There’s more to church than worshiping and praying, a Memphis clergyman said

Dr. William M. Young

The church has long been an anchor in the Black community. But can the church provide respite from stress, tension and difficult situations, including mental and emotional distress?

There’s more to the church than worshiping and praying, a local clergyman explained, particularly when the current problem is a virus that has infected millions, killed tens of thousands, separated loved ones, and now triggering widespread depression.

The novel coronavirus is ravaging this country and shattering lives. “Praying is not enough,” said Dr. William M. Young, senior pastor of The Healing Center Full Gospel Baptist Church in the Oakhaven community in South Memphis.

“If I’m having a heart attack, I don’t look for scripture and verse before I try to get some help,” he said. “You can pray, but you need prayer and therapy. When a person is depressed, just praying for them is not enough.” 

Dr. Young understands the church has to do more than save souls. In his role as senior pastor, he believes a holistic approach is needed to “take care of the mind, body and spirit.”

His first job was in 1977 at Western Mental Health Institute, a psychiatric hospital in Bolivar, Tenn. He was the first Black chaplain there and also was the first Black chaplain on staff at Methodist Healthcare in Memphis in 1981.

“I’ve been in this field for 47 years,” said Dr. Young, who is licensed by the state of Tennessee as a marriage and family therapist, professional counselor, and as a clinical pastoral counselor.

His expertise enables him to provide counseling and therapy to those in the church, as well as the unchurched struggling to overcome addiction, stress, anxiety, anger, family violence, grief and loss.

The daily stressors and tension that one generally suffers from prompted Dr. Young and his co-pastor, Rev. Dianne P. Young, to launch The Healing Center Wellness & Stress Clinic of Memphis, which addresses physical and emotional health. 

The clinic opened in 1999 on the grounds of the church. After a slow start, the Youngs eventually formed a partnership with the University of Tennessee Health Science Center (UTHSC), the University of Memphis, Rhodes College, local government, Memphis Area Legal Services, and the West Cancer Center.

“We wanted to have a church that would encompass the many faceted needs of our community,” said Dr. Young, denouncing the naysayers who may not believe there’s a connection between counseling and spirituality, or that the mind often needs therapy. 

“As pastoral therapists, we’re trained for the mind,” he said.

In 2008, the Youngs received a grant from the state of Tennessee and opened the Emotional Fitness Centers of Tennessee, a network of 10 faith-based counseling centers and two satellite sites providing access to mental health care and substance abuse screenings in the African-American community. 

They also provide COVID-19 testing. In Tennessee, for example, more than 366,000 people have contracted the virus as of Nov. 29. More than 2,000 have been hospitalized and more than 4,500 have died.

The statistics are alarming. People fear the inevitable – an ongoing surge in infections, hospitalizations and deaths – and more disruptions in their lives. Additional restrictions may soon follow.

“There is a thing called COVID overload, where you’re just stressed out with the many restrictions we have,” Dr. Young said. “The financial stress and strain are taking a toll on many people.” 

Before COVID, the number of people grappling with emotional distress had increased significantly. Lives literally hung in the balance and prompted a response from the Youngs. 

In 2003, they organized the first National Suicide and the Black Church Conference at The Healing Center to create awareness of the prevalence of suicide among African Americans. 

“That (conference) was based upon a lady in our church who took her life,” Dr. Young said. “She had asked for counseling. We were going to see her on that Monday. Early that Monday, she got up under the cross, took a pistol and ended her life.”

It happened in 2002 near the front entrance of the church, under a 20-foot cross suspended above the facade. Since then, the suicide conference has sparked interest all over the country. 

The first conference drew about 50 people to The Healing Center. Ten years later, after the Youngs formed a partnership with UTHSC, the biennial conference attracted more than 500 people.

The Black community is just as prone to suicide as the White community, Dr. Young said. “We were still saying that Black people don’t commit suicide because they’re stronger than the Whites. [But] we concluded that all people take their lives…”

Suicide is triggered by depression, emotional turmoil, he said. The common denominator is pain. “Just like a person wants to get physically fit, we developed a concept of emotional fitness.”

He said emotional fitness is the key to dealing with the coronavirus and other vexing problems causing undue stress and mental anguish. It is, likewise, the key to the growing suicide rate. 

