"Soul to Soul ~ The Celtic understanding of friendship" by John O'Donohue The comfortable ease of just "knowing" each other defines our love for each other. We are both blessed to know each other.
Last night, I called her to sing her my "Happy Birthday" greeting personally, and then we spent an hour "catching up." The first part of the conversation was spent sharing how thankful we are for the rich and full lives we've had, mostly because of the advertises we've had to deal with. We both know that an easy life is not always the best life, and that often an easy life offers little more than ease. Hazel and I have been blessed to say "yes" to our inner sense of God in our lives, even when doing so "didn't make much sense" by worldly logic. Of course, we met at church, the Episcopal House of Prayer (now St. James House of Prayer) in Tampa Florida. Hazel is a living reminder of why I consider being reared in the Episcopal Church one of the great blessings of my life.
We met in the mid 1970's while we were both students at the University of South Florida in Tampa.
Hazel started out life in the then small sawmill town of Perry Florida. Perry is on U.S. 19, which runs up the west coast of Florida (about five to ten miles inland) from St. Petersburg, into Georgia, and keeps going. The "juke joint" that Ray Charles learned to play piano in was located near Perry, as was the small community that Ray grew up in. Hazel's mother was from a "good" family in Jacksonville.
Her grandmother was the first licensed African American cosmetologist in the state of Florida. She was also a neighbor of James Weldon Johnson, prolific writer, who gave us "Lift Every Voice and Sing" and "The Creation."
Her grandmother owned a beach house on Atlantic Beach, the "Lincoln Beach" in the movie "Sunshine State."
Her grandmother was the first licensed African American cosmetologist in the state of Florida. She was also a neighbor of James Weldon Johnson, prolific writer, who gave us "Lift Every Voice and Sing" and "The Creation."
Her grandmother owned a beach house on Atlantic Beach, the "Lincoln Beach" in the movie "Sunshine State."
Her mother moved to Perry with her husband, and when Hazel was a small girl, her father got a mysterious fever and died. Like Aretha Robinson (Ray Charles mother), Hazel's mother took in washing and did domestic work to support her family. An older woman neighbor asked her if she had money to buy the children shoes and her mother said she didn't. So the woman went down to the local "juke joint" with a tin cup and stood at the door on pay day, demanding a contribution so that "the widow Kelley can buy her children shoes."
Hazel grew up, and moved south to Pompano Beach, and in her first year was warned that winter would be great, but summer would be very lean. When all of the winter season work dried up, she signed on as a migrant worker, going up the east coast working agricultural fields. She recounts with laughter the quarters they were offered when she got to New Jersey to pick asparagus, a somewhat cleaned out chicken coop.
Later, she met and married her husband David, who was Bahamian. They bought a house in Sanders Park, had a daughter named Lydia, and life went on. David Armbrister was a yard man, handyman, general factotum, who brought laughter, strength and comfort to all of the lives he touched, both white and black,. He and Hazel opened a small restaurant, and she also worked as a domestic.
But at some point, about the same time I realized I didn't want to work at People's Gas System anymore, Hazel decided she couldn't do domestic and cooking work anymore. She saw herself teaching school children for the rest of her life and she began her academic career. She drove her blue Ford Mustang back and forth to Miami Dade Community College (north campus) completing her Associates, and then came up to USF to complete her Bachelors.
While we were both busy with our own daily lives going to school at USF, we crossed paths at church. She worked at the Burger King across from her apartment between classes. When school breaks came, she got into "Betsy" (her Mustang with a straight six and a three speed "stick" on the floor) and went up to south Georgia to see family, or Jacksonville, or down to Pompano Beach. Between long trips, she and Betsy worked the streets of Tampa, and I kept Betsy running. She would fix a pot of Pigeon Peas and Rice, with chicken, pay me for the parts, and I would come over and tune up her car, clean the battery terminals, and keep Betsy running. The car showed about 65,000 miles on the odometer, and I joked with her about "FORD, Fix Or Repair Daily, Found On Road Dead" and other usual quips. I had not owned a Ford at that time, so poor Hazel heard my friendly humor about her car. It had a slight issue with one of the cylinders, low compression, so the engine had a slight "lope" to it. It gave the car it's own rhythm, and personality.
Hazel and Betsy finished her bachelors, and went on to get her Master's in early childhood. Then she went back to Pompano Beach, and started teaching in Davie, 35 miles away. A couple of years later she told me that she had been coming home from work one day and the driveshaft fell out of Betsy. David came, put it in the back of his Lincoln, towed Betsy home, jacked her up and put in new Ujoints and the driveshaft.
I joked, "Hazel, when are you going to get a new car?" She replied, "Like I told you George, when I get 200,000 miles on Betsy, I'll get a new car. Betsy is paid for, and I'm going to get my money's worth out of her." In a state where most cars never last that long, the heat and humidity take serious toll on internal parts, getting 200,000 miles out of ANY car was unheard of. Hazel explained, "I"m getting my new Monarch next month. I have 198,000 miles on Betsy, next month I'll get my new car." She then went on to explain that she had 165,000 miles on the car when I met her. I replied "Hazel, anything bad I ever said about your car, I just took back." And suddenly all of my prejudices evaporated.
Years later, when I bought my first Ford, a 69 Mustang convertible, I reflected on my prior disdain, and how life has a great sense of humor, the thing we refute the most becomes the thing we end up loving the most. Hazel's Ford taught me to be gentle with my disdains, because sooner or later, they would become my loves.
My first Ford, a 1969 Mustang convertible with a 302 V8. I drove this car to 235,000 miles, sold it for $2,500. Photo taken north of Santa Fe NM
Later I moved down to Miami, and would drive up to Hazel's house a few times a year for a long afternoon. When I decided to move to California, I went up to see her, and standing in her front yard, facing west into the sunset, I asked her if she thought I was doing the right thing. She answered, "George, there is so much out there that you can't even conceive of, because this (Florida) is all you know. If I didn't have Lydia to put through school in the next four years, and this pile of concrete behind us that only costs me $100 a month, I'd board the sucker up and go with you." So with those words of encouragement, she blessed my decision to move west to the promised land.
Every time I go to South Florida, I stop and spend at least half a day with Hazel. Like a few other friends in my life, the mere thought of her makes my eyes wet, and being with her is like being with a better part of myself.
In our latest conversation, she reminded me that she is now 81, long retired from teaching school, but not retired from life, or her community. While teaching, she became involved in the National Sex Equity in Education Project, to work on getting rid of sexism in education. She is a long time activist in the Democratic Party, a leading force in the historical preservation of her neighborhood, which was once graced by a young school teacher, who taught her late husband, Ester Rolle. Hazel has also helped countless families plan weddings and funerals. She continues to be a force of nature, and a great lover of souls.
She was a delegate to the 2000 Democratic convention.
The last time I was in her house, she showed me a photo of a distant early relation who was born in slavery. In Hazel's life and family, the journey to freedom is very real.
Hazel is the kind of friend that always sent my mother flowers on Mother's Day or Easter. When Edna passed away and we had her interment in Dade City, Hazel got into her Jaguar and drove up 200 miles to Dade City for the service.
Hazel with my brother Gene at the Dade City cemetery.
Recently, the Pompano Beach Chamber of Commerce gave Hazel their coveted "Founder's Award" (for the year 2016). The article about the award is published in "The Pelican" which is a local weekly paper beginning on page 10.
Here are photos of the specific article.
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