Okemah Community Tribute

William “Willie” Henry Davis–Baseball All-Star

Los Angeles Dodgers legend, Willie Davis, was an outstanding athlete who spent many years of his youth in Okemah. His journey to the top was a winding road that began with his grandparents when he was a toddler. The future baseball All-Star was born on April 15, 1940, to William Davis Sr. and Maudest Burt in Mineral Springs, Arkansas. Maudest Burt was Winford Burt’s sister.

His father, Willie (Bill) Sr., was Edgar and Classie May Davis’ fifth child out of seven. In 1941, his father Edgar, decided to move west from Tollette, Arkansas to Scottsdale, Arizona to establish a better life for the family. Edgar’s three sons, Ellis, Tom, and Bill, and their wives, and children traveled with them. Thomas recalled a few other relatives on the trip also. Edgar settled on Mr. Dogood’s cotton-picking ranch, filling a position as a laborer overseer for the cotton field hands. In 1942, Bill joined the U.S. Navy and served 4 honorable years from 1942 to 1946.

In 1946, Bill joined his wife Maudest, and two sons, Thomas and Willie in Okemah which was home to Edgar Davis and his family. Shortly thereafter, Bill and Maudest parted ways, and she and the boys headed to Los Angeles, California.

Every summer Thomas and Willie would come from Los Angeles to Okemah to visit their father, grandparents, and family. The boys enjoyed working with “Gramps,” as they called him. They rarely got the chance to go to the cotton fields with him because cotton harvesting usually began in the early fall, and they were back in Los Angeles attending school by then. They worked with him in his commercial lawn-cutting business and earned a few dollars to buy their favorite candies, snacks, and drinks. Thomas remembered the stops at the stores after a long and hard day of work to pleasure themselves with a butter finger, Ruffles potato chips, and an ice-cold Root Beer.

Thomas and Willie were happy to say that “Gramps” taught them real work.

 After the hard work was all said and done, attending many family get-togethers, was a part of their summer fun, and playing with their brothers was one of them. Neighboring relatives were Uncle Tom’s family next door and Aunt Ozaree Burt’s family down the road on the corner of 36th Street. A drive to Maricopa, Arizona was always a look-to-trip visiting their Aunt Gladys, Uncle Worthy Adams, and their first cousins. In addition to these family outings, other summer fun activities included catching crawdads, fishing, foot racing, playing marbles, swimming in the irrigation ditches, and canals, and playing baseball games in the field, east of Gramps’ house. Willie was an enthusiast of the game of baseball, and he engaged himself gleefully with the sport.

When summer was over, it was back to California and school. Willie attended Roosevelt High School in Los Angeles where he was a standout in baseball, basketball, and track and field. He ran a 9.5 in the 100-yard dash and set a city record in the long jump of 25 feet 5 inches.

The Los Angeles Dodgers took note of his athleticism, agility, and speed. The team signed the “speedster” right out of high school in 1958. Willie made his pro debut in 1960 in center field, a position he held for 13 years.

During Willie’s playing days he set a multitude of records, and his professional milestones are many, including 20 or more stolen bases in 11 straight seasons, with a career-high of 42 stolen bases in 1964, and a Dodgers’ record of 31 consecutive game hitting streak in 1969. He was a three-time Gold Glove winner and a two-time National League all-star. He was an intricate part of three Dodgers National League pennants and two World Series titles.

He got his nickname “Three Dog” because his uniform was number 3 and his speed around the bases was fast and fierce; they said he ran like a greyhound. 

In all, Willie played 13 seasons for the Dodgers until 1973, and then another six seasons for five other Major League teams and two Japanese teams, retiring in 1979.

Throughout his career, he also dabbled in acting, appearing in several television programs, and was a co-star in the Jerry Lewis comedy film Which Way to the Front. He also appeared in several other TV shows including Mr. Ed, The Flying Nun, and Owen Marshall Counselor at Law.

During his legendary career, Willie first married Jeanna Lemyou (Gina), and later, to Amy Rumbelow. Willie Davis was the father to four children. He adopted and became father to Gregory Chapman Davis, who was the offspring of Willie’s first wife, Gina. Later, Willie and Gina had two daughters—Kimberly and Jennifer. Shonan Casey Davis was the only child born to Willie and Amy.

This esteemed athlete, “speedster,” and one-time Okemah resident left us just before his 70th birthday, March 9, 2010.

William “Willie” Henry Davis

CAROL LOIS BOONE

As a child in Okemah, I never imagined my life’s journey.

From 4130 E. Transmission Rd. to Africa, Europe, Asia, South America and the Middle East, my roots in the Okemah community have always been with me, and now that I am home again—less than 3 miles from my Okemah address—I feel lucky to have had my start there.

My maternal grandparents, Ashby and Mattie Stewart moved to Okemah in 1938.

My father, Daniel Boone (1920 -1986), was born in Stroud, Oklahoma and moved to Okemah after leaving the Army. My mother, Opal Lee (Stewart) Boone (1926 – 2017), was born in Phoenix, Arizona, and lived in the Okemah area most of her life. For me, it all started in 1945 in Okemah.

The Boone family were members of the Willow Grove Baptist Church. Reverends W.M. Hardison and Jesse Wheeler were the pastor and assistant pastor, respectively, and church played a significant role in my early development. At age six, one of my earliest memories was being baptized in the canal near the church with my sisters, Sharon (Boone) Stewart (1946 – 2021) and Connie (Boone) Young (1948 – present).

We were active in Sunday School, youth choir, vacation bible school, and always participated in Christmas and Easter programs with speeches. At home, we learned the values of truth, honesty, love, forgiveness, and personal responsibility, and they were reinforced at Willow Grove Baptist. Like school, I loved going to church. It was a place where I had fun with my peers and—more importantly—I felt safe because most of the adults were like second parents, uncles, and aunts. Mrs. Boozer, Maurice and N.G. Mitchell, Mrs. Spell, Mrs. Darcus Davis, Mrs. Sellars, and many others encouraged, chastised, and nurtured the three Boone sisters. They helped mold us into the women we became.

My youngest sister, April (Boone) Jones, came along 30 years after me but was also a child of Okemah and attended Willow Grove Baptist Church, and I am eternally grateful for the guidance and support of the entire church congregation.

