So in Style Dolls of Color are a Big Hit for Mattel

For the last several years, this time of year have me flopping around in my Ms. Santa suit and busy with nonstop gift wrapping and delivering of gifts to my little friends at Grace Eaton Child Care. It is not an official program but Grace Eaton is a long time customer of Holmes Pest Control and it is our way of having fun serving others and saying thank you to a customer who provides quality child care to low wealth families in the community. We love the families that have we have met over the years.

Shopping for the children begin several months in advance. My Ms. Santa duties have made me famous at flea markets, close out stores, and discount retailers looking for the most requested items, Black Barbie dolls and bikes. My hunt for the elusive Black Barbie doll has made me an expert with the Mattel folks. I keep up with the coming and goings of all things Barbie with my ears perked to hear any word in Toyland about the newest craze. Imagine my surprise when one of the most eccentric doll collectors I know dropped the news in my inbox at the beginning of the year that Mattel was launching a line of Barbie Dolls designed by a woman of color and that the dolls would be based on strong influences from the African American community. Shut your mouth I thought, God has heard my cry!

Enter Stacey McBride-Irby and her line of dolls called “So in Style”, SIS. McBride-Irby, a fashion designer who designed adult and children clothing before joining Mattel, inquired about a job working for the toy powerhouse twelve years ago. She was hired as an assistant to an African American designer. McBride-Irby love of her Barbie dolls from her childhood inspired her to become a fashion designer years later. She played with her dolls until she was 13 years old. After putting down her dolls, she started drawing and designing fashion for people.

What an inspirational story! The community of color should have Ms. McBride-Irby speaking at every pre-teen adolescent event in the country and every Mom should read about Ms. McBride-Irby and ignore the cell phones request from their pre teen daughters. Give them a doll is my new motto! I could not wait to get my hands on the SIS line of dolls for the young girls at Grace Eaton. Imagine my disappointment when my eccentric doll collector friend sent me an email a few months back asking my thoughts about the controversy over the SIS dolls. “What controversy”, I asked in my reply. Never asked a doll collector a question about doll news, you will regret it. I was sent several links questioning the ethnic looks of the doll. My immediately thoughts were folks are crazy. Why are folks wasting energy on a non controversial event for the sake of controversy? Don’t we have enough issues in the world than to examine the “fullness” of a doll’s lips or the texture of a doll’s hair? If I was not serious, I would be laughing.

A woman of color works in a field that very few are highlighted for their creativity or contributions to the marketplace, designs a line of dolls that represent positive aspirations for young girls of any color and we judge them. We find fault in a woman achieving her dreams in life the old fashion way…working hard and using her God given talents to encourage other women to do the same. Please give me a break. I refuse to participate in the self-made oki doke.

For years, I have searched for the dolls of color. Trust me they are hard to come by. Hermitage area retailers know me by sight. My dolls search starts in August looking for the upcoming Holiday Barbie. I have gone into the stores late at night and helped workers check the back docks looking for dolls for Grace Eaton children. I would wait patiently as they searched through boxes of Mattel packages and hand me four dolls out of forty.

The idea that Mattel has addressed the ethnic heritage of one culture means they are listening to their customers and will soon have lines that represent other ethnic groups of people as well. The variety creates more interest and more interest in Mattel products means more dollar spent. The more money means more profit for the company. A profitable company reinvests in its people and new product lines. There are many young designers taking note of Ms. McBride-Irby success and will start to work harder and smarter to imitate her work ethics. These are all good things no matter what color you are. And people of color are not the only ones buying the SIS line of dolls. Hallelujah for that!

As for the beautiful dolls, I bought several dolls in the past from Mattel that were inspired and designed by Ms. McBride-Irby. When the Alpha Kappa Alpha sorority celebrated their 100th Anniversary, I gave several retired AKAs in the community a Mattel doll designed by Ms. McBride-Irby. All the women were leaders who served the community faithfully for years but do not spend as much time in the spotlight in their latter years. They continue to help me raise money for non-profits without the pressure. They use their checkbooks and influence to get things done behind the scenes. None have ever asked for recognition and I believed the dolls were the perfect gifts instead of the traditional trophy organizations give to say thank you to volunteers. The dolls were a big hit. I had each doll put in a doll case with their name engraved on the case. The response to this small gesture left me speeches when one recipient of the dolls sent me a check for $5,000 to “help” me out! I love those women who wear their pearls and “help” me out! (Note to self…send Ms. Mack another doll this year, I need “help” for my toy drive.)

Everything about the “So in Style”(SIS) dolls show love and dedication of ones craft, an appreciation of culture and an attention to details that fashion divas like me adore. When I picked up several dolls last week, each were accompanied by a little sister. I knew right away that the designer was showing the importance of mentoring in our community. Each box comes with the description of the dolls’ personalities, the fashion style, and what subjects they liked in school. Wow, nothing left to chance including making sure young girls of color understand the value of getting an education and not just playing with your doll that looks similar to you. Ms. McBride-Irby is someone I am proud of; a woman, an entrepreneur, a designer, and a role model. And she loves Twitter. She tweets too! You can follow her online at www.twitter.com/StaceyMcirby. You can also check out Stacey McBride-Irby on the web at http://www.barbie.com/activities/friends/soinstyle/. As you can see, there is no controversy here; just pure talent, inspiration, and a love of community that cannot be disputed.

Now that you know more about Black Barbie dolls and the “So in Style” line designed by Ms. McBride-Irby, please stop by the toy department this Friday and load you basket with toys and extra dolls for me. I am going to need all the help I can get making sure that the children at Grace Eaton have a wonderful Christmas! Be safe and have a great week.

Photo credits: Stacey McBride-Irby and Alpha Kappa Alpha dolls Mattel
Photo of me in my Ms. Santa suit with bad lighting...my son, Franz.

Nashville's Youth March Against Violence

Saturday, November 14th, 2009 was a memorable day in Nashville. Youth United (a youth lead program supported by Oasis Center) hosted a march for the community to bring awareness about the recent increase in youth violence and homicides in our city.

Youth and adults gathered at the Juvenile Justice Center and marched to the Courthouse lawn chatting “Stop the violence, now”. Drost Kokoye, a freshman at Lipscomb University, and Jairus Carter, a senior at MLK, were MCs for the event that kept the crowd on their feet for several hours. The youth of the city recognized lost lives due to youth violence in the last year. In addition to bringing awareness to the increase of youth violence in Nashville, Youth United also helped promote alternatives to youth violence.

The program was inspirational from beginning to end, including rousing speeches from community and youth leaders. Reverend Neely Williams, the Chairperson of Nashville Community Coalition for Youth Safety, kicked off the program. The Saturday’s event was planned and organized by the young adults. After Reverend Williams stirred up the group, we heard from one of our future leaders, Brandon Smithson, a senior at East Literature Magnet and member of IMPACT. Brandon motivational message was telling our city that young people must have self worth and can be the change to make a difference in Nashville, now. Justin, Dillon, and Aaron, members of Youth Speaks Nashville, show cased their talent by using theater to address the deaths of young black men in the community. Justin London, a spoken word artist, used his poetry to address the senseless murders of young people that is happening around the country. Temika Harris, who studied music at W.O. Smith School, shared her beautiful voice with the group singing Marvin Gaye’s “What’s Going On”. The songstress’ performance was perfect for the occasion. Tamika closed with Jill Scott’s “Golden.”

Information from various community partners such as, Mayor’s Youth Council, STARS (Students Taking A Right Stand), NPP (Nashville Prevention Partnership), Nashville Public Library, TOTAL (Totally Outstanding Teen Advocates for the Library), Martha O’Bryan Center, Big Brothers, Big Sisters of Tennessee, KAYO (Kurdish American Youth Organization) and the Bethlehem Center were available for the attendees as well as a volunteer opportunities to engage young people. The participating agencies are all invested in alternatives to youth violence.

A vigil ceremony was held to remember the youth lost to violence, as well as a dedication ceremony for the families who have lost loved ones in the act of youth violence.

Participants signed and decorated a mural that will be displayed in local high schools to show support in the fight to end youth violence. What a way to spend the weekend!

Nashville's Sign Gate and Truthiness

(Disclaimer: This story is best read while drinking wine that comes in a box or your own homemade shine.)
(Disclaimer 2: If you chose to drink while reading this post, you may be drunk at the end of this post.)

On a rainy Tuesday, October 27, 2009, News Channel 4 aired a report about a stolen political sign that left many thunderstruck and speculating how political folks can be so brazen and demeaning. But whenever we are dealing with the main stream media, it is essential that we Fact check the news. A story that seemed cut and dried, or in this case, wet and soggy, failed to include pertinent facts. Instead, it opened a floodgate of questions concerning the actual events in this “she said, she said” saga that should have drowned in the Cumberland River.

