My first assignment at The Fort Bend Herald, formerly the
Herald-Coaster, was as the obituary writer. I had other responsibilities, but
then-editor Bob Haenel told me the obituaries were the most important part of
my job.
For some people, their obituary might be the only time
they would have their name in the newspaper, and I'd better make sure I spelled
everything correctly.
As I typed, I found myself wishing I'd known some of
these people who were no longer with us. They'd served their country, survived
tough childhoods and brought themselves up from dirt poor to establishing
foundations.
So it was with sadness I read that Lucille Stewart
Jackson passed away. I interviewed Lucille over 10 years ago, and it's an afternoon
I remember well. The retired nurse had invaluable knowledge about Fort Bend
County, especially Kendleton.
She was so gracious in her little house just north of
Pecan Grove and willingly shared the memories of growing up black, poor and
proud.
We talked about how life was back in those days, and she
could recall details with exact clarity. She remembered the people, how it was
to be not quite accepted but to keep working toward equality and fairness.
The obituary mentioned she had two sons, Nolan and
Donald, who were both deceased. What the obituary didn't mention is that her
sons were killed in an automobile accident together. In one evening, Lucille lost
her entire family, but throughout her life, she always helped others,
especially her church, Oak Hill Missionary Baptist Church.
There are many people in our midst who were instrumental
in the early days of Fort Bend County, and I wish I had time to visit with each
and every one because their memories of growing up here are fascinating.
The story from Junior Hartledge who drove cattle across
what's now New Territory. He slept underneath the stars, never dreaming of the metropolitan
suburbs that would one day replace native grasslands and sprawling prairies.
I often think about the stories I heard from Virginia
Scarborough and the wonderful, Southern way she recalls growing up here and of
the safety and security she felt on the streets of Richmond.
I felt the same nostalgia when I heard childhood stories
from Arthur and Lydia Mahlmann and Mason Briscoe, especially how Saturday
nights were full of excitement in downtown Rosenberg.
Girls would try out the new lipstick at the drug store
while the young boys sipped on beer and munched on sausage. Families came in
from the fields on the weekends and filled the downtown streets of Richmond and
Rosenberg with music and laughter.
I can't pass a corner grocery store in Rosenberg without
thinking of the family whose father went to the store every Sunday afternoon to
help neighbors call their families back in Mexico.
I often think of a 97-year-old man I interviewed in Sugar
Land who remembered sleeping in the sugar cane fields at night because people
of color weren't welcomed in the houses.
His memories were of
stalks waving in the moonlight as far as the eye could see. What a sight
that must've been but how sad that he wasn't allowed in the main house, not
even for his marriage ceremony.
I've been privileged to listen to stories from those who
served in World War II, Korea and Viet Nam, and not just men. I'll never forget
the afternoon I spent with four women who were nurses during World War II and
how they held the hands of their fellow soldiers as they lay bleeding on the
battlefield.
And now we've lost Lucille Jackson. Fort Bend County is a
better place because she was here and a sadder place because she's no longer
around. May you rest in peace, Lucille.
I know you were welcomed into heaven's gates by two
smiling, familiar faces.
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