Touched by History

To her birth parents, she was known as Anna Pauline Murray.

Born in 1910 in Baltimore, MD, she was orphaned at a very early age and sent to live with her aunts in Durham, NC. That part of her story can be found in the first of two autobiographies she wrote about her life, family, and journey.  That book is Proud Shoes: The Story of an American Family, published by Harper & Row in 1956, twenty years before a similarly titled book by Alex Haley.

To me, she was Aunt Pauli, one of my father’s four sisters, along with one brother. She would enter and hover over my life throughout my childhood, sometimes as a distant figure and other times like a third parent.

My earliest memory of Aunt Pauli was of a tree-lined street in Brooklyn known as Chauncey, which she shared with her two aunts from Durham and the fictional characters known as the Kramdens and the Nortons. However, Aunt Pauli and great Aunts Pauline and Sallie were nothing like those folks.  Aunt Pauli was working at the Manhattan law firm of Paul Weiss, Rifkind, Wharton, and Garrison and about to take a sojourn to Accra, Ghana, to teach at the Ghana School of Law. History records that journey took place in 1960; so, I was but seven years old.

While there, Aunt Pauli apparently researched the government and constitution of that fledgling republic, founded 1 July 1960, and became somewhat more involved in Ghanaian intrigue than she intended. Subsequently, she returned to the United States and published, along with Leslie Rubin, a book on the Government and Constitution of Ghana in 1961.

She moved to New Haven, CT, to study for her doctorate in law. During that period, I can remember traveling to New Haven many times.  My memories of New Haven are ephemeral. I remember that she bought me my first watch there. I remember she lived on Dixwell Avenue, and I used to walk her dog around the block.  Aunt Pauli had three dogs that I remember throughout her lifetime.  She probably had more, but I knew of Smokey, Doc, and Roy. I don’t remember which of the three dogs I was shepherding at the time, but New Haven was where I gained my dislike for what I call “rat dogs.” These are small dogs that feel like they can take on the world and are constantly yapping, especially when a larger dog happens by.

Aunt Pauli received her JSD at Yale University’s School of Law in 1965. I was twelve by then.  When Aunt Pauli returned from Ghana, she imported the Volkswagen Karmann Ghia she had purchased there. Until 1974 Ghana, unlike the United States, drove on the left side of the road.  So, the steering wheel and drive mechanisms were on what would be the passenger side in the USA.  Until 1983, the Connecticut Turnpike had nine toll plazas; four in the stretch between the New York State border and New Haven. So, Aunt Pauli had to devise a method of paying the tolls from her driving position.  Imagine, if you will, driving up to a toll booth to be greeted either by a dog, a young child, or a fly swatter attached to a yardstick. Like many differently-abled, the world is what you make of it. If it doesn’t fit, you make alterations.

I have stated elsewhere that I am a child of the television generation. So, much of what I remember over the years is formed by what I saw on The Tube. In 1968, while turmoil was raging in Chicago, Aunt Pauli and I traveled in New England to a small privately owned island in Machias Bay known as Yellowhead Island (now known as Yellow Head Island).

We may have traveled from Boston or New Haven. I can’t remember.  What I do remember is traveling during the trip to Campobello Island, New Brunswick. It was my first trip outside of the United States. She took me there to see the Roosevelt retreat. Aunt Pauli was friends with former First Lady Eleanor Roosevelt. She once took my entire family to lunch with Mrs. Roosevelt at her home in Hyde Park, NY. Aunt Pauli’s friendship with Mrs. Roosevelt is chronicled in the book The Firebrand and the First Lady by Patricia Bell Scott.

Anyway, that August of 1964, I had just celebrated my 11th birthday. We were traveling to visit the summer home of Dr. Caroline Ware and her husband, Dr. Gardiner C. Means. They had a cabin on a bluff on Yellowhead Island, and, at that time, there was no television, only radio.  Dr. Means often took me out on his boat, and I learned how to steer a boat with a rear-mounted outboard motor. Whatever turmoil was happening in Chicago, we could only grasp by nightly listening to the radio.

At that age, I was only marginally aware of my sexuality.  During the day on the island, left to my own amusement, I would strip out of all my clothes and run around naked on the backside of the island. If anyone ever saw me, it was never mentioned to me. When the tide was low, I would venture across the cove to the head of the island, which was cut off from the rest of the island when tides were higher.

