Ronald Powell, Joyce Marie, Rudolph James, twins Milton Dewey and
Melvin Dwight, Constance Winifred, and Teresa Avaline. Father, who
migrated from Mississippi seeking a job in Detroit, was a manager at Ford
Motor Co. Mother was born in Depew, Oklahoma, and raised in California
after both her parents and her only brother, Bill, died. She was a homemaker,
a poet, a storyteller, and a great speaker. My parents met in California through
mutual friends. They married, and my dad arranged for Mother to stay with
relatives in Royal Oak Township until I was born. He was on active duty in
the navy, stationed in Guam during World War II. Mother left California and
arrived by train at the Michigan Central Depot in Detroit with my brother
Ronald, who was a toddler at the time.
Mother told me that while she was traveling, she became ill and uncomfortable
with her pregnancy, so Ronald asked the attendant, “Please bring my
mother some water; she’s not feeling good.” (Remember, he was not quite two
years old). I knew that my brother was wonderful, but hearing that story from
Mother made him seem even more awesome. I always looked up to him, and
so did all our friends.
When we came of school age, my brother, sister, and I started attending
George Washington Carver Elementary School. While living in Royal Oak
Township, we were not exposed to door-to-door evangelization. It’s interesting
how my mother found out about the church.
For some time, she had noticed a young boy walking, very early in the
morning, past our two-story project housing unit at 10729 Hinsdale Court.
He wore blue pants, a white shirt, and a tie. She was so impressed with his
appearance that she just had to find out where he was going. She stopped him
one morning and asked. He told her that he was attending the new school
affiliated with Our Lady of Victory Church. My parents immediately sought
out this church and started taking instructions, because they wanted us
enrolled in the school. Mother was doing just what the other parents were
doing—looking for a good education for her children. The boy’s name was
Frank Cryer, and we became classmates. Walking to school dressed in a uniform
was a kind of evangelization, because it sure made an impression on our
mother. As soon as the school doors opened, we were right there. Around this
time, my whole family started attending OLV and preparing to become baptized
Catholics.
With the help of our godmother, Martha Palms-Williams, my severely
retarded brother, Rudolph James, was baptized a year before the rest of the
family and placed in an institution in Lapeer, Michigan. When they took him
away, he turned around and reached out his hands for Mother. It was so
amazing that he knew that he was leaving her. He knew who she was in spite
of his handicap. It was also a sad thing to see, and I cried so hard for him and
my mother that day. Yet I was relieved. It had been very stressful on the family.
Because he was so handicapped, we could not lead a normal family life.
We never saw him again. I do not recall him getting baptized before the rest
of the family, but there it was in the records. I can certainly see the urgency of
it, looking back. We got help for him only after coming to Our Lady of Victory
and meeting those wonderful, Christian people.
Years later, Mother received a letter from the State of Michigan informing
her that Rudy had been dropped during the birthing process, and that was the
cause of his retardation. Apparently, there had been an investigation. Mother
could have filed a lawsuit, but her faith in God would not allow it. The faith
came from her association with Our Lady of Victory. This church profoundly
influenced her, and it helped her through this stressful period in our lives. As I
sit here at my computer writing about this incident, I am emotionally distraught.
It still hurts after all these years, and I still feel the guilt of leaving him
in that institution, even though I had nothing to do with any of it.
Unfortunately, my father was not baptized, and eventually my parents separated.
We experienced some financial hardships, and that was when the
kindness of the parish family became so important to our mother and to our
very existence.
My mother, a politician in her own right, found a way to keep us in Catholic
schools. Our godmother came through for us and paid our tuition every
year until each of us graduated from high school. We are talking about seven
children who received her help. She was wealthy and took her role as godmother
seriously. Not many do what she did, and I love her for it, because I
thoroughly enjoyed going to Our Lady of Victory Catholic School. She was a
saint and a true godmother. It took years for me to realize the significance of
her generosity. But once I came to the realization of what she had done, I sent
her a bouquet of roses while she could still smell them along with a thank-you
note.