“The one thing that keeps people going is hope,” the pastor/counselor said. “Hope is intangible. But it’s the expectation that something better is going to come.”

A cop mentors former ‘gangster’ and works with him to deter youth violence

Terrell "T.J." Johnson had been a ruthless drug dealer until he was
mentored by Lt. Tyrone Currie, now retired from the Memphis
Police Department. (Photo by Wiley Henry) 

No one could have predicted that two men from opposite worlds and as different as night and day would forge an enduring friendship. One had broken the law; the other one was upholding the law.

Terrell “T.J.” Johnson had been a ruthless drug dealer and lorded over a gang that controlled a swath in North Memphis; and Lt. Tyrone Currie, then a sergeant with the Memphis Police Department, was arresting vicious gang members.

Johnson was a member of the Gangster Disciples – a menace, a Kingpin, if you will – and facing 35 years to life for drug trafficking. 

While he was incarcerated, he had an epiphany and reversed course, deciding instead that he could be a mouthpiece to dissuade youth from following in his footsteps.

Currie was assigned to community policing at the Westwood COACT Substation after spending four years at the Raines Station Precinct. Community policing was the order of the day, an idea manifested in 1995.

“At that time, I was the guru of community policing and part of the federal gang taskforce,” said Currie, who was investigating homicides and aggravated robberies related to gang violence.

But something was needed to deter young would-be criminals and stem the tide of wanton violence, particularly after a stray bullet ended the life of a 3-year-old girl in 2002, which prompted the launch of the city’s Juvenile Violence Abatement Project (JVAP).

Crime was running amok and blood flowed like water on the streets in Black communities. Gang rivalry and warfare were common occurrences that stoked fear throughout the city. Unfortunately, innocent bystanders were added to the list of casualties.

Currie had arrested some of the meanest and most dangerous gang members in Memphis: George John Hughlett, for example, known as “G-Train,” and the notorious Craig Petties, the kingpin of them all. 

Dr. Willie W. Herenton, then Memphis’ first elected African-American mayor, had had enough. He tapped Johnson to serve as JVAP’s Prevention and Intervention Coordinator. 

The late Dr. Rose Rita Dorsey Flowers was the executive commander for Community Policing and the executive director of JVAP. Currie left the federal gang taskforce to work with JVAP to reduce juvenile violence through prevention, intervention, and law enforcement practices.

Johnson recalls meeting Currie at the police academy on Sept. 11, 2002. “He was the sergeant in the unit at that time in JVAP. I was the only civilian in the unit.” In fact, he was the first ex-felon hired by the MPD.

Currie wasn’t too sure about meeting or working with Johnson. But Dorsey (whom most people knew her as) was looking for solutions, he said. “I was very skeptical, because I was locking up gang members my whole career.”

Johnson had trust issues, too, and for good reasons. It was the police that nabbed him and sent him to prison. Now he was given a second change at the behest of the mayor and the MPD. His influence was needed for the good of society this time.

“She saw something different in both of us,” Currie said of Dorsey, who was well aware of Johnson’s checkered past. “She knew both of us had a heart. Honestly, she made us start doing presentations together.”

They targeted schools in Memphis and Shelby County. “He (Currie) would talk about the police,” Johnson said, “and I would talk about my life as a gangster dealing drugs on the street and how I got caught up.” 

Their trust issues soon dissipated. “After working with T.J. and going to so many schools, he would pour his heart out and I would feel his spirit,” said Currie, then seeing Johnson in a different light.

But all was not well on the home front. Johnson was struggling financially. He’d made a ton of money selling drugs. But that gig was over. Now he was barely making ends meet. Child support payments had depleted his earnings.

“I knew he didn’t have any money,” said Currie, who often took Johnson home, purchased food for his household, placed a $100 in his hand often after he was paid, and worked to get his driver’s license and voting rights restored. 

“He was taking care of his kids, so I said this guy can’t be that bad,” he added.

Meanwhile, school-age children were flabbergasted by Johnson’s story. “They were gravitating to him like he was a magnet,” Currie said. “I’ve never seen that before. Our stories were reaching people.”