Eventually, probably around Labor Day, the time came when we left Yellowhead and traveled across Machias Bay and climbed back into the Karmann Ghia. We returned home by way of Vermont and the Green Mountains. Along the way, Aunt Pauli picked up a young sailor who was hitchhiking back to his base. I remember feeling unusually excited for reasons I didn’t understand then but clearly do now.

If Aunt Pauli knew I was gay, I don’t know. 
She never discussed it with me.

Over the years, in Boston and New York’s East Village, I would often get together with Aunt Pauli at her apartment and work as her office assistant, clipping out newspaper articles about the news of the day. Aunt Pauli was constantly on her typewriter writing letters to the editor or op-eds or letters to Presidents and other officials. We would listen to classical or folk music. My aunt would lecture her young nephew on grammar, spelling, and the awesome power of words, which, in careless hands, could be what she called psychic violence.

As I grew older, our contact became less and less.

In the winter of 1984-85, succumbing to the pressures of family and society, I decided to get married. On 11 May 1985, 13 days after my father’s death, Aunt Pauli officiated my wedding. 51 days later and 25 years to the day after Ghana became a nation, Aunt Pauli was dead.

Her second autobiography, Song in a Weary Throat, was published posthumously in 1987 by Harper & Row.

As the years have passed, something Aunt Pauli never desired while she was alive began to occur in her wake. Many have become aware of her accomplishments and her actions. As she becomes more well-known, those of us who treasure her memory become less able to control how others view her. People are projecting their hopes and desires upon her, choosing identifications and pronouns she never used herself.

People would do well that Aunt Pauli never defined herself as Black, but rather as Negro. We would often have discussions about this. I remember her telling me that her generation fought hard to capitalize the “N” in Negro, and she wasn’t willing to give up the fight so easily.

Giving up the fight was unlike Pauli Murray. Armed with her typewriter, she fought the good fight. Her story is told in her own words in her two autobiographies, her book of poetry, Dark Testament and Other Poems, and all of her works.

Her life is chronicled in a 2021 documentary produced by Talleah Bridges McMahon and from the directors of the award-winning documentary RBG, Betsy West and Julie Cohen.
Its name is My Name is Pauli Murray.

I have been touched by history.
I have known that for a very long time.
My life was shaped, in part, by her as well as my own hard-working parents.
I hope you will learn about her.
I will never forget her. I hope you won’t either.

“I’ve lived to see my lost causes found.”

— Rev. Dr. Pauli Murray

Playing Well With Others

Europeans (and Latin Americans) have hooliganism.
Americans (as in citizens of the USA) have xenophobia.
More about this later.

In sports, as in “Real Life,” it’s becoming readily apparent that Americans don’t play well with others. In a series of international sporting events this year, it seems that we, citizens of the USA, tend to forget that we are also citizens of the world as well. Our story begins with the 2006 Winter Olympics in Turin (or, if you prefer, Torino), Italy. The people we advanced as being our best hopes fell flat on their collective faces. These are the games that featured Jeremy Bloom, the 2005 World Cup freestyle skiing champion finishing sixth, the failure of America’s sweetheart Michelle Kwan to appear and Sasha Cohen choking to silver in figure skating, the feuding of Shani Davis and Chad Hedrick in speed skating and the performances of Bode Miller. You remember Bode, don’t you? He’s the one who said when his Olympic competition was completed:

The expectations were other people’s. … I’m comfortable with what I’ve accomplished, including at the Olympics … I wanted to have fun here, to enjoy the Olympic experience, not be holed up in a closet and not ever leave your room. I got to party and socialize at an Olympic level … I just did it my way. I’m not a martyr, and I’m not a do-gooder. I just want to go out and rock. And man, I rocked here.1

In other words, it’s not whether you win or lose, it’s how you play the game.

Fast forward to the inaugural World Baseball Classic. USA Baseball assembled a squad ostensibly equivalent to the first “Dream Team” assembled by USA Basketball. The roster included such luminaries as Roger Clemens, Derek Jeter, Ken Griffey, Jr., Johnny Damon, Chipper Jones, Derrick Lee, and Alex Rodriguez. There was even controversy. Rodriguez was roundly criticized for waffling between playing for Team USA versus playing for the team representing the Dominican Republic.

