DYING TO LIVE .... DARE I TELL
BY Carole G. Parker
Chapter One
My memories of my early childhood are not happy ones rather they are full of pain, heartache, loneliness, and constant change. Much of this pain was borne of poverty, social class and a broken home. January 21, 1949, two days before I was born, Harry Truman was president and according to the newspapers he took the day off to recover from inaugural festivities the night before. The only Blacks at Truman’s inauguration were probably in a service capacity: wait staff, housekeeping and the like even though he verbalized a commitment to improve the lot of Negroes. Common folks, then known as Negroes, were busy with their lives too. Most were dealing with social, economic and least of all political issues. There was a home needed, food for the table and jobs. Pittsburgh was at that time a powerhouse in the production of steel.
It could have been a cold snowy day. I imagine momma was thinking "this baby will be here soon and I will have two little one's to care for. That Bill Parker! how could I have allowed him to seduce me?!" Actually according to my mother my father seriously pursued her. They initially met in Pittsburgh and he was immediately smitten with her quiet and stately beauty. She was slender, shapely and had shoulder length black hair and a beautiful smile. She was independent, self sufficient and had special goals she wanted to achieve. She wasn’t really interested in Bill Parker.
Like most men, my father refused to take no for an answer. I imagine the more she attempted to distance herself from daddy the more persistent he became. I believe he enjoyed his attempts to seduce her. Momma decided to venture off to Detroit in pursuit of her goal to be a clerk typist. In the 1940's women in the workplace were often employed in office jobs engaged in typing, filing and providing clerical support for the work of the organization. I am not sure what made this particular career appealing to momma. She often said “get a good education, so you can use your mind, not your body." In other words, she didn't want us to be involved in manual labor. Momma was off to Detroit and didn't bother to tell Bill Parker where she was going but somehow he found her. Momma told us later that her good friend, Julia, told daddy where and how to find her.
Momma fell hard and deeply in love with Bill Parker. I imagine any woman would be deeply flattered to have a man pursue her to another state and profess his love for her. Her love for daddy was to last until she took her dying breath. They were married on November 26, 1946. This was the beginning of their short life together. It didn’t take momma long to start a family which she may have been excited about, but daddy was not. According to momma, daddy didn’t want any children. I believe momma was very naive about the ways of the world and probably had no clue about how to avoid pregnancy not to mention how to manage a marriage. She reported to my brother and I some years later that when she came home from work one day she found daddy home filing his finger nails. Momma inquired why he was home and he told her he quit his job. Momma was shocked and “outdone” by his behavior and I believe they had a fight. Bill Parker was behaving like a gigolo. She insisted he find another job which he unhappily did. I later came to realize he was quite the womanizer but momma was too naive to realize it or perhaps to even imagine that he was not taking the marriage seriously. She would, many years later, learn that she was wife number two. To make matters worst at this point momma was pregnant with William. Since they were married in November it stands to reason that momma became pregnant within three months of their marriage and my brother was born in early November 1947.
On January 23 I arrived at 1:23 pm in the afternoon. I would be called Carol. Momma and daddy never really agreed on my name. As I understand it, daddy wanted me to be named Gwendolyn, after momma. But momma detested her name and vowed she would not bless her child with such an old fashioned name, but rather took delight in Carol Ann. Although daddy didn't like it, he finally agreed and to my knowledge I was called Carol Ann. I didn’t learn until I was in my late 20's that daddy actually got his way too, as I was officially registered in the birth records for the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania as Carol Gwendolyn Parker. I entered with world at six pounds eight ounces and I was 18 inches long. At birth my eyes were brown along with my completion (as recorded in my baby book) and remained brown throughout my life. My hair was blackish brown and became black as I grew older.