I was half listening to the news when I heard the promo for a story dealing with a stolen political sign. Hearing Delois Wilkinson’s name mentioned; I was intrigued immediately. Mrs. Wilkinson was a customer of Holmes Pest Control for many years. An old school, grass roots mobilizer like my grandfather, I knew of Mrs. Delois Jackson Wilkinson’s legendary civil rights activism even though I grew up in Mississippi. After I moved to Tennessee, I spoke of her often to Daddy. She was known as “Miss Civil Rights” in social circles, but I called her the original Diva of Nashville Politics. Mrs. Wilkinson was the first perfectionist I ever worked for and her building, the famed Onyx Room, was her pride and joy. HPC had the pest control and janitorial contract. Working for her was hum-bee-ling but she taught us the rules of engaging a customer with an impeccable eye to detail. She reminded me often that she was the client and my job was to make her happy. Her matter-of-fact, candor is missing in today’s era, where sensational political punditry passes for truth-telling. I am grateful for the business and history lessons I learned from her.

Waiting to hear the WSMV segment, I was expecting a story about Mrs. Wilkerson’s work in helping organize the March on Washington or her famous remark, “Johnny does not teach himself” but Dennis Ferrier was reporting about a disagreement over a political sign involving Kathleen Wilkinson, Mrs. Delois Wilkinson oldest daughter, and Karen Johnson, Metro school board member who is a candidate for Juvenile Court Clerk. This story seemed to have all the intrigue of Sarah Palin and Michelle Bauchman at a wrestling match and you know how I love talking about political antics, rogue politicians and the media that reports “truthiness”. Keeping up with Tennessee’s politics will drive one to drink. The following is from www.WSMV.com which brought this story to our attention. Kathleen Wilkinson is on camera with Dennis Ferrier on News 4:

The incident involves a high-profile political race and a well-known woman running for office.
Karen Johnson is a Metro school board member who is running for the office of juvenile court clerk. Recently she placed a campaign sign in the front lawn of the Onyx House, a notable building in the Germantown of north Nashville.
The building is owned by Kathleen Wilkinson, and she was shocked to see the sign in the yard of the house. Wilkinson said Johnson never received approval to place the sign on her property.
Wilkinson said she does not support Johnson because she is one of the school board members who voted for the recent school rezoning. Wilkinson said her mother, Delois Jackson Wilkinson, was a former school board member who spent her life fighting for desegregation.
"Mrs. Johnson wants me to go against my mother's legacy," said Kathleen Wilkinson.
So, she called Johnson and asked her to take her sign off of her property.
"She cursed me out (and said,) 'I'm going to put your blank, blank, blank in jail, and you don't know who you are messing with,'" said Wilkinson.
So, Wilkinson removed the sign herself, since it was on her property. Johnson then filed a criminal theft report with Metro police.
"She wanted to have me arrested because I removed a sign from a building that my mother left me," said Wilkinson.
Wilkinson said Friday night that two Metro detectives knocked on her door investigating the theft of the Johnson sign.
Police said on Tuesday they have dismissed the report and will no longer investigate the case.
Johnson said she received approval from the property manager to place the sign outside the Onyx House. She said her focus is "to run a campaign in an honorable, lawful and respectful way as I will continue to do until the election.

Police reports, cussing , sign espionage, threats, trespassing, evoking the name of the dead, conduct bordering on insanity…this is not rouge politics, this is reality TV foolishness. By the way, don’t you love it when the media renames Jefferson Street to Germantown depending on what story they are telling? If this story was about a murder at the same location, the media would have said they were standing on Jefferson Street.

I contacted both women to get additional information. Ms. Johnson was not interviewed and as there are always two sides to every story, inquiring minds wanted to know how this incident escalated to Sign Gate. Ms. Wilkinson and Ms. Johnson returned my calls and sent statements. I spent the rest of the week sorting through the details of this hastily reported piece.

Before reading any further, you should pour yourself a drink. This is Tennessee ugly, no other way to call it. I have no pests to kill in this fight, but this story just sounded too crazy to pass up and crazy stories keep me blogging.

Kathleen Wilkinson said she was made aware of Karen Johnson’s sign on her property so she went to see for herself. She was deeply outraged because no one was given permission from her directly and she believes that Karen Johnson’s political point of view contradicts her mother’s life work for equality in education. Ms. Wilkinson stated that her mother helped shatter the glass ceiling for women in politics in Nashville. Out of respect to her mother’s legacy, she should have been contacted directly. Also according to Ms. Wilkinson, Ms. Johnson became belligerent on the phone when she contacted her to remove her campaign sign that was offensive to her and illegally placed. On WSMV, Ms. Wilkinson said that after contacting Ms. Johnson by phone she was told, “I am going to put your blank, blank, blank in jail.”(In Mississippi, we say the actual cuss words. I love Tennessee politics.)

Ms. Wilkinson filed a police report after speaking with Ms. Johnson. The police report states that “Kathleen wanted documentation that they exchanged words.” What was exactly said was not stated in the report filed on October 19, 2009. On Friday, October 23, 2009 two metro detectives knocked at the former Belmont area home of Delois Wilkinson looking for the political sign. Wth?

Two metro detectives, not bike cops, are out looking for a political sign. At what rate of pay are taxpayers supporting a hunt for political signs? Nashville crime rates have skyrocketed in the last year but detectives are looking for a sign? When I went to Central Precinct to ask questions, I was told by Metro’s finest that they were doing their job by following up on the sign. When I pulled out Ms. Wilkinson’s police report, the police were unaware that more than one police report had been filed. Metro thought the case was closed. Hang on, this is one crazy story.

According to Ms. Johnson, she was not being malicious. Her only intent was to find out about her sign. Ms. Johnson stated that she got permission to put the sign on the property from Julius Herbst, the property manager for the building. She stated that she did not personally place the sign, but was assisted by Bill Hampton, another employee of Onyx Room. A few days later, Ms Johnson was in the area and noticed the sign missing. She went into German Town Cleaners asking about her sign. The workers advised her to contact Historic Germantown Nashville Neighborhood Association list serve to find out if anyone in the area might have seen the sign. Seeing painters next door in a vacant office, Ms. Johnson asked the painters if they had seen or heard anything about her missing political sign.

The painter informed her that a short dark skinned black woman with short hair knocked on the door on and claimed she was one of the owners of the building and took the sign. The painter said, “Ms. Johnson became alarmed wondering if it was her political opponent, Councilwoman Vivian Wilhoite, who took the sign and showed me a picture to make sure it was not her.” (Damn, that is too funny! Go ahead and refill your glass now.) Upset, Ms. Johnson sought advice from a friend at Metro Police. She was informed that she may want to file a police report and to declare the value of the sign, $85.00. Ms. Johnson’s police report states the incident took place on Oct 16, 2009. Ms. Johnson relayed the information to Julius Herberst who said he knew the person and would testify against them if this case went to court. Ms. Johnson was unaware that he was referring to Ms. Wilkinson, one of the property owners. (Wait, doesn’t Julius work for the Wilkinsons?) Unbeknownst to Ms. Johnson her sign was getting ready for its big media debut via WSMV on October 27. Ms. Johnson’s statement to the Tennessee Tribune and Genmaspeaks.Com:

I had no problem coming to remove the sign off the property, but I did not know that anyone wanted the sign removed. It was not until after the detectives started probing to get information after my complaint that Ms. Wilkinson made contact regarding the sign. The sign had already been removed and was at her house. I received no call prior to my complaint to remove the sign. If I had been contacted before the removal and before my complaint, this would have alerted me to the fact there was a problem with the sign. I would have removed it instead of her knocking on the window of the business and removing the sign herself. No one knew she had the sign until after the complaint was filed. There is not one sign in this county that I have put down that I have not gotten permission to do so. November 1, 2009.

I am missing my grandfather tremendously as I am writing this story. He would be on the floor laughing, while trying to keep his teeth in his mouth. Anyway, the following passages are from Ms. Johnson’s blog, Facebook and Twitter accounts.

