I recently noted that Tupac's Dear Mama is the greatest rap song for my money. I soon followed with my Parable of Granny, in praise of my grandmother but I must now give praise and honor to the greatest woman in my life, who knew more about me than I ever knew or know every now, about myself, my mother, Marian Murrill Jackmon, a country girl raised in the central valley of California, high school graduate from Fowler High School, the country town nine miles south of Fresno where she was born and I was as well. At the age of 20 she somehow ran into the man who was 40 when they married. Dad obviously was a Race Man when he met Mom, and I don't know how much Race Woman black consciousness Mom had when she met Dad, although when my maternal grandfather died at 99 in 1941, the Fresno Bee praised him as a man loved and respected by Blacks and Whites in the Central Valley. So Mama's roots came from people respected enough to have an obituary in the 1941 edition of the Fresno Bee Newspaper. My students informed me they heard of my maternal grandfather, Ephraim Murrill, throughout the central valley.
Mom and Dad obviously had a consensus in consciousness enough to establish The Fresno Voice, a black newspaper a few years before my birth, May 29, 1944. Additionally they had a real estate business that defied the racial redlining in the valley and enabled many of not most blacks to purchase their first homes. Due to gambling, Dad lost his fiduciary rights to sell real estate and my parents were forced to move to Oakland where dad became a florist and mom worked as a typist at the Naval Supply Center during the war years and after.
They were conscious enough to attend the 1945 Peace Conference in San Francisco that led to the establishment of the United Nations.
I think the age difference between mom and dad ultimately led to their separation and divorce, though I respect both of them for being a Race Man and Race Woman, the term used for conscious black people before the 60s black power revolution. My Oakland childhood friends such as Paul Cobb, Publisher of the Oakland Post News Group, informed me my father used to attend Marcus Garvey meetings at his grandfather's house. I learned my childhood female idol in West Oakland, dancer, choreographer, Ruth Beckford, derived from Garvey roots. As a child playing at the New Century Recreation Center, I used to see Ms Beckford teaching dance with her natural hair and beautiful black skin. My childhood mind marveled at her beauty. I wasn't wise enough to understand the connection between consciousness and esthetics or how one's mentality advances one's physicality. Ruth's beauty was indeed partly due to her Garvey roots and consciousness and, fyi, led to her organizing the Black Panther Party breakfast program in Oakland with her dancers such as our recently departed Ellendar Barnes-Harrison who told me how Ruth made her dance take part in the BPP breakfast program, later adopted by the US Government to feed poor hungry children.
But after several separations that had me and my siblings going back and forth between Oakland and Fresno, Mom finally departed from Oakland and returned to Fresno to establish herself as a Real Estate Broker, again serving Blacks who were still suffering redlining or racial discrimination in housing, making her again the person most blacks will tell you they bought their first house from. A few months again, Odell Johnson, Emeritus President of Oakland's Laney College, ran into me on Lakeshore Ave. and reminded me he bought his first house from my mother.
Still, my overwhelming love for my mother doesn't derive from my experience and observation of her real estate business, although as I used to stay at her office when she had appointments and used to be present when she conducted her real estate business, and yes, black women such as Ruby White who established a fully accredited beauty college, reminded me over and over my mother was her mentor as a black businesswoman. If anything, watching Mom rob Peter to pay Paul, although eventually she was able to move us nine children and two grandchildren who thought she was their mother as well, and for practical purpose, Mom was indeed their mother and father as she was for the nine children she raised as single mother. Can you see why I love Tupuc's Dear Mama?
I have written before about the day Mom came to juvenile hall to visit my brother and I. He was on his way to California Youth Authority and except for my grades, I would have been on my way as well, yes, I was an honor student juvenile delinquent. Alas, I have met such young men at the Alameda Country Juvenile Hall in Oakland. But after the judge freed me because of my grades and Mom and I were outside, I asked her why she wasn't crying? She said, "Son, I may not be crying on the inside but I'm crying on the inside."
I repeat the above line for all the mothers with children in juvenile halls throughout this land tonight, especially those mothers who have suffered physical abuse by their out of control sons, of which I was one. I was so out of control, i.e., in my Mom's relationship with the man'd she had three children with after my dad was gone. Mom paid for me to live in a room in my junior year of high school. Ironically, mom and I were both busy in our personal affairs since we both had children at the same time in my senior year in high school.
