I write about my family’s life in poverty to educate, encourage, and hopefully inspire others. We lived in poverty but didn’t have a poverty mindset or mentality. There are many reasons why people are impoverished. Regardless of the reasons, if you have an abundance mentality, you will succeed.
I lived in poverty in the segregated South with my Christian parents, and four siblings, my entire childhood. I was the youngest. The first fourteen and a half years of my life were spent living in abject poverty. We lived in a shack without electricity or indoor plumbing. By this time, three older siblings had graduated high school, attending college or business school, or serving in the military. This left me and my older brother, by three years, at home. We were in high school but were determined to follow in the footsteps of our older siblings. Our parents wouldn’t have it any other way!
Dad served in the Army as a Military Police during WWII but like so many other Black men in the South, was denied G.I. benefits after discharge. He grew up in Chicago and was not accustomed to the racist laws of the South. Even though he was smart and intelligent (He made a cumulative score of 97 on the civil service examination), he was denied meaningful employment. MaDear’s father was a tenant farmer in Mississippi, but he lost his farm to racists. In spite of what happened, he and our mother (MaDear) did not have a spirit of fear. They chopped and picked cotton for a living. Our situation was scarce, but they did not have a scarcity mindset. They had a strong faith in God and were determined they would not let current circumstances determine our future.
When my parents married, they lived in Mississippi. Dad and his family migrated to Chicago when he was a child. He moved back to Mississippi as an adult, married MaDear, and served in the Army. They moved to Tennessee because they wanted their children to receive an education. Tennessee had compulsory school laws. They settled in a shack, surrounded by cotton fields, outside Memphis city limits. Without jobs, they could work in the cotton fields, raise their family, and make sure their children received an education. Over the years, our family moved from shack to shack in farming communities outside Memphis.
Dad had not been gainfully employed since he was discharged from the Army. Years later, when he learned about a training program, he attended the eight week program. It was the Manpower Development and Training Act of 1962, but he didn’t learn about this program until 1965. This federal program was created by President John F. Kennedy and approved by Congress. The training site was in Memphis, and he was given a training allowance, additional pay for dependents, and a transportation allowance. Dad completed training and was hired as a custodian in the Non-Commissioned Officers (NCO) Club at the Memphis Naval Air Station in Millington. Dad was fifty nine years old when he obtained his first job with a steady paycheck and benefits. At the time, we were living in a shack in the farming community of Millington, a suburb of Memphis.
When my brother was in ninth grade, he was held back a year. He was smart with a great mechanical mind, but was angry. His anger caused him to lack in his school studies. Our parents recognized this and the next year, allowed him to transfer to a high school that offered auto mechanics. He worked part-time at the naval base and bought a second hand car, so he was able to drive himself to school. After a year at this school, he was back on track. Our parents listened to us and encouraged us to communicate our feelings and concerns. They talked to us about short term and long term goals. We didn’t know what they were discussing at the time, but they had plans for us to get out of poverty and remain out of poverty.
The summer before I entered tenth grade and my brother entered twelfth grade, we moved from our shack without electricity and plumbing, to a run- down house across from Memphis Area Vocational School and within walking distance of downtown Memphis. This was the same school where Dad received his training. He was still working as a custodian at the NCO club. Even though he completed 11th grade at Wendell Phillips High School in Chicago, was a gifted writer, bi-lingual, served as a military police in the military, and had a high score on the civil service exam, the only job offered to him was a custodian. He never showed disappointment. He and MaDear continued to encourage and instilled values in us.
A few months later, we moved about two miles to a housing project. It was on a bus line and Dad continued to commute to his custodial job. We lived in an apartment with two levels. For the first time in my fifteen years, I saw significant progress. We still lived within walking distance of downtown Memphis and churches. Our parents raised us to believe in God. MaDear was a Baptist and Dad was a Methodist, but denominations didn’t matter. We attended both churches. Our three older siblings were now married, employed, or still serving in the military. Our parents focused on possibilities and because of their faith, gave them the foundation they needed to be successful.
In twelfth grade, my brother did well. His love of history was evident. He tried his best to share some historical information with me, but I was of the age of disinterest. He is the same brother who years ago, left six years old me on the other side of a busy highway when we walked home together from school. He glared at me with his light brown eyes (like Dad’s), and warned me that I better “learn to keep up.” After graduating high school, he joined the Air Force and became an aircraft mechanic.
My four siblings had careers of their own, and I was a sophomore in high school. We still lived in the housing project. The next year, Dad retired from his job and was honored as a “retiree” in the military newspaper. I was so proud of him and my older siblings. I was also proud of MaDear. Our parents showed us what a strong marriage was built upon. They were committed to working through challenges together. By this time, they had been married over 26 years and never failed to provide a nurturing and supportive environment for us. They guided us toward independence and responsible decision making.
They also knew that laws in the segregated South had to be changed. Dad frequently wrote letters to the editor of the Memphis Press Scimitar and Memphis Commercial Appeal to voice his concerns and offer suggestions. He didn’t have much, but he had the power of his written words. During those times, churches served as meeting places to voice concerns, offer hope, and personal responsibility to help affect change, like voting.
It was a struggle, but we all succeeded in life. I wrote two memoirs and shared my family’s journey out of poverty.
Next blog post, I will share some tips that helped my family and me.
Francie Mae. April 6, 2025.