My family–the Person family–has given more than our fair share  to the military:

Archie Person, Army

Walter Person, Army

Warner Person, Army

Nathan Person, Army

Andrew Person, Army

Alvin Person, Army

Jerry Person, Air Force

Five of the seven brothers listed above were in the service at one time.  On this Memorial Day, I’d like to remember my uncles and my father.  Fortunately, we never lost one to the war, but only Uncle Alvin is still with us.

My father, Andrew, talked incessantly about the war.  The stories have faded but I remember his friends and occasional army buddies that would comb over their experiences with such relish, that I was shocked to learn by reading his obituary, that he only spent two years in the army.

The military was integral in the launching of our nuclear family branch in New Jersey:  my Mom and her cousin Rachel answered the appeal for young ladies to attend a USO social for the young men in the military.  Aunt Rachel picked a dapper young man who would become my Uncle Russell, while Mom picked out the handsome young man who would give her three daughters.

My parents were absolutely gorgeous in their youth and began corresponding.  He was deployed to Korea and the Philippines –two theaters back to back without the chance of coming home.  Shortly after he returned,  on Jan. 10, some year in the 40’s, the two married and used the GI Bill to buy their house.

My Dad did not look at the war through rose colored glasses.  Whatever he witnessed in his role in the Signal Corps was his undoing. He spent years in therapy, and the young couple grappled with his demons that did not jive with his peaceful Virginia upbringing. He self-medicated with alcohol which led to a plethora of problems.

This formerly joyous one-man band wrote copiously, played the piano and sang for anyone.  He was always the life of the party and brought many friends home.  Coming from such a large family, his father employed all sons who wanted to work in the family contracting business, which built many of the homes, businesses and city structures in the area.  That was not for Daddy.  He wanted to be an attorney, but my grandmother always said “Lawyers are Liars” so he went to school to be an body and fender man, so he made his living that way.

One fateful  day, a huge auto part disengaged from its hoist and crashed down upon him. After that, Dad went through a long struggle of hospital visits. I  have memories of rolling down the grassy hills at the Veteran’s Administration Hospital while our mother visited him.

After 12 years, the two divorced and my Dad became a crackling, far away voice on the phone, always calling from somewhere exotic.  He had fallen in love with California on his trip there and his dreams became mine–the place that he painted such vivid pictures of–warm weather, palm trees and blue skies.

One courageous thing on my Mom’s part was she never let their downfall stand in the way of our relationship with him or the Person Family.  My dad technically had 19 sisters and brothers, but 14 survived the flu epidemic which made family gatherings larger than life.  Because we spent summers in VA, Dad’s side made up for our intense father hunger.

“What a Difference a Day Makes” was a hit song during 1975–the soundtrack of my senior year in college. I often had to drop what I was doing to rush to his bedside because the constant drinking led to an acute case of cirrhosis of the liver. Although he made it to my graduation in Upstate New York, by summer’s end, he passed away.  In his passing, it seemed all of the loopiness of his life was forgiven and the family came together in Virginia en masse. His brother Nathan, who lived in California, drove across country to the funeral.  I had been accepted to USC but there was no money for graduate school, so I clinched my teeth and worked in a dress shop until I got the call from my oldest sister, whose turn it was to rush to Dad’s bedside.  She had been only moments too late.

After attaching myself to my Uncle Nathan at the services, I mustered the nerve to ask him if I could drive back to California with him.  He called his wife, Aunt Thelma, and she graciously accepted. I just had to scurry up to New Jersey to collect my things.  As I pulled into the driveway,  the whistling postman walked up with a letter from USC saying there had been a computer error. My eyes could not believe the crazy amount of money they were now awarding me! God and Dad were helping me all the while, arranging things.

Now, all these years later,  my youngest  son, Jaaye, who never met my father and never knew this story, is fulfilling his dream. Of all of our sons, he is the one the Person family agrees reminds them most of Daddy. He got to know them all beginning with an Antoine Fisher moment, when we first deposited him in their care when he attended Hampton University, in Virginia.  He graduated from Howard Law School recently and although he is still grappling with the bear of the California Bar,  God and Dad will see him through that too.  Of this, I have no doubt.