I attended 40th Street School where Mrs. Slaughter was the principal and remember being in Mrs. Griffin’s first-grade class and walking to school with the other children who lived east of 40th Street. School was a fun place, especially recess and lunch. However, I struggled with reading, and my mother was determined to have me become a strong reader. With switch in hand, she practiced reading with me after school each day, using the “Dick and Jane” primary book. My mother also wanted me to learn the arts, so she had me take piano lessons from Mrs. Slaughter. I eventually learned to love reading, but I cannot say those piano lessons created a pianist. In fact, I do not play any instruments, nor can I carry a tune. (To let you in on a secret and “keep it 100” as my grandchildren say, I mouthed the words during church youth choir. No one heard me sing a note, not a “fa,” “la,” “ti,” or “do.”)

Things changed in second grade. The children living east of 40th Street were bussed to Tempe. From second grade through high school, we were educated in Tempe where most of the students at the elementary schools were white. There were a few Mexican children from Victory Ackers and Guadalupe and even fewer Black children. Fortunately, my mother insisted every teacher offer me every chance to be successful and to complete high school.

My mother’s philosophy: “Luck happens when preparedness meets opportunities, joined with hard work.” With her ever-present encouragement, I received a Bachelor of Arts in Education from Arizona State University and a master’s degree from Northern Arizona University, with an emphasis in sociology and corrections.

While working on my master’s degree, I worked as the director of the Okemah Head Start program, but after graduating, I joined the Arizona Department of Corrections and stayed there for 17 years in a variety of roles, including supervisor of Prevention; superintendent of New Dawn; deputy warden; assistant director; and I was appointed by Governor Rose Mofford as the first director of the newly established Juvenile Corrections.

After leaving corrections, I moved to California and worked in child welfare and later in probation with Ventura County Probation. Wanting to get back closer to family, I returned to Arizona and joined Casey Family Programs as the center director. Casey Family Programs works to improve child welfare in the foster care system. Eventually, I moved back to California—this time to Pasadena—to accept a promotion within Casey as regional vice president, responsible for programs in Arizona, California, and Hawaii. In 2002 I became executive vice president for Systems Improvement and moved to Seattle, Washington, where Casey Family Program headquarters are located.

In 2006, it was time to return to Phoenix and my family, and I accepted the position of chief probation officer with the Maricopa Superior Court. From that role, I retired in December 2009.

Since retiring, I have chosen to spend my time traveling, being a political advocate, golfing, hiking, enjoying water aerobics, watching my granddaughter play volleyball, reading, visiting with family and friends, and making new friends.

My journey has taken me around the world and given me many personal and professional opportunities. However, the thing I am most proud of is my daughter, Statia (Moore) Hendrix. She is a dedicated wife and mother, with stellar career accomplishments. Statia and her husband of almost 27 years, Henry, have gifted me with two intelligent, kind, and active grandchildren: Mason (23) and Evan (17).

They are my legacy. They are the legacy of Okemah, and I know their journeys will keep the spirit of Okemah alive.

Carol Boone

MS. IRIS “GIRLIE” BRANHAM-REYNOLDS, THE MATRIARCH

By Erma J. Reynolds

My mother, Ms. Girlie, who lived at 3720 E. Anne St., Phoenix, Arizona, came to Phoenix in approximately 1942, following her dad to the Okemah Community, moving from Roswell, New Mexico, by way of Meeker, Oklahoma, by way of Wichita, Kansas. She had two children underfoot with 11 more children to be born afterwards. 

Mr. Nelson, her father, sold her 1-1/2 acres of land, that had the shell of a house, dirt floors, two rooms, and no windows or doors.  Ms. Girlie was so proud, she moved right in, and the struggle began. 

She was a self-made contractor, seamstress and a jack-of-all trades. Anything that came to her, she used it.  She used Mr. Shawn’s “Slop Truck” for the hogs, where she received fresh vegetables that she peeled, seasoned and cooked before they “went bad,” or perished.  Ms. Girlie raised cows and hogs; so, there was plenty of meat.  The free commodity, the canned meat, beans, rice, and boxed cheese made the best meals.  She never missed a trick to make something delicious out of nothing. 

Ms. Girlie hauled wood and bricks in her station wagon, as well as telling her husband where he could get more. Everyone in the community would visit and tell her where the “good stuff” was located.

 When Ms. Girlie married her second husband, she had 9 more children.  She would say, “You can keep the husbands, but I love my children.”  Ms. Girlie was an awesome grandmother—the more kids the merrier.  If you asked each one—and boy, did she have a lot of grandkids—they would all say, “I am the special one,” or “I am her favorite.”  

Growing up and watching her, there was nothing she could not do.  Ms. Girlie made herself and her children clothing, quilts, and she always had a plan for the next project.  She added room-after-room to her house and it stayed spotless and organized.  Ms. Girlie had an “outhouse,” (an outdoor toilet) before the family had an indoor bathroom.  She designed the bathroom beautifully in all-blue—sink, tub, toilet and tile, all matching, one color. 

Ms. Girlie’s house rules never changed.  She raised her children with respect.  One of her sayings was, “Never talk about others, because you never know where you will be tomorrow.”  

Ms. Girlie was part of the phenomenal generation of men and women who made Okemah what it really stood for.  She worked only one time for one week at JC Penney’s and quit.  Ms. Girlie said she had too many children and she needed to know where they were.

She cooked all day, every day: cakes, chicken, butter rolls, you name it.  Her pots were always full and anyone who came by was fed.  The free food, the throw away bread, the day-old McDonald’s burgers, and the old donuts from Dunkin were good treats for us.  The hogs and cows, fresh meat from the slaughterhouse, cut to perfection.  We were well cared for and our clothes were clean.  We never played in the house and when adults came around, we had better be seen and not heard.  So, we played outside. 

Ms. Girlie was the oldest of eight brothers and sisters and she was taken out of school to take care of them, but she had a passion for reading.  The True Story and True Confession magazines came in the mail, and she would sit and read.  This was her blessing and escape.  Every now and then, she would make herself a dress and we would watch her turn on the record player and listen to B.B. King.  Ms. Girlie would wrap-up her hair, and call her brother to pick her up, so she could “be seen.”  

Money was not talked about; there was none. However, she was a saver.  We got shoes when we needed them.  She had a car, and we went on vacation every year to Texas, Oklahoma and Kansas.  Every weekend we also went to the Rodeo, Silver Dollar, or Phoenix Drive-in, with a big bucket of fried chicken or lunch meat.  Ms. Girlie had good credit at all the small stores to get extras, like lunch meat and sugar.  She had a beautiful personality, a great sense of humor, and a great knowledge of life. 

One of Ms. Girlie’s rules was to do laundry once a week on Saturday and if you did not go to church, you were not allowed to go out of the yard the next week. Because of her trust in the other mothers in the community, they would tell of our behavior and it had better be a good report.  The beds were made before we left the room, and then we went to do our other chores.  We had to do our chores before 7 a.m., like milking the cows and feeding the hogs; then we were off to school. 