The signage which I placed on the property of the Onyx Room located at address 624 Jefferson Street was permitted by Julius Herbst, the property manager and a supporter of my campaign. I was never contacted by Ms. Kathleen Wilkinson until after a report with authorities was filed because she was identified as the person who vandalized and stole my property and currently has a trespassing waiver issued against her from the co-owners of the property. After Ms. Wilkinson was contacted by the authorities who were attempting to recover the sign, she then called me. Her tone was very rude, brash and nasty; therefore, I saw no reason to continue the conversation. My focus is to run a campaign in an honorable, lawful and respectful way as I will continue to do until the election. www.facebook.com/karenyjohnson http://karenyjohnson.blogspot.com/2009/10/karen-johnson-issues-statement.html Oct 27th 2009

Ms. Johnson also sent a mass email to members of Historic Germantown Nashville Neighborhood Association about the missing sign which was posted like other neighborhood crime reports. Oct 20th, 2009:

This is Juvenile Court Clerk candidate Karen Johnson. I had permission to place a campaign sign on the property where GermanTown Cleaners and the Onyx Room sits. CC who is painting a vacated room in the building was painting inside on Friday evening. A short dark skinned black woman with short hair knocked on the door and claimed she talked to the owners and was told she could take my sign down.
Everyone on the property was aware that I had permission to place the sign. Please be on the lookout for anyone removing my signs. Please call me directly should someone tamper or try to remove my signs.
Karen Y. Johnson

On Twitter, there was some criticism about the mass email that was sent out and here are some of the exchanges:

kimu@micchiato Johnson also had hgn send out a mass email on this last week. Her tone in the email was really unpleasant & off put 6:14 AM Oct 28th
kimu@micchiato I have no clue who she even is, but it wasn't a pleasant way to be introduced.

Ms. Johnson responded to her twitter criticism on Twitter.com/karenyjohnson

karenyjohnson@micchiato I shared information on the listserv and it was pleasant and a plea for help. At the time no one knew who took the sign.

(Hat tip to @micchiato)
Are you keeping track? What a mess! I don’t know if I should laugh, cry, or refill my glass. Are you wondering how the police got involved? Ms. Johnson believed she had permission to put her sign up because the property manager told her she could. Ms. Johnson believed her sign was stolen and/or destroyed by someone playing a political prank so she filed a police report. Ms. Wilkinson believed the verbal threats which she attributed to Ms. Johnson. Ms. Wilkinson believed her mother’s legacy was mocked so she filed a police report.

When I met with the officer whose name was given to me by all parties involved, he believed this was much ado about nothing. The sign was taken off the property by one of the owners; the sign was retrieved by the candidate to whom the sign belonged after Metro was contacted. I asked him if the sign was damaged, he said, “No.” He was surprised that this story made the news because by the time the story aired he had already closed the case. I asked about the dueling police reports which as I stated early he was unaware existed until I showed them to him. Police reports are issued as a “matter of record” to provide a paper trail. He noted that Ms. Johnson was upset about her sign, but she got it back. Ms. Wilkinson delivered the sign to the detective at Metro Central Precinct and offered to pay for any damages. The officer said a pole was missing but it was returned also. I asked about the trespassing waiver that Ms. Johnson referenced on her Facebook page against Ms. Wilkinson. Three separate police officers explained that a trespassing waiver could not be issued against an individual and most businesses have them to keep homeless people off their property after hours. As for verbal exchange, let’s not play insane; I am sure a few choice words were said between the two women at some point.

This narrative is making Michelle Bauchman seem warm and fuzzy. Y’all are different in Tennessee that’s for sure. In Mississippi, if we don’t like you and you put a sign on our property, we put your sign in the trash! But we are country folks so what do we know about not showing out in public. This should have ended this saga, right? Wrong. Enter the media, new and old. Refill you glass and keep reading.

While Ms. Wilkinson told her side of the story on Channel 4, Ms. Johnson channeled Palin and took to her social networking sites to share her version of events. I am a lover of new media so I get it. I asked Ms. Johnson why she was not interviewed on camera for this story. Ms. Johnson was at work when Dennis Ferrier called her and she does not conduct Metro school business when she is at work. Ms. Johnson responded by the second airing of the story featuring Ms. Wilkinson. She sent a statement to News Channel 4 but only the last sentence was read. Ms. Johnson felt WSMV rushed this story without examining all the facts. (Please tell me the media would never do such a thing!) To be totally transparent, the publisher of the Tennessee Tribune is Ms. Johnson’s play mother and mentor. I am not. The publisher, who is also the founder of Greater Nashville Black Chamber of Commerce, was not notified of the stolen sign until I contacted her. I asked about businesses in the area being alerted and she was not aware of the list serve email. Ms. Johnson stated that the sign was returned damaged; the officer’s and Ms. Wilkinson’s claimed that it was not.

What the hell is the story really about; a property manager’s duties, bad communication between owners of a property and it's employees, a missing sign not showing up on Google earth? After speaking to Ms. Wilkinson, Mr. Wilkinson, Ms. Johnson, the property manager, several metro officers, the painter, the baker and the candle stick maker, I question how much time was invested in researching this story by the media when it was originally aired. What made this story appealing to run with half the facts is the ever presence elephant in the room: Ms. Johnson voting for the rezoning of Metro school district. Some folks in the African American community, especially those that can remember attending raggedy schools that were not equal, have not forgotten that vote and the emotions that surface whenever this matter is broached were played upon in the reporting of this story. For people of color, the media should not be allowed to use those passionate feelings about the Civil Rights era to pit one against the other over and over again. No one wins, especially the community of color. It waters down the meaning of the struggle and set the community back further. Mrs. Delois Wilkinson and my grandfather did not fight tooth and nail until they took their last breath for folks to go backwards. Sign Gate, the missing political sign debacle; comes with the territory of running for office.

As for the sign being on the property, Ms. Delois Jackson Wilkinson, the business woman that I worked for and respected, said to me, “money is green.” The Onyx room is rented most weekends to reputable party goers for wedding receptions, birthday parties, fraternity events and even political figures. You got the money; you sign the security deposit, the building is yours until your time or money runs out. As crowded as this race has become for Juvenile Court Clerk, I don’t think she would have run the risk of offending any potential client whether they are a Democrat or Republican, from Alaska or Tennessee. In this economic climate, she would not have placed a political sign prominently on the front lawn of her beloved Onyx Room. (The focus is on business and not the politics.)She said often, “Business is business sweetheart, don’t take my criticism personally.” When I was asked once by a promising young man who was seeking office to drive around with signs on my trucks, I had to quickly decline. Not that I did not support him, not that I did not think he was a good candidate, but my client base was heavily supporting his opponent. I had to break it down economically to him. His people only paid $45.00 a month for pest control and I had to call him to get that. I serviced nine homes on Chickering Lane that paid $45.00 for their dog houses. Nothing personal, business is business and political signs can cost you business. I gave to him financially, but I did not put his signs on my truck.

Now, you know the rest of the story(or least as much as I could write without it being 5,000 plus words). I will be very “Presidential” and offer both women to have a glass of wine with me, my treat of course! I do not plan to solve any issues between them; I just would like a glass of wine. (Twitter hash tag #nashvillewinesummit09)

Recap of what we have learned:
1. Channel 4 did a mucky job reporting this story. Check
2. Channel 4 should have sent the reporter who follows Vic Lineweaver to funerals to investigate Sign Gate. Check
3. Ms. Johnson had permission to put the sign on 624 Jefferson Street by the property manager. Check
4. Ms. Wilkinson did not give her approval to put the sign out and is not voting for Ms. Johnson. Check
5. Ms. Wilkinson has rogue employees who make decisions without her. Check
6. Vic Lineweaver attends funerals of people he does not know. Shameful
7. Councilwoman Vivian Wilhoite did not look like the woman who took the sign. Check.
8. Holmes Pest Control treats dog houses. Check
9. We should all be drunk by now. Check
10. Mrs. Wilkinson fought to make Nashville a better place for all. Thank God!

Email of Fire Ignites Gratitude

Have you ever gotten an email that included a one line zinger that was intended to burn through your firewall? I got one two weeks ago that left me scorched and smoking. I read the little hellion at least four times wondering what I had done before or after I was born to get something with words underlined to make sure I did not miss the point.

After reading the email one final time, I sent a polite response back saying “thank you”. I did not bother to point out the fact that I did not initiate the email or dispel the insinuation that I was trying to crash a private party. Prior to Hurricane Alexis, I would have hit the reply button and fired back an email that would have set the internet ablaze. After replying, I would have thrown gasoline on the fire for good measure and felt justified because I would have sent a message that you might not like me but let’s get things twisted.

Instead, I went to a meeting to discuss my friend Kurt Nichols’ latest project, www.ripxx.com. I met with his marketing director who has a roster of who’s who clients. Kurt has developed a product that will be the next big thing in the athletics and my input was asked about a few marketing ideas. The meeting was scheduled for thirty minutes but lasted over an hour. I left knowing that I made a friend. We laughed and talked about Nashville’s politics and working together on future projects.

When I returned to my office, I had another email with a one liner in response to my polite reply waiting for me. I stared at my screen as if it was a child in need of discipline. I physically pushed myself away from my desk to keep from typing out a few choice words. My inbox was beginning to stalk me. The temptation to respond was so great that I left my office to get away from my keyboard. My second appointment of the day was in two hours but I was suddenly afraid of my ghoulish desire to reply. I did not want to repay ugly with evil. In my other life, I did evil emails well.