She died not too long after that, around 1988. I took a call from Madeline
Fortier, an early pioneer, who informed us of Martha’s death. I was employed
at the Detroit Free Press at the time and was having such a hellish time with
the Joint Operating Agreement (J.O.A.) turmoil going on there that I missed
the funeral. My mother didn’t go, either, because she had no way to get there.
I assumed that Mother would be taken to the funeral by other church members
after I put the word out about Martha’s death. I know now that it was the
wrong assumption on my part, and I regret not making personal arrangements
for Mother to get there. We were very fortunate to have Martha in our lives,
and that is what coming to Our Lady of Victory meant for us.
There was always a problem with the boiler in the new school, so we sat in
the classroom many days with our coats on. It broke down too often and got
very cold. Some days we were sent home. I remember Mother being very
pregnant and walking through six inches of snow just to bring our lunches to
school so that we wouldn’t go hungry. I was about nine or ten years old, and
that was when I realized how much she really loved us. She looked very
uncomfortable and should not have been walking in that kind of weather, but
she did, and then she had to turn around and walk all the way back home.
That day I was deeply touched by my mother’s gesture of love and very worried
for her safety. I prayed that she would not fall down going home. Her
faith in her church and her love for us had made a lasting impression on me.
My mother, in my mind, should have been more than just a homemaker.
She was certainly gifted, and, most of all, she talked to us and listened to our
problems. Many times when we had to write an essay or story, she helped us
with our homework assignments. I always got As on my papers.
I recall Mother helping me with a speech we students had to write for Fr.
DeCneudt’s departure. Mother Patricia was so impressed with what I had
written that the other children didn’t get a chance to read theirs. She didn’t
know that Mother had a hand in it. I also remember being very sad that Fr.
DeCneudt was leaving and wondering what was going to happen to us.
---------------
William Dewey Burkes and Leslie Louise Allen were my grandparents. He
was a professor and a minister, and she was a schoolteacher. They died when
Mother was very young and left her and her brother Bill orphaned. Uncle Bill
drowned trying to save someone’s life, and Mother was all alone in the world.
She lost an advantage when they passed away too soon. Aunt Beatrice Strassner
removed her from a school she was attending in Oklahoma and took her
back to California to live with relatives. None of them were as caring as a
mother would be. She said that her Aunt Bea just walked into the classroom
and took her away. She never got the chance to say good-bye to Mr. and Mrs.
Davis, her guardians. In 1945, on her way to Detroit, she stopped to see them
one last time before heading to her new life in Royal Oak Township. I felt so
sorry for my mother when she told that story. She was a very brave person. She
wanted to be the mother to us that she never had, and she was extraordinary at
it. She could have given us away. Thank God she didn’t.
My mother could recite a Bible verse and have the audience on its feet in a
standing ovation. I witnessed this, and that is when I realized the gift my
mother possessed. Many of my friends told her how she had influenced them
and how much they admired her strength. I was happy that my friends
thought well of her. Her peers described her as a “woman of great faith.” I am
still trying to emulate her faith and strong character.
I remember when a dear friend of mine, Gwenda McDonald, came up
from Dallas, Texas, for a visit and discovered that my mother had a collection
of poems published. She was so excited because, even though we had known
one another for years, she didn’t know that my mother wrote poetry. I never
thought to tell her. Because of her enthusiasm, I also got excited that day. A
sister-in-law, Lorraine, was surprised, as well, when she learned of Mother’s
poems and talked to her from time to time about her works. My son, Clyde,
should have been a journalist, because he writes extremely well. He can express
his ideas in a way that can be profound and thought-provoking.