Ms. Girlie loved Okemah, the space, camaraderie, and the place where Black people could buy land and raise their children.  She stated there was freedom, choices and space to grow.  She made it self-evident that when you became grown, you had to buy your own home.  Ms. Girlie helped a lot of people in many ways.  The community has spoken of her great deeds, but she was very humbled and could get a person “straight” when needed.  Ms. Girlie has been an eternal patch on the Okemah Community quilt, which is to be acknowledged and celebrated.

Ms. Girlie, we thank you! From your children, grands, great-grands and great-great-grands.  When she passed on December 2, 2008, there were five generations of love.

Ms. Iris “Girlie” Branham-Reynolds

FORMER OKEMAH RESIDENT CLAUDIA SAMPSON THOMPSON IS A SALEM, OREGON NURSE PIONEER

 Better Jobs and Jim Crow were the driving forces behind Claudia Mae Sampson’s family migration to Arizona in 1951. Claudia was born in Ozan, Arkansas. Her parents were Lee Davis and Rheola Sampson. She remembered traveling in a box truck with 22 other people covered with a tarp including her parents and siblings.

The family settled in Glendale, Arizona, first staying in the Black Canyon (cotton) Camp. Claudia was in the 10th grade and was the first Black person to attend Glendale Union High School. Claudia said, “I would go to school every day, get off the bus, change my clothes, and pick cotton to make lunch money for the next day.” Her parents later moved to the Tamarack Camp in Litchfield Park Arizona because the rooms were much larger to accommodate larger families.

She graduated from Litchfield Park High School. Claudia met her husband Robert Lee (Bro) Thompson at the cotton camp in Litchfield, Arizona, and shortly thereafter, in 1954, they were married. Picking cotton would be their main source of income for the next two years.

After two years, Claudia and Robert moved to Luling, Texas where her first child, Robert Lee Jr., was born. They moved back to Arizona and eventually settled in the Okemah Community in 1957 where land was less expensive. They bought a two-bedroom stationery house on one lot and the adjourning lot next to it on Magnolia Street north of Transmission Road.

“We were proud of our home and were eager to make it lively and exciting by further adding cows, pigs, chickens, a few greyhound dogs, and a garden; we were happy!” Claudia exclaimed.

Robert eventually secured a job at Lute’s Drug Store in Scottsdale and Claudia did housekeeping. But after some time, she was hired to work as a salad maker at the soda fountain in Lute’s Drug Store. By then her daughter, Claudette, had been born.

After several years in Arizona, Claudia and Robert moved to Salem, Oregon in 1963 where the doors opened for her.

Claudia Thompson was a proud resident of the Okemah Community, and little did she realize she would have a place in local Salem, Oregon history.

After Claudia’s first three children were born—Robert, Claudette, and Bruce—Claudia went to the employment office and took an aptitude test in hopes of finding a career that matched her skills and interests.

Claudia scored highest in decorating which drew snickers from her family. Her daughter, Claudette, gave an example of the family photo arrangements on the walls of her mom’s home: “The stuff looked crazy, she’d have them just hung anywhere, no order, style, or reason, and all crooked; her decorating skills were way, way, way, off.”

But Claudia also scored high on the aptitude test in nursing. The family agreed it was a good thing, and it turned out to be her career calling. She entered nursing school in 1965 at Salem Tech Junior College for one year. She never missed a class and was an attentive wife and mother. According to Claudia, she would lock herself up in her bedroom to study and her young son Bruce would sit outside the door and cry, and she would be crying inside, but she had to study.

One week before Claudia graduated, the college’s name was changed to Chemeketa Community College. She graduated at the top of her class and was the first African-American nurse to graduate from Chemeketa Community College. Claudia received an LPN diploma and launched a 30-year nursing career working at Salem General Hospital right out of nursing school.

Claudia’s youngest son, Eric, was born in December 1970, after her nursing career had launched. She later worked at Salem Memorial Hospital before the two hospitals emerged. She retired from Memorial.

“She had a good work history,” said one of her co-workers. “She always came ready to work and was very professional, and she was a good worker. Caring for others came naturally for Claudia.”

“She had the support from doctors and nurses who worked at both hospitals and was well-liked and well-respected by her colleagues throughout her career,” said another co-worker.

Claudia retired from Salem Hospital in 1997. But she continued to serve her community as a volunteer.

In 2008, Claudia Thompson was presented with the Spirit of the Red Cross Hero Award for voluntary service to others in keeping with the life-enhancing mission of the Red Cross.

“People continue to count on her,” her daughter Claudette said. I don’t care who it is…strangers, family, or somebody that told them they knew her, they would call her on the phone and say, “I’ve got to go to the hospital, will you meet me there? and she would.” Claudia has always been known for her kindness and compassion, even today, long after retirement.

Today, Claudia continues to reside in Salem, Oregon. She stays occupied by running errands for her daughter Claudette’s Beauty Salon, walking at the mall, working out at a local gym, camping, fishing, sewing, reading, and writing her autobiography. “I’m not one to sit home and watch television and do nothing,” Claudia concluded.

Claudia Sampson Thompson

Bob Wallace

Okemah’s Bob Wallace Reaches the Pinnacle of Football in 1968

Many youngsters start playing sports at an early age for the love and fun of the game, the competition, and the camaraderie with other kids. Along the way, many start dreaming of climbing to the top and playing at the pro level in their chosen sport. Not everyone makes it, but for those who achieve it, it’s a dream realized, a dream come true. It takes hard work and above all, talent.

One of Okemah’s own, Bob Wallace, climbed that mountain to success in football. Robert Charles Wallace was born on October 7, 1945, in Texarkana, Arkansas. He moved to Okemah in 1949 with his mother Lola Mae, and sister Gloria. Their family eventually grew to seven children. His upbringing in Okemah was typical—playing games and hanging out with other kids in the neighborhood. Fun things that he liked to do with his neighborhood friends were building scooters out of old wood planks, wire, and wheels from old lawnmowers, shooting marbles, and playing football and little league under Coach Webb. One of the most fond memories for Bob during his childhood was catching crawdads in the canal when the water was low.

Bob attended 40th Street School and then Percy L. Julian. After that, it was on to South Mountain High School where his athletic talents began to be showcased in football, basketball, and track. In basketball, he played center at 6’ 2”, gained notoriety as an outstanding receiver on the football team, and placed second in the state hurdle finals as a standout track star. Bob was an outstanding all-around athlete—he became a high school All-American in football and basketball. His exploits on the gridiron caught the attention of Phoenix College. Once there, his talents continued to shine, helping the Bears win the National Jr. College Football Championship his first year. He was ultimately selected to the school hall of fame in 2007.

