The the mind of a grassroots community program developer comes a historical interpretation of the day Joanne Thornton Wilson went to get some popcorn with her niece and stepped into history.  Photo taken by the late, great Gordon Parks, The Living History Theater trailer humanizes Mr. Parks & showcases our first historical interpretation of Joanne Thornton Wilson.

When Ms. Wilson stepped out to enjoy an afternoon with her niece, she stepped into history through a single, brilliant photograph. What we see in Parks’s image is a determined and self-possessed woman, defying stereotypes and steeling herself against the poisonous tide of oppression that threatened to engulf her and her family. Her humanity under assault, she chose—in her own way—to fight back. In so doing, she helped change the world.

She and her niece stand under a sign that guarantees any respect they receive will be limited, no matter how nice their attire, no matter how proper their conduct. They are black.​​​​​​​

The photos simply show people going about their daily lives under the conditions of segregation. The fact that the photos are in color makes it harder to see the era as the ancient past, and that lends them a distinct power. So does their calmness. It is easy to see oppression in them, but it is easy to see other things as well.

Mrs. Wilson recounted what it was like to encounter and work with Mr. Parks — how comfortable he made her feel and her need to teach him, the Northerner, “the things we could do and the things we could not do” under the watchful eyes of segregationists.

As Mr. Parks recalled later, the risk of retaliation for participating in the Life story was great, both for the photographer and for his subjects. But neither he nor Mrs. Wilson would be intimidated.

“My family saw the photo essay as an opportunity to advance the cause of civil rights,” said Michael Wilson, Mrs. Wilson’s son and the family historian. “These pictures were going to be published in a national magazine. People across the country would clearly see the problem. They could see our plight. Maybe then we could get help.”

Gordon Parks came to Alabama in 1956 with writer Robert Wallace to gather impressions for a Life magazine series on segregation. Their focus was the extended family of Mr. and Mrs. Albert Thornton, an elderly Mobile couple whose 10 children were scattered from Coastal Alabama to Tennessee.​​​​​​​

The photos hardly tell the whole story of Joanne Wilson's life. She spent a few minutes on that Conti Street sidewalk. She taught at Blount until well into the 1980s.

There was a message behind his mother's sense of style and dignity, says Michael Wilson. The message was, in part, "I don't have to look like I'm enduring this," he says.

For Michael in particular, memories of that other world are personal. He was born the year after Gordon Parks took that photo of his mother. "When we would come down to the Woolworth and Kress stores, my mother promised me that after waiting on her to try on clothes in the shop, and picking up every pin on the floor, she would buy me a ham sandwich," he says. "And we'd go to the Kress store or the Woolworth and there was a section in the back that, we would pass these other sections to go in a section in the back, and some of the ladies that actually lived in our community worked there. And she would buy me a ham sandwich." 

"She wanted to teach nowhere but Blount," says her son. "She loved that school. She saw promise in every one of her students." There was a club for young ladies called the Mademoiselles. Under Joanne Wilson's direction, says her son, "Every year they took a trip to Atlanta to visit different colleges ... she promoted that with the young ladies." As a kid he helped sell doughnuts on streetcorners, one of the fundraisers that paid for those trips.

"My mother was an educator 24/7 until she died," he says.  "If you don't know where you're from," Michael Wilson says, "you definitely don't know where you're going."

"She would always say, 'If I'm alive, if I am living, I will make it to your graduation.'" says Mycah Wilson, Mike's daughter.

Mrs. Wilson’s only quibble with the photograph of her and her niece was that Mr. Parks did not tell her the strap of her slip had fallen. “I always wanted to look neat and nice,” she said. “I did not want to be mistaken for a servant. Dressing well made me feel first class. I wanted to set an example.”

But Mr. Parks may have had a reason for the oversight: a desire to stress the human side of an image that, in its refinement and flair, could at first be mistaken for one of his fashion photographs. In this context, Mrs. Wilson was not just challenging racism and stereotypes through meticulous self-presentation. She was also going about her daily life, like millions of women, black and white — tending to the needs of an energetic young child, but in a hostile environment.

The price she paid for meeting this responsibility, as anyone who has cared for a child knows, was the distraction that made her overlook the fallen strap. Yet, it is this poignant detail that helps us to identify with her.

      The Afro Living Library is the library without borders humanizing history, enjoying the present while securing the future through programs that serve historically disenfranchised communities through honest reflection, focused fun, & hyper local financial stimulus.