Fall 2021
A View From the Mountain a newsletter from the Lillian E. Smith Center
This Issue 1 The Lessons of Christmas 3 Living up to Lillian 4 Georgia Power Donation
Planned Giving
The Lessons of Christmas
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illian E. Smith published Memory of Large Christmas in 1962. The book, essentially, is a collection of humorous and memorable anecdotes about the large, bountiful Smith family Christmases. In the back of the book, Smith includes recipies for turkey dressing, pork salad, ambrosia, and more. However, the book also contains insight into Smith’s formative years and her focus on social justice. We see this in the story that Smith tells about her father, Calvin, and a Christmas dinner in 1918. Smith’s family moved permanently to their summer home in Clayton, GA, in 1915 after their father’s lumber and naval stores in Jasper, FL, failed during World War I. Calvin presented the move to his family as a great adventure, and he left “like an explorer setting out for an unknown continent.” He told his family about the mountains and created a vivid image in their minds, engaging them in the benefits of moving from the swamps of Jasper to the mountains of Clayton. In 1918, the war had caused the Smith’s financial status to dwindle, and they had to downsize. As Smith writes, “We were not alone in being poor. Times were hard in the South — much harder for most than for us, our father often reminded us.” That year, Calvin “invited the chain gang to have Christmas dinner” with his family. The 48 men were working on state roads and residing in “two shabby red railroad cars.” When Calvin approached the gang’s foreman, the man asked if Calvin wanted to invite all of the men to dinner, and Calvin replied, “We couldn’t hardly leave any of the boys out, could we?” On Christmas day, the 48 men came to the house. The men were
Planned gifts are a perfect way to provide fellowships for artists in residence at the Center or scholarship funds for students enrolled in the Lillian E. Smith Scholars Program at Piedmont College. FOR MORE INFORMATION piedmont.edu/endowment-planned-giving Mark Elam melam@piedmont.edu | 706-894-4214 DIRECTOR OF LILLIAN E. SMITH CENTER Matthew Teutsch mteutsch@piedmont.edu | 706-894-4204
LES ADVISORY BOARD James F. Mellichamp, Chair Nannette Curran Nancy Smith Fichter Margaret Rose Gladney Sue Ellen Lovejoy Susan Montgomery Tommye Scanlin John Siegel Stewart Smith W. Austin Smith John H. Templeton Bill Tribby
incarcerated for various crimes — murder, rape, arson, bank robbery. Calvin greeted them on the porch, read the Christmas story, then invited them into the house. He mingled with each man, asking them about themselves and their families and telling them about his own. When the dinner was ready, Calvin asked one of “the killers” to go help his wife with the food. At that, two other men, “one in for raping and another for robbing a bank,” stood up to help. At this, two of the guards approached the door to block the men’s exit to the kitchen. To this, Calvin stated, “The boys will be all right.” They went to the kitchen and returned with the pots and pans, setting them on the serving table. After the men left, Calvin read a letter from his daughter in China and started to look over some books. This did not last long, and he looked at his children and said, We’ve been through some pretty hard times, lately, and I’ve been proud of my family. Some folks can take prosperity and can’t take poverty; some can take being poor and lose their heads when money comes. I want my children to accept it all: the good and the bad, for that is what life is. It can’t be wholly good; it won’t be wholly bad. . . . Those men, today — they’ve made mistakes. Sure. But I have too. Bigger ones maybe than theirs. And you will. You are not likely to commit a crime but you may become blind and refuse to see what you should look at, and that can be worse than a crime. Don’t forget that. Never look down on a man. Never. If you can’t look him straight in the eyes, then what’s wrong is with you. . .The world is changing fast. Folks get hurt and make terrible mistakes at such times. But the one I hope you won’t make is to cling to my generation’s sins. You’ll have plenty of your own, remember. Changing things is mighty risky, but not changing things is worse — that is, if you can think of something better to change to. . . . Calvin’s words remained with Smith. Throughout her life, she spoke up against injustice, being vocal about numerous issues. She looked at people as people, not as inferior. She recognized the past, specifically the mythologized Southern and American past, for what it was, a false narrative constructed to maintain white
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| A View From the Mountain
supremacy. She knew the world was changing, and she knew that if she did not change the things that needed to be changed, she would never be able to live with herself. These are the same ideas she conveyed to the campers when she directed Laurel Falls Camp from 1925–1948. Speaking with one of the campers in Killers of the Dream, Smith wrote, “You have to remember . . . that the trouble we are in started long ago. Your parents didn’t make it, nor I. We were born into it.” This is what her father told her, and she continues by pointing out that generations have become blind to the Jim Crow signs that sit above the doors; they “find it hard to question what has been here since they were born.” Smith precedes to tell the young camper about the long history of racism in America, and at the end, the girl asks her, But how can a person like me do anything! No matter how wrong you think it is, laws are against you, custom is against you, your own family is against you. How do you begin? I guess . . . if you hated your family, it would be easier to fight for what is right, down here. It be easier if you didn’t care how much you hurt them. The young girl’s question is one that I think about a lot. Is it hate if you call out the white supremacist and racist actions of those you love? Or, is it love? Is it an act of love that you want to educate those close to you about the systems that oppress others and possibly even themselves? Which is it? I would say it’s the latter. If we don’t speak out or act, then we just perpetuate these things, and that perpetuation continues the cycle, over and over and over and over and . . . Calvin saw the white and black men in the chain gang for what they were, men and individuals. He treated them, no matter their skin color or sentences, as men. He listened to them. He treated them as people, not looking down at them but looking them in the eye. If we don’t speak up, then we are not looking those close to us in the eyes. We are not looking at them at all. We are erecting walls between us.
