I met Maybell a short time after my mother died. They were friends and had worked together in the St. Vinnie’s Thrift Store for years. Maybelle also had a great sense of concern for others and was always ready to lend a hand. She had kind of a southern drawl, but I think perhaps she used the drawl as a tool.
I once asked her, “Were you born in the south?” She responded, “Sho’ nuff . . . South Tacoma.” I must have asked her that question dozens and dozens of times. Her responses where usually quick and always brought a good smile to my face. I loved her almost as much as I loved my mother.
Like many sons and daughters, leaving home and starting your own family, takes time and effort and sometimes leads to neglect. I asked about her son once and she responded with “If that boy had an idea it would die of loneliness.” A year or two later I asked a similar question and her comeback was “He’s not the sharpest tool in the shed, is he? He hasn’t got the sense God gave a goose.” Like my mother I could feel a sense of hurt without getting all the details.
Maybell was not a flag waver, nor one to spur others to action. When we met occasionally for dinner or when we just ran into each other I could feel the reins being pulled back on comments. She visited some old friends at what she called “Old Folks” homes. She tried and tried to help people and would just brush some remarks off the table like “The porch light is on, but no one’s home.”
We ran into each other at Safeway a short while back and I asked how things were going and if I could help money wise. She just shook her head, but she did allow me to take her to dinner. She explained that her son, Lionel was retiring from the Army. When I asked if he was going to live with her, she just “hummed” and said, “Y’all kin say what y’all want about the South, but y’all never heard o’ nobody retiring’ an’ movin’ North”. I could see the tears in her eyes, but did not mention them . . . however I think I got the right feel of her son moving to somewhere in the south without a needed translation.
I was relieved a month or two later, when Maybell gave me a call and said “Ain’t no point in beatin’ a dead horse…’course, can’t hurt none either.” She was hoping her son would turn around and make something of himself down south, or come back home to be with his mom, but she was going to start something on her own regardless. I could feel her pain.
She was taking a focus on her older South Tacoma house with its full basement and two floors with four bedrooms and a large attic. She was planning on opening them up for people in need: black, white, and whatever land others came from. I asked if I could lend a helping hand effort wise and also with some expenses. She smiled and said “Ain’t no point in beatin’ a dead horse … ’course, can’t hurt none either.” I took that as a yes.
We started work on her house soon after that. I painted all of the interior rooms and on a really nice warm day painted the front of the house. In just two days after all this work, Maybell had two older people paying a very minimal rent in two of their own rooms. The people were grateful. Each time I walked in the front door I felt the joy of Maybell as it rubbed off on me and her new families. I felt like I was home as well.