Arriving early, I decided to read for an hour. As I was quietly sitting in the lobby trying not to think unpleasant thoughts, I heard a voice calling my name. Correctly. I turned to see a friend that I had not seen in a few years. With time to kill, we decided to grab a cup of coffee. We exchange apologies and cried for allowing life to get in the way of our friendship. Questions about our children were endless and photos were shown as if we were moms with nursery age babies instead of young adults. We laughed about past crazy ventures and for the second time before noon, I was reminded of the power of staying positive. As our meeting came to an end, we planned our next outing. With appointments pending, we entered the elevator together and reached for the same floor. She inquired about my meeting. Coincidentally, my meeting was with her colleague and the giggling continued. An hour later, I left with a new client and a renewed friendship. My attention turned to a late lunch with another friend, Renee’, at a roach free restaurant.

During lunch, we sparred over all things political for ninety minutes. Renee’ is a dead ringer for Marsha Blackburn, so our political peppered conversation naturally drew glances in our direction. We debated Obama care, the Nashville convention center, the birth certificates of blue dogs, 2010 elections, kids, men, divorces, church folks, conservatives and liberals, upcoming balls and galas, donors and the elusive sponsors of anything non-profit. Our outbursts of laughter were followed by our pitiful attempts to whisper which only made our conversation even more comical. We took our determination to solve the world problems outside and talked for another fifteen minutes. After three attempted good-byes, we finally departed. The smoldering email was put out of my head.

Last week, I attended a luncheon with my daughter. She was seated at the head table. As I sat in the audience, watching my kid engage a banker as if she was forty instead of seventeen, the sender of the flaming email entered the room. For a split second, we paused before saying a cordial hello. At that moment, I realized I never want to become a professional sender of emails of fire.

I know if I had sent a rebuttal, an ugly email would have sparked a chain of nastiness that would have block any good that was intended for me or my love ones. Watching my daughter (who I have affectionately dubbed Hurricane Alexis in my posts) sitting confidently with manners and poise, helped me to realized that emails of fire should never extinguish your joy. After the luncheon, the banker came over and said he was a father of three sons and if he had a daughter he would want his daughter to be like my Hurricane Alexis. Tears came immediately to my eyes. The banker had no idea how much that meant to me or my trials with my precious category 5 child.

An email sent to belittle and put me in my place actually made me a more grateful person. Being refined by fire took on a new meaning that day. To my dear email sender, I must say “Thank you”; you have no idea how much good will and gratitude your email ignited.

Genma Holmes Speaks to Women's Council of Realtors

Genma Holmes will speak to the Nashville Chapter of the Women’s Council of Realtors on October, 7th 2009 @ the Richland Country Club on Granny White Pike. Holmes will discuss Cultural Diversity in the marketplace.

Holmes will share her experiences working in a non-traditional industry as a woman of color and ways one can grow a business through multicultural marketing and outreach.

Holmes speaks to thousands nationally and is the owner of Holmes Pest Control and GSH Consulting, LLC. Holmes has been featured in countless magazines and is a syndicated writer.

For more info about the WCR got to: www.nashville.wcr-tn.com

Nashville's Blogosphere bad case of Diarrhea

The Nashville blogosphere had a bad case of diarrhea last week. An incendiary title of a blog post on a political website left many speechless or scratching their heads about the message the title conveyed. The blog regarding the political campaign of Steve Turner who is challenging Rep. Mary Pruitt of District 58 went from a posting to a full page “what was I thinking” recant. The original blog was not a commentary but an intentional headline with a video of Mr. Turner asking for voters’ support. Some readers on twitter mentioned they were having a ‘discussion’ about race because they were leaving comments. Hmm…the last time I checked a discussion was not comments left on a website. Those are comments.

My twitter account was flooded with DM and my cell was blazing from followers of my blog who knew of my gastrointestinal infection I received from a website a few months back. My family and friends were suffering from clinical worry because of the backlash from a story I wrote in the Tennessee Tribune. Lil old innocent me saying something crazy…never! My folks said it was equivalent to a colonoscopy without anesthesia. Ouch.

I clicked on the links I was sent and I immediately burst into an off key version of Brittany Spear’s “Oops… I did again!” Reading the comment section, I drew the conclusions that folks had a number of pent up issues that were being “voiced”. By the end of the day, a big guy weighed in and gave his commentary on the love of all people that only added fuel to the inferno by many accounts.

I have learned from my years of ‘diversity’ training; never tell folks your list of accomplishments viewed through rose colored lenses. Now days, folks pull out that calculator and start adding. In the days of yesteryear, putting a few blacks on a few “boards”, with no power or authority, was how Nashville showed diversity. A few pictures on society pages and filling those two slots in “Nashville Leaders Now” was the pat on the back that Nashville community gave itself, as it shouted, “We have come a long way”. With a younger generation, who care less about being invited to special balls, being in special issues, and special meetings in special places, folks look at what you do and not what you say you thought you did. I will forever and ever ask companies, corporations and organizations; how many people of color you have employed this year? None. How many in the last five years? Three…geez. How many vendors of color your company hired in the last year? What is the makeup of your management? Are you window dressing or what? The comments were asking the same questions. The fruit of your efforts to diversify and embrace other cultures will actually yield diversity of thought, race and gender in your company, corporation, or organization if that is REALLY a goal. Nashville is alive with diversity; Kurds, Hispanics, Latinos, Asians. Nashville has become a melting pot of ethnics groups from around the globe.

(In my world of diversity, women are usually at the forefront of my conversations. Tennessee ranks 46th in pay equity and 50th in political participation with women.)
Working with people from all backgrounds is what makes the marketplace a wonderful place. I don’t know the hearts of individuals and I am not a mind reader. But we are seeing a national trend that race baiting is proving to draw more viewers or readers. It is in the air like a bad case of flu and it is spreading rapidly. It was a condition often attributed to the blogs that were written without journalistic standards but we are seeing more and more of it in all media forms now.

I do not write to spew hate or marginalize a group or a person. That was not my grandfather’s teaching and he is my inspiration for writing. My posts about Tavis Smiley sent him into a tizzy but I wrote commentary that was backed up with facts. I did not insinuate or send subliminal messages. You didn’t have to guess my thoughts, I told you exactly what I wanted you to know. I was not on a witch hunt with Mr. Smiley nor do I have any ill will directed at him. But I believe strongly the media, especially black media, gave him a pass and did not ask questions of his relationship with Wells Fargo. Mr. Smiley has done a lot of good but I did not hesitate to call him out.

As for the diarrhea in our blogosphere last week, I hope everyone has recovered. If Mr. Turner’s campaign is following the national trend, usually the kind of attention he got last week should have netted him extra funds for his campaign. I know I am paying closer attention to the Turner vs. Pruitt race than I was a week prior to the blog post. Good luck and stay away from blogs that are known to have regular bouts of mad men diarrhea.

Breaking News: Whoopi, Polanski IS a Pervert

I watched Whoopi Goldberg defend Roman Polanski and heard her state that Polanski did not commit “rape rape” of a 13 year old. I wondered immediately if the world of stardom included their lack of reading and comprehension of life outside of their limo rides and dressing rooms. It was as if all of “Hollywood” had taken a page out of politicians’ handbook and were using the same talking points to defend one of their own. Several times throughout the day, I heard the newly coined “rape, rape” referenced. I had the sudden urge to fly to California and rent a jack hammer and disfigure all stars on Hollywood’s Walk of Fame.

A quick internet search yielded the actual documents that detailed the crimes that Polanski was accused of committing. I did not get very far in my reading because he did more than rape a child, he stole her soul. As his hideous acts of indecency to a minor child were there for all to see, I wondered if Whoopi had read any of the recent accounts of Jaycee Duggard and Elizabeth Smart. Not cases from thirty years ago but more recent headlines and foul details of men Polanski age that did the same revolting unforgivable crimes to underage girls. No, Polanski did not kidnap his victim but his criminal behavior was the same as Garrido and Mitchell. They did not have hot tubs full of famous friends but their victims have lived to tell what was done to them. Polanski may have won numerous awards for his talents as a film maker but he also deserves another award, sentencing to jail.

Since Whoopi has recanted her early statement (the hate mail was overwhelming); let’s look at her original words “rape rape” and see how Polanski actions are similar with the other creatures that have the same DNA from Satan.

