Gordon Parks Homecoming

Surely, I remember the harsh days, the sordid bigotry and segregated schools - and indeed the graveyard for Black people, (where my beloved mother and father still rest beneath Kansas earth).

But recently, the bitterness, that hung around for so many years seems to have asked for silence, for escape from the weariness of those ugly days past. Thankfully hatred is suddenly remaining quiet, [k]eeping its mouth shut! And I'm thankful [f]or the contentment we lost along the way. My hope now is that each of us can find [w]hat God put us here to find - Love! Let us have no more truck with the devil!

Gordon Parks UN Plaza, New York, NY October 2, 2001

A Sign By The Road [Side B] It stands at the edge of a Prairie town telling anyone, who cares, that I was born there. Perhaps the space left will say "Now he's buried here." Today a will-maker dropped by to tell me that time was weary and growing shorter and shorter; that nights for laughter and dancing are almost over. Perhaps a year, or more is patiently waiting. Beyond that winding road, Momma, Papa and sisters lay, assigned to graves that accommodate their Blackness. Night arrived loaded with buckets of tainted memories that had besieged my childhood with despair. No escape!

Troublesome reminders slammed me into a past where White doors frowned at me and White Schools shunned my presence. Fortunately some might fine things happened along the way for me, and that prairie town. Ups and downs have a way of contradicting the future. That sign, standing proudly on the road to Fort Scott, appears to be invisible to both malice and hatred. Crowned with mystery, racism seems to be wrinkling into solitude.

My doctor stretches my remaining years to 10! My bones hope he is right. But doctors, and will-makers can be wrong. I came into this world pronounced dead. Thankfully, God condemned that declaration. I survived. The end predicted for me, fell into a hole and died. So now I don't sit around waiting, day by day -- for death to call my name again.

Gordon Parks - March 2005.