My entry into this world was celebrated by friends and family. A card was received from Daddy, who was out of town, along with a telephone call from Baltimore, Maryland. Daddy also wrote momma a letter. My first visitors included my mothers’ sister Auntie Aileen, Aunt Luree (who raised momma), and my maternal grandfather, John Dodson, Aunt Etta Johnson, my godmother and “Aunt” Julia. My welcome into this world included gifts’ included a dress from Auntie Aileen, booties, from Aunt Etta, a dress from Julia and ten dollars from grandpa (John Dodson). In terms of my growth and development, I grasped objects at three months, discovered my own hand at five months and recognized momma at three months. I first said “momma” on Monday, November 14, 1949 and “daddy” at nine months. Other first words were “hi” at 10 months. Enough trivia!
The complexion of a ‘Negro” child was very important in the 40’s, 50’s, 60’s and even through the 1979's. Momma told me about an experience she had while recovering from my birth in the hospital. In those days the average length of stay in the hospital after birthing a baby was about one week. Apparently, when I was born, I had a very light complexion. This was the result of my genes which comes from a white man on momma’s side of the family. My mother was a medium brown complexion and daddy was dark brown. Momma’s sister, Auntie Aileen was a very light complexion and she even had freckles.
Momma was sitting up in the hospital bed and I was in her room visiting from the nursery held was Auntie Aileen. One of the nurses came into the room and exclaimed to my aunt, “Oh, I didn’t know you had a baby too!” My momma wept tears of pain that I was mistaken for my aunts’ child instead hers. Everything in those days was about skin color among the “Negroes.” Light, bright and damned near white was the “in” thing. Many Negro people wanted to pass for white to have a better life while others were content being who they were. Momma told me that she thought I was ugly when I was born. This statement would shape my self image for many years. I assume this mean the color of my skin. Interestingly, momma wrote in my baby book that I was brown. I don’t think this was true based on the encounter with the nurse and my aunt.
Skin color was a sore spot between my mother and her sister and I believe this was a source of constant tension between the two women over the course of their lives. One hand, I imagine my aunt perceived herself to be better than momma due to the politics of color and on the other hand momma had endured such discrimination from other blacks, not to mention whites, it was probably very painful for her to be related by blood to someone who could pass for white.
I believe I was average in my development as a baby and toddler. I sat up alone at five months, crept at six months and stood alone at nine months. I took my first steps on Thursday, January 12, 1950. My first Christmas was spent at home, 7517 Bennett Street in Pittsburgh. Auntie Aileen and Mr. Sonny (her husband) came to visit. My Christmas gifts included two dolls, a teddy beat name Zilo, three dresses, one slip, eight pairs of panties, a purse two pairs of socks. Gifts were given by Aunt Etta, John Gilbert, Clarice, and Auntie Aileen, Mrs. Lewis (mother of Sonny and mother in law to Auntie Aileen, Aunt Luree, Billy (my brother) and of course Santa Clause.
My first birthday was celebrated at home on Bennett Street and I played with Billy and Clarice. Clarice Johnson was the daughter of Aunt Etta who was my godmother. I had a birthday cake with one candle and received a piggy bank from Billy, three pairs of socks from Auntie Aileen, and four pair of silk panties from Aunt Etta and Clarice.
My second Christmas was spent at a new home located at 1843 Webster Avenue in the Hill District of Pittsburgh. This would become a trend, one of many residences I’d dwell in over the course of eighteen years and even more during my adult life. My gifts included a piano, baby doll, and a set of dishes all found under the Christmas tree. Other gifts included a dress from Auntie Aileen, a dress from Aunt Etta, panties from Mrs. Lewis, Auntie Bea gave me cooking utensils and Auntie Julia musical chimes.
It would seem momma was loving and caring and initially I was surrounded by others who loved me. Who wouldn’t love a baby? Momma spent many hours recording the events of my early years in a baby book. I can assume I was wanted, at least by momma.