1. “No, please don’t”. Polanski, Garrido, Brian Mitchell victims begged for mercy before they were kidnapped, raped, forced lewd acts upon, and/ or sodomized. They were afraid, terrorized and forced against their will.
2. Elizabeth Smart 14, Jaycee Duggard 11, and Samantha Geimer 13 were not of legal age to buy drinks, tobacco, let alone “have sex” with Mitchell, Garrido, or Polanski willingly.
3. Each offender was in relationships with women who enabled or defended the actions of each pervert. Mitchell‘s accomplice in the kidnapping of Elizabeth Smart was Wanda Ileen Barzee. Phillip Garrido was married to his enabler, Nancy Garrido. Garrido met his wife while she was visiting a relative in prison. Garrido also had a neighbor who defended him publically while ignoring the missing child posters that were revisited once Jaycee was found. Polanski despite his criminal charges was married and his chorus of supporters included famous celebrities like Whoopi and Debra Winger and fellow famous predators like Wood Allen.
4. Polanski, Garrido, and Mitchell were all able to blend into society appearing normal while holding down jobs in plain sight. Polanski continued to make movies and even gave interviews in the last year where he spoke about his crime as if he was dismissing a fleeting fling. Garrido gave tips once on how to keep your child safe, and Mitchell was allowed into homes as a handyman. Mitchell did not bother to hide; he boldly walked the streets with Smart!
5. All of these men have justified their actions. Polanski said it was consensual in spite of the grand jury testimony by Samantha Geimer and hospital reports that show otherwise. Phillip Garrido, who has served time for rape and torture of women and young girls, believes that once all the sordid details of the 18 years of Jaycee’s captivity are revealed, you will hear a wonderful redemptive story. Wth? Mitchell also gives scriptural highlights for his repeated rape of a 14 year over a nine month period who he “married” in the middle of the night after he kidnapped her.

The similarities between the men are endless. Whoopi initial words revealed an evil code of silence that needed to be scrutinized. Stars live in an alternate universe that we help shaped; the rush to stand so unashamedly behind Polanski should make all of us think twice about wanting to idolize anyone.

Yes, Polanski's victim wants us to move on from this story and that is understandable. But Polanski crimes and lack of punishment tells us that until our society cherishes our young and women, these crimes will be committed again and again; openly, without shame and unpunished. We cannot “renamed” rape and allow it to be swept under the Hollywood’s red carpet.

Samantha Gruier grand jury testimony in 1977:

http://www.thesmokinggun.com/archive/polanskicover1.html

Elizabeth Smart testifying against in Brian Mitchell in 2009:

Asked by a prosecutor to describe Brian David Mitchell, the self-described prophet accused of holding her captive for nine months, Ms Smart replied: “Evil, wicked, manipulative, stinky, slimy, greedy, selfish, not spiritual, not religious, not close to God.”

Elizabeth’s description of Mitchell could be said of Garrido and Polanski. We must be proactive and protective our young from predators even the ones who walk the red carpet.

A wreck, pest control, and Ole Miss: the Update

I shared about last Wednesday being one of those days. I received a call informing me one of my vehicles had been involved in a wreck and one of the individuals in the accident was a teenager. The joy I was feeling earlier that day came to a screeching halt. I rushed to the scene of the accident to make sure my star bug killer was unharmed. My concern for the young teenager sent my mommy heart into overdrive. I prayed silently for everyone’s safety.

After I arrived, I met everyone involved in the accident. It looked bad but my guy looked okay. Hugs and kisses followed my relief. Hayden Morgan, the teen, drove the shiny black car. His mom came right away to make sure he was all right. I found them sitting in a SUV with an Ole Miss decal. Finding Hayden without a scratch and his mother sitting calmly, I asked about the decal. Our initial banter and greetings led me to mention the Music City Rebel Golf tournament organized by Ken Ford. Hayden’s mom informed me that he played golf for his school and I invited him to play for my team. He said yes and asked about getting other players.

I could not believe that an awful accident on I-65 would net me a golf team. Hayden’s mom was sweet and we could have talked all night. I left with more than I could have ever hoped or imagine from a car wreck of all things. I left the side of the road, minus one truck, impacted by the goodness of others. When I arrived home that evening, Hayden had emailed me to confirm he would play. I called Ken Ford to let him know of the change of plans regarding the tournament. He was concerned about us but could not believe I asked someone at the sight of an accident to play golf. I wanted to tell him so badly; I think we are going to win but I keep my thoughts to myself.

On Thursday, I heard from Hayden’s dad. The loving father reassured me that his son will be at the tournament. He also informed me that one of the players worked for him. This family was first class all the way, the follow up was impressive. I was emailed the players names which I forwarded to Ken. I mentioned my chance encounter to anyone who would listen. My twitter buddies were sharing the story with others and the wreck on I-65 was spreading around town. Hayden’s mom told me how glad she was we met even though the circumstances were not the best. I wondered how many good people I have seen on the side of the road and did not bother to help. Or how many fender benders I have been in and did not engage the other driver. Thank God for His grace to correct bad behavior.

I called Hal Cato to make sure he passed the story on to his mom who is an Ole Miss Alumni supporter. I said, “Guess who is playing for us in the tournament on Friday? The kid from the wreck…he attends Montgomery Bell Academy.” Hal immediately erupted into laughter. I was informed later that MBA’s golf team practices at the Golf Club of Tennessee. Are you kidding me? The kid from the wreck practices on one of the most exclusive golf courses in the country. Can I pick them or what? I looked up his team and believed with certainty, I picked a winner. I could close my eyes and visualize a spring fundraiser.

On Friday morning, I called Ken to let him know I will be there right away. I wanted to visit with the resident PGA pro, James Paschal and introduce my star team to James, a living legend in golf circles in Tennessee. James would be a great person to share his life with Hayden. As I stood on the back porch of the Gaylord’s golf club, I watched the young players warm up. When I saw Hayden’s swing, I knew in my gut, the trophies were coming home to the owners of the wrecked pest control truck! Ole Miss will beat Vandy on Saturday but the Ole Miss Alumni will not win a trophy at the golf tournament.

My oldest son called to give me his usual instructions on how to behave in public. “Mom, do not hug people, it is so embarrassing,” he scolded. My sons despise my public displays of affection. Lord, I couldn’t help myself, I yelled out to Hayden and greeted him as he was one of my own. I turned to the young lady checking in the players and said proudly, “I got money on that team, they are going to win.”

Like a mama eagle watching her young take flight, I stayed until they started their game. I had a tremendous amount of pride for the players I just met. I had spoken to Mrs. Morgan (Sharon) several times since our faithful encounter and we talked as if have known each other for years instead of a few days. I checked in on the team throughout the day. Their game faces were locked in place and they appeared serious about competing. These young men love of golf was obvious.

On Saturday, Ken called. He sounded like a defeated Vandy fan, “Genma, they won everything,” he proclaimed. I could hear the shock, disbelief and amusement all rolled into his Mississippi drawl. “They cleaned up”. I was laughing and yelling. I could not hold back an “I told you”. Ken had to tell everybody how they ended up in the tournament. My team, from the wreck, won the grand prize and individual trophies. Yes! When I told him that Austin was a sophomore, you could hear a pin drop. “The Rebels with a cause” were beaten by a sophomore and a junior. You can’t make this stuff up.

My next call was to Sharon, we were hysterical as soon as I said “hello”. Between chuckles, we managed to talk about her family and visiting friends' reactions. She was shocked when Hayden walked in the house with the golf irons, his share of the prizes for playing. Hayden and Austin will give the cash donations from the wager I made to the Oasis Center. What a great ending to an awful beginning. I got bragging rights for the next twenty years, I met one amazing family, and the Oasis Center will receive a monetary gift. God is good. The little things in life are often so gianormous that we can’t always put them in one story. I will never forget meeting the young man on the side of the road. I think I found a new way to engage the teens at the Oasis Center…golf and driving lessons!

Team members:
Hayden Morgan
Austin Doebler
John Markham
Derrick Centers

Ole Miss vs. Vandy 23-7

One of those days: A wreck, pest control and Ole Miss

Yesterday was one of those days. After working in the rain for fifteen days straight, trying to catch up with everyone and everything in the sunshine was cathartic. The sun was shining brightly and all I could think about was how beautiful the Nashville’s skyline looks in the fall. I reflected on all the devastation and water I had seen over the last few weeks that made me so grateful for life. I was bubbling as I walked into several clients’ offices to say hello while dropping off proposals that had been delayed due to the downpours from the sky.

As I headed over to Gaylord to meet with a prospective client, I got a call that changed that cheerful demeanor. I was told that one of my trucks was involved in an accident. Dang...not now, I thought. I called to make sure everyone was okay. I was informed no one was hurt but a teenager was involved in the accident. My mommy heart was tugged at immediately and I whispered, “Not someone’s child”. I asked again if anyone was hurt. I know how many times I have called and tried to minimize the damage in order to keep the person on the other end of the call calm and I figured I was being given the same treatment. I was reassured that no one was hurt but I was analyzing the information I was given; four vehicles, in the middle of rush hour traffic, on I-65, with a teenager driving one of the cars sounded bad to my mommy ears. I rushed to the office to grab insurance papers and an emergency spill kit just in case chemicals were all over the highway. Even though the truck was prepared for occasions such as this, an extra kit made good sense to me.