Living up to Lillian
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iscovering Lillian Smith – her life, her activism– has been transformational for me. Continuing the work she started – in my own field, in my own life, in my own way – has become a goal, an inspiration, and a privilege.
I arrived in Athens, Georgia, in the late summer of 2015, to begin my first academic job at the University of Georgia’s School of Social Work. I had just completed a dissertation exploring the connections between social work practice and human rights practice, and though my studies had been inspired by my experiences working in the post-slavery South, my ideas found quick traction internationally. As a result, I arrived in Georgia focused outwards, excited to collaborate with colleagues from Brazil, Portugal, China, and beyond. During that same period, as I was getting settled in Athens, teaching my first classes, and planning my initial trips abroad, human remains – mostly those of enslaved or formerly enslaved Black Athenians – were unearthed during an expansion of UGA’s Baldwin Hall, just around the corner from my office. From the sidelines, I watched that story unfold: I attended the meetings where members of Athens’ Black community expressed their grief and anger; I witnessed the frustration of UGA faculty historians and anthropologists; and I was confused by the university’s reluctance to speak openly about the history of slavery at UGA, or discuss the continuing impact of segregation, racism, and social exclusion in Athens. Still, this was not my work. Not yet. When I arrived for my first residency at the Lillian E. Smith Center in April 2019, John Templeton unlocked Peeler Cabin and showed me the framed photos of his childhood self on the wall, alongside portraits of Lillian and her sisters. As he shared stories of the extended Smith family, I suddenly understood that I had been invited as a visitor into Lillian’s home. Though I had come with bags of books and a project to complete, I felt my attention drawn towards this place and towards the work of my hostess, Lillian Smith, of whose life and work I knew nothing. Bill let me into the library and told me about the Christmas parties held
there when he was a child, the coins hidden beneath ornaments for the local children, and the surprising truth that both black and white children were invited at a time when schools (and nearly everything else in north Georgia) were segregated. I picked up Killers of the Dream. Steeped in Lillian’s words, living in her space, and surrounded by the books and ephemera of her time, I felt my own work begin to change. Lillian drew me into the past—and also toward the dangerous echoes of that past persisting in the present. I loved how fiercely her work was rooted in the Georgia dirt; taking strength from her example, I determined to bring my human rights work home to Athens and to the University of Georgia. The painful drama of Baldwin Hall prompted me to question what real or metaphorical bones might lie beneath the University of Georgia School of Social Work, and need to be brought into the open. Answering this question—and the related questions that have arisen along the way—has become the heart of my work. I quickly learned that UGA School of Social Work is located in a renovated antebellum cotton mill, built by enslaved labor to turn slave-produced cotton into cloth. Both enslaved and child laborers worked in the spaces where I now teach. In class, I use this history to help students reflect on the presence of injustice all around us, as well as upon the legacies of those practices in the present. The wealth produced by the cotton mill also helped create a hierarchical social and racial structure in Athens within which charitable works and social services emerged, and my students and I are working to confront that legacy of segregation and white supremacy within our profession. As part of addressing the whiteness of my profession—both in the past and present—I am also working to uncover and teach the less-told stories of local Black social reformers. Finally –and critically – I am asking, “what must social workers do to acknowledge this history and reform our practices now?” Lillian is always with me in this work, requiring me to be honest and brave. As she wrote, “The climate of opinion must be changed. And it cannot be changed simply by you being willing inside for change to come.” She challenged her readers to do the work of change. I accept the challenge, and am working in the Georgia dirt. Jane McPherson Peeler Cabin October 22, 2021 A View From the Mountain |
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PO Box 10 Demorest GA 30535
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GEORGIA POWER DONATION
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iedmont University has received a $25,000 gift from Georgia Power to support its Lillian E. Smith Center. Area Manager Brent Edwards presented the check to Piedmont President James F. Mellichamp during a visit to the Demorest campus on Oct. 21. “Georgia Power is very committed to diversity, equity, inclusion, and social justice,” Edwards said. “We commend Piedmont University for their efforts with the Lillian E. Smith Center, and we wanted to show our support through this donation.” Smith was a social activist and author of “Strange Fruit,” the best-selling novel about an interracial relationship that takes place in Georgia in the 1920s. Smith studied at Piedmont University. The Lillian E. Smith Center is located on more than 100 acres where Smith lived and worked in Clayton, Ga. It serves as an educational facility for the university as well as a retreat for artists, writers, scientists, and others committed to continuing her work. The Center offers residencies for individuals seeking an environment to pursue professional achievements, as well as programming for area middle and high school educators. In addition,
Piedmont is planning a one-week camp for underrepresented high school students at the Center. Mellichamp expressed his gratitude for Georgia Power’s generosity. “Lillian E. Smith passed away more than 50 years ago, but this is very much the time for her words, ideas, and values to be heard by students of all ages,” Mellichamp said. “This generous gift from Georgia Power will support our efforts to expand programming at the Center and share Lillian E. Smith’s work with an ever-growing audience.”
The gift will assist us with the funding of educational outreach programs for educators, students, and the community. As well, it will help us to expand access and facilities at the center. MATTHEW TEUTSCH Director of Lillian E. Smith Center
piedmont.edu/lillian-smith-center P.O. Box 10 | Demorest, GA 30535 706-894-4204