While living on Webster Avenue I recall an event that will be forever sketched in my memory. Momma had a habit of eating candy before going to bed. I recall one night, after being tucked into bed and encouraged to go to sleep hearing momma moving around. I called out and asked what she was doing. She replied “I am getting some candy before I go to sleep.” I called out “can I have some?” She laughed and said “yes, one small piece and then you must go to sleep.” I was already very sleepy when momma handed me the piece of candy in my tiny hand. In my sleepy stupor I reached for my mouth with the candy. I recall opening my mouth wide but instead of entering my mouth the piece of candy ended in one of my tiny nostrils. I tried to pull it out, but just kept pushing it further up my nose. I started to scream in pain. Momma came running crying out “what’s wrong baby?” I screamed and screamed pointing to my nose. She took one look, grabbed me out of the bed, swept up my brother who was sound asleep and we were off to the hospital emergency room. I recall none what happened once we were at the of the hospital but momma later told me the hospital staff had to wrap me tightly in a blanket to keep me from moving about in order to find a way to extract the piece of hard peppermint candy from my nose. To this day I will not eat any form of peppermint candy and certainly I have not had any hard candy since that eventful night.
One day after being out shopping or running errands we returned to our Webster Avenue home. The stairs were steep and one of the lights at the top of the stairs had blown out leaving the entire stairwell quite dark. Although I had traveled the stairs many times before this is my first and only memory of them. My mother, brother and I had just come inside from the bright day light outside. We had been shopping and needed to climb to our second floor one-room apartment. I looked up the stairs and noticed one dimly lit bulb and as we began to climb up the stairs, single file, with my mother leading the way, she suddenly tripped and felt to her knees. She stopped quickly to checked her legs, not concerned about an injury, and cried out “Oh shit, I just put a run in my last pair of stockings!” She turned around sat down on the steps and wept. Her tears created fear in me. I was unclear what the big deal was about her “stocking” but I vowed I would never have that problem. I thought to myself “I will have lots of stockings and if I fall and tear them I would not have to cry.” I was two years old. This was my first memory of deciding to not live my life in a manner similar to my mother. I would make the vow again and again. Truth is, in some respects I am just like my mother and as I grow older the similarities between our lives is uncanny.
Over the course of my first three years I had lived in Homewood, which was a fairly affluent community of mostly blacks, many of whom owned their homes, the Hill District which was close to downtown Pittsburgh partially prosperous and partially poor, and back to Homework. When I was about three years old momma was again living with Mrs. Etta Johnson, her husband Clarence and daughter Clarice. Mrs. Johnson was the foster mother to a number of children who had been placed in her care by the child welfare department. Aunt Etta and momma were good friends and I don’t believe she would have done anything purposely to hurt momma or me and my brother. In point of fact, her generosity was the reason we lived with her. I also believe she and momma met as a result of daddy who had lots of friends mostly women. My godmother was referred to as “Mrs. Johnson” by everyone who knew her. She was a large woman with big soft comfortable breasts and she wore what I called “grandmother” shoes. Black shoes that laced up the front with two inch thick stocky heels and her nylons were often rolled down to her ankles. Those shoes were as solid as my god-mother and I recall looking forward to my own old-age when I would be able to wear such shoes.
I recall the next event in my life because of the foster-children under the care of Mrs. Johnson and supported by the Pennsylvania State Department of Child Welfare. Occasionally a caseworker who worked for Child Welfare would come to check on the well being of the children under Mrs. Johnson’s care. I was deeply affected by one visit. I recall the preparation for the social workers’ visit. All the children were coached about who we were, why we were there, for how long and told that under no circumstances were any of us to say Momma , my brother and I lived there. However, the social worker could not be fooled.
Mrs. Johnson was informed there were too many people living in her home who were not part of her immediate family. The social worker concluded all the “extra” people would interfere with the quality of life and healthy growth and development of the foster children. Suddenly, I was to become homeless. We were told we had to move out of the home of Mrs. Johnson or she would lose some of her foster children. The foster-children represented income from the welfare department for Mrs. Johnson and the income was needed to maintain the house and other expenses.
My mother explained all this to me as we packed our meager belongings and boarded a train to Baltimore, where my father lived. Momma said we had no where else to go and that Daddy would have to provide for us. The train ride was magical and exciting. I was dressed in my Sunday best. I remember white socks turned down at the ankles, black patent leather shoes with a strap that crossed my foot with a small gold buckle and a red velvet coat with fake fur trim. I felt good because I thought it was all an adventure. Unfortunately I never saw Mrs. Johnson again.
