Now available
In her book, Janet Cheatham Bell writes about coming of age in a northern city that felt very much like the Deep South of the era. Race is a significant presence in this candid and evocative memoir as Bell explains how race and racism impacted and helped shape her life in mid twentieth century Indianapolis. Her struggle with racism is interwoven with local history and forthright discussions of her education, her marriage, and conflicts with her parents.
"JANET CHEATHAM BELL'S BEAUTIFULLY WRITTEN MEMOIR IS BOTH A TENDER MEDITATION ON HER CLOSE-KNIT MIDWESTERN BLACK FAMILY AND A SEARING INDICTMENT OF THE MID-TWENTIETH CENTURY RACISM THAT CIRCUMSCRIBED THEIR LIVES. HER SPIRIT AND RESILIENCE--AS SHE GROWS FROM DEPRESSION-ERA TODDLER TO CONFIDENT CIVIL RIGHTS ERA WOMAN--WILL KEEP YOU CAPTIVATED AND CHEERING. THIS COMING OF AGE TALE HAS UNIVERSAL APPEAL AND SHOULD BE REQUIRED READING FOR ALL INDIANA HIGH SCHOOL STUDENTS."
A'Lelia Bundles, author of On Her Own Ground: The Life and Times of Madam C. J. Walker, and Madam Walker's great-great granddaughter.
"BELL'S IS THE BEST FORM OF SOCIAL HISTORY: A STORY THAT FOCUSES ON AN ORDINARY INDIVIDUAL, BUT ALSO ILLUMINATES THE EXPERIENCES OF MANY OVER TIME."
Nancy Gabin, author of Feminism in the Labor Movement: Women and the United Auto Workers, 1933—1975
EXCERPT FROM CHAPTER 14- WALKING IN MY SLEEP
"I have a strong suspicion...that much that passes for constant love is a golded-up moment walking in its sleep."
Zora Neale Hurston in Dust Tracks on a Road
I, on the other hand, felt like a misfit. All my Indianapolis friends were engaged or married; some already had a couple of children. I didn’t want to get married, but I had no idea what to do with myself. I couldn’t take pride in my college studies, because three years of college without a degree didn’t mean much for a Negro. My shame over having failed at IU was deepened by Mama’s palpable disappointment. I continued to work at the library, feeling rudderless, but sure of one thing: I needed that degree, no matter how long it took. The IU Extension didn’t grant degrees, but no matter how low my average, I could take classes there, and that’s what I did.
I also kept up my interest in public affairs. In April 1959 the national convocation of the United Negro College Fund had met in Indianapolis. On a Sunday afternoon I went to their public closing session to hear Senator John Kennedy of Massachusetts. I was impressed with him, but had no idea that he would one day be the country’s president.
A few months later, I was attending a party at the FAC (Federation of Associated Clubs) building on North Capital Avenue, where I saw Mason Bryant, a guy I knew, talking to Holsey Hickman. I recognized Holsey because he had played basketball for Attucks High School. He wasn’t the team’s best player, but whenever he came into a game, the girls swooned. We thought he was so good looking, with a killer physique—six foot one, broad shoulders, slim torso, and shapely muscular legs. I asked Mason to introduce me. In addition to his good looks, I was also seduced by Holsey’s sonorous voice and deliberate demeanor. We immediately began going out.