Happy Memorial Day to the men of the Person Family, my husband who served in the Navy in Viet Nam and all veterans and their families everywhere!

Isidra Person-Lynn

We really needed this good news, given the current, sagging economy: Johnson Products was purchased by an African American owned entity!

Being a part of the Los Angeles Black-owned business community for many years, I have heard the lamentations that the business industries we do have, once they make it, are

Johnson Products Sponsored Soul Train

gobbled up and co-opted by others: think sports and where it would be without the African American contribution, think entertainment, especially music, where would it be without us? And even the black hair care products industry which allowed wealth building for generations of black folk, but most of the bigger ones have sold: Johnson, Pro-Line and many others to Wella, L’oreal and Procter & Gamble. What we didn’t sell, Koreans and others took over, selling our nappy hair care back to us.

This week, I rejoiced when I saw a piece on LeBron James who is worth millions and how he fired all of his handlers and hired three young brothers to manager his millions, I rejoiced. Why not give people you trust a shot? How many times have you heard a black elite athlete getting ripped off by so-called pros? These young brothers researched and set about finding the best pros to help them with their mission and so far the industry has been pleasantly surprised.

The second good news, then, this week was the announcement of Johnson Products company being purchased by RCJP Acquisition, led by Eric and Renee Brown who once ran Pro-Line Corporation. Once Alberto Culver purchased Pro-Line some years ago, its founder (and Renee’s father) immediately experienced what Johnson Products’ owner felt: seller’s remorse.

You see, these companies filled the mission of the call to arms that after civil rights, we work for silver rights (a term John Bryant coined). We found that once the laws were changed, the rules changed and without ownership we were still at the proverbial back of the bus.

What Johnson and Pro-Line did by their very existence was grow the black middle class, give opportunities not found other wise, apprentice young college students and employ a whole lot of our people. They funded scholarships, started programs, sponsored TV shows like Soul Train, placed their advertising almost exclusively on black radio and in black newspapers and magazines and in Pro-Line’s case, saved– by purchasing– a struggling Black College, Bishop College.

These companies allowed us to see ourselves “large and in-charge” and dream big. Their physical plants were impressive. They made us stand a little taller with our backs a littler straighter. Plus, they filled the void left by the “other” hair care products designed for straight hair which ruined our hair and left it in a dull and brittle pile in the sink.

You may remember that when Comer Cottrell came through on his book tour, I interviewed him and he talked about his seller’s remorse. There were black hair care companies that rose and fell with the trends–think Jheri Curl, Worlds of Curls and Good Fred. It was good business to take a company he built from an initial $600 investment with a borrowed typewriter to $88 million when he sold it; and Johnson Products, the first African American owned company traded on the New Your Stock Exchange started in 1954 with $500 and was valued at over $100 million at one time.

It is widely known that once sold, Mr. George Johnson tried to buy his company back but was thwarted at every turn. Now that Renee and Eric are running it, he is rejoicing.

So, with the new energy that the presidency of Barack Obama is inspiring, let’s look around and step up to fill the shoes on trails blazed by the generation before. Let’s not sell, let’s buy it back and sustain the next generation and keep this thing going.

Yes, these two are old college friends of mine, but they are consummate professionals and they are heaven-bent on bringing innovation to the JPC brand — something that seems to go away once these companies are sold. The younger generation may not even remember the brands, but stay tuned. You ain’t seen nothing yet!

Let’s talk about this magical thing called social networking. Some are meeting and getting married. Others are reuniting. It is a joy to log onto Facebook and see an old friend (someone who I love but would never think to call) adding me.

Read how it worked for us:
No one had seen or heard from my niece’s dad in 30 years. Moving 3000 miles away probably had something to do with that. My former brother-in-law was quirky,unique, and not exactly what the elder women had in mind for my sister. But I am trying hard not to digress.