While they were bonding, Johnson’s star was rising. He remembered what Dorsey had told him in 2003. “She said, ‘I don’t know what will happen to me, but always stick with Lt. Currie. He’s not going to lead you astray.’”

Johnson heeded her advice. Now more than 18 years after first meeting Currie, he’s still sticking with him. They’ve built a solid relationship that includes their wives and children. In fact, he was a groomsman in Johnson’s wedding.

“He showed me he cared about me as a person. He was sincere,” said Johnson, noting his heartfelt appreciation for Currie, whom he calls his mentor.

Their relationship led to a fellowship. “He would give me stuff to read; we would read books together. He really mentored me along the way. Everything that man learned, he pretty much turned it over to me.”

Fellowship turned into a companionship. “I watched him be a successful officer. One of the things that he talked about was that he just didn’t want to lock people up; he wanted to unlock their minds.”

Companionship turned into stewardship. “He showed me how to be a leader. He showed me how to lead from a different perspective, not as a gangster, but as a leader, a businessman.”

Then stewardship turned to ownership. “The ownership was me being married, got a wife, buying a house. I am a productive citizen. Instead of being a problem all my life, he showed me how to be a part of the solution.”

Johnson’s position at MPD was eventually phased out. That didn’t deter him. He is still educating and transforming youth as president/CEO of his Wake-Up Youth Foundation. He also serves as pastor of Wake-Up Ministries in Memphis.

His mission has afforded him opportunities to speak across the country at government agencies, churches, schools, colleges, and even in Congress about juvenile justice and community policing. A plethora of awards and citations would follow including certifications and media stories about his life.

Currie, the longest serving president of the Afro American Police Association, retired from the MPD in October of 2019. His mentoring program, “Leaders of Tomorrow,” received national attention in Washington, D.C. 

He and his colleagues created a number of mentoring programs at the MPD for girls and boys. He and Johnson reached thousands of youth. Dozens who participated in LOT are now police officers themselves, Currie said.

Community policing works, he said, adding, “Now they’re talking about police reform. All they have to do is go back to 1995 and implement community policing.”

Johnson’s success is a testament that community policing does work. He’s now working in Chattanooga sharing what he learned from Currie.

The Temprees slates 50th anniversary via pay-per-view concert

From left: Harold "Scotty" Scott, Walter "Bo" Washington and Deljuan
"Del" Calvin of The Temprees. (Courtesy photo of the artist)

The Temprees, a trio of balladeers whose smooth and evocative vocals meld together to create celestial R&B soul music, has held it together for 50 years. Their friendship throughout the years is just as tight as their harmony.

Remember their 1972 heartfelt “Dedicated to the One I Love,” which climbed to No. 17 on Billboard’s Soul Singles Chart and No. 93 on Billboard Hot 100? What about their soaring vocals on “Love Maze” and “A Thousand Miles Away”?

Originally formed in 1970 and signed by Stax Records’ executive/producer Josephine Bridges to We Produce Records, an offshoot of the record label, The Temprees will celebrate 50 years together in concert slated for pay-per-view in Los Angeles, Calif., featuring Memphis natives Deljuan “Del” Calvin, Harold “Scotty” Scott and Walter “Bo” Washington.

Presented by 5 Stars Music Group Concert Series and Rjai’s and Ladivee’s Productions, the international recording group will be featured Nov. 28 on Comcast, DirecTV, Xperience On Demand, and all digital platforms. 

“Deljuan (Calvin) and I started talking about The Temprees’ 50th anniversary two years ago,” said Dr. Robert L. Jamison, who is producing The Temprees’ 50th anniversary concert.

A former Memphian and physician who owns two urgent care clinics in California, Jamison has produced several concerts for The Temprees over the years. “We had a nine-state tour already booked for this year,” he said.

But then the unexpected happened. The tour was shuttered due to COVID-19. “Everything was canceled from March until now,” said Scott, who sings tenor with the group. “Filming this pay-per-view concert is the first thing we’ve done since March.”

Flying the group to California for the concert is contingent on whether or not Gov. Gavin Newsom locks the state down to mitigate the surge in COVID-19 infections, Jamison said.  

Despite the uncertainty of a lockdown, the pay-per-view concert will go on, he said, adding that Nov. 28 is definitive and will be momentous for the “oldies” group, now gearing up for a return to the stage.