But during this time I came to realize finally and forever Mom was much more than a businesswoman and/or real estate broker, income tax
agent, although her role gave her knowledge of black people's bizness and she had to transcend the conundrums and negrocities of their relations especially when it came to closing escrows so she could receive her commission to, among other things, feed her children.
It was during this time that I observed Mom put on her Spiritual hat and converse with her customers based on her teachings of Christian Science as taught by Mary Baker Eddy. FYI, at some point Mom became a devotee of Mary Baker Eddy. As a child I recall hearing Mom had a mental breakdown, although mental breakdown wasn't the term I recall. I can't recall the term at this moment.
But apparently the teachings of Christian Science was therapeutic and although we attended the all white Christian Science Church before Mom and Dad separated and divorced, after she returned to Fresno and established her identity, in the deep structure of her work was Spiritual Counselor, especially for the reasons I mentioned above as per escrow closings when she had to use her spiritual counseling to reconcile couples suffering bitter divorces that included dissolution of real estate and one person absolutely refused to sign the final escrow papers. Sometimes I would be at her office as she tried to reconcile such intractable couples although she had no choice but to get them to the level of common sense so she could get her commission.
It was then that I often knew Mom's mission was beyond real estate and thus beyond her commission although her single parent family depended on such, alas, when she was able to acquire investment property, her mortgages depended on reconciling these recalcitrant negroes.
Mom's spiritual work made me ignore writing for commercial success, especially when I realized Mom wasn't working for money, although after a time she because successful and was able to buy two and a half acres on Kearney Blvd, where the black bourgeoise resided, the black judges, doctors and others resided. Yes, Mom had come up from the cotton and grape fields of the central valley to enable her to raise a crew of spoiled, ungrateful bastard children and grandchildren, including myself.
When Mom moved on her 2 1/2 acres with the black bourgeoise, my siblings lived a lifestyle I never knew growing up in the projects of West Fresno or on 7th Street in West Oakland. My young siblings and my niece and nephew Mama raised went to parties in Bentley's and Benzes with the children of doctors, judges and lawyers. Mom recreated her country life on her acres with chickens, grape vines, orange, lemon trees that had to be irrigated. Mama had a hard time getting me to turn on the well water to irrigate the fruit, not to mention getting my siblings to go into the chicken coup to retrieve the eggs. My baby brother and nephew told Mama they wanted eggs from Safeway and wasn't going to dirty their shoes walking in chicken shit!
Like Job, Mama kept her faith in Christian Science and when I victimized my wives with violence that led me to bow down before my Mother, she simply replied, "Son, you will never have good luck beating your wives, especially the mother's of your children."
Alas, Mama told me when my girlfriend was pregnant in my senior year, I didn't need to get married. Because she was pregnant was no reason for me to get married, according to Mom. In fact, Mom told me I didn't need to get married period, never, ever. Mom said I needed, "A maid, secretary and mistress but not a wife. I wouldn't have you for a husband, myself!"
At 77, I am still trying to digest and exercise Mom's dictum about the main, secretary and mistress. Most often I confuse the three and want to merge them. Mama didn't say merge and when I lived in Mexico City, they told me to never make love to the maid. Yet, of all the wisdom Mom taught me and the entire town of Fresno about business, partnerships and most especially spirituality, I have given up trying to unravel the conundrum of how she figured I didn't need a wife, but a maid, secretary and mistress.
Well, for sure the world will agree I need a maid and secretary. And the world will probably agree with Mom, "MIstress, not a wife."
At 77, I am spoiled royally. As one of my mother in law's asked her daughter who fed me daily in bed, "Who do that nigga think he is, King Tut?"
"Yes. You women spoiled me rotten so best let me enjoy myself doing what I love, writing!"
Mama knew better than I could ever know. If it took me 77 years to accept what Mama told me at 18, I must be mentally retarded! Please send the little yellow bus to my house!"
Mama, Marian Murrill Jack, I Love you always and forever.
You were wiser than I could ever be.
Sincerely,
Your Special Son who didn't know he was your special son, but
Mama you were special to me! The
Marvin X/El Muhajir
12/27/21
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