I met Gwendolyn Keith-Edwards as a freshman in high school. She is the
daughter of Luther C. Keith, a prominent black Catholic who, while not a
member of Our Lady of Victory, has forged a place in its history. I was
amazed to learn this and that he was a major player in the city of Detroit’s
political arena. I met him through Gwen at their family home in Detroit.
He was appointed by the Knights of St. Peter Claver National Council to
organize the Detroit branch. Our Lady of Victory was to be the designated
headquarters. As I continued my research, it became evident that the Claver
organization left a lasting impact on the black church in Detroit. Many of the
pioneers remain active in the organization today, scattered throughout the
Northern District, which is comprised of nineteen states in the Midwest, East
Coast, and New England areas.
Gwen and I became lifelong friends without my ever knowing of her
father’s contributions to the city of Detroit and Our Lady of Victory. It is not
that she was trying to keep it from me, or anyone for that matter, but her
brother Luther explains it this way. “We just took our father’s contributions
for granted, not realizing he was making history.” Their parents were people
who entertained religious and political leaders in their home.
This is exactly what happened in my own family with our mother. We children
took her gifts for granted, not realizing until it was pointed out by friends
what a talented individual she was. This goes back to what I said initially, that
we do not know our history, and we don’t always know when we are living it
until someone writes about it.
Gwen and I just naturally gravitated to one another when I started my
freshman year at St. Agnes High School (renamed Martyrs of the Uganda and
now closed). I was so shy, and she made me feel welcome that very first day.
She was so nice, and we became instant friends. I don’t know why I chose this
school; I didn’t do any research, and I didn’t discuss it with any teacher or my
friends. I chose it from several options that were presented to me. When I
found out it was an all girls school, I asked my mother if I could go to Mumford
High School, a public school in Detroit. She said, “No!” So fate brought
me to St. Agnes and into the lives of the Keith family. I am a firm believer
that we are where we are supposed to be at any given time in this life.
Gwen and her family were longtime members of St. Agnes Church and
School, which included a combined grade school and high school. We managed
to stay in touch over the years. I even went to see her and her husband
Cleve at their home in Fairfax Station, Virginia, in 1993. We shared some
wonderful high school memories. How small this world is that her father indirectly
affected my life in a positive way. It was truly amazing to discover that
he had a part in my church’s beginnings. When Gwen introduced me to her
mother, Savella Keith, for the first time, her mother made me feel as if we
were old friends. I always felt special around her each time I came to visit,
because she was so kind to me. Not many people have that rare gift of making
you feel good about yourself.
I discovered that Fr. Ferdinand DeCneudt, third pastor of Our Lady of
Victory, worked with Luther Keith on various community projects in the fifties.
Fr. DeCneudt was saying Mass when we walked into the church that
September morning. I thought Our Lady of Victory was the most beautiful
church I had ever seen, and father was beautiful, too. The church décor was so
tasteful, and just being there was soothing to the senses. Fr. DeCneudt (he
was elevated to monsignor in later years) told me that the decorating credit
goes to the previous priest, Fr. Hubert Roberge, who was great at interior
design. Fr. DeCneudt baptized my family and many other families during his
tenure. He was the only pastor I really knew, so it was a real shocker to learn
years later that he was just an administrator. A pastor is permanently installed
in a church. An administrator is assigned on a temporary basis. We didn’t
know the difference at the time, but it would deeply affect the survival of OLV
in the coming years.
Another thing that made a profound impression on me was discovering,
when I arrived at St. Agnes, that the pastor, Rev. Frank J. McQuillan, had been
there well over two decades. It was like a culture shock coming from Our Lady
of Victory. Fr. DeCneudt was gone before I graduated. I knew him as a child,
and so, quite naturally, he was stamped in my memory even though he was
there for just a short while. Everybody had grown fond of him. Some of the
members kept a lasting relationship with him the same as those who kept up
with Fr. Alvin Deem. I was fortunate to find the monsignor in recent years. I
don’t remember much about the priests that came later—there were just too
many of them.
more to come....
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