet I have met few individuals who could stretch a dollar like Grandma could. Her kitchen cupboards were always overflowing. The freezer was filled with fresh garden vegetables, seafood and assorted goodies. She would drive from store to store just to get certain items on sale.

In the 1950?s when we lived with my grandparents, our woodframe house was comfortable with a television, washing machine, and an indoor bathroom unlike the homes of some of our neighbors and relatives whose incomes were much higher but had much less.

Grandma was a member of the local ?holy roller? or Pentecostal church. Her faith in God was legendary. When meteorologists warned residents of Saint Simon?s Island to leave for the mainland immediately because a deadly hurricane was moving up the coast, Grandma informed us that she wasn?t leaving because, ?God would take care of us.?

Neighbors, relatives, friends and even her minister packed and left. We children watched everyone else leave the island and sure hoped Grandma was right. In the next few hours, the sky turned ominously dark and forbidding. The winds picked up and began to howl. We lost electricity. The rain came down in sheets. Tree limbs snapped like firecrackers and fell to the ground with a thud.

Things didn?t look good. The creek nearby overflowed its bank and flooded our backyard. We could see water moccasins and alligators swim by out of the window. The voice over the transistor radio, our only link to the outside world, informed us of downed power lines, record tides, expensive summer cottages floating in the Atlantic, and people being killed by falling trees.

Grandma remained calm and unfazed by it all. After a terror-filled night, no one got much sleep. The winds died down around midday. The rain slowed to a drizzle. My sister and I, the not so faithful were hopeful. The next day, relatives and neighbors returned and they stopped by to see how we managed. Just as Grandma said, ?God had taken care of us.? We were all in one piece. The house and all our belongings were undamaged except for a few pieces of tin that came loose from the roof. My grandmother cleaned out the freezer. We got the barbecue grill going on the back porch and had a fabulous meal that we shared with our visitors.

Grandma, her mother, and my mother all share the same birthday, March 14. My great-grandmother died years before my birth, but I?m told that like my grandmother and mother, she could ?see? or foretell certain events. Over the years, I?ve witnessed firsthand many unusual things living with my grandmother. She would have these dreams that were revealing.

One morning, as she dressed for work and I dressed for school, she told me about a dream she had about a black horse that was galloping full-speed from down Miz Clara?s way. Grandma told me a black horse meant death and she hoped nothing would happen to Miz Clara. I finished dressing for school and forgot all about Grandma?s dream until less than two weeks later; we got a call that Miz Clara was dead. Coincidence?

My parents moved to Queens, New York when I was 16 years old. Several years later, I met my future husband, got engaged and married shortly there after. I had no idea grandma was about to demonstrate her amazing prescient powers once again.

Awaiting the birth of my only child, my obstetrician berated me for gaining so much weight during the pregnancy. I stood there on the scale while he loudly and purposely announced my weight so that everyone in the waiting room could hear. Every week during my ninth month, I was subjected to pronouncements of my imminent death in labor as well as my physician absolving himself of any responsibility for my demise. As I dressed to leave, he muttered, ?I wouldn?t be surprised if you developed toxemia.?
I wouldn?t give this man the satisfaction of seeing how upset and hurt I was, but I would cry later after I got home.

After another verbally abusive visit before my due date, I was more upset than usual because, like most first-time mothers, I was afraid of the actual labor. My physician kept telling me that I probably wouldn?t make it because I was too fat. My pregnancy had been normal and uneventful, although my physician ordered several tests trying to confirm his grim prognosis. The tests revealed nothing. I was big yes, but perfectly healthy.

However, doubts crept into my mind. What if the doctor was right? After I got home, I called my grandmother long distance and between sobs told her what my doctor said. My grandmother let me finish and said, ?Pay no attention to that doctor, God has shown me in a dream that you?re going to have a healthy baby boy so fast, it will make your head swim. All I want you to do is get to the hospital on time.?

