Taking TJ Home to Village My calendar is marked for a date with destiny - August 7, 2014, at the Lake Village Guachoya Cultural Arts Center. Who would have expected this 129 mile trek from central Arkansas to the edge of the southeast Arkansas delta to elicit such excitement within me? I’ve always enjoyed the southern-ness of Highway 65 South; the cotton fields dotted with tractors and combines and pickers; and fields of Hay, bound perfectly into circles, and truck patches bristling with summer reds, greens and yellows; and then, the roadside stores stocked with everything southern – from orange push-ups, to pig rinds - and, peopled with friendly black or white faces; perfect stopping places for a change of scenery, for remembering, and confirmation that the south is alive and well. This particular trip won’t be measured in mere miles or hours, but in a lifetime of memories. A trip to honor TJ Kearney, a proud son of this historical city who remembered it, always, with wistful longing for the past, with pride and love for the people who were his family. I imagine, again, the five year old black boy so full of questions, so attentive even then, of the conscriptions of life in this awesome, and perfectly southern town on the edge of the southeast Arkansas delta. August 7, 2014 is about acknowledging and memorializing the miracle that is the circle of life – a circle that began with slavery, and the vestiges of that slavery; the union of two children of slaves and the family they would create; nine individuals who would make their own histories, etch their own unique stories in the lives that they made. Thomas James Kearney, born in 1906 in the Lake Village province, was the sixth child of TC and Cynthia Kearney. I am the 14th child born to the union of Thomas James and Ethel Kearney, and the self-appointed purveyor of his story. That story, his journey, our circle of life, is what I will share with the people of Lake Village. These, are, in truth, his people – breathing the same air, witnessing the same world unfold, traveling the same roads as TJ traveled some 100 years ago. It is only right that they know the intertwining of his story and theirs. What I know, is that TJ’s story is not so very different from so many others who arrived in the strange world that is the south – teetering between slavery and freedom at the turn of the 20th century. Yet, each family’s story is, indeed, unique, and can be told only by that family, or their appointed storytellers. Unlike others, TJ Kearney shared his stories with all who had an interest in living history; most importantly, his children and grandchildren, and their children… in hopes of making us better understand our pasts, and better able to navigate our place in a world that had changed so much over his lifetime. TJ Kearney, the master storyteller, sealed all the sounds, the tastes and smells of that long ago place and time, firmly into our consciousness. His earliest memories are full of childhood joy, wonder and excitement in the river town that sat just miles from the Mississippi line; one known best for its beautiful oxbow river, the stately steamboats cutting their paths through its waves; the bounteous fields of white gold that defined America’s south; and the bayous and woods that offered up fish and fowl and wild life to sustain both the rich and poor, the white and black…and, others. His sharing his life with us paid dividends. TJ Kearney, the self-described imperfect young vagabond and drifter who, after more than a decade of travel, settled down and created a new life just 70 miles from his birthplace. The weight and breadth of my father’s stories, his memories, and most importantly his lifelong contributions, both human and spiritual, are part of our legacy and part of our ambition to be more and better than ours and other’s race-tinged expectations. So many lives reshaped, hearts and spirits emboldened. My father’s only request of this remember-er of his stories was that I share them with the world - most importantly, with the people of his childhood home, Lake Village. Of course, most will have likely never heard TJ, TC or Cynthia Kearney’s names. Some might recognize Macon Road, the meandering dirt road that led to Kearney’s long-ago home, for the wooden sign still stands on the side of highway 65. I pray they will understand my need to honor my father’s wishes, to make this day his – leaving his precious memories and stories among the rich delta soil, and ancient trees; strewn throughout the clean air and deep waters that were, and are – such an intricate part of who this amazing man would become. I don’t recall my father taking us to visit the home sites on which his childhood thrived. Yet, the visits were in my mind. Oh, how my imagination soared. I have envisioned that Lake Village of long ago, thanks to my father’s vivid paintings through words; his meticulous pictures of the Lake Village of 1906 through 1910. I’ve lived with the ghosts of the farm land, the horse-driven buggies, the bayous and stream of water as clear as glass, and the haunted mill yards. I’ve imagined the voices of TC and Cynthia and the thoughts of their children; Sally, Virgie, Johnny, Lawrence, Harry, Evevious, Willie and Sam. They all remain with me, even now, and I am eternally grateful to TJ Kearney for the thousands of stories, and memories that ensured they stayed alive for me. And so, on August 7th, I will welcome with open arms, the spirits of the Kearney family of Lake Village, each and every one of them. I pray they will join me in the city that was once home, and help me tell their stories, and honor their amazing legacy…and, watch as TJ offers up his winsome smile of gratitude.
Posted on: Thu, 31 Jul 2014 16:25:45 +0000