The Lip #4

the lip #4

editor's note: my kid brother is a hell of a guy!

LIFE 101: WHAT MY MAMA TAUGHT ME.
By Danny Cohen

I never really understood how Mama Walker lived by herself for all those years. Then again, I never actually expected her to die either. But sadly that day came. My childhood housekeeper, Helen "Mama" Walker, passed away recently at the age of ninety nine…so I thought.

I wasn't quite sure what to expect as I walked towards the funeral home in Harlem on a cold, rainy autumn morning. Although I had known Mama Walker virtually all of my life, we had only spent time together in three places. The first two were my childhood homes where she worked as our housekeeper beginning when I was three months old. From day one she insisted that we call her "Mama". Since Mama Walker was twenty years older and wiser than my parents (not to mention bigger and burlier), no one disputed her request. Being your typical smart-ass suburban Jewish kid from Westchester I often wondered why I called this rather rotund southern black woman "Mama", but I didn't waste too much time over-thinking it. After all, Mama Walker's warm laugh, chopped hamburger recipe, and willingness to forego watching "The Price is Right" for "Tom & Jerry" probably would have convinced me to call her anything she wanted.

Thirty plus years later when I moved back to Westchester as an adult, not all that much had changed between us. We started reconnecting in her apartment - only now our roles were reversed. I would bring Mama Walker meals every few weeks. Her favorite was Chinese. We would sit awkwardly in her small, dimly lit study surrounded by aged bibles, over flowing plants and Mama Walker resting comfortably in my late father's tattered old Harvard rocking chair. We probably would have continued flipping back and forth between our favorite television shows, except for the fact that her big wooden Sony had stopped working sometime in the Reagan administration. Nevertheless we managed to pass the time just fine.

Our conversations were simple. We talked about my family, the weather, and how grateful she was for the sweet and sour shrimp I had brought her. Of course, I knew there was more to Mama Walker than a yen for Chinese take out. But she seemed at peace with the ebb and flow of our moments together. At times I thought of bringing my video camera and recording her life story. I often wondered how she could know so much about my life, yet I knew so little about hers. But I never wanted to put her on the spot. She was a private person. Still, I always figured that one day I would learn everything I wanted to know. There would surely be a window in between bites of beef lo mein. But unfortunately that opening never came. After not seeing Mama Walker for a few weeks, I received a fateful call one Saturday evening. Mama Walker was gone.

When I arrived at the funeral home, Mama Walker's great niece and closest living relative, Angela, greeted me with a big hug. "Mama Walker always talked about you, Danny", she said with a warm smile. I was touched, but slightly embarrassed by the recognition. Before I could finish responding how special Mama Walker was to me and what a great run ninety-nine was, I was quickly cut-off. "She was actually one hundred and one", Angela beamed proudly. "Mama Walker was born in North Carolina in 1908." I just shook my head and smiled. Another simple piece of her puzzle that I should have known. Of course, clearing the century mark only added to Mama Walker's mystique.

Learning Mama Walker's true age wasn't the only thing I discovered at her funeral. For starters, I barely recognized the person lying in the electric powder pink casket. Decked out in a matching powder pink dress, fake pearls, and a regal silver wig, Mama Walker didn't look like the strong, dignified, quiet woman who read the bible every morning at 5:00am and grew plants for people. I struggled to see the righteous woman who never needed a day of elderly care in her life and who single handedly managed a home in Mamaroneck with two tenants for sixty years. Where was the woman I'd known all my life? Where was the woman who had held both my children and me in her arms when we were babies? Where was the woman who always whispered, "how all your loved ones" every single time I saw her? It was as though after one hundred and one salt of the earth years, Mama Walker had suddenly been replaced by an overly made-up version of Tyler Perry's Madea.

At first I was a little saddened by this final visual. But then the service began and I started to get a little glimpse of the first sixty-one years of Mama Walker's life. After leaving North Carolina, Mama Walker made her way to Philadelphia where she married Robert Thomas Walker and gave birth to Robert Thomas Jr. A few years later she migrated to Harlem and helped raise generations of relatives. In 1949 Mama Walker's life changed like very few single African American women of her generation. As legend has it, she hit the number in Harlem and won enough money to buy a two family home in Westchester. She lived and rented units in the building to low-income tenants and newly arrived immigrant families until her dying day. And when these people fell behind on their rent, Mama Walker never made a problem for them. "I'm just doing what the Lord would want", she would often tell me without a hint of self-importance.

In her eulogy, Angela noted that Mama Walker was the matriarch of the family. There were eighteen cousins in all and Mama Walker held a special bond with each one of them. Mama Walker was a teacher, nurturer, provider, and a pincher. There wasn't a single member of the family whose cheeks she didn't leave her mark on. As the funeral progressed, the magnitude of Mama Walker's life came to me. There couldn't have been more than fifteen of us, but this was a big epic event. Two preachers tag teamed the service. One read from the bible (and scrolled through his blackberry) as the other played the organ and sang a very spirited version of Mama Walker's favorite song, "Never would have made it". A great nephew and very successful music entrepreneur flew in from California to pay his respects. Another accomplished great nephew from Philadelphia spoke eloquently about sending Walker's Shortbread Cookies to Mama Walker from England and her marveling at his kindness and worldliness. Two great, great nieces also contributed too. One, a cherubic eleven year old, belted out a beautiful, slightly off-tune solo, while the other, a spunky twig thin twenty something nursing student, proudly prepared Mama Walker's final hair and make-up.

There was definitely a theme to Mama Walker's funeral. People not only wanted to pay their respects, but wanted to give back to the woman who had given so much to them. Especially me. Choking back tears I stood before Mama Walker's family and shared my memories. They listened. At times they laughed. At times they cried. I even got a few "Amens" from the room. But most importantly, they embraced me as one of their own. And it was there - as a forty-year old suburban white Jewish man speaking at the funeral of his one hundred and one year old black housekeeper in Harlem - that I finally realized why I called her "Mama".

--
Billy Cohen
Labyrynth
ph: 415-753-0910
cel:415-793-1376
mailto:billy@labyrynth.com
http://www.facebook.com/l/2dff5;www.labyrynth.com
Daniel Cohen, 6 year Old Stand up Comedian:
http://www.facebook.com/l/2dff5;www.youtube.com/watch?v=HsPZ6G13R6c