After excelling at the junior college level, The University of Texas El Paso (formerly Texas Western University), recruited Bob, where he continued to stand out. His receiving skills helped the Miners win two championships in his three years and would eventually land him in the UTEP Hall of Fame. Then the pros came calling—The Chicago Bears drafted him in the second round of the 1968 draft. Bob played five years (1968-1972) as a receiver and tight end. Before retiring, he also played one year for the Detroit Wheels of the World Football League.

After leaving the game he loved, Bob took some time off but was not one to sit still. He joined the Tempe fire department and became the second African American to be hired. Bob spent 15 years on the job and achieved “Fireman of the Year”, during his time there.

After accomplishing many feats, he wanted to relax, travel, and play golf. During his years of leisure, his inner athlete drew him towards another challenge—becoming the Director of Jr. Golf for the Desert Mashie Jr. Golf program.

Bob still lives in the valley in Anthem, Arizona with his wife Dene, of 54 years. They are enjoying life with their three children; Rob, Kelci, and Morgen, and their two grandchildren; Kensey and Calais. He says he cherishes his great life experiences and his memories of growing up in Okemah.

Bob Wallace

MARY OLLIE BOOZER

By James “Sonny” Boozer

Mary Ollie Perkins was born in Emmett, Arkansas on August 6, 1922. She was one of nine children of Ethel Johnson Perkins and Henry C. Perkins. The Boozer family history discusses the journey from Arkansas to Okemah.

In 1948 Okemah became the Boozer family home. Mary Ollie Perkins Boozer raised her family in Okemah and was actively engaged in the Willow Grove Baptist Church for more than half a century. She received recognition for service to the Sunday School, Vacation Bible School, Senior Women’s Mission, and the Youth Department. She also received the prestigious appointment of Deaconess.

She would say that a person should not be made to appear greater in life than in actuality. Service to others exemplified her life.

Mary Ollie Boozer was the embodiment of the community’s caring spirit reflected in the make-up of many Okemah residents. “We met a lot of beautiful families. We were all together and we came up together, through all of the hardships,” she said. For example, Mother worked with two neighborhood women, Fannie Mitchell and Verdell Daniels, who organized a neighborhood Mother’s March of Dimes to defeat polio. They also worked with the American Red Cross in providing first aid training for the community.

Her organization involvement included the Benevolent Protective Order of Elks of which she was a lifetime member. Numerous recognitions for her loyal service were awarded. Additionally, she was a member of the Eastern Star. The Salt River Valley General Baptist Convention of Arizona awarded her the devoted service award.

At home and on the job, her Southern style cooking was the best. She retired from Southminister Social Services after 25 years as culinary services support staff.

As the Okemah community began trending toward industrial usage, the population waned. Many longtime residents died, and investors began buying up properties. The I-10 freeway through the middle of the area was the final blow to the disintegration of the community. Mother reflected on the drastic change in the community. According to the 2004 City of Phoenix African American Historic Property Survey, “You feel kind of lost, like they are pushing you out of your home. After I moved out of there, after I found out they were tearing down my house, I couldn’t go down there. I just went down 40^th Street, I never came down Superior where we lived,” Mary Ollie lamented.

It is said that a tree is known for its fruit. Mother’s fruits of labor are seen in her roles as a wife, mother of 5, grandmother of 22, great-grandmother of 47, great-great-grandmother of 23, and mother to children of her Willow Grove Church.

Mary Ollie Perkins Boozer preplanned her memorial service and requested that the program include the song “If I Can Help Somebody”. The song’s lyrics reflect her life journey—her legacy of love and service. She passed away in Phoenix on August 4, 2019.

Mary Ollie Boozer

The Making of a Champion (©) 2018
By Michael Powell

It was early June in Okemah, Arizona and if you asked adults, they’d say it was hot, 106 in the shade. To six-year-olds like me, as long as it wasn’t raining, I could go outside to play. Nothing else mattered. On her way to work that morning, Momma dropped me off at my Aunt Lottie’s house for breakfast so I could finish off her best in the whole wide world apple pie. She was so much fun to be around, always telling stories about her childhood and our family. Best of all, she was the only adult who served us kids coffee. Actually, it was cream and sugar with a splash of coffee—delicious, especially with apple pie. But the time of day soon arrived when “The Edge of Night,” “As the World Turns,” and the “Guiding Light” came on TV. Every kid in the neighborhood knew better than bother any adult female during the “stories” unless you were hurt beyond your ability to stop the bleeding.

As Auntie turned her attention to the “stories,” I decided to head back home because I knew some of my friends would likely be outside playing. So, I kissed her goodbye and walked north on 36th Street from Miami Street to my street, Superior Avenue, and turned east toward home. I was just about to the edge of my grandpa’s field when I heard a soft urgent whisper, “Michael.” I paused to see who was calling my name, then I heard it again, “Michael.” This time with more authority, “Michael.” Once again, “Michael,” much more intensely but no louder. It was Robert Boozer, my eight-year-old next-door neighbor, sounding an alarm! I turned in the direction of his call, but he was barely visible yet completely out in the open, lying prostrate on the ground.

“Get down, get down,” he said as he beckoned me to come to him. As I crept closer and closer, I crouched lower and lower until I was next to him in the same position. I knew that whatever the trouble was it had to be bad, bad enough to make him lie flat on his stomach in the Okemah dust. No matter how much we brushed off ourselves and each other, we could never erase the traces of fine dust that would cling to shoes, clothes, and everything else that resided in or even passed through Okemah, a community perched alongside the dry Salt River bottom. To lie face down in it and soil your clothing was to risk corporal or maybe even capital punishment from any and perhaps all the mothers, grandmothers, aunts and older sisters who saw you before you got home to receive formal execution from your own mother.

No child in their right mind would risk that certain strict correction without a good reason, a real good reason. “What’s the matter, Robert,” I queried. “The Scott Boys.” That’s all he needed to say; it was reason enough to be face down in the dirt and to face the inevitable consequences. The Scott Boys were deadly at chunking; that is, when they threw a rock, they rarely missed. They were also playfully mean. They would not do you serious harm but once they had you at their mercy they wouldn’t let up until they were finished laughing at you.

In those days you when you were summoned by your momma you answered, and you answered quickly. God places in a child’s mind a special transceiver capable of picking up a mother’s call from miles away. It is activated when the mother uses both the child’s first and middle name in the call. “Michael Louis” or “Robert Anthony” meant you drop everything and come home. But if the Scott Boys had you pinned down, your mother’s call would only heighten their entertainment; they wouldn’t let up till they were sure you were in deep trouble.