So what happens? Team USA finishes the Classic with a record of 3-3, out of contention. In the first round, Team USA and American fans learned a lesson about international play. After the second game of the tournament, which Team USA lost to Team Canada 8-6, the Americans learned that they could be eliminated because of the rules of the tournament, which Major League Baseball and its players helped to draw up. In a three-way tie with Mexico and Canada with a record of 2-1, Team USA could be eliminated because they allowed too many runs.

Told the scenario, Mark Teixeria eyes widened, he turned, took a gulp of water and said, Ah, I’m not really sure how that works.2


Now comes, arguably, the biggest event in World sport: the FIFA World Cup. In Korea and Japan four years ago, Team USA surprised all by advancing to the quarterfinals. In the ensuing time, the team re-qualified for the 2006 tournament, playing a variety of international opponents and sending its players to a variety of professional leagues in Europe and the United States. Team USA was so impressive that it entered the 2006 matches with a number five ranking.

So what happens? Team USA loses the first game of the opening round to the Czech Republic 3-0. Of course, panic reigns supreme. Manager Bruce Arena hired, after the 1998 debacle in France, to bring unity and not dissension to Team USA promptly fingers midfielders Landon Donovan and DaMarcus Beasley for not being aggressive enough in the match versus the Czechs.

Against the Czechs, Arena said only three of his starters had good games. “I think our best players on the night were certainly Claudio (Reyna), I think Gooch (Oguchi Onyewu) had a pretty solid game. I thought Bobby Convey at least had the courage to attack. Everybody else, the performances were not good.” … As for the team’s best young players, Donovan and Beasley, Arena said, “Landon showed no aggressiveness tonight. … We got nothing out of Beasley.”3

Bodes well for Italy, doesn’t it?

Once the World Cup is over, we have the FIBA World Championships in Sapporo, Japan to look forward to. Once again, the American powers-that-be have assembled a world-class squad (Dwayne Wade, Lebron James, Carmelo Anthony, Kobe Bryant, among others) and a world-class coach (Mike Krzyzewski) to take on Puerto Rico, China, Slovenia, Italy and Senegal in round-robin play beginning on 19 August. I shudder to think if this will work better than our last appearances in the 2002 World Championships in Indianapolis, when we finished sixth in a field of 16, or the 2004 Olympics when we finished with a bronze medal.

xenophobia: n. An intense, abnormal, or illogical fear of that which is foreign, especially of strangers or foreign peoples.

I want to conclude with a story segment I read on the Washington Post Online. Camille Powell, the Post’s soccer writer, participated in a chat prior to the USA/Czech Republic match last Monday. Here is a transcript of one of the exchanges.

Normal, Ill.: Reception of the US team has been hostile in recent tournaments-e.g. the US national anthem was booed all the way through [during] the 2003 Confederations Cup; in a qualification match with Mexico fans were chanting ‘Osama, Osama’. What sort of reception would you expect during today’s match and future matches, based on your experiences so far? What are Germans doing to prevent or disencourage such activity?

Camille Powell: I don’t expect the reaction to the US team to be overly or unusually negative today. However, if they happen to play Mexico…. The American fans in town seemed to be very well-received by the Czechs, German, British, etc. In fact, the only time I heard any boos today was when a man walked through the crowd carrying a Mexico flag. The Americans booed and shouted, “Go home!”4

As Linda Ellerbee is wont to say… And so it goes…

Ciao for now!


The Current Occupant Complains… AGAIN

One of the benefits of the #MLSisBack Tournament is that I spend less time watching political news and commenting on it. (There was no game this morning, which is why I am more active on @Twitter.)

I understand The Current Occupant held a taxpayer-paid rally at the White House Thursday evening. I was confused by some of the reports I've heard about said rally.

So, I understand @BarackObama and @JoeBiden are responsible for showers, dishwashers, light bulbs, and various other sundry items.

I’m surprised he didn’t bring up low-flow toilets.
Those are pretty annoying.



Please vote.


Originally tweeted by Mikeylito ❎🏳️‍🌈✊🏽 (@Mikeylito) on Friday, 17 July 2020.


Until 3 November, I will not refer to The President by his surname because that is his brand; I will not publicize his brand. Henceforth, he will be referred to as The Current Occupant [of the White House].

He will be referred to as the President if he does something Presidential.

I may quote content that uses his surname, but no content produced by me will use his surname.

Originally tweeted by Mikeylito ❎🏳️‍🌈✊🏽 (@Mikeylito) on Friday, 17 July 2020.

The Journey continues…