Maya Angelou - Mom & Me & Mom

To all parents who have dared to raise daughters and sons with love, laughter, and prayers.
Who have stumbled and fallen, and yet arisen and gone on to be successful mothers and fathers.

And to all whom I have kept under a mothers watchful eye:
Oprah, Stephanie Johnson, Lydia Stuckey,
Valerie Simpson, Bettie Clay, Ceda Floyd,
Dinky Weber, Jacqui Sales, and others,
you know who you are.

I thank God, and I thank you.

BY MAYA ANGELOU

AUTOBIOGRAPHY
I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings
Gather Together in My Name
Singin and Swingin and Gettin
Merry Like Christmas
The Heart of a Woman
All Gods Children Need
Traveling Shoes
A Song Flung Up to Heaven
Mom & Me & Mom

ESSAYS
Wouldnt Take Nothing for My
Journey Now
Even the Stars Look Lonesome
Letter to My Daughter

POETRY
Just Give Me a Cool Drink of Water fore I Diiie
Oh Pray My Wings Are Gonna Fit
Me Well
And Still I Rise
Shaker, Why Dont You Sing?
I Shall Not Be Moved
On the Pulse of Morning
Phenomenal Woman
The Complete Collected Poems of
Maya Angelou
A Brave and Startling Truth
Amazing Peace
Mother
Celebrations

CHILDRENS BOOKS
Poetry for Young People
My Painted House, My Friendly
Chicken, and Me
Kofi and His Magic

MAYAS WORLD SERIES
Angelina of Italy
Izak of Lapland
Mikale of Hawaii
Rene Marie of France

PICTURE BOOKS
Loves Exquisite Freedom
Now Sheba Sings the Song
Life Doesnt Frighten Me

COOKBOOKS
Great Food, All Day Long
Hallelujah! The Welcome Table

Poet, writer, performer, teacher, and director M AYA A NGELOU was raised in Stamps, Arkansas, and then went to San Francisco. In addition to her bestselling autobiographies, beginning with I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings, she has written five poetry collections, including I Shall Not Be Moved and Shaker, Why Dont You Sing?, and two cookbooks, Hallelujah! The Welcome Table and Great Food, All Day Long, as well as the celebrated poem On the Pulse of Morning, which she read at the inauguration of President William Jefferson Clinton, and A Brave and Startling Truth, written at the request of the United Nations and read at its fiftieth anniversary. She lives in Winston-Salem, North Carolina.

Like her daughter, Lady B was noted as a great storyteller and served as founder and president of the Stockton Black Women of Humanity, which provided scholarships to black high school students. She was also an active member of a Masonic order, a past chairwoman of Concerned Women for Political Action, and a board member of the United Way, San Joaquin County Blind Center, Womens Center of Stockton, and Board of Directors of Gemini, Inc.

The City of Stockton takes pride and pleasure in naming this park site today in memory of Vivian Lady B Baxter, a woman who devoted her life to help anyone in need.

NAMING OF PARK SITE, MARCH 4, 1995

The first decade of the twentieth century was not a great time to be born black and poor and female in St. Louis, Missouri, but Vivian Baxter was born black and poor, to black and poor parents. Later she would grow up and be called beautiful. As a grown woman she would be known as the butter-colored lady with the blowback hair.

Her father, a Trinidadian with a heavy Caribbean accent, had jumped from a banana boat in Tampa, Florida, and evaded immigration agents successfully all his life. He spoke often and loudly with pride at being an American citizen. No one explained to him that simply wanting to be a citizen was not enough to make him one.

Contrasting with her fathers dark chocolate complexion, her mother was light-colored enough to pass for white. She was called an octoroon, meaning that she had one-eighth Negro blood. Her hair was long and straight. At the kitchen table, she amused her children by whirling her braids like ropes and then later sitting on them.

Although Vivians mothers people were Irish, she had been raised by German adoptive parents, and she spoke with a decided German accent.

Vivian was the firstborn of the Baxter children. Her sister Leah was next, followed by brothers Tootie, Cladwell, Tommy, and Billy.

As they grew, their father made violence a part of their inheritance. He said often, If you get in jail for theft or burglary, I will let you rot. But if you are charged with fighting, I will sell your mother to get your bail.

The family became known as the Bad Baxters. If someone angered any of them, they would track the offender to his street or to his saloon. The brothers (armed) would enter the bar. They would station themselves at the door, at the ends of the bar, and at the toilets. Uncle Cladwell would grab a wooden chair and break it, handing Vivian a piece of the chair.

He would say, Vivian, go kick that bastards ass.

Vivian would ask, Which one?

Then she would take the wooden weapon and use it to beat the offender.

When her brothers said, Thats enough, the Baxter gang would gather their violence and quit the scene, leaving their mean reputation in the air. At home they told their fighting stories often and with great relish.

Grandmother Baxter played piano in the Baptist church and she liked to hear her children sing spiritual gospel songs. She would fill a cooler with Budweiser and stack bricks of ice cream in the refrigerator.

The same rough Baxter men led by their fierce older sister would harmonize in the kitchen on Jesus Keep Me Near the Cross:

There a precious fountain

Free to all, a healing stream,

Flows from Calvarys mountain.

The Baxters were proud of their ability to sing. Uncle Tommy and Uncle Tootie had bass voices; Uncle Cladwell, Uncle Ira, and Uncle Billy were tenors; Vivian sang alto; and Aunt Leah sang a high soprano (the family said she also had a sweet tremolo). Many years later, I heard them often, when my father, Bailey Johnson Sr., took me and my brother, called Junior, to stay with the Baxters in St. Louis. They were proud to be loud and on key. Neighbors often dropped in and joined the songfest, each trying to sing loudest.

Vivians father always wanted to hear about the rough games his sons played. He would listen eagerly, but if their games ended without a fight or at least a scuffle, he would blow air through his teeth and say, Thats little boys play. Dont waste my time with silly tales.

Then he would tell Vivian, Bibbi, these boys are too big to play little girls games. Dont let them grow up to be women.

Vivian took his instruction seriously. She promised her father she would make sure they were tough. She led her brothers to the local park and made them watch as she climbed the highest tree. She picked fights with the toughest boys in her neighborhood, never asking her brothers to help, counting on them to wade into the fight without being asked.