“We were actually going to be shooting the concert between the 10th and the 15th of November,” Jamison said. “But we have enough prerecorded stuff on The Temprees not to delay the process.”

Come what may, Scott is content, recalling the early days of The Temprees, their longevity, and scores of fans, both young and old, that catapulted them from obscurity to their first introduction as the “Lovemen,” the trio’s first album in 1972 and a nickname that has stayed with them. 

“I never knew that singing in school together, the neighborhood, in the clubs, that we would get to where we are now,” said Scott, who grew up in the Riverside community of Memphis with Calvin and the late Jasper “Jabbo” Phillips, the trio’s original lead singer. 

Scott, Calvin and Phillips graduated from Carver High School and crooned their way into the hearts of doting fans. Washington joined the group after Phillips’ death in 2001 and together unleashes an abundance of melodic soul over the airwaves and on stage.

Their chart-topping songs are recognized the world over. They’ve also shared the stage with R&B legends such as Blue Magic, The Stylistics, The Manhattans, The Delfonics, The Intruders, Evelyn “Champagne” King, and others.

Don Cornelius, the creator and host of Soul Train, heard them at a club in Washington D.C. “He came backstage and said, ‘Where’s y’all’s manager?’” Scott recalls. ‘I want y’all on my show.’”

The trio performed twice on Soul Train. They also grooved and danced on one of the biggest stages, the 1972 Wattstax Festival in Los Angeles, before more than a hundred thousand adoring fans.

Their latest CD, “From The Heart,” was released in 2016 on the 3 Point Records label. It was produced by singer/songwriter/musician Angelo Earl, owner of Soulstreet Recording Studios in Memphis. Earl played electric guitar for the Bar Kays and likewise worked with Al Green, Dr. Dre, Jody Whatley and others.

Scott never kept a journal. Now he does after his home burned down in March along with his extensive wardrobe and Temprees memorabilia – evidence of their success reduced to memories.

“I watched my home burn to the ground,” he said.

Adding COVID-19 on top of that disaster would crush the spirit of any human being. But not Scott’s, who counts his blessings and continues to forge ahead with bandmates Calvin and Washington.

He would understand the significance of their contribution to music after a girlfriend one day suggested he turn the television to the station airing Empire, a series centered on a fictional hip-hop mogul.

“She said, ‘Scotty, you all are on Empire.’ I said, ‘What the hell are you talking about?’ So, I turned the television. They were playing ‘Dedicated to the One I Love’ during a love scene with (characters) Cookie and Lucious.”

Jamison knows the length and breadth of The Temprees’ powerful lure. He plans to promote their 50^th anniversary in 196 countries. 

“We’re talking about Italy, France, Jamaica, Philippines, Hong Kong, China, the UK, London, everywhere,” he said.

The Temprees are still churning out music that tugs at the heartstring. Age hasn’t hampered their stride or muffled their sound. “We’re gonna sing and dance and keep going until we just can’t,” Scott said.

For more information about The Temprees’ 50^th Anniversary and pay-per-view concert, contact Dr. Robert L. Jamison at rljamisonphd@gmail.com. Tickets can be purchased at paypal.me/AHC.

A percentage of the proceeds will benefit St. Jude Children’s Research Hospital in Memphis.

Documentary chronicles LeMoyne’s Coach Jerry Johnson’s legacy and 1975 national championship

If Clint Jackson hadn’t taken that half-court shot in the game against Lambuth College during the conference tournament in 1975, the season would have been over for the Magicians of LeMoyne-Owen College.

"Somebody had to take the shot,” he had said.

It was indeed a magical moment for Coach Jerry C. Johnson, who led his team to seven straight victories after beating Lambuth in overtime on the way to clenching the NCAA Division III National Championship 57-54 against Glassboro State College (now Rowan University). Hosted by Albright College, LOC finished the season 27-5.

It was the first NCAA Division III National Championship for Coach Johnson’s Magicians and the subject of an independent documentary aptly titled “1^st Forgotten Champions: The Legacy of Jerry C. Johnson.”

The documentary was the brainchild of William Anderson, a former player and LOC’s current head men’s basketball coach. He collaborated with filmmaker Morreco Coleman to cobble together the life and legacy of Coach Johnson, who is now 102 years old.