So, we lay low and hoped they were too busy teasing each other to notice us but it was not our day for an easy out. Jessie Scott spotted us; he was the most accurate chunker, and the fastest runner of the trio which included his brothers Leonard and Jerry. He said, “Who…that’s Robert and Michael. Get ‘em!”

Before the words left his mouth, we were already on the move. We jumped up and ran toward the back of my grandfather’s field knowing that we both had on shoes and hoping that the Scotts were barefoot and would be discouraged by the goat heads that lay scattered in the field. Goat heads are hard horn-shaped thorns that resemble a goat’s head; they form under the small leaves of a ground-covering plant. You can’t see the thorns until you have trampled over one of the plants. Those thorns are so sharp and hard that once you’ve experienced the pain they inflict you’ll never voluntarily go through it again.

We were in luck, the Scott Boys were indeed barefoot, but we were not out of range. As we made it to a patch of goat heads the Scott boys pulled up short but began to spread out and load up on rocks. They set their aerial attack in motion seemingly filling the sky with projectiles designed to cut off our retreat by being aimed to land behind us, so continuing to run would cause us to risk being hit.

By spreading out, they were able to deposit rocks on either side of us forcing us toward each other in an easier-to-hit bunch. We were in easy range and didn’t dare turn to run again because we had to watch out for incoming lobs, so we looked for ammo to fire back. The Scotts were excellent tacticians. While Jerry and Leonard covered our flanks with high arching volleys, Jesse the sharpshooter, hurled swift head-level kill shots up the middle. The dilemma was that in order to miss being hit by the kill shots we’d skip to the right of left but that made you susceptible to the volleys lofted in the direction of retreat. Robert yelled, “Get Jessie,” knowing that if he quit, they would all quit. So, we shot back, concentrating our attack at Jessie. But as we did Leonard and Jerry changed from high arching lobs to high velocity kill shots. So now we were being overwhelmed with incoming fire which forced us to retreat once again.

We ran toward the shallow ditch which bordered the backside of Grandpa’s field. As we did, the Scotts followed hot behind us, but the goat heads got Leonard; Jessie and Jerry stopped to assess his injuries. Just then we heard a voice from behind us say, “You nappy head Negroes leave my brother alone!” It was Jimmy Boozer or Bubba as we called him, Robert’s older brother, and Jackie Daniels was with him. They were around 11 or 12 years old, making them big boys to us.

They were too far out of range to immediately help and we knew that the Scotts weren’t afraid of them and would keep pressing the fight regardless. But Bubba and Jackie were fast and smooth; they approached with the grace and speed of gazelles. As they got closer, they began to chunk head shots at the Scotts causing them to rethink the engagement.

Just as it seemed they were beaten, we heard a loud war cry that could only have come from Sammy Mosely and his little brother Gary. They reinforced the Scotts without even knowing why.

With Bubba and Jackie in place, we were much better off, but once again outnumbered. Robert reissued his order to get Jessie, and Jackie offered to take care of Sammy. Just as our haphazard plan took shape, I saw Junior Wallace on our right flank coming to join us. Now that the sides were even the fight was on.

Our war whoops and hollers went unheeded by our mothers and grandmothers because it was “stories” time on TV. As the battle raged, the noise attracted boys from around the neighborhood. Some of the girls, Carol Wallace, my sister Charlotte, and Pinky Davis, came to see what all the commotion was about. Boys joined in the fray, picking sides at random. Soon there were at least a dozen to a side and no ground gained by either. As fatigue set in, a sort of cease fire and peace talks ensued. “Y’all give up,” Jessie Scott demanded. “No,” shot back Bubba. “Looks like y’all getting tired,” he added. “You mean y’all scared,” answered Jessie. At that, Sammy fired a high arching stone that landed harmlessly in our midst. Jackie answered with a similar harmless volley.

Then Jessie said, “We gonna chunk one at a time and whoever gets hit first their whole team loses.” With that, Leonard lofted a bomb into the air, and we all jumped out of the way. Junior Wallace let loose, but their crew avoided his missile too. This went on for many rounds with accompanying laughing and trash talking. Some of the girls even chimed in teasing and laughing, which added fuel to the fire.

I was one of youngest boys out there, but I was filled with courage because of my comrades in arms. But I was also happy that none of the rocks hurled toward our group landed close to me. That is until Jessie fired a rock so high that it seemed to disappear into the sky, but when it started downward it was indeed headed straight toward me in what looked like slow motion. As a matter of fact, everything was in slow motion. I could vaguely hear my teammates screaming, “Michael, get out of the way!” But I couldn’t move, I was frozen by the projectile headed my way. No one could push me out of the way. That was considered cheating; I had to move on my own or get hit. Again, the warnings were sounded: “Duck-move-move-duck. Get out of the way boy!”

My feet had a strange grip on the ground and I as much as I wanted to run, I couldn’t move. I was terrified! For some unexplainable reason, at the last moment I stuck my hand up in the air. The rock caught me more so than I caught the rock. Its jagged edge cut into my palm which made blood run down my arm. But I did not cry or drop the stone. I just let out a blood-curdling war whoop. That, and sight of blood put our enemies to flight and emboldened our team. We took out after them firing kill shots as we went. They turned and ran, and the day was won.

The big boys picked me up and tossed me around they all slapped me on the back and rubbed my head. I was a hero even though surely a reluctant one. But my hand was still bleeding, and it was beyond my ability to stop it. I now had to interrupt Grandma during her stories and show up dirty, dusty, and bleeding. But somehow, I was not afraid. I calmly walked through our back door with Robert Boozer right behind me, and said, “Grandma I hurt my hand.” She looked at me closely and I started to cry but held back. Then she looked at my wound and said, “I heard all the chunking and hollering you boys were doing. Looks like you got the worst of it, or did you… maybe you come out on top?”

She didn’t fuss at us or punish us; she just cleaned and treated my cut with Watkins Salve and homemade bandages. Then she cleaned us up washing away all the dirt and grit, rinsed out our clothes in the sink to get rid of the dust, and hung them to dry in the Arizona sun. After that she gave each of us a cup of cold water and a baloney sandwich. We lay down on her cool, spotless linoleum floor exhausted by the fight and went to sleep. I woke up to the smell of Grandma’s best in the whole wide world oatmeal walnut raisin cookies baking in the oven and feeling like a champion.

