Thursday, October 6, 2011

Willie Mae


I could have been one of the children in the novel, The Help. Like the children in that novel, I was raised in the deep south in a family that had maids. This was the norm for the early 60’s. And like the children in that novel, I developed a close relationship with some of these women.

The first one that I remember was named Willie Mae. I never knew the last name of this short, energetic, older woman. Her deep black skin contrasted with the light colored dresses that covered her small frame.

Willie Mae came to the house every weekday while my parents worked. She kept the house clean, babysat the three of us kids, had supper cooked when my mom arrived home. My mother loved Willie Mae because all of her hard work made my mom‘s life much easier.

She was a godly woman who never learned to read. My older sister, Maresa, would exploit her illiteracy by having the three of us children to sit atop the kitchen counter. Then Maresa would pass out saccharin to us and tell Willie Mae that she was giving us aspirin. She swore up and down that Willie Mae would believe her because she couldn’t read. But I always thought that Willie Mae was playing my sister. Just because she couldn’t read didn’t mean she was dumb. What southern woman didn’t know what saccharin was? But Willie Mae acted as if she believed that we were eating aspirin, and she would pitch a fit. That made my sister feel really smart. I think that Willie Mae knew the truth all along.

One morning my mother received a telephone call from the Chief of Police in our small town. He was calling to let my mother know that Willie Mae would not be coming in to work that day. It seems that Willie Mae’s husband had shot and killed her. They said that he “wasn’t quite right.” I think that he had some senility that had set in. With the blast of his shotgun, we lost our Willie Mae.


This post was written as part of a Community Writing Project entitled Word Portraits over at The High Calling. I am linking to Jennifer Lee's article about her Aunt Gladys at her blog Getting Down With Jesus.

copyright 2011 by Kathy Robbins

10 comments:

  1. What begins as a warm memory ends in bloodshed. Startling story, Kathy, and you told it well.

    ReplyDelete
  2. Oh Kathy ... I'm so sad the story ended like this. But I'm so glad you told it.

    You set a vivid scene there, in that kitchen. I could see it all unfolding.

    Thank you for putting this story down. It's important to record these moments, to remember.

    ReplyDelete
  3. Glynn, thank you for stopping by. I remember the influence of Willie Mae on all of our lives.
    Kathy

    ReplyDelete
  4. Thanks for stopping by Jennifer. I am sad the story ended like it did too. But I am glad to have the opportunity to keep her memory alive. Thank you for hosting this writing project.
    Kathy

    ReplyDelete
  5. Startling. Yes. I wasn't expecting that. :(

    ReplyDelete
  6. Sorry, Sandra. Guess I should have eased into it more. Oops!
    Kathy

    ReplyDelete
  7. I'm so sorry that Willie Mae died in this way. Thank you, though, for giving her life through your story.

    ReplyDelete
  8. Thank you, Brandee. I am sorry that she left us so suddenly and violently. I am sorry for this beautiful life cut short.
    Kathy

    ReplyDelete
  9. This piece ends so abruptly, shockingly, just as your relationship with Willie Mae ended abruptly, shockingly. It's tragic.

    This window into your childhood introduces me to someone I'd never know otherwise, as no such relationship existed in the North during those years, at least not as far as I know. We need to hear these stories.

    ReplyDelete
  10. The relationship with Willie Mae did end abruptly, and shockingly. I guess, for me, there was no other way to end this story.

    ReplyDelete