Fast forward to today. My niece who returned to the East Coast is now 38 with a great husband and three beautiful children. Now a nurse, she began to wonder about certain family traits on her Dad’s side and told her Mom that she was looking for him. Problem is, everyone involved (except me) had common names and now lived somewhere other than New Jersey. I decided to test my Sherlock skills but kept coming up with zilch. He could have moved anywhere by now. I went to Classmates.com and tried to find him through the college where he met my sister. And after leaving that “message in a bottle” eons ago, I forgot all about it.

But three Fridays ago, on a routine check of my email, I saw a note from Classmates titled “Looking for my long lost daughter.” Inside it said “I am looking for my daughter who I miss so, so much.” Yep, it was my brother-in-law. He wrote that he had always wanted to find her, but it wasn’t until he finally bought a computer that he felt his search was more possible. And now, sending him back my phone number, I thought, “Well, you found her!”

He had used my nickname, and asked how many Isidra Persons could there be? If this was me, would I please let him know where his daughter was? I was so excited I called my sister and giddy, we called my niece. She was ecstatic, but at that point all we could do was wait because Classmates does not give your info out…you have to log on to get your messages. We did not have to wait long–the very next day I heard this familiar voice over the phone yelling “Family!” He was so excited he could barely contain himself. I then called my niece, who was shopping in a mall with her children, and connected the two. I was blessed to witness the excited awkwardness the two exuded as they reconnected.

The next Sunday, a Skype message popped up on my laptop. My niece has packed up her entire family and driven the four hours to visit her dad and her now six siblings, which she did not factor into her quest. Peering through the laptop webcam, for the first time in 30 years, I saw my brother-in-law and also his grown and growing children. They looked like variations of my niece. A talented group, the girls broke into three-part harmony. They were really good! And there was my niece who had basically been raised almost as an only child since her brother and sister out here were so much younger. Now she was surrounded by loving siblings and a doting father. I asked them to take a group picture, which they did and my niece emailed it to me. So, Classmates.com, a camera cell phone, a laptop and some patience all made this reunion possible. I wish I could show it to you!

One good thing about Facebook, is no matter how remarkable you think your life is, you are constantly reminded how remarkable everybody else’s is too: this one is going to Paris, that one is hanging out at the White House, the other is getting back in her groove while that one has a new baby or grandchild. The running status updates kind of remind me of the days back in Harlem when there were always these people standing on a soap box just talking to the world. It didn’t much matter if passersby listened, they just had to have their say.

No Meat, No Sugar
There’s this young mirror of my former self. She is working hard to set the world on fire. I hope hers is bigger than the bonfire I was able to set. She invited me to a gathering at her home, a sort of workshop in which she showed a clip form the movie “Eating.” Well, after seeing that, I have not eaten fowl or red meat. And I threw in sugar for good measure. But when I
stopped eating meat I started craving cheese and have been killing string cheese, cream cheese, cheddar, you name it. It might be a need for calcium. This can’t be good. Today I hope to eat raw and fresh and JUICE everything that doesn’t move.

When You Would Defend Them to the Death…
As you may know I teach developmental English to college freshmen. I love my students. They are a challenge. They are physically beautiful and full of hope. They feel like since they graduated high school they must be educated. But, after 12 years, their first step into college lands them in my lap. In 16 weeks, I am expected to whip their writing into shape for their collegiate studies. So all of us who teach in their program push, prod, cajole, threaten, reward, tutor and do whatever we can to prepare them for the next level, including accepting late work when they have a good excuse.

Enter the nicest student you ever wanted to meet. A sweet-faced, mid 20’s single mother who works all night at a full time gig. We all reach out to her because she is just that nice and you can tell she needs us. Last semester she really tried, but this semester, she was often disheveled, distracted and “off.”

This past Monday, another student sadly told me that my student would miss the midterm because her sister had been hit by a car. I called The Sweet One and left a reassuring message on her cell. The next afternoon (Tuesday) she called me while I was on the road and told me that her sister had died. We in our collegiate community sprang into action, discussing how we could raise funds, send flowers. I made a sympathy card for all the students to sign. When I brought the card in the next morning, I was explaining our mission to my first class when a student told me “Hey! That’s my cousin.” Alarmed, she ran outside to call her Mom. Upon returning, what she said next pierced my side and I bled throughout the day: “My Mom said she just saw [the girl who was deceased] AND SHE WAS FINE.”