“We knew each other mutually through someone else and became friends,” said Coleman, a Memphian now living outside of Los Angeles. “I was working on a couple of previous projects. He expressed interest in them and asked me if I’d like to do a documentary on Jerry Johnson.”

Coleman said it took him several years to complete the film. “There were some creative differences,” he said. “Then we came to an agreement. [But then] it took a few years to collect all the data.”

“1^st Forgotten Champions: The Legacy of Jerry C. Johnson” debuted at the Burbank International Film Festival in September and won the “Audience Choice Feature Film” category. The 68-minute film also aired in October at the International Black Film Festival in Nashville. The Indy Memphis Film Festival is next in late October.

The film contains interviews with Anderson, former University of Memphis head basketball coaches John Calipari and Josh Pastner, and current U of M head men’s basketball Coach Anfernee “Penny” Hardaway. 

Robert Newman, Clint Jackson and others who played on the 1975 championship team laud Coach Johnson for being tactical and brilliant on and off the court. Tennessee’s Ninth Congressional District Congressman Steve Cohen also offered his perspective.

Coach Johnson is featured prominently throughout the film. “Ninety percent of the film is pretty much illustrated by Coach Jerry Johnson,” Coleman said.

With over 800 wins in 46 years as head coach of the LOC men’s basketball team, Coach Johnson is one of the most successful basketball coaches in Tennessee college sports history. 

Jackson wouldn’t dispute that fact. He couldn’t. “He’s a great man; he’s a great coach; and he’s a great molder of men,” he said. “I have a great deal of respect for him. A lot of what I am is a result of Coach Johnson.”

Jackson played small forward on the team. He was about 6-foot-3 at the time and grew a couple of inches later. What Coach Johnson instilled in him helped to mold his character, he said, and brought perspective and clarity to his life.

“The first thing he said was, ‘Develop your philosophy…the philosophy of your work, as well as your life,” said Jackson, adding that Coach Johnson mentored his athletes and taught them the rudiments of survival on and off the court.

Newman still beams and speaks tenderly when he reflects on the roster of super talent from Memphis and the other athletes from various colleges comprising that 1975 championship team.

“We had a pretty good team. That team was special. He (Coach Johnson) made us believe we could beat anybody,” said Newman, the team captain playing the guard position and winning the MVP in the NCAA tournament. He scored a total of 48 points.

Newman recalls a formidable 7-foot-1 player from Morgan State University whose reputation was far-reaching. His name was Marvin Nathaniel Webster. They called him “The Human Eraser.”

“Through Johnson’s teaching – and with him making us believe that we could do anything – we beat that team,” Newman said. Webster went on to dominate in the NBA. He died in 2009.

Jackson and Newman fared very well after their glory days at LOC. They got their start as Wildcats playing for Hamilton High School under the legendary Coach Lloyd Williams. 

Then the two friends left for Tennessee State University, where they played for Coach Ed Martin. After a stint there, the homegrown ball players landed at LOC and plied their skills under Coach Johnson. 

Newman followed Coach Johnson’s example as an educator and basketball coach for 38 years at Hamilton and Melrose high schools. So did Jackson, who retired after 36 years as an educator and coach in Memphis City Schools. He is now LOC’s athletics director.

Coach Johnson was the first African American to win the NCAA Division III National Championship and LeMoyne-Owen was the first HBCU (Historically Black Colleges and Universities) to claim the honor.

The team finally received their rings from the LOC Alumni Association in 2010 to commemorate their achievement during a halftime game between LOC and Rust College at Bruce Hall on the campus.

Coach Jerry C. Johnson retired in 2005 and racked up many successes during his 46 years as LeMoyne-Owen College’s head men’s basketball coach. “1^st Forgotten Champions: The Legacy of Jerry C. Johnson” is a testament to his success.

Myron Leon Hudson cultivated a career in sales

Myron Leon Hudson

Myron Leon Hudson spent a great deal of his adult life cultivating a career in sales. He sold encyclopedias, health insurance, and advertising for Black newspapers.

“Myron was a pleasant employee to work with. He was a welcome addition to the team at the Tribune,” said Rosetta Miller Perry, publisher of The Tennessee Tribune in Nashville.