Trying not to speed as I was driving, my Mom hat was switched to my CEO hat. I called back firing off questions trying to grasp the situation and assess liabilities. Have you checked on the other drivers? How much damage did our vehicle do to the other car? I asked for the sequence of the accident. What truck are you driving? That one…then take the signs off of the truck, we don’t need to make the news tonight. Have you spoken to the police? Have you canceled your other stops? My questions were non-stop as my mind raced ahead.

I knew I was close to the accident because traffic suddenly came to a stop. In Nashville, a fender bender can shut down an interstate so I could only imagine what four cars can do when thousands of commuters were on their way home. After endless minutes of barely moving, I was able to pick up speed. I turned the bend on I-65 to see my truck on the shoulder. A leg sticking out of the passenger side door of my green pest control truck made my heart skip a beat as I decided to put on my emergency blinkers to drive pass the slow moving gawkers. Not bothering to look dignified, I jumped from my vehicle to see what awaited me. I peered into the wrecked truck and asked, “Are you okay?” I was given a brief nod and I gave my star bug killer a big hug and a kiss. Trying to check for broken bones, he pushed me away to finish up his call with the insurance company. I looked at the truck and thought to myself that will never be repaired. It looked as if was crumbled paper instead of metal.

I checked out the car directly in front of me and I was sending up a prayer that my F-250 did not hit the smaller car. The trunk looked as if it was rolled back can of sardines.I knocked on the window to see if the driver was okay. Dressed in scrubs, the driver said she was fine and apologized about the wreck. I gave her a squeeze and thanked God no one was hurt. Continuing to check on the others, I passed by a new looking shiny BMW without an occupant and walked to the fourth vehicle, a SUV which was sporting an Ole Miss decal. I peered into the truck and introduced myself to the driver, an attractive mom who looked free from anxiety. Her son was the teenager in the accident and she came as soon as she got the call. An Ole Miss’s decal, a mom who cares, an unhurt cute son… instant friends. After shaking the hands of her son, the mom and I began conversing like we were neighbors instead of strangers. I asked the mom about the Ole Miss sign and she said her daughter attends the university. I lapsed into my “I am from Mississippi” and we asked the usual “do you know” questions. I mentioned the Music City Rebels Golf Tournament on Friday that is being chaired by my friend, Ken Ford. “Lots of Ole Miss Alumni will be in attendance,” I shared. She surprised me and said her son plays golf for his high school. Hmm…I knew blessings are often disguised but this was making me smile and giving me a few bumps. This accident was no accident. I was meeting great people on the side of the road. Why did this encounter have a familiar ring to me?

Seeing an opportunity among the wreckage, I recruited her son to play. Holmes Pest Control was a sponsor of the Music City Rebels Golf Tournament. I jokingly said as I pointed to my bug killer, “I am going to need another player.” Her son, fresh from an accident, lit up like holiday decor. He asked about his school’s golf team playing. We spent the next twenty minutes discussing the golf tournament and pest control. I was loading the mom down with pest control info for future service and her son was busy texting about the golf tournament. It was not long before we were joined by the children of the other driver. It was one happy reunion, drivers of wrecked vehicles smiling as if we had no care in the world. My children called to say they were on their way and I begged them to stay put. The party would have spilled over into the traffic if my three joined the festivities.

A wrecker arrived to tow the first car as the police was leaving. By then, we had solved every major crisis in the world. The mothers were great women who I am sure I will see them again, the police officer was genuine, I got a team for the golf tournament and my favorite bug killer just wanted to finish his route. I was grateful that no one was hurt and thrilled that I managed to sell pest control and promote a golf tournament on I-65. That fantastic happy feeling I started my day with was oozing out of my pores once again. I drove home with chemicals everywhere and one less truck in my “fleet” but blessed to have another encounter meeting wonderful people on the road less travel in my life. As I continue to meet folks on my journey, I am reminded about the goodness of people and the power that comes from having sunshine in your life.

For more info about the golf tournament: http://musiccityrebels.ning.com/

A National Epidemic, Teens killing Teens

I wrote this post while wiping tears and yelling at my monitor. I watched a few minutes of the video of the senseless beating death of the Chicago teen, Derrion Albert, 16, who was an A student at his school. I could not get my mind around the fact that no one intervened. No one. I could not believe that no one yelled out or ran to get help. As I listened to "fonevideographer" give commentary while the life of a young man who had many possibilities slipped from his ravaged body, I literally got ill. I could not watch the entire video.

I thought of the parents whose son's death has been immortalized on You tube because he was doing what young people should be doing: going to school and making good grades. My heart goes out to them. The details and the “whys” of this vicious crime have been lost among the cries of outrage and righteous indignation. An epidemic of criminal activity committed by young males has terrorized our nation. Chicago has become known for being most dangerous city for school children. Going to school can get you killed! Chicago is not alone in grabbing headlines. Florida’s horrendous rape and beating of a mother and son in the notorious Dunbar Village case left many calling the perpetrators "savages". Mainstream media by-passed the story that was covered by the blog What About Our Daughters. After two years, the young men were finally sentenced last month.

Teens killing teens have made the news right here in Nashville. In the last two weeks, two teens have been involved in shootings. Reading through the month of September’s press releases issued by MNPD, teens made up a third of the crimes reported. The number of teens who were nabbed from truancy sweeps in a one month period was staggering. Not attending school during school hours is a recipe for disaster. As I counted the number of children who were arrested for not being in school in a one month period, I wondered what they were doing if they were not in school. Looking for trouble to find them? What can we, as a city, do to help end the violence and get help for young people who choose to pull a trigger or beat another to death?

It is going to take more than a few people. It is literally going to take a village…our city. Working together across race, gender, or religious affiliation for solutions and to implement changes must start sooner than later. This should be the top priority for everyone: parents, schools, and congregations. We cannot point to one particular situation or group to blame because the violence that has snared our youth does not care about situations or groups.

This week, everyone on radio, television and the blogosphere has talked about the condition of our youth. I heard one DJ complain that it was the music lyrics that our young people listen too and a TV pundit suggested it was the glorification of rappers and stars who behave badly that has influenced young people to act the way they do. That may be the case but we as parents must step up as well. Home training must become popular again. The images of Nene cursing her “friends” at every turn and the Kaynes of the world suggesting to us that we blame our foolishness on your mother’s death, only add to the discord that our country has embraced so proudly. We have glamorized ignorance. Add a Facebook poll asking about the assassination of the President and pics of every inch of one’s body swapped back and forth on the Internet like young people are trading marbles-these sorts of activites gives us an indication of the “condition” of our youth today. Often, our youth depict what we value and prioritize as a country or a people. Our national discord is fast becoming anarchy.

We must support community heroes who are trying to make a difference. Jeff O. Carr sitting on a roof for a week to raise $30,000 to keep our youth out of trouble is noble and commendable. At the same time, it is upsetting that it took a week for the community of color to donate $30,000 to sustain a theater that will nurture young people’s artistic talents and keep them safe. If that was a ball or gala to glorify egos, the money would have been raised within a few hours. Yep, I said it. In an Oasis board meeting on Tuesday, I could not help but mention the violence that we are witnessing among our youth across the country and in Nashville. We are not Somalia with teen pirates under the leadership of drug lords who kill for a dime and a pack of cigarettes. We are not Haiti, a country lacking leadership where nearly 75% of the people in the country are under the age of 19. We are not Mexico, Darfur, or the Congo. So why are we allowing abnormal gruesome behavior to become our expectation for our youth as if the are living in wild? I refuse to believe that our young cannot be helped even when I feel helpless at times or overwhelmed by the constant stream of ghastly news.

We must work together…we are Nashville. We can do better. I will close with a thank you. Jeff O. Carr thanks for caring about our youth. You are a leader with heart and soul and your love for young people is contagious. Your spirit need to be imitated. Quickly!

Churchfolks and Roaches

When we started Holmes Pest Control, my kids were practically babies and a handful. Now that they are older, nothing has changed. This time of year reminds me of all the big goals I had for the company initially. I believed starting a company and being patronized by all the people I knew would be a walk in the park. Pick a person and I can do three degrees of separation. The pest control business has been very good to my family. I thank God everyday for every critter he created for HPC to kill and I am thankful for every customer that has been given to us. A customer is more than a customer, they are family and friends. However, it has not been a walk in the park but I am grateful for choosing the road less traveled.