Still giving “The Sweet One” the benefit of the doubt, I called her number to see why anyone would accuse her of lying about something so serious. An Aunt answered the phone in a major funk. When I asked her about the funeral arrangements she snapped “WHAT funeral arrangements?”

Just then, my morning student (the cousin) came in flanked by two of “The Sweet One’s” sisters. They were adamant that no one had died. They whipped out a cellphone, called my now souring student and jammed her for telling me their other sister had been killed. At first Sweetness denied it, but when they said “Stop lying! We have your teacher right here!” and then shoved the phone at me, all she could say was “I am sorry, but I lied.”

She lied. She lied. She lied and said her sister had been hit by a car and the next day called to say she had passed. Just to get out of the midterm, she lied. Because she has insisted on coming to school when I told her to take all the time she needed, I was about to hold her up as an example of students who persevered in the face of great personal tragedy. But all that was a lie.

Of course, Sweetness did not show up. Because some students were besides themselves with grief, I began explaining to the class, that it was all a lie. Incredulously, they did not want to believe me until I told them that she confessed. To me. They had been had, too.

I am not proud of telling you this next part, but, triggered by their reaction, I lost it. Through hot tears, I scolded her innocent classmates that I was disappointed. And hurt. I used the opportunity to preach to them the art of negotiation, and how we all fall behind but truth is always best. I scolded the students who had not yet taken the midterm who did not even bother to come and arrange something with me; about not taking no for an answer, and going up the ladder until you get satisfaction. About what my husband always says “stay on top of your work or it will stay on top of you.”

My innocents squirmed in their seats. By that time,the chair of the program made her way in and I was happy for the diversion. I started the monitor so they could get into the next part of the lesson and went outside to brief her.

Life went on but I guess you can tell I am still “bummed” about the whole thing. What needs to happen next is still up in the air. By the end of Spring Break, I need to have a plan. Your thoughts?

It’s March 23, 2009 and still young people need a reminder to turn around, straighten up and fly right. Below, click the link: Prison2-3-22-09 to listen to a compelling audio interview with young man — a father– who has a lot to say.

Thanks to Susette Fisher for this:

Prison2-3-22-09.mp3 – Talk:

Thanks so much for the interview!

Rene’s back from DC all aglow

You know, Kevin Ross has a most interesting article about the lack of talk show hosts that are anything but whites, males and conservatives http://www.threebrothersandasister.blogspot.com. The reason I see danger in this situation is this: If you ear hustle Rush Limbaugh or other pundits, you will keep hearing President Obama being labeled with the term “Socialism.”

Here Americans are bailing out greedy corporations and dittoheads are mad because when the president, like most Americans, wants to limit the salaries of CEOs to a half million dollars, conservative hosts label that socialism. Average callers joined the fray without once thinking that all federal money has strings attached. That is not socialism, that is good common sense. Amd if they don’t want the limitation, go get bailed out from elsewhere.

We surely had some great kumbaya election and inauguration days but they are surely behind us now. In order to correct the mess the country is in the president seems so embattled. It reminds me of the movie Jerry Maguire “Help me help you.”

When we were young the term “Floodin’ ” meant someone was wearing some serious high waters, you know, pants that stopped way above the ankles so it seems that they would only be good in a flood, hence the name.

Tonight, as so many thoughts rush to my head, the term “Floodin’” means I am overwhelmed and I know I cannot take up a lot of your time, so I have to talk fast:

The National Black Weekend
This past 4-day weekend, which I have dubbed the National Black Weekend, featured a spirited King Parade (see my video interviews below) AND that day where the first African American president assumed his role and hit the ground running. My day was book-ended by appearances at Derrick’s Jamaican Cuisine–the morning shift and the evening shift and deep discussions into the night.

The next day was rehashing everything in class with my students, then Thursday was picking up the son from South Africa and being riveted by the video and pictures and stories he brought back.