Michael Powell – February 2023

Donivan Womack – October 2022

Jimmie C. Daniels

“Okemah was an extraordinary place to grow up in.  My parents and all the other parents were hard-working people. All the adults held voluntary positions in the community to make our lives rich with experiences, memories, and good character. Not by spending money, but by giving up their time. The church was the center of the community. The families that moved to Okemah were independent and determined to make a better life for themselves and their children,” said Jimmie Daniels.

Jimmie Daniels’ words reflect his pride and admiration for the small but never forgotten community of Okemah. Jimmie was the fourth of eight children born to Verdell and Curtis Daniels…Frances, Gloria, Robert, Jimmie, Arlene, Ailene, Jackie, and Ronald. Jimmie grew up in Okemah, attending South Mountain high school, where he was an outstanding athlete. That athleticism was on display while growing up in this tight-knit community.

“One summer Poppa talked Mr. Roberts into being our little league baseball coach.  He had a son our age who was a pretty good shortstop. All the guys who thought they could play grabbed their gloves and met at Palmdale to be assigned to a team. We had a pretty good team. We played teams in Kyrene, Guadalupe, and all over Phoenix. We were tied with the Golden Gate Ravens for first place. It was my turn to pitch. I warmed up on the sideline. We played the game at Percy L. Julian. Then the umpire yelled, “Play ball!” I walked out to the mound. As I looked around, I spotted Poppa with his arms leaning on the chain-link fence. As usual, he had on his brown fedora tilted to the side. Then the game started. They would send up three batters and I would strike them all out. This continued this way for nine innings. I pitched a no-hitter, and my Poppa was there to see it.”

Shortly after high school, Jimmie served in the U.S. Army. One of his duty stations was Fairbanks, Alaska…an ironic situation…from the desert and sunshine to the cold and snow. But as unusual as the situation seemed, Alaska would play a major role in his life and his success. After the military, Jimmie continued his educational journey, graduating from Phoenix College and then Arizona State University in education in 1974. Then it was back to Anchorage, Alaska in 1975 to start a very successful and exceptional 27-year teaching and administrative career in the Anchorage School District. He was well prepared for the challenge because of his upbringing.

“I remember when I was ten years old, my father and one of his buddies took a job to tear down an old farmhouse. When we drove up in my father’s two-and-a-half-ton 1946 Ford truck, I thought to myself, this is impossible. We stepped out of the truck and got to work. My job was to straighten out all the bent nails to be later used to expand our house. I threw them into a tin coffee can after I had made them straight. My pay was the pride I felt just being a part of the job. When we drove off, the only thing we left was the cement foundation.

Momma took charge of our spiritual upbringing. She marched us to church every Sunday with our shoes shined, clothes pressed and tops tucked in.”

 Jimmie was an elementary school teacher until 1994. He had already been recognized as Teacher of the Month in April 1991 for the Anchorage School District. But then the honors and recognition began to roll in as one of the best in the state.

 “The state of Alaska selected 75 teachers from throughout the state to be part of an Academy of Aspiring School Leaders. The program provided a scholarship to all participants to achieve their master’s in public school administration. It was a very innovative program that brought to the state nationally renowned educators of the time to teach classes on the school administration to participants. The cherry on the top was to attend the Harvard Graduate School of Education Principal’s Center. I graduated from the center in 1993. I received my Master of Education degree in Public School Administration from the University of Alaska Anchorage in August 1994 and then became principal of Ptarmigan Elementary School. During my time as principal, I was recognized as Anchorage School District Administrator of the month for November 1997.”

 Jimmie’s achievements extended beyond the classroom and his school. He successfully spearheaded a bond proposition that added needed classrooms, a much-needed junior high, and other facilities. Just before he retired, he received the school district’s Denali Award for Excellence for Outstanding Service and a short time later the Anchorage Municipal Assembly passed and approved a Resolution recognizing his 27 years of honorable service as an educator. This was the first time this type of resolution had been initiated in the state of Alaska…a municipal assembly recognizing an educator. All that he accomplished comes back to where he grew up.

 “Okemah is a shining example of the quote, “It takes a village to raise a child.” Research shows that a child needs to be surrounded by 120 positive role models who make an impact on his or her life, in order to be successful. Okemah definitely provided me with positive role models that I can draw on as examples of how to live my life. I carry the spirit of Okemah deep in my heart. The Okemah community taught me the grit and determination I needed to achieve the life I dreamed of living. I was married briefly after high school and had 2 beautiful daughters, Tamala and Felicia. In 1979, I married a loving and supportive woman. We have a blended family of five children and one great-grandchild.”

Jimmie will tell you he didn’t have a job. It was a rewarding experience. As he says, “Do what you love and you will never work a day in your life” and he will proudly say that he hasn’t worked a day since August 1975. Jimmie retired in 2002, moved back to Arizona, but continues to work with charter school districts. He is now fully retired and enjoying the sunshine.

Jimmie C. Daniels – August 2022

Nelson G. Mitchell Jr.

Nelson G. Mitchell, Jr. (N.G. Jr.) lived a life of quiet dignity, honor and steadfastness during his 98 years on earth. His values were guided by family, faith, friends, farming, fishing and a love of roses. He was a stalwart in the Okemah community for more than 40 years.

N.G. Jr. was born January 19, 1920, in Cass County, near the hamlet of Bivins, Texas, a small, mostly black farming community. In February 2018, he quietly passed away in Southern California with his two sons and oldest granddaughter at his side. He lived a full life.

The homestead where N.G. Jr. grew up lay near the borders of Texas, Louisiana and Arkansas in the middle of nowhere. The land was flush with hardwood and pine trees, tall grass and undergrowth, swamps, creeks, snakes, possums, squirrels, armadillos, and raccoons. His first 20 years of life were spent here, surrounded by family and extended family. His way forward was crammed with obsessively hard farm work from the age of 10, helping to clear the land, picking cotton, growing crops, slopping hogs, milking cows, and chasing chickens.

His parents were Nelson G. Mitchell, Sr. and Wafie Mosley Mitchell. N.G. Jr. was the oldest of six brothers, and younger than his two sisters, all who preceded him in death. Two sisters and two brothers were taken early in life by the ravages of tuberculosis. Another brother drowned in an accident while in the Army at Ft. Knox. His two remaining brothers died early in the 21st Century. A brother, Maurice, known by many in the Okemah community, was a member and deacon of Willow Grove Baptist Church. He passed away in 2001. Another brother, who lived in Albuquerque, died five years later.

