Since my last post we have visited Rowan Oak, visited a KIPP school in Helena, Arkansas, and met with both Otis Pickett and Reggie Barnes. Rowan Oak was particularly fascinating because so much of the property has remained as it was when William Faulkner lived (or should I say drank) there. The famous wall which allowed him to observe visitors before they saw him was still intact, his notes were still on the wall of his office, and his daughter’s radio was still by her bed. Even today, with development nearby, it was clear how important privacy was to him but what I found even more interesting was the impact his career had on his family. Our tour guide told a telling story in which Faulkner and his daughter quarreled over her radio, which was not allowed in the house. As the story goes, Faulkner informed her that “no one remembers Shakespeare’s daughter.” Both funny and absurd, this line is fitting but also makes me curious to learn more about his relationship with his family. I am sure it would reveal parts of him unseen in his writing.
The KIPP school in Helena was uplifting. They seemed to be doing everything right. The teachers were genuinely interested and engaged with students, the school had well understood aspirations and regulations, and the students seemed challenged yet happy. During their lunch period I sat down with two fifth grade boys and asked them about their experiences at KIPP. Neither had a bad thing to say about the school, which was nice to hear, but even more telling was their intellectual curiosity. They knew the opportunity they had been given and clearly appreciated it.
On Friday afternoon we traveled to De Soto, MS, to visit with Reggie Barnes. A former superintendent of West Tallahatchie County and native of Greenville, MS, Mr. Barnes has experienced every sphere of education in Mississippi. Upon graduating from Delta State he began his career as their “Dean of Mean,” while also becoming an award winning coach. I will start by saying that Mr. Barnes has a man-cave to which all other man-caves should aspire. That being said, he can also make a killer dinner. We enjoyed shrimp, fried trout from the Gulf, fried corn (something I had never had before), potato salad and fresh watermelon for dessert. However, the real treat came after dinner. Mr. Barnes spoke to us about his experiences, both integrating the high school in Greenville and after, rising professionally where few, if any, black men had ever been in Mississippi before. His recollections of growing up were captivating; he was brutally honest with us about his frustration and struggles to stay out of trouble in an atmosphere of increasing hostility. Equally as fascinating were his stories of interacting with high school classmates years later. Inherent in their encounters seemed to be a sense of shame, another legacy of the civil rights movement, which has yet to be absolved. Every time I hear someone speak about their experiences in the South during the fifties or sixties, I am amazed by how intimately those days have defined our world today. The collective psyche of each group has been constructed from those experiences, dictating their outlook today. To fail to understand that past, that psyche, will continue to undermine our collective present.
Mr. Barnes also showed us a letter from 1856. It was a living will, which served as a de facto slave contract should the owner die. Reading this letter was exciting, a relic from the past, but also fundamentally strange. The language was colloquial and intelligent, yet the material was repugnant. The author’s obsession with passing his slave to the ownership of his daughter, and not that of his son-in-law, highlights the incredible distortion of perspective. We left Mr. Barnes' home warmed by his hospitality and inspired by his accomplishments. Our visit with him was uniquely satisfying and motivating.
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