Many moons ago, I naturally assumed the customers on the Goodlettsville - Tennessee State University route we serviced while working for another company would naturally want to become our customers once we started our own business. As the foundation was being laid to start HPC, I volunteered to set appointments for the national known company that employed my husband. Everything about the commercial pest control was at our finger tips, but we had no clue about the residential side of the industry. Calling customers nightly and talking about everything to everybody helped me to understand, firsthand, the likes and dislikes of homeowners. Several large churches were on the 400-plus monthly customer route. After a year of learning names and numbers, I began to share my dream of business ownership with others.

Each time I would express my desire to become a business owner, I was always reassured that when the time was right they would want to be our customer as well. “We would never leave you guys”, we heard over and over. Since the pastors on the route had the most influence, we met with many to discuss our plans. The ministers gave us hugs and reassurances to fight the good fight and to do well. After two years of working for someone, we struck out on our own. Holmes Pest Control was in business and we were officially a “minority-owned" pest control service ready to do business in Nashville! With the excitement of a kindergartner starting school, I went door to door selling Holmes Pest Control.

On a crisp fall day, armed with 400 names, freshly printed pamphlets in hand, and a good pair of shoes; determined and driven, I knocked on doors from morning to night. But there was a slight problem, the customers were firmly planted. My business plan was surmised around customers who were brand loyal to another company not the service that was given to them by us while working for that brand. I did not have a plan B when they did not become customer with Holmes Pest Control. A route that we had serviced for two years, predominantly minority and middle income were not feeling the love for a young start up company with three hollering kids. Out of 400 plus customers, only four came with us. A future vice-mayor, a future councilman, a pediatrician, and character I lovingly called Mr. Slick. All of them are still with us today and considered close friends. Each of them has stayed with us through the good and bad times, personally and professionally. Of our four customers, Mr. Slick’s persona was peculiar and his referrals were unique like him.

He called at odd times with to do lists that were endless. He had rental properties all over town which we did not have keys too; therefore he accompanied us on every trip. No matter how far the drive or how long the job took, he remained with us as we worked. He passed the timed complaining, criticizing, and dissecting us while we worked silently. We never responded to his tirades no matter how his words hurt. After a year of working with Mr. Slick, he called two days before Christmas to get his properties treated. We had packed the vehicle to visit my parents but we unpacked and reloaded it with chemicals for Mr. Slick. After following him around town for an entire day, he told us he wanted us to meet him back as his place. Dog-tired and thoroughly confused, we followed him home without speaking a word about our special customer with his eccentric demands. He came out with an envelope stuffed with cash. He always paid in cash but the envelope was much thicker than usual. “Get something for them babies,” he said in a gruff voice. He also told us his church needed pest control. I was floored. Not about the extra thousand dollars but that he mentioned church. “God provides,” was my comment for my ugly thoughts. Churches were a hard sell. Church folks love pest control service but if you are not on first names with a Bishop, a Reverend Doctor, and Saint Peter…keep walking. Christmas arrived two days earlier for the Holmes family.

After the holidays, we attended service with Mr. Slick. He wanted to introduce us to the pastor and church board. In my Sunday's best, I came prepared with brochures and a contract. Being raised in a multi-denominational family and a graduate of Catholic high school, visiting churches was always an adventure. His church took me back to the old days of fanning and fainting, long and lively, and pious preaching. As I was visually checking out the church folks, I could not miss the bugs. Yep, this church was open to everyone, including roaches. As the minister started delivering his message, I could see smaller roaches starting to scurry. About fifteen minutes into his sermon, the roaches were coming for an alter call. The more he banged on the podium, the more the roaches appeared. I knew this where I needed be. Since the roaches were coming into the light, I felt moved to be thankful. Kicking Roger, I pointed to the roaches and he started clapping as well. The more we clapped the more bugs we saw. Needless to say, we cut a shine right down the aisle. I was praying this church became our customer. Mr. Slick, Deacon Slick on Sundays, was sitting in corner wishing he never invited us. I could read his body language. He knew we saw the roaches and I knew he was going to have to explain his visitors’ “happiness” at the next board meeting.

We got the contract but it was not given right away. We sat out in the hallway while churchfolks with roaches looked for every reason under God’s blue sky not to do business with us. They hid nothing and every suspicion about dealing with a young company was discussed openly with us listening. Humility has many levels and remembering I had three kids to feed kept me from walking out the door. I refused to allow pride to hinder a blessing in disguise.

Years later, Mr. Slick is still a customer. His health has deteriorated over time and he does not call as often but he still gives his commentary. I send highlights of “them babies” often. He gave me the “skinny boy's” gift for graduation this year; cash in an envelope as usual. He finds it hard to believe they are young adults. For Father’s Day this summer, I took him a pie, sweet potato of course, and a card with their signatures on it. He smiled quietly and I could see the humility that comes with aging. As I was leaving his home that we have served over the last decade, I reminded him of our church visit and the lessons we learned that fateful day.

I told Mr. Slick he taught us to be faithful, we learned that four customers that believe in your mission is better than 400 who do not, drop the label minority-owned and just be Holmes Pest Control and don’t be afraid to shout when you are happy. Giving him a big hug as I said good-bye, I was reminded how many interesting churchfolks one meets on the road less traveled.

My Memories of 9/12

When the Twin Towers were hit on the morning of 9/11/01, I was talking on the phone with Carolyn Waller, then-owner of Premier Art Décor. We were discussing the details of James Threadkill’s upcoming art show. We were stunned, to say the least. We immediately reacted with cries and shouts, followed quickly by Carolyn’s prayers. As the extent of the devastation grew, I could not turn off my television. Throughout the day, I watched NBC. The Today Show morning program became one endless loop of grim and shocking images.

The next day, 9/12, I was an exhausted ball of emotions. My endless tears became dry sobs. When I could get through, I phoned family and friends to say, "I love you." I called several mothers whose children had attended college in New York to ask about their safety. I phoned every model and fashion show coordinator I had ever worked with wanting to hear “I am okay.” Everyone in New York had a story of someone who had not heard from a loved one or knew someone who worked downtown. My heart was heavier with each call. Weary and distraught, I continued to dial friends and acquaintances in New York and New Jersey. I was determined to reach as many people as I could. Knowing no one would answer, I even called the offices of Black Enterprise.

On 9/12, planes and other transportation came to a screeching halt, phone lines were stretched to capacity, the death counts were rising by the minute, and numbness and pain were etched in the faces of everyone on television. It felt as the world that I knew it had come to an end and I was seeing a small glimpse of the ultimate judgment day. I was terrified along with everyone else.

My television was still on NBC and the descriptions of the aftermath were more that I could fathom. Local churches, synagogues, and mosques in Nashville were filled to capacity with folks seeking solace and spiritual guidance from their leaders, and comforting others. It was not unusual to see total strangers, united in their shock, embracing each other. Even though whispers of the unknown hung in the air like a fog on a dark dreary night, Americans were overwhelmingly without animosity toward each other. We were all Americans on 9/12, helping our fellow citizens through a national tragedy.

After comforting others, I found relief in the book of Job. Not to preach my faith to others, but I found reassurance in God’s word. Job, a faithful man, lost everything. He was devastated, yet God was with him through his entire ordeal. God was faithful to Job even when others were not. He was mocked and ridiculed, experienced ruin, betrayal, alienation, illness, and rebuke. Financial loss is one thing but Job lost his family. At one point, I wondered why I picked passages from Job to read at a disastrous time in our country.

As soon as I asked my question inwardly, I was immediately reminded of the power of Job’s story. The book of Job, one long poem, asks why innocent people suffer. God, who is always faithful, cares about his people, even when we do not see His hands or lose our footing. Our time is not His time. We often lacks patience and perseverance. Through all the desolation, Job refused to insult God. His faithfulness and steadfastness was rewarded by God by not only restoring him to his former prominence but he sent a wise man to explain truth to Job and the very friends that were so eager to denounce Job’s faith. Job’s decision to follow God even in despair replenished my soul on 9/12.

After reading Job, I wanted to help anyone who needed me. Bolstered by the sense that even when bleeding and in pain, Americans could come together, I made my way to the airport, giving out toiletries to strangers, as well as diapers, milk, and bottled water to stranded moms. Carolyn Waller called later that evening to say that after prayer and speaking with James Threadkill, the show would go on. “We will not be beaten by fear,” she said passionately. My eternal distress was uplifted by her determination to stay positive.