N.G. enlisted in the U.S. Navy in August of 1940. He faithfully served his country for eight years. During the Japanese bombing of Pearl Harbor on Dec. 7, 1941, N.G. was aboard the destroyer U.S.S. Jarvis, docked across the bay from the U.S.S. Arizona. The ship he was on was spared wholesale damage, unlike the Arizona, which was sunk with 1,177 souls lost. Until N.G Jr.’s passing in February 2018, he was widely thought to be the oldest living black military survivor of the attack on Pearl Harbor.

At least two other military events could have taken his life. He was once sleeping below deck on a ship when another sailor up on deck was “fooling around” with his gun and discharged it. The bullet penetrated the deck, hitting N.G. in both legs with shrapnel and bullet fragments. Had he been facing a different direction on his bunk, the “accident” might have resulted in his demise. In a different incident, N.G. left the U.S.S Jarvis for another assignment. The Jarvis was dispatched to engage in conflicts in the South Pacific. Out at sea, the ship was shelled and bombed by the Japanese and all 200+ souls were lost. Had N.G. remained on the Jarvis he certainly would have died during WWII…

From the late 1980s, N.G. was a member of the Arizona local Pearl Harbor Survivors organization and participated in many events that celebrated the lives and sacrifices of numerous WWII veterans.

While in the Navy, N.G. was a steward, providing support and assistance to a variety of commissioned white officers. He never complained—he just did his job and stayed positive while managing his meager income to help provide for his family. (During his first few months of enlistment he was paid a mere $21 monthly, $10 of which he sent home to Texas.) His quarters were segregated with other non-white servicemen.

During the early 1940s, Nelson G. Mitchell, Sr. (Old Man Mitchell) migrated to Arizona from his Texas farm because of his wife’s passing and his wavering health. N.G. Jr. gave his father $1800 to purchase 3.5 acres of land in the Okemah community for the Mitchells. N.G. Sr. drew up plans to build a modern house on the west side of 40th Street, about a half-mile north of Broadway Rd., and contracted for help to build the house. The initial mailing address was Rt. 1 Box 426, Tempe. The Mitchell’s party-line phone number was BR-66447. Cotton fields fronted the property to the east.

N.G. Sr. (who could fix or build almost anything) was an Okemah homeowner until his passing in January 1970 at 81 years old. His last residence was on Miami St. across from 40th Street School.

Before N.G. Jr. was honorably discharged from the Navy, he married 19-year-old Fannie Lee Epps on September 16, 1946, in Texarkana, TX. When his hitch with the U.S. Navy ended in 1948, he and his wife moved to Okemah. Not finding much work, they moved to California for a short time, and then moved back to Arizona in the early 1950s after N.G. found civil service employment at Luke Air Force Base. Among other assignments, he worked at Luke as a laborer and supply clerk until May 1970.

After N.G. Jr.’s return from California, he lived in Arizona most of the rest of his life, and more than 40 years of that time was spent living and raising a family in Okemah. All three of his kids were born in Arizona. Cynthia, Nelson III and Lynwood went to school at 40th Street School and then attended Palmdale School for their upper elementary grades.

Most times N.G. was a reserved person. Sometimes he was a “strict” father and disciplinarian. Although he stated during a 2011 interview that his kids never gave him any trouble while they were growing up, his kids acknowledge that they did not always follow his rigid rules or guidelines. Spankings or the discharge of unsavory chores were always options for misbehavior or disobedience.

Monthly fishing trips were a staple in the Mitchell house. They provided great opportunities for family bonding and recreation, and it certainly was a welcome departure from the everyday toils of life. N.G. Jr., N.G. Sr., Fannie and the kids would pile into the old Plymouth before daylight and head off to one of numerous desert lakes in Central Arizona. And the Mitchells usually caught plenty of fish, which added to the regular chicken or beef diet. After the Mitchell kids left home for good, N.G. acquired a couple of different boats to enhance his chances of landing “the big one.” N.G. continued to go on fishing outings with numerous neighborhood long-timers until his Okemah residency came to an end. 

N.G., Fannie and the kids were members of Willow Grove Missionary Baptist Church and at least two of the kids were baptized in an Okemah irrigation ditch. N.G. attended Sunday School and morning worship faithfully until he moved to Peoria, Arizona in the early 1990s. He always prayed, and copiously read and studied the bible. But he worshipped quietly. Often, he was thought to be a church deacon, but he was never interested in that job. From time-to-time he taught Sunday School, helped with devotional services, served as a speaker during special programs, shuttled folks to church, counted collection receipts, and served on various church boards and committees. He enjoyed spending time with church goers. Although he relished the pastors’ messages, he was less enamored by the often long and drawn-out nature of worship services.

He deeply valued his faith because of his family upbringing, and his belief system sustained him and gave him confidence throughout his life. Prayer and bible verses were said before every sit-down meal. The Mitchell family was taught to live by the Golden Rule.

Fannie, his wife, died in November 1970 just after her 44th birthday. She was well-known among a circle of Okemah and church friends. She had an amazing singing voice and sang in the church choir. She sometimes “did hair” for a little extra money. For about three years during the late 1960s Fannie lived near a central California hospital to receive specialized medical treatment. N.G. visited her frequently while holding down a job and raising their children. Fannie returned to Phoenix for good in 1969, still beset with illness.

Numerous members of the church pitched in to provide help and comfort to her during this difficult time. She never fully recovered from Valley Fever, a stroke, and the other ailments that stole her strength. N.G. retired from his job at Luke AFB in May 1970 to care for her fulltime.

Several years after Fannie’s untimely death, N.G. re-married at least two other times. The women were from different states—Texas and California.  As a widower and/or divorced man, he occasionally enjoyed spirited companionship and vacation travel with other local ladies.

It’s clear N.G. knew and spent time visiting with many of his Okemah neighbors, often with his kids in tow. Rarely a week went by that he did not have contact with the Rogers, or the Womacks, or the Meadows, or the Hankins, or the Mosleys, or the Daniels, or the Boozers, or the Hickmans, or the Bentons, or the Pattons, or the Davises, or the Boones, or the Brewers, or the Petes, or the Woodberrys, or the Owens, or the Wallaces, or the the Hardisons, or any other folks who lived nearby. Okemah was a close-knit community and he got along well with just about everybody in the neighborhood.

N.G. was not a political person, but he pedaled candidate petitions for signatures, advocated for civil rights, stood for equal treatment under the law, and agitated for betterment of the community. He pushed for the building of the neighborhood park—Okemah Park, directly behind the Mitchell property.

