Loma Linda School of Public Health
TODAY
Editorÿs note: The following article was written by Floyd F. Petersen, MPH, mayor, City of Loma Linda. Mr. Petersen is also assistant professor of epidemiology and biostatistics in the School of Public Health.
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| Eileen Peterson visits with Gwendolyn Brooks at Ronald Reagan International Airport in Washington, D.C. |
While glancing through the local newspaper recently, I came across an obituary. Along with the obituary was a picture of the deceased. The picture was than of an elderly African-American woman. Nothing unusual about that exceptÜI had once met that lady. It happened like this:
We had arrived at the Ronald Reagan International Airport in Washington, D.C., a bit early. Our flight to California via Chicago would leave in an hour. The waiting area near the boarding gate was almost empty as we settled into a seat among our carry-ons. In addition to being a university professor, I am the mayor of a small town and chair of the board of directors of a regional public transportation agency in Southern California. Once or twice a year, I make a trip to Washington, D.C., on business. My wife, Eileen, had accompanied me on this trip and now with an hour to spare, she said she wanted to look around the airport.
Eileen had been gone only a short time when an elderly African-American lady appeared, and well, actually pushing one of our bags aside and seeming not to notice me, proceeded to occupy the seat Eileen had just vacated.
Well now! With so many empty seats in the waiting area, did she have to sit right here in my wifeÿs place, I thought to myself. This was an intrusion into my personal space. Why hadnÿt she occupied one of the many empty seats where she could spread out her bags and be comfortable. She had on a funny knit black cap and was wearing glasses. Not just ordinary glasses, but thick glassesÜthe kind of thick glasses that make the person wearing them seem to be peering about in a strange disoriented sort of way.
Now, I like people. To be a mayor, one should. I also like nothing better than a good conversation with interesting people. I like new ideas. But an 80-year-old lady wearing a funny cap and peering through thick glasses? To be honest, she would not have been my first choice to spend an hour with in an empty airport.
þPardon me,ú she said. þCould you tell me what time it is?ú She adjusted her glasses to better see the ticket she held in her hand. This was the first indication that she even knew I existed. þEleven oÿclock,ú I answered, glancing at my watch. And then trying to appear friendly, I added, þWhere are you going?ú þChicago,ú she said. þMy plane leaves at one oÿclock and I wanted to be on time.ú
Since my wife and I were going through Chicago and our plane left at twelve, I thought that she might be mistaken about the time of her flight. Asking to see her ticket, I took it up to the attendant to the desk to verify the time and flight. Her plane did indeed leave one hour later than ours.
On returning to my seat, I assured her that everything was correct and that she had plenty of time to rest before her flight. Well, if I was going to share my space with this stranger I may as well find out who she is, I thought. I asked her if she lived in Chicago. þYes,ú she replied, þa good many years.ú þWhat brought you to Washington, D.C.? Were you here to visit family,ú I inquired. þNo,ú she responded. þI came here to receive an award.ú
þAn award?ú I said. I probably looked a little a little surprised, though she didnÿt seem to notice.
þYes,ú she said, þHave you seen the morning paper? Here I have one,ú she added, pulling from her bag a copy of the Washington Post.
As she held up the morning paper, the first thing that caught my eye was that part of a large headline containing the words, þFirst Lady.ú Well, what is this all about, I wondered.
þYou can read about it in my paper if you like,ú and, þOh, I have a copy of the program, too,ú she offered.
þIÿd love to see it,ú I replied. A boring hour in the airport was suddenly turning interesting. þFirst Ladies Salute First Womenú the title on the richly decorated program announced. As I flipped it open, I immediately began to see names that I recognized: Barbara Walters, mistress of ceremonies; Hillary Rodham Clinton; the Honorable Madeleine Albright; the Honorable Dianne Feinstein, senator from my state; the Honorable Shirley Chishlom; and the Honorable Sandra Day OÿConnor.
Whoa! What do we have here? The program went on to list more þhonorablesú than I knew existed. And then the five women who had received the National First Ladies Library Award the previous evening were introduced. Second on the list after the Honorable Madeleine K. Albright appeared the name Gwendolyn Brooks.
þThatÿs me,ú she said. þIt was so much fun.ú
I quickly began to skim the biography. But when the words þPulitzer Prizeú appeared in the first sentence, I started againÜreading more slowly now. Gwendolyn Brooks; first African-American female Pulitzer Prize winner for poetry; the second Poet Laureate of Illinois, succeeding Carl Sandburg; 1997 recipient of the Lincoln Laureate medal; current writer-in-residence at Chicago State University where the Gwendolyn Brooks Center for Black Culture and a chair has been named in her honor.
And there was lots more. Ms. Brooks, the recipient of 76 honorary doctorates; a member of the National Institute of Arts and Letters; appointed to the Presidential Commission on the National Agenda for the Eighties; consultant-in-poetry to the Library of Congress; named Jefferson Lecturer by the National Endowment for the Humanities; and in 1995, awarded the prestigious National Medal of the Arts. Gwendolyn Brooks, author of more than 26 books.
My wife returned. I introduced her to my new friend. Ms. Brooks was a great conversationalist and well informed on a wide range of topics. We talked about poetry. She asked what had brought us to Washington. I told her about my job as a mayor and university professor.
þIÿm so impressed to be setting here next to the mayor,ú she said.
What? Gwendolyn Brooks, a Pulitzer Prize winner with 76 doctorates, glad to be sitting next to me?
þYou can keep that copy of the program. Here, Iÿll sign it for you,ú she said. Then she added, þIf you write to me, I will send you an autographed copy of my latest book of poetry.ú
All too soon our flight was called. I lingered, not wanting to break the spell. As we walked toward the gate, I turned to look at her againÜold, wrinkled, funny knit cap, thick glasses. Somehow that didnÿt matter now. I had just spent an hour in the presence of royalty.
Thank you, Gwendolyn Brooks, for intruding. And thank you for reminding me againÜnever judge another.
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