A piece of history … and a book about it

 

If I seem obsessed with children’s/young adult literature these days, it’s because there is so much good work coming out for young readers, and as I said the other day, good books are desperately needed in a time when even school boards are limiting readers’ choices.

Yesterday an article on the online newsletter, Shelf Awareness, caught my attention. It was about Unspeakable: The Tulsa Race Massacre, by Carol Boston Weatherford with illustrations by Floyd Cooper. Unspeakable was just given the Coretta Scott King Author and Illustrator Award and named a Caldecott Honor Book. The 1921 Tulsa race massacre only came to public attention because last year was the centennial of the horror. Previously it had been dismissed as a race riot. The truth is that it was a massacre sparked by a young white girl’s accusation that a young Black shoeshine boy had assaulted her. The boy denied it and was whisked safely out of town, but the anger remained. The community paid the price for his supposed misdeed.

Tulsa at that time had one of the wealthiest Black communities in the country. The Greenwood community was sometimes known as the Black Wall Street. Somehow white citizens were deputized and armed, and when they finished sweeping through Greenwood, 35 blocks of buildings, businesses, and residences lay in ashes; anywhere from 75 to 300 people were dead, 800 hospitalized, and several thousand African Americans interned at various facilities.

Ms. Weatherford said that she learned nothing about the massacre in school—it was not taught as part of any history. Denial reigned, so that in writing the book, she had to rely on secondary resources. In a video, illustrator Cooper, who died in the summer of 2021, said the book spoke to him, echoing the stories his grandfather had told him. According to the author, the massacre has been taught this year in Oklahoma schools but because of new laws, she expects her book to be banned.

I first learned of the Tulsa massacre in 2002 when TCU Press published Pat Carr’s juvenile novel, If We Must Die. I was appalled, spellbound, and wanted to be in disbelief as I read the manuscript. An Irish girl with black hair and eyes (the true Black Irish) puts a spin on racial “passing” and passes as African American so that she can teach in a Greenwood school—and lives through the massacre. There’s a bit of romance, plenty of blind prejudice, both on a large scale and personal, a close call, and in the end a lot of brutality, all in a riveting tale. You definitely do not have to be a juvenile to be captivated by this book. I only wish I could say that it helped bring public awareness almost twenty years sooner, but it didn’t. Academic presses do not always have a wide marketing reach, and although the book did well—and is still for sale on Amazon—it did not get major attention. Still, as I’ve read about the Greenwood massacre in the last year, I’ve been proud of having been part of that book.

Oscar Wilde perhaps said it best about censorship and book banning: “The books that the world calls immoral are the books that show the world its own shame.”

 

 

 

A magnificent accomplishment for TCU Press

I went to a reception last night, book launch if you will—for a simply magnificent book from TCU Press. It’s The Art of Texas: 250 Years, Ron Tyler as editor and contributions from well-known scholars, art historians, and curators. At 456 pp, measuring 10 x 12, and weighing 7 lbs., it’s a big baby. Kudos to TCU Press production manager Melinda Esco and to Vicki Whistler, who designed the book. No detail is overlooked, nothing spared—the color reproductions, on coated paper, seem to shimmer.

It's the kind of book that I always wanted  TCU Press to do during my days as director, the kind that establishes the press as a serious contender in the world of academic publishing. University presses were for years—and maybe still are—an endangered species. Certainly during my tenure as director I faced more than one dire administrative threat to close the press in order to get its budget, which was miniscule in the face of the university’s overall budget. The provost simply didn’t see the value of a press, and we constantly tried to produce worthy scholarly books that would prove our worth and convince him that academic presses were not money-making ventures. They exist to contribute to the existing body of knowledge and to bring prestige to their institutions. With this art history, the first to take a serious and in-depth look at the broad sweep of Texas art, TCU Press has achieved this.

While I enjoyed support for the press from several administrators and from Dea of the Library June Koelker, I always felt we were on thin ice. That has apparently changed, and Director Dr. Dan Williams has broad support from the administration. I congratulate him and wish him well.

TCU Press has done other, notable books in recent years—memoirs from the late Lonn Taylor, a recollection by Fort Worth TV personality Bobby Wygant, serious yet informative and interesting studies of Texas politics—thank you, Jim Riddlesperger. The press has been a strong influence in maintaining the strength of Texas fiction, publishing new works by Texas authors Jan Reid and Tom Zigal as well as rescuing from oblivion significant out-of-print titles by William Owens, Jane Gilmore Rushing, Dan Jenkins, and almost the entire canon of Elmer Kelton’s fiction. In my day, Kelton’s books were the backbone of the press’ list.

For me, retired some nine years now, it’s been like sending a child off into the world and watching its success. When I retired, one of my colleagues said, “Don’t worry. We’ll take good care of your baby,” and that’s about how I felt about it. My congratulations to everyone connected with this project—and a challenge: now that you’ve made your mark in Texas fiction and art, what’s next? Women’s studies?

The book launch party had another side for me, a chance to visit with people I once saw often and now see rarely. I caught up with a history professor who served on the press board, with an old friend from the Star-Telegram, with June Koelker, and with the editor’s wife, who I think I’ve known forever. And I am always glad to see Melinda Esco, who was both colleague and friend and remains my dear friend.

Afterward Carol and I went to Lucille’s for a quick supper, and I had another treat—crab fingers! A nice day.

Ripples from a small stone in a stock tank

As a writer, I frequently feel that what I do has little lasting impact on life in general, aside perhaps providing a temporary escape from dailyness for a few people. But the other day, a blog suggested that maybe one project had a larger impact.