During the early 1960s, Okemah began going through a significant change when the I-10 freeway was built. Numerous homes in the area were taken to make way for the freeway, heaping hardship on the folks who previously lived and thrived in them. Part of the Mitchell acreage was acquired via government decree, and the original house was condemned and torn down to make way for the new thoroughfare. Luckily, enough land remained for construction of a new four-bedroom house with City of Phoenix amenities. The new address was 3620 S. 40th St., Phoenix.

From N.G.’s perspective, one of the biggest pluses was easy, convenient access to his house from the freeway, especially when out-of-state visitors came calling. He was very big into welcoming and hosting family guests from all over the U.S. Of course, the downside was the severing of the community’s physically connected black experience environment as well as an increase in crime.   

A throw-back farmer from his younger Texas days, N.G. grew lots of vegetables and fruit on the Mitchell mini-farm. His green thumb produced pecans, grapefruit, pears, tangerines, oranges, peaches, plums, watermelons, greens, radishes, tomatoes, peas, peanuts, beans, onions, peppers, squash and carrots. He raised his own cattle for beef, milk and butter. And he raised chickens and raided their nests for eggs. He believed in working the land to achieve a bountiful harvest every day. He often boasted that he would not grow anything he could not eat, except roses.

And he cultivated some of the most beautiful specimens of roses around. N.G. was a self-taught rose expert and as many as 250 rose bushes flourished at his 40th St. home. As a child he acquired a love of roses from his mother who raised roses herself. He was a member of the Phoenix Rose Society, the Glendale Rose Society and the Phoenix Gardening Club. He often judged rose competitions, both in-state and out of state. He won many ribbons and medals in local and regional rose and gardening competitions himself, and he helped many others develop their acumen to grow beautiful flowers.

N.G. went into business for himself around 1980. Not surprisingly, his expertise was rose cultivation. Occasionally, he also provided lawn care and landscaping services (for a fee) well into his 80s.

Although some might view N.G. as a stoic man, and he was very serious when raising his kids, he had a knack for laughing verbosely when reminiscing about life with his Texas relatives. When it came to his grandkids and great-grandkids, they could do no wrong. He enjoyed their company immensely. He always encouraged them to do well in school. More importantly, he encouraged them to gain as much insight as possible about how things work in the real world and apply that knowledge. He was big on making the best out of life’s everyday gifts.

N.G. didn’t concern himself with living large, doing grandiose things, or trying to create a bold new future. But he unambiguously planned for the future by saving thoughtfully and spending economically so that his family could have more options in life than he had.

N.G. embraced his role as a provider. If someone in the neighborhood needed help building something or cultivating the land, he helped all he could. If someone was hungry, he provided food. He gave away home-grown fruit, vegetables, nuts, and flowers with much joy. He sometimes baked cakes, cookies and pies to give away. He owned two or three houses that he rented out at minimum rates to help struggling families. In doing so, he fed the belly and the soul. One of the life lessons he learned as a child was—even when his Texas farming family was struggling to make ends meet—always share with others who might not have been as fortunate. There is no downside to kindness.

Nelson G. Mitchell, Jr. liked laughing with extended family and friends. He took pride in caring for his family, his home, his land, and his Okemah community. He lived his life simply, honestly, and without fanfare.    

Nelson G. Mitchell Jr. (N.G. Jr.) – May 2022

Geneva Epps Mosley 

    Born in 1929 in Crockett, Texas, Geneva Epps Mosley moved to Arizona with her family in 1940. Leonard “Doogood” Epps and his family settled in Southeast Chandler Arizona living in a tent. Mr. Doogood worked in the fields alongside other black families in the area. Doogood, as they called him, was the contractor that got the workers to the cotton fields. His daughter, Geneva, at a young age, was responsible for weighing the cotton and paying the workers.     Unlike today, the youngsters then, couldn’t go to school every day. They only went after the cotton-picking season was over. During this segregated time, they could only attend the black elementary school in the area. Even though she only attended part-time, Geneva graduated valedictorian of her class.  

     Geneva and her fellow high schoolers had to take an hour and a half bus ride and then walk to the Historic Carver High School in Downtown Phoenix. She continued to work in the fields, picking and chopping cotton along with working in potatoes, onions, and hayfields.

     The family eventually settled in the Okemah Community in 1945. Shortly thereafter, she married William Mosley Sr. and decided to become a beautician. After finishing Madame C.J. Walker’s beauty school, she opened her own shop in Chandler, Arizona, Evelyn’s Everready Beauty Shop. In time, she moved the shop to her home on 40th St. in Okemah. Geneva had a passion for music who took delight in expressing her emotions through dancing. She was a polished and rhythmic dancer on the dance floor. 

     Geneva always aspired to attend college and become a teacher. She enrolled in the program at Arizona State University. She continued to do hair and even took a job in the college student union as a dishwasher to make ends meet. Working two jobs and raising seven children was a challenge. However, young girls in the community helped with babysitting. Among those lending a hand included Jean Daniels, Lavonne Daniels, Inez Owens, Gussie Wooten, and Ethel Daniels.

     She received her bachelor’s in Education in 1959 and began to substitute teaching the following year. Shortly thereafter, her teaching skills caught the attention of the Tempe School District, and she was hired as the first African American teacher in Tempe Arizona. She would teach for 29 years. During her tenure, this trailblazer earned a master’s degree and started her doctorate but didn’t want to leave the classroom for an administrative position, which was usually required having a doctorate degree. Geneva was not only dedicated to teaching students lessons but life lessons as well.  Mrs. Mosley wanted her students to learn about the responsibilities of life after school. She created many projects for her students to apply what they learned in the classroom, from going grocery shopping with their parents to the PennySaver Brigade. She also hired many of her students to deliver the PennySaver newspaper in the neighborhood, they would get together and plan how to spend the money they earned.     

     Geneva’s teaching talent and education garnered numerous accolades, but none were more important than seeing her students learn and achieve. Along with teaching, she was active in the community, especially the Phoenix Chapter of the IBPO Elks of the World. She was a DaughterRuler for three years, Financial Secretary for 30 years, and head of the State Education Committee. The committee raised funds for scholarships for high school students. All of this led to her receiving the Grand Honors, the highest award one can receive unless seeking national office.

     A significant part of her life has always been in the church, since she was a toddler in Texas. She joined Willow Grove Missionary Baptist Church in Okemah under the pastorate of W.M. Hardison in the 1950s and is still an active member today. 

     After retiring, Geneva continued to work as a substitute teacher until 80 years old and she now resides in Tempe, Arizona. This 92-year-old lifelong educator carries on the values of education the Okemah Community instilled in the children and continues to mentor young people whenever there is an opportunity. 

Geneva Epps Mosley – April 2022

The Okemah Community Historic Foundation