Mr. Hudson was selling advertising for the Tribune when he died Sept. 19 following a brief illness. He was 63.

Prior to working for the Tribune, Mr. Hudson sold classified and display advertising for The Tri-State Defender under publishers Audrey P. McGhee, Marzie G. Thomas and in recent years for the late Bernal E. Smith.

“Myron was a model person. He truly believed in what he was doing,” said McGhee, who published the TSD in the 1980s and ‘90s. “He was a strong individual who believed in his ideas.”

Whatever the issues of the day, Mr. Hudson would chime in with an opinion, she said. “He was vocal about them – maybe because he worked for a Black newspaper.” 

Mr. Hudson’s opinions soon found their way onto the pages of the paper as “King Kool,” his alter ego. They were witty one-liners or serious reflections about the vicissitudes of life. 

He’d quip about any subject and pretty much styled himself as the griot of “Kool.” But more important than his musings, Mr. Hudson spent time plying his skills as the crème de la crème in sales.

“My brother was cool, a snazzy dresser. He loved what he did in sales for a long time. He wanted to be self-sufficient,” Bobbie Hudson-Williams, a former English teacher living in Nashville, remembered. 

He was a deep thinker, she added, a good person, and was very quiet, even when he was at a gathering of his large family.

Another sister, Sheila Hudson, a counselor, concurred. She went on to say that Mr. Hudson taught “me the love of football at an early age. People wanted to know why I love football so much; it’s because of him.”

Although 10 years younger, Sheila Hudson said she grew up with her brother and would join him in front of the TV eating popcorn and drinking Kool-Aid. “He was a great brother,” she said.

She added that her brother couldn’t tear himself away from the game when his favorite teams were playing – the Indianapolis Colts, the Tennessee Titans, the LA Dodgers, and the University of Memphis during football and basketball seasons.

The game of football was more than a pastime for Mr. Hudson. His interest never waned after quarterbacking for the football team at Booker T. Washington High School, where he graduated in 1974. 

After his playing days on the gridiron, Mr. Hudson matriculated right away at the former Memphis State University and graduated in 1979 with a B.A. degree in Communications.

He grew up in the legendary Foote Homes housing project, a 46-acre tract near Downtown Memphis, where nearly 400 families once called home before demolition cleared a path to new housing units.  

“We all grew up in a responsible family. We were reared in a Christian home,” Hudson-Williams said. “And my brother loved his family – and we loved him too.”

Carolyn Orr-Craig, Mr. Hudson’s fiancé, acknowledged that much about his family, but added that his love for her had kindled during the three years that they were together. “I loved him as much as he loved me,” she said. “We were soulmates.”

A personal care assistant, Orr-Craig said Mr. Hudson, who was very private, had planned to “tell the whole world” of their engagement.

“That’s why it’s so hurtful,” she said.

Voting was mandated in the Montgomery household

Voting was mandated in the household of Forest and Lillie Montgomery. They were very
active in the New Chicago community, said Nova Felton (right), who has in her possession
some of her parents' artifacts. (Courtesy photos)

    If Forest and Lillie Montgomery were alive today, they would encourage the people they love and those in their community of New Chicago to register to vote.

    “If you lived in the house with my parents, at 18 you registered to vote. My parents were strong proponents of voting,” said Nova Felton, one of seven Montgomery children. An eighth child died from crib death. 

Mr. Montgomery was born in 1901, in Macon, Miss., and only had a six-grade education. He died in 1986. He would be 119 this year. 

“He was well-read,” Felton said. “He read the newspapers and the Bible every day.”

Mrs. Montgomery was born in 1919, in Racetrack, Miss. She made it to eighth grade. If she hadn’t died in 2006, she would be 101 this year. 

The Montgomerys left behind a legacy that Felton and her siblings treasure. In fact, she has a trove of artifacts and documents that brings to life the meaning of advocacy and activism.

They were sent to Felton via mail by her sister, Geraldine Montgomery, after the death of their mother. She lives in Chicago and marked the contents in an envelope “Please Handle With Care.”

Forest Montgomery's voting registration
certificate (top image) dated August 1947,
and a receipt dated July 1, 1948, for his
State and County Poll Taxes for 1947.

