Remembering Annie Harper
Annie Harper was fearless, unyielding, and at times, a bit of a tyrant. She was tough. Born in Saluda, South Carolina on October 19, 1920 or maybe it was October 20, 1920. Annie would roll her eyes while rolling her hair and say…“They didn’t always get the birth certificate right with colored folks back then, but, no matter…I am here.”
Yes, she was. Annie was SO here. A nurse and a matriarch to many, there were folks that counted on her in some kind of way… whether they needed money or food or a way out of a situation that was much too painful. Unbelievably generous, Annie gave without expecting anything in return and taught me to do the same. She was stern but supported anyone in need and didn’t suffer fools, kindly. Annie had such a radar for BS. She used cuss words as though she invented them…the way she elongated the word Sh*****t was masterful.
She was tall, big boned and always sported a good looking suit with a matching hat for church. She loved church but wasn’t pious. She loved to sing but was always off key. Annie had a big laugh, sometimes deep and other times a cackle like that one particular Sunday when the Reverend targeted the Senior Citizens sitting in the front pew.
The sermon was all about getting closer to God and further away from driving. Annie remembered the Reverend locking eyes with her as he preached. At eighty, Annie had no intention of giving up driving, certainly, not without a fight.
One of my fondest memories was when my boyfriend and I went to visit Annie in Columbia, South Carolina, before we took a cross country road trip. It was the 1980’s. We had an old, sexy, white, two seater, spitfire car. We were just in the midst of saying our goodbyes when Annie pulled me aside and said, “Take a little walk with me before you get back on that road.” I was teary-eyed.
She handed me an envelope with a wad of cash in it. I resisted and tried to give it back. My boyfriend and I had both saved up for the summer for this trip so I thought we were prepared. I wanted her to know I was all grown up and that I didn’t need the money. Annie shook her head and said “Take this money, you gon’ need it. That car ain’t gonna make it cross country”… She was right. It died somewhere in Texas.
Annie died on June 17, 2015 at age 94. l was unable to stand and speak at her funeral. The woman who had filled my childhood with deep laughter, southern rituals, car trips up north, coconut pies, boiled peanuts, fried fish with biscuits and syrup and Annie-isms that would last a lifetime had died. Somewhere stuck in my larynx and where my heart laid bare I was paralyzed. I carried the shame and the guilt of not being able to stand and honor her for years… the woman who terrified and amazed me.
Here’s to Annie…Thank you for the love, the fierce care, for straightening my hair and letting it out so I could feel it down my back. Thank you for making sure I woke up in church in time for the sermon, for sewing my clothes so beautifully, for the car trips…the coconut pies, the money when I didn’t know I needed it. Thank you for sharing the brandy with me when I was finally an adult…and telling me that I could re-invent myself at any time because the world really was mine….
