Angelou Maya - My Journey with Maya

My life was filled with purpose.

But nothing could have prepared me for what I was about to do. I had a letter to deliver to Maya Angelou. It was the early 1990s. In my senior year at Indiana University, I had sought out and miraculously persuaded Tom Bradley, the first black mayor in the history of Los Angeles, to hire me as one of his many assistants. It didnt matter that my job assignments were mundanefilling in for the mayor at low-level ribbon-cutting ceremonies, accompanying the mayors wife to her medical appointments, writing countless administrative memos. I was thrilled to be working for a dedicated and powerful public servant.

Growing up in a trailer park in rural Indiana, a black kid in a white world, I had gravitated toward mentors and public servants such as Kokomo city councilman Douglas Hogan and Bloomington mayor Tomilea Allison. I liked the way they gave voice to the voiceless. I, too, wanted to champion the downtrodden. Martin Luther King Jr. was my spiritual and political hero, and I wanted to do all I could to right societys wrongs.

It wasnt until college that I had the chance to sit under the teachings of black instructors. In my first course in Afro-American studies, Professor Fred McElroy lectured on the subject of two women whose writing impressed me deeplyToni Morrison and Maya Angelou. So when Ms. Morrison was scheduled to lecture at the university, I was the first to show up and take a seat in the front row. She spoke with rare eloquence. She spoke not only of the long and hallowed history of African American expression in literature, art, music, and dance but also touched upon European philosophy, Freudian psychology, and Greek mythology. Her intellectual discourse had me reeling. So eager was I to engage her in dialogue that the moment she invited questions, mine was the first hand to pop up. I asked her about her careercertainly nothing profound. I just wanted to be part of the discussion.

I couldnt blame Ms. Morrison for summarily dismissing me. She rolled her eyes, sighed, and gave a short, curt response. Her disdain was understandable. If I didnt have a real question to ask, why bother? Why waste her time and the time of this assembly?

I had no follow-up. I quickly retreated, searching for a hole in the floor through which to disappear.

That marked my first experience with a world-famous intellectual.

Several years passed. I was working in Los Angeles when Mayor Bradley asked me to bring a personal letter of welcome to Dr. Maya Angelou, who was appearing before a philanthropic organization. Given my experience with Toni Morrison, you can understand why I was extremely cautious in my approach, to the point of being intimidated.

I reminded myself that I was only a glorified errand boy. Just hand-deliver the letter and leave.

When I arrived, the program had not yet begun. I found Dr. Angelou seated in front of fifty or sixty people. Surrounded by many admirers, she exuded dignity and patience as, one by one, she greeted her fans and exchanged a few pleasantries.

Quite correctly, I said, Dr. Angelou, its my privilege to present you with this letter from our mayor. He regrets that urgent city business prevents him from being here in person.

I understand, young man, she said. Her eye contact was intense and sustained. Youll be certain to give the mayor my warmest regards.

I certainly will.

The encounter ended there. For a second, I thought of telling her how much her memoirs meant to me; how deeply I loved her poetry; how I yearned to learn more about her relationship with Dr. King and Malcolm X. There were a million and one questions I yearned to ask. But knowing that this was neither the time nor the place, I turned and left. Besides, the mayor had me running to another event, which meant I couldnt even stay for the program.