A few years ago, TCU Press sponsored a collaborative novel called Noah’s Ride. (I was part of the planning team, and to my great joy, I have the original artwork for the cover hanging in my office.) Each of several authors—I can’t remember how many right now—contributed a chapter, with the late beloved western novelist Elmer Kelton leading off. I was left to follow Elmer with the second chapter—the second time I followed his lead in a collaborative novel and, believe me, it was intimidating. Of the remaining authors several were journalists, one a new writer, several seasoned novelists.

In the blog I read, the blogger, Jean Henry Mead, interviewed Mike Kearby, retired high-school reading and English teacher and the author of seventeen novels. He talked to Elmer Kelton and James Ward Lee about the project and decided a collaborative work would be a great way to involve kids who dreamed of becoming writers.

Mike came up with two goals: students would understand that schools could be collaborative and not always competitive, and small-town students would understand that they could write as well as their peers from larger schools. The program was a success.

In 2010 Western Writers of America took over the project, calling it the WWA Youth Writing Project, with Mike Kearby as the coordinator. They produced a work titled simply, Anthology. Although Mike retired as coordinator, the project continues under the auspices of WWA. I can’t help but wonder how many students have participated and been inspired to new confidence. If a handful go on to become writers, it’s a remarkable success.

Like the ripples from a small stone thrown in a stock tank. Thanks to Mike Kearby for his innovative idea, and to Jim Lee, Jeff Guinn and others for spearheading the original book.

Judy's Stew--Writing, Grandmothering, and a Dash of Texas

As I begin this year of dedicated blogging, I thought it appropriate to reprint the first post I ever wrote. A lot has changed: I've been retired since July 2010; I have seven grandchildren; I have published nine mysteries, with plans for many more.  My world keeps moving on. But this is where I was nine years ago...and how Judy's Stew came about.

July 1, 2006

When Melanie, long known as my fifth child though she’s married to my third child, suggested I needed a blog, I scoffed. I knew little about blogs and, as I told her, had nothing to contribute. “Jude,” she exploded, “you have lots to write about.” So I began to explore, the idea intriguing me more and more. There are things I want to talk about, things on which I’d like feedback, things I wish I could talk over with someone who shares the same outlook and frustrations as a writer. And then she came with that wonderful title that reflects all the things that fill my life--writing, my grandchildren, cooking, and Texas history. So this is for Melanie . . . and for me.
I am just shy of sixty-eight, the grandmother of five and a half children, the mother of four. Those are my most important roles, but I’m also the author of about sixty published books, though I always demur and add the qualifier that the majority were slim books written for third- or fourth-graders on assignment. Still they took research and work. And I've written fiction for adults and young adults, articles, essays, book reviews. Right now I do a monthly column on Texas Writers for the Dallas Morning New. In 2005, Western Writers of America honored me with their Owen Wister Award for Lifetime Achievement, so the writing life has been good for me.
But writing doesn't support nor did it provide for raising four children as a single parent. For almost twenty years I've been the director of TCU (Texas Christian University) Press, a small academic press in Fort Worth, Texas--it's work that I love and so far, I refuse to really retire, though I've cut back. I also like to entertain and cook for guests (usually an experiment), and I'm a homeowner with a garden, a cat, and a dog, a churchgoer and a volunteer, and fortunate enough to have many many good friends.
So what are my concerns? How to be a good grandparent, how to be a good in-law, what to do about my writing career (which I'm always sure has stalled), what to do about global warming, how to improve the United States’ image abroad—a wide variety of things. And I love trading cooking tips and recipes. Sometimes I may show you pictures of my grandchildren (when I figure that out) and sometimes I may try out a prospective writing project. Who knows? Sometimes I may rant, but this is not an in-your-face blog.

Nice end to a day of woes

TCU Press has published Deep in the Art of Texas, edited by Michael Duty with an essay by Ron Tyler, and gorgeous reproductions of Texas art, primarily from between 1850 and 1950. Tonight I attended a reception at the Amon Carter--brief remarks by Duty and Tyler and a welcome from co-sponsor of the project, Mary Volcansek representing the Center of Texas Studies at TCU. In his comments, Duty said this is in no way a definitive volume but one that draws back the curtain just a bit to demonstrate that Texas has produced high-quality art. I remember years ago when I was doing research at the Carter for my dissertation. I mentioned that research to an English faculty member, and he joked, "You mean they have art there?" It wasn't funny. This book does much to document the art of Texas and is a project any academic press in Texas would be proud to add to its list. In fact, it made me wish for just a flash of a minute that I was still there--I wanted to be part of such an exciting production. And, the food and wine were excellent tonight. We came out of the Carter to a glorious evening, brisk but nice temperatures and a fresh breeze.
It almost compensated for a bad day. I somehow bruised the side of my foot--noticed last night that it was sore and it was worse this morning. Put on my good, sturdy walking shoes, and it's better tonight. The computer ate two of the images for the chili book--I cannot find them anywhere and will have to go back through that voluminous file to reconstruct the acquisitions process. And neither Jacob nor I were happy with each other, though tonight he went off with Phil Green for hamburgers at Tommy's while I was at the reception--and came back quite pleased with his evening. He adores Phil and his seeing-eye dog Santiago.
The things that went wrong today will work themselves out, and I know that. So I'll concentrate on the pleasant evening. Tomorrow I get a haircut first thing in the morning and that always makes for a bright day.