When I turned on C-SPAN Saturday to watch the 9/12 Project, promoted by media entertainer Glenn Beck, I was expecting to be reminded of the same determination for our country to stay positive, resilient, and united that I remembered eight years ago. I was expecting to to recall memories of rededication to work with each other to make our country better, because that was experienced on 9/12/01. What I saw left me wondering why 9/12/09 Glenn Beck would evoke a time remarkable for national unity as a backdrop for this event. His fomenting of discord toward our government was hard to miss and opposite of what so many Americans felt in their hearts on 9/12/01. Instead, the thousands covered on C-SPAN expressed anger and disillusionment for an America that protesters barely recognize anymore. What a contrast to the crowds we watched on our television screens on 9/12/01 when the fundamental goodness and tenacity of the American people were on full display. No one shouted down our country leaders on 9/12/01. I remembered that time being bleak, but also marked by the undeniable strength of our country, for all of its diversity.

Protesting is American as apple or sweet potato pie and there is no attempt by my post to deny anyone the right to protest. But the mindset of our country on 9/12/01 was not the message shaped by Glenn Beck on Saturday, 9/12/09. Glenn Beck, who remained in New York while protesters assembled in DC, exploited a somber chapter in our national experience in a way that should dishearten anyone who remembers that day as vividly as I do. For Glen Beck To use the memories of Americans who lost their lives and the anxious days that followed a horrific moment in OUR country’s history to promote his ideology is not only shameful but disrespectful to the families, first responders, the City of New York and our great country. Protest please, by all means, but let’s not pretend project 9/12/09 was a depiction of the state of the country eight years ago because it was not. On 9/12/01 many Americans were grieving but united. No one chanted angrily about taxes, Marxism, socialism, communism, Nazi, Hitler, Germany, and states’ rights were not words I heard on 9/12/01. I remember Americans standing tall in midst of a tragedy was my memory of 9/12/01. To evoke the memories of 9/11/01 and 9/12/01 and to promote a "project" that represents a perversion of ideals distilled in those wrenching days is degrading, even for a media entertainer. let's no distort the memories of the innocent. Let's call Saturday what it really was: the Glenn Beck Show.

New York Skyline 9/09/01
Painting: James R. Threalkill. A Mother's Embrace. 1992. 48 x 36 inches. Painting · oil · canvas. $3000.00.

A Sharecropper's Healthcare Plan

My grandfather never held political office but he was born for the political arena. He knew the issues before the issues became stories. The summer of ’75 was my introduction to political campaigns, thanks to my grandfather who I affectionately called “Daddy”.

My grandfather was asked that year to work on an ambitious gubernatorial campaign that would include Blacks and Whites working together. This campaign would focus on the “The working man’s friend”. The lack of job security was one issue that united Mississippians. “Everyone needs a job,” was impressed upon my grandfather. The promise of bringing manufacturing jobs to a state that had relied heavily on agriculture caught my grandfather’s attention. Daddy was a lover of politics, but reserved a fair amount of skepticism for anyone in political office. One of his favorite sayings was “They all lie and will eat their young to get elected.” But Daddy seemed enthusiastic about this particular campaign. I was nine years old working beside my grandfather, the master of political campaigns.

Daddy learned every candidate inside and out and taught his grandchildren everything about grass root campaigning. Pick a candidate and Daddy could tell you about his childhood, his personal life, his military service, his political view points and most importantly, the issues. Daddy was not entrenched in party affiliations but believed financial independence for families was more important than a letter by the politician’s name. Lack of job readiness and the skyrocketing unemployment could not be ignored. “Stick to the issues,” my grandfather told us over and over as we knocked on doors and shared with everyone their vote was important. “Don’t debate fear and hate,” he would add. Fear? Hate? Wait a minute. Why was he mentioning fear and hate when he wanted us to help register voters, give out campaign cards and hang posters on electric poles along Hwy 61? I dared not pose my questions out loud…no one questioned my grandfather.

We hit the counties that were heavily agricultural. Not cities or small towns but the countryside where soybeans and cotton fields grew as far as the eye can see and little shanty houses were dotted every few acres. That is where I encountered the fear of the unknown that was meshed with hatred of learning the truth. Knocking on doors was an education of a lifetime. One encounter will always remain with me.

I knocked on the door of a sharecropper’s home. I was prepared with my best repertoire with a smile. An elderly woman answered the door looking at me like I was an alien from another world as I extended my hand to shake hers. I stood straight and tall in my campaign t-shirt with ribbons tied on my ponytails. I had a lunch box which I used to keep my campaign fliers, voter lists and property information. I shared about jobs and employment as if I was saying my Easter speech at church.

Her response to my banter was unexpected. She spoke with hostility as she informed me her land would not be taken from her. ‘They’ were not going to remove her from her home. “This is my land,” she repeated sternly as she pointed to no place in particular and no one was going to take it. I glanced out at the acres of crops planted up to the steps and looked back at her, announcing innocently, “This is not your land you, you pick cotton for Mr. Jones. Daddy wants to help you get a job so you can buy your own house.” (Mr. Jones, the owner of the land, lived in the big yellow house at the end of the dirt road that we could see from the front porch.)

At that moment, the Mississippi River dried up that day. A nine year old was telling an elder that she didn’t know what she was talking about and shattering her belief that she owned the land that she toiled for decades. Watching her expression change, I knew I was in trouble with her and my granddaddy.

Our beliefs, accurate or inaccurate, can help us survive challenging circumstances.The woman's world view was consistent with what most sharecroppers believed. Although they lived and worked on land that many would never own, many believed that the landowner would one day give it to them because they were told this by the owner, who in turn, benefited from them believing the lie. I handed her a property list from my lunch box that listed the landowner; it also stated he was a registered voter. She was not listed as a registered voter. She asked, “Where did you get this from little girl?” I said proudly, “Daddy. He got it from the court house.” Beaming, I told her to go to the court house and ask for the records from the clerk. My mother, who taught me about records and deeds, worked in the tax assessor’s office assisting homeowner’s file their homestead exemptions.

The woman grew pale and seemed to age as she told me she was going to tell my folks that I had sassed her. She sat down abruptly on a bench and as she continued to mumble it was her land. I did not know if I had educated her or killed her. I decided if I am going to get a whipping, I better make sure I told everything. I proceeded to tell her how much land Mr. Jones owned throughout the county. My words were backed up by the property list. But she continued to say she owned the land as if she was trying to convince herself. I remember another saying of my grandfather’s “Never argue with a fool, they will either win the argument or kill you.” Sensing her despair and frustration, I backed off the porch and wished her a good day as I skipped off to catch up with my cousins who were waiting. Hearing the bench move, my skipping was replaced by running. Fear for my safety made me run faster. The more things change the more things remain the same.

How many understand the issues that have polarized communities around the nation with fear of what ifs and misinformation? The town hall meetings shown on cable news are as confusing as the language being used to describe the events. The media has focused on the drama rather than the real issues.

Have you read the bill, HR 3200? Not the talking points given to industry insiders, pundits or politicians’ stomp speeches, but the actual bill itself. I have been reading the bill for the last month. I have not made it to page 500 of 1,081 pages document. I called my insurance agent to get his input about a particular passage and he was taken aback. I am self employed. My deductible is $10K and all visits are paid out of pocket until that deductible is met. This summer, I paid thousands of dollars in medical payments for my child who had taken ill suddenly. My monthly premiums are $398.00. I have never filed a medical claim in fifteen years. The doctors’ invoices are paid by me and the insurance company premiums are paid whether I work or not. The more I write, the more I feel like the sharecropper. I am working to pay for nothing.

I contacted my primary care physician to discuss a few issues about my healthcare plans for the future. I was asked to set an appointment. The consultation was going to be considered an office visit. I would need to pay $125. (Note to self, find a new doctor this week.)

As life intersects with today’s political scene, the sharecropper’s despair and frustration desribes how many feel about healthcare. We are faced with “choices” that many do not understand, will not be able to buy and will never be able to vote on. We cannot be like the sharecroppers who never received the benefits from being landowners because they did not know the truth about the property they labored on and did not own, we cannot accept what we are told. We must ask questions and educate ourselves about the issues. Talking points and massive hysteria will never stand up to honest scrutiny. Fear only breeds contempt and contempt will leave us with empty promises, political rhetoric and DC’s business-as-usual-culture.

We, the people, will never have the health care provided to our politicians under the golden dome. We elected them to serve us, all of us, but often politicians serve themselves first. Remember what Daddy said. “They eat their young.” HR 3200 has become an off shoot to issues that politicians will not speak truth to power. They are more concerned about maintaining their office than giving us real answers.

I have shared my thoughts about the bill with every sitting U.S. Representatives from the state of Tennessee and the White House. Have you shared yours? I urge everyone to read the bill for themselves, ask questions of insurance agents and doctors as well as your elected officials. I would like to hear more discussion around insurance reform which drives the health care bus but that's me. Let’s not accept the sharecropper’s stake in the reform debate. Instead let's hold our politicians accountable for the premiums our tax dollars pay for their insurance plans.

For HR3200 - http://docs.house.gov/edlabor/AAHCA-BillText-071409.pdf
For changes www.govtrack.us