I went to see ‘The Help’ last night with my friend June.
Usually, when I see a movie after reading the book, I’m disappointed. That certainly was not the case, this time. In fact, the acting in this movie far surpassed the impact of the writing in the book.
This had to be a heartfelt performance for the black people who acted in the project. I remember all too well my aunt’s maid, Willie Mae, a woman who cuddled and nurtured me whenever she got the chance, on my summer vacations at my beloved aunt’s house.
I remember the toilet on the back porch and being told not to use it. I also remember driving Willie Mae home. When you crested the hill of white folks’ houses and descended to the other side where Willie Mae lived, the pavement stopped. So did the gentility.
The road became red dirt and in the summer the dust settled over everything, even the bushes, so it must have been horrific in the houses. And the houses, they were ramshackle, barely standing. The porches sagged and the walls were a combination of patches, holes, and rotting siding.
I was only eight or so at the time and I am now almost 70, so this was a long time ago. Even as a little girl, I wondered about this and didn’t understand why Willie Mae didn’t live with us.
This never gave me cause to be prejudiced, only to wonder. After those early years, I moved to California and went to school with people of all races and religions and never questioned any of it.
Only as an adult did I develop prejudice and that was based on personal experience with people. That is not a sweeping indictment of all people of races and religions, but it is a telling remark. As long as adults behave badly to one another, no matter the opportunities, prejudice will live on.
It’s not simply a matter of equality, but a matter of behavior, of respect for one another. In those long gone days, in spite of the prejudice, there were relationships with respect. I have a note written to my grandmother in the 30s from a black woman who worked for her for years, until Grandmother lost the farm in the Depression. It is a letter of friendship and respect between two women who have strugged to survive and who have a strong faith in God.