Today (Friday) was volunteer tutoring (we are still on Winter Session) and busy, I got up because my thoughts are floodin’.

Tuesday was beautiful
Son Ayo was there, right in the midst of everything, and phoned in a report as was BFF Paulette who was there with her sister front and center (well, close to it). Walking partner Rene was there and I felt such a connection by having these people so close to me giving me feeds. Check out Rene’s pics here:
Even Jaaye was giving reports of how it was to watch the happenings in South Africa. The professional pictures we have been seeing online are superb.

BuzzKillers
So of course, I continue to listen to those pundits who are naysaysers and of course I expected that from Rush Limbaugh, but to hear that from KPFK was a real buzzkill. Roseanne Barr has a show on that listener-sponsored station and every caller she fielded had something negative to say about Barack’s time in office, saddling him with problems that have existed for decades. “Well, as long as black people are still at the bottom in Philadelphia and other urban areas I don’t see his presidency meaning much…” (paraphrasing). The man was in office two days! Gee whiz!

My 8 year old son wishes he were Black
This is what Larry King blurted out on his eponymous show when interviewing Bob Woodward. This really irked El Rushbo but made me laugh because how many of us or our children have longed to be white when we realized who got all the cool stuff and opportunities. This pissed off some of King’s listeners folks no end. LOL

Lots more thoughts but we’ll chat later

I could go on and on, but I am listening to the Kevin Ross show on Blog Talk Radio (www.threebrothersandasister.blogspot.com), planning my next video piece, pulling together my syllabi for next semester, and contemplating a New Year’s fast. Molly Bell always says we’ve got to keep fasting and praying. Well, I pray but I really need to fast. It clears up everything: skin, thoughts and scalp. Plus I bought a new juicer so this gives me an excuse to put it to good use. Stay tuned!

We are really fortunate to be living at the crossroads of history. We can see it up close, on TV, on our computers or even our cell phones. This must be what it felt like when folks decided to march on Washington. Some must have been afraid to go, but thank God for those who showed up and  made a statement which has been a shining moment in history.

Like Barack Obama, Dr. King was human. He should never be held up as though he walked with the gods, but we should note that he walked with God. Tomorrow I plan to go to the King Parade here in Los Angeles. I was supposed to be volunteering somewhere tomorrow, but I was too busy producing today to get an assignment, so I will be on patrol tomorrow, helping to keep the peace, the order, find lost children and also shoot the parade and share it with those who want the IPL video version as opposed to NBC’s version.

If it doesn’t sound like much, think about having to bring back all that footage, uploading it, editing it, producing it, adding the still shots I will also shoot, (it takes hoursss) and sharing with the public like I did a few years ago.
It is my mission to remind people who Dr. King was, ever since the year I watched the parade on NBC and the white reporter panned the crowd with an extended microphone asking the youngsters “So, do you know who Dr. King was?” The girl nodded her head, singsonging Yessssssssssss.” Already I was thinking, who doesn’t know who Martin Luther King was? But then the reporter asked her the dreadful follow up: .”Who was he?” And the child smiled knowingly and said “A slave.”

My head whipped around to the TV staring in disbelief. See, the passage of time happens inconspicuously. We have heard of Dr. King until we have had it up to here. But we left his story to the teachers. How many of you sat your own children down and told them of Dr. King’s times and where you were? Often the black experience in our school starts in slavery so when the teacher is teaching the book lesson and some children are half listening, they could mix things up and think somehow that Dr. King was a slave because he then said “Free at last!”

As my friend says ‘Until the lion tells his own story the tale of the hunt will always glorify the hunter.”

So now, my volunteering feels more worthwhile. And it is definitely easier than showing up to pass out things, a job which starts and ends in 4 hours.

By the way, congratulations Arizonans on your win. My condolences Philly. Go to http://www.nfl.com/superbowl/43 . They have a tough website. Good luck in the Superbowl in Tampa Bay Feb 1, 2009.  And the Kobe meets LeBron tomorrow night in Laker acrtion.  The excitement just keeps on going, doesn’t it?