On Sunday August 31, 1970, I woke up with a nagging pain in my lower back. In a few hours I began to experience severe pain in the lower part of my body. My husband thought we should start for the hospital right away. The hospital was at least thirty minutes away over potholed roads. My husband, a careful, but slow driver, started for the driver?s side of our car. I remembered what my grandmother said and asked my sister a onetime New York City cab driver to drive my husband and me to the hospital. When I got to the examination room, I asked to use the restroom before getting undressed for the exam. While sitting on the commode, I discovered the baby?s head had crowned. I screamed for help and with the assistance of two petite nurses I struggled to my feet. As soon as I stood up, my water broke and streamed down my legs.

Pandemonium broke out in the examination room as nurses scurried around me grabbing towels and yelling at me to get up on the table. I explained to them that I couldn?t walk. The baby?s head had emerged while I was standing. I stood watching the ensuing panic that had suddenly engulfed the room and was aware of a nurse reaching under my skirt. I felt something slip out of me, but was apparently in a daze. I didn?t realize my son had been born until I heard his wail and looked over on the table to my right and saw him. I gave birth to a nine pound twelve ounce boy, standing up, thirty minutes after I walked into the hospital, with only three hours of hard labor.

It was a quick, uncomplicated birth just as my grandmother predicted. My physician arrived later, stood in the doorway of my hospital room and scratched his head, while looking at me with a puzzled expression on his face. He didn?t know about my family?s secret weapon, Grandma.

Grandma was clearly the matriarch and would have liked nothing better than to have her entire family gathered around her, living in the same community. After my husband and I moved to North Carolina from Queens, New York, grandma would call regularly to remind us to find a church to attend because as she often remarked, ?God blessed you to work five days a week and you should give him one day?. She admonished my husband and me to, ?Work as hard as we could while we were young and strong because, what you don?t have by old age, you won?t be able to get.? The phone conversation usually ended with her saying, ?Sure wish you all could come home and build a house on the family?s land.?

In November of 1978, my husband, son and I drove to Georgia from North Carolina to gather with the rest of our relatives for Thanksgiving dinner at grandma?s house. During the dinner, my precious, loving grandmother suffered a stroke surrounded by stunned, anxious family members. My husband and I reluctantly returned home to North Carolina to work and my son to school. It was painful to leave grandma. My mother took six months off from her job in New York to care for grandma. My husband and I vowed to return to Georgia so I could be with my grandmother as soon as possible. The next time I saw grandma, she was in a wheelchair and depressed because in spite of her girth she had always been active. That night after everyone was in bed, I heard my grandmother call my mother. I realized that my mother was probably tired so I slipped out of bed, and went to grandma?s room. I sat quietly in the chair by her bed. Grandma turned her head so she could see me and said, ?Dannie?? ?Yes, grandma it?s me,? I replied, ?I?ll sit here with you until you get back to sleep and if you need anything I?ll get it.?

As she drifted back to sleep, I realized that grandma and I had come full circle. When I was five or six years old, my parents lived with my grandmother and grandfather. I had terrible reoccurring nightmares that tapered off when I was fifteen. Grandma would lie across my bed each night and calm me when I woke up. I would bolt out of bed yelling that something was trying to get me. She would sooth me, recite Bible scripture, and tell me to ?go back to sleep everything will be alright.?

Here I sat, years later, soothing my grandmother when she woke up and began to call out the names of dead relatives that she said were standing around her bed bothering her. Yes, we had come full circle.

My grandmother suffered a fatal stroke and died in 1979. When I got the news, I knew our family would never be the same without her. I was wrong. She is still with us. Everytime I talk to a family member or someone who knew her, we always reminisce about things she taught us.

I share my grandmother?s wisdom with friends and even strangers. Now, that I am a grandmother, there is a strange sense of deja vue when I am with my granddaughter. I feel a tremendous responsibility to teach her all the things my grandmother taught me. Occasionally, grandma comes to me in my dreams when she is displeased, or trying to warn me of dangerous situations or of trouble lurking.

Her spirit is always with me.