Rifling through the contents recently took Felton down memory lane. She was astonished to see a minted poll tax receipt that belonged to her father, his war rations book when he served in the army in World War II, and his voter registration certificate dated Aug. 11, 1947. 

 Mr. Montgomery was 46 years old that year. He was labeled as “colored” on the certificate and considered a legal voter in Memphis – nearly 20 years before President Lyndon B. Johnson signed the landmark Voting Rights Act of 1965.

“He was a strong Democrat,” said Felton, a retired public affairs officer for the Internal Revenue Service, who has lived in St. Louis since leaving her hometown of Memphis in 1966. 

Voting during her parents’ era likely was mired in problems, much as it is today. But that didn’t stop them. They pursued the vote. Mr. Montgomery put his vote into action, she used as an example, and supported President Franklin D. Roosevelt.

“He talked about President Roosevelt all the time. He thought Roosevelt really helped Black folks get better jobs and decent places to live,” said Felton, citing The Works Program Administration, Roosevelt’s New Deal to put Americans back to work.

Felton said her father also was a supporter of Adlai Stevenson. He was the former Democratic governor of Illinois who challenged Dwight D. Eisenhower, the GOP pick from Pennsylvania, in both the 1952 and 1956 presidential elections.

She said her mother was just as adamant about voting and participating in the political process as her father. “My mother would have us campaigning,” she said. “When I was 16, I passed out leaflets. My family was engaged in politics because of my mother.”

The Montgomerys were members of the 40th Ward New Chicago Civic Club. They endorsed candidates, held political rallies, voting registration drives, and held their meetings at the Firestone Union Hall, which was later renamed the Matthew R. Davis Resource Center after the Club’s longtime president.

They also belonged to a group called The Willing Workers Club, which Mrs. Montgomery helped to organize. Civic-minded and politically active, they worked for the betterment of their community. 

Mrs. Montgomery took activism to another level in the community. Geraldine Montgomery was an eyewitness andtouted their mother’s community service in a letter she wrote about her in September 2005.

“You have left your children and friends something that cannot be bought, sold, traded, taken or stolen,” the letter began. “What you and our father have given to us, many people wish they could have.” 

What was noticeable in the letter was Mrs. Montgomery’s attendance at Historic Mason Temple, where Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. delivered his “Mountaintop” speech. She and a friend, Mary Ella Sawyer, representing The Willing Workers Club, also attended Dr. King’s funeral in Atlanta. 

The letter is laden with a lifetime of Mrs. Montgomery’s work in the community. For example, she immersed herself in the affairs of the NAACP, marched for the right to vote, and registered many people.

Mrs. Montgomery didn’t stop there. She served as an AARP Poll Watcher in the 2000 presidential election. She also traveled with two carloads of people to Washington D.C. to observe a case before the U.S. Supreme Court.

The case involved the removal of a barrier in the street between Jackson and Chelsea. That area was all white, and white people, she wrote, did not want Blacks to crossover or drive through.

Mrs. Montgomery had achieved quite a lot in her lifetime and earned the respect of the political establishment. Her awards and citations are highlighted in the letter, including receiving special congressional recognition, an award from the Memphis City Council, an NAACP Voter Registration Campaign Award, a Resolution from County Councilwoman Hazel M. Erby of St. Louis, and several others.

She also led souls to Christ and, along with her husband, fed the hungry, Geraldine pointed out in the letter. 

Amended law mandates parenting class and video before couples divorce

Charlie Caswell (left), James Kirkwood, Roy Ray, Marie V. Pizano, Dr. Altha
Stewart and Laurie Powell are advocates for children seeking to build stronger
brains for them, create awareness for Adverse Childhood Experiences, and
provide mental health services. (Courtesy photo)

Marie V. Pizano is still feeling a little euphoric after learning that an amendment to a law mandating a parenting class for divorcing couples had recently passed in the Tennessee House of Representatives. 

“I started crying,” said Pizano, an author, film producer, businesswoman and community activist, after receiving the good news via text. 

Pizano had spent the better part of this year drumming up support for what resulted in a bipartisan effort to amend Tennessee Code Annotated, Title 36, Chapter 6. HB 2588 passed 95-0. On the other side, SB 2032 passed 30-0. 

