When we were little girls, my sister and I were visiting our grandparents in Los Angeles when the 1965 Watts uprising broke out. Our grandparents, who lived in the Crenshaw area a few miles from the uprising, of course, kept us at home and I later learned they had packed up the car and were prepared to evacuate the city on moments’ notice if the violence got within a few blocks of their home.
When the violence quelled, Pop Pop drove us through Watts to look at the damage and try to explain to us what had happened and why. My starkest memory of that day was the sight of dusty, dark green military trucks filled with armed, helmeted soldiers in full combat gear driving through the streets. I was puzzled and frightened by what I saw. But our grandfather, as usual, was calm and reassuring so I knew we’d be ok.
Today, military trucks with armed soldiers drove through my Washington, DC neighborhood – much closer to my house than the distance my grandfather decreed would trigger our evacuation. I feel just as puzzled and frightened by this as I felt when I saw the same thing as a small girl a continent away and a lifetime ago. But although I am now just a few years younger than Pop Pop was then, I don’t feel nearly as unafraid as he seemed.
I just realized that he probably felt as uncertain and off-balance as I do now.
When Astronaut John Glenn left the space program in the late 1960s and returned to Ohio with his beloved Annie, he crossed paths with The Good Judge and they became friends.
Over the years, they grew closer, professionally and personally. As a Senator, he was supportive of my dad’s work at the NAACP and was later instrumental in his nomination and confirmation to the federal bench. He and Mrs. Glenn were always embraced The Good Judge and Lil and our family. with love and warmth.
In 1998, when Senator Glenn returned to space on the space shuttle Discovery, the Glenns invited Daddy and Lil to Cape Canaveral to witness the launch along with numerous friends and family. Daddy said the lift-off was one of the most exhilarating – and ear-splitting – experiences of his life. He particularly savored every moment because, since only close family were invited to witness the return, he knew this would be the only time in his life we would witness space travel so close up and personal.
A few days before the Discovery’s return, Daddy was working in his chambers when a call came in from Annie Glenn. A little concerned, he picked up, hoping that nothing was wrong.
“Nate,” Mrs. Glenn said. “We’re all here in Florida and just heard you’re not coming here for John’s return.”
“No, Annie. I wasn’t planning to be there,” Daddy said. “I understood it was just for family.”
Mrs. Glenn paused for a few seconds …
“But Nate. You ARE family.”
And, of course, The Good Judge was there with Annie Glenn and the rest of the family to welcome John Glenn back to earth. And I’m sure he was there to welcome her when she rejoined her sweetheart and other family on the other side of paradise.
Published in the Cincinnati Enquirer, February 4, 2020 https://www.cincinnati.com/story/opinion/2020/02/04/opinion-if-you-want-honor-judge-jones-stand-right-side-history/4645815002/
When I was a little girl, I was certain my daddy was a giant, especially when he scooped me into his arms and lifted me up so that I could touch the ceiling. As I grew older, I was surprised to discover that he wasn’t as gigantic as I thought, standing at just five feet nine.
But
after he died last week at 93, surrounded by his family, age and illness
having whittled an inch or two from his height and dozens of pounds
from his frame, I was reminded that Nathaniel Raphael Jones was indeed a
giant, after all.
God blessed my father in many ways and gave him one last, beautiful gift: a sweet, peaceful end to this life.
From
his beloved 91-year-old baby sister who came to kiss her big brother
one last time, to the grandchildren who gathered to comfort their
“Gramps,” to the law clerks who’d become federal judges and cabinet
secretaries and major figures in the legal and business fields but
dropped everything to rush back to Cincinnati to say thank you to, as
one described him, the “best first boss any lawyer could have,” to the
young woman who’d lived next door to him as a toddler, and now sat
quietly by his bedside in his final days, to the Cincinnatians who took
time off of work to pay their last respects to the man who’d saved them
from death row, helped them write a resume, opened their eyes to the
need to remedy racism and discrimination, exposed them to new people and
fresh ideas, taught them to knot a necktie, or simply lent an
empathetic ear when they needed it most – it was clear that Nathaniel
Jones touched the soul of the human community.
My
father spoke softly, smiled and laughed often, and moved gracefully in
the world, but he was a fierce and fearless man. He was a fervently
pro-choice, feminist, LGBTQ ally, who always stood with labor, fought
voter suppression, spoke up for the homeless and disadvantaged and
marginalized, who believed that black lives matter, and wanted America
not to build walls but to set a bigger table.
The Good Judge was
slow to anger and hated no one. But bullies infuriated him, and he
loathed seeing anyone picked on. He was gratified by the progress we’ve
made as a nation in the 70 years since he first “answered the call” to
become a civil rights lawyer. But the ugly turn our country has taken in
recent years broke his heart. And, as his strength ebbed in recent
months, he was profoundly sad that he would not live long enough to see
the America he so loved bend the arc of the moral universe back toward
justice. But he had faith that we eventually will … because he showed us
how.
Since his death, our family has been overwhelmed and
comforted by beautiful tributes and expressions of sympathy. But while
words bring us solace, they are fleeting and will soon disappear into
the wind unless they are anchored with action. And we can do that by
answering his call.
If
you really want to honor my father, please don’t wax eloquent about how
wonderful and inspirational he was, and then empower people and advance
policies that undermine his life’s work.
If you admire Nathaniel
Jones for being a civil rights icon, follow his lead by actually
protecting civil rights and voting rights, not make yourself complicit
in tearing them down.