“It’s official,” she said. “Now we’re waiting on the governor’s (Bill Lee) signature.”

The amendment requires that a 30-minute video on Adverse Childhood Experiences (ACEs) be shown to parents attending a parent educational seminar – in addition to them participating in a discussion – before the courts grant a divorce.

ACEs are defined by the Center for Disease Control and Prevention as potentially traumatic events that occur in childhood before the age of 18, such as witnessing violence, abuse, parental mental illness, substance use, divorce, incarceration, and domestic violence.

“In that class, it tells you the rules: [For example], don’t talk bad about the other parent, [or when there’s] harassment. It’s all the do’s and don’ts,” said Pizano, also the founder and CEO of MVP3 Entertainment Group, an artist and talent management firm located in Memphis.

With a full plate of entertainment fare already consuming her attention, Pizano made a decision earlier this year to seek political help for her ambitious goal to quell tensions between divorcing parents and the resulting collateral damage to children.

She personally understands the effects of ACEs after her first marriage went awry and after witnessing other families struggle themselves with emotional turmoil after a tumultuous divorce.

“Something needs to be done about parents who are divorcing,” she said, “because they’re the ones responsible for traumatizing their own children.” 

Pizano said she had listened to the horror stories, cringed because of broken homes, and abhors the use of children as weapons and pawns in the middle of a painful divorce. 

She has spoken about ACEs in her personal and professional lives for years and couldn’t put a name to the problems she had been dealing with. “I lived it myself,” she said. “It’s trauma after divorcing parents.”

Legacy of Legends CDC, a nonprofit in Memphis committed to developing trauma-informed and resilient communities, provides free training for ACEs. Pizano was trained and awarded a certificate. 

According to the CDC in Atlanta, ACEs are common, preventable and costly to families. “There is nothing wrong with educating parents on ACEs,” said Pizano, which prompted her to stump for legislation to improve the quality of life for families impacted by ACEs.

She first met with community stakeholders like the Rev. Charlie Caswell, the executive director of Legacy of Legends CDC and CEO/founder of 3V Leader; the Rev. James Kirkwood, executive director of Memphis Christian Pastors Network; Roy Ray, who works to keep youth out of the juvenile systems in Tennessee and Mississippi; Dr. Altha Stewart, senior associate dean for Community Health Engagement in the College of Medicine at UTHSC; and Laurie Powell, CEO at Alliance Health Services.

Then she turned her attention to the former Shelby County Mayor Mark H. Luttrell Jr. and discussed with him the possibility of getting a bill passed. Luttrell put her in touch with State Rep. Mark White (R-83) from Memphis.

Pizano then went on to lobby State Rep. Mary Littleton (R-78) from Dickson, TN; State Sen. Paul Rose (R-32) from Covington, TN; and State Rep. DeWayne Thompson (D-96) from Cordova, TN.

The language to the law that’s already on the books was subsequently amended and moved judiciously through the legislature. Rep. Littleton sponsored the House bill. Sen. Rose sponsored the Senate version. Dozens of legislators signed on as cosponsors – a bipartisan effort. 

Earlier this month, State Rep. Antonio Parkinson (D-98) of Memphis made a pitch on the House floor to his colleagues on both sides of the aisle and encouraged them to support HB 2588. “It’s a good bill,” he told them. 

Rep. White, Pizano’s initial point of contact in the House, was called to the podium to speak. He first acknowledged Pizano – “my constituent,” he said – who trekked to and fro to Capitol Hill before the advent of Covid-19. 

“Marie Pizano is very passionate about what we’re doing to children in domestic and divorce courts,” White said, “…when the homes break down and there’s a lot of bickering back and forth, these are ACE experiences.” 

He continued: “And these things build up and they have a lasting effect on our children.”

Pizano concurs. But there is more to the problem, she said, than warring parents – attorneys. “They want you to fight. If you fight, they make money. They profit off you.” 

She refers to these attorneys – at least some of them – as “unethical.” “Attorneys need to be trained as well and educated on ACEs,” said Pizano, and added: “They fueled my fire to go create change.”

That fire is still raging within her. “I want to clean up the family law system. I’m not going to give up,” she promised.