If you want to emulate The Good Judge, fight
for social justice and speak up for those whose voices we can’t hear.
Don’t remain silent while the powerful abuse the powerless. Don’t go
along with what you know (or should know) is wrong because you think
there’s some political or financial advantage in it for you.
If
you respected this man, please reach out and lend a hand to people who
need help. Encourage a young person to see beyond their horizons.
Volunteer for organizations that strengthen lives and build communities.
Soften your tongue. Brighten the corner where you are.
If you want to pay tribute to Judge Jones, please register and vote in every election.
If you truly want to claim my father’s legacy, please stand with him on the right side of history.
Because,
in the end, while professional accomplishments are all well and good,
what really matters is how we treat others, what we stand for, how we
move through the world.
My brilliant, kind, funny father, with his
keen, gentle eyes, calm voice, and unshakable commitment to justice and
decency, has slipped the bonds of earth. But the life he led and the
lessons he taught will forever be etched into the history and heart of
this city, country and the world.
Nathaniel Jones was great
because he was good. He was successful because he was kind. And he was a
giant because he never looked down on anyone, but instead lifted us all
so we could touch the sky.
I landed the starring role in the McGuffey Center Pre-School Easter Pageant. I was to be Peter Cottontail, hoppin’ down the bunny trail, the bunny trail lined with my classmates holding their Easter baskets for me to plop eggs and candy in along the way.
I was going to be an awesome Peter Cottontail. I had ears and whiskers and, of course, a tail o’cotton.
Primed for my big night, but maybe a little too primed. There I was, dressed for my big debut when Grammy noticed that I looked a little flushed. You had to have eagle eyes to notice a four-year-old black kid is flushed – first of all, her face is pretty far away from yours when you’re 6 and half feet tall (or at least that’s how tall Grammy seemed back then) and besides, how can you tell I was flushed under all that brown skin?
Anyway, a couple of Grammy’s many eyes noticed that I was flushed and her cool hands confirmed it. So before I could say “THANKS, Easter Bunny!” my ears, whiskers and tail got snatched off, and adhered to my understudy and my basket of treats also disappeared. She then took my place at the head of the bunny trail, and I was mingled in with the other children patiently waiting her largesse.
Of course, it made no sense that, if I was too sick to be Peter Cottontail, why wasn’t I too sick to stand in the line of children? That actually seemed to be MORE dangerous to me and the others. What if I passed out and knocked everyone else down like dominoes? What if I was contagious and gave all the other children whatever it was that I had? It just didn’t make any sense.
But it didn’t matter. Life is sometimes really unfair.
And then Grammy got me home and inflicted the Vicks VapoRub torture.
If you’ve never been subjected to VVR torture, thank God. Really. It’s like waterboarding, but with ointment instead of water. They should have sent Grammy and her supply of Vicks VapoRub to Guantanamo and she would have had folks talking within minutes.
In case any of our intelligence community is reading this, here are the instructions for the VVR torture – I mean, Vicks VapoRub Extraordinary Interrogation Method:
Put the subject in her bed and turn out most of the lights, leaving just enough light to be able to see what you’re doing. (Grammy could see in the dark, so she didn’t need much light).
Fill up a vaporizer, plug it in and set it aside for a moment. We’ll come back to that later.
Open an industrial-sized jar of Vicks VapoRub, reach in with your fingertips and scoop out a small glob and then shove it up both the subject’s nostrils.* Dig it in deep to make sure that you plug up all of her nasal passages and sinuses. Smear any residue that doesn’t fit in her nose all over the space between her nose and upper lip.
Dip your hand in the jar again, but this time, scoop out a huge glob of ointment. I mean HUGE. Smear it all over her neck and chest so that it’s about an inch thick.
Take the diaper and tie it around the subject’s neck like a bib and mash it down so that it starts to soak up the inch-thick layer of Vicks you just applied.
Reach into the jar again and scoop out another huge glob of Vicks and rub it all over the top of the diaper so that both sides are now soaked with ointment.
Sit the subject upright. Reach into the jar again and scoop out another huge glob of Vicks and rub it all over her back.
Replace the subject’s flannel pajama top, buttoning it tight so that the vapors from the ointment on her neck, chest and back create a menthol sauna-like effect all over her torso.
Reach back into the jar and scoop out another huge glob of ointment. Smear it on both of the subject’s feet. Cover her feet with heavy wool socks. Or, better yet, if you have pajama bottoms with feet in them, put her in those so that the ointment fumes can move up her ankles and legs.
Reach back into the jar and scoop out another huge glob of ointment (if you’re doing this right, you may have already used up the jar. If so, just open up another one – you should always keep a ready supply), tell your subject to open up her mouth, plop in the glob and tell her to swallow. *
Confirm that the subject is fully immersed, inside and out, with as much Vicks VapoRub as her poor little body can absorb.
Reach into the jar one last time, scoop out a huge glob of Vicks and drop it in the steaming vaporizer so that her room can be infused with the stuff, just in case the Vicks in her nose, mouth, and throat, on her face, all over her chest, back and feet somehow fails to seep into every single orifice and pore of her body.
Kiss her on the forehead and say, sweetly “Now, be quiet and go to sleep, baby.”
Turn out the light and close the door, leaving the subject in complete darkness and silence, eyes watering, holding her breath, now looking REALLY flushed, but determined never ever ever to get sick again.
