Welcoming Mrs. Lesa Cline-Ransome

The most fulfilling day of the school year -this year- was welcoming children’s author and historian, Mrs. Lesa Cline- Ransome into our school on June 10th.

Last year the fourth graders read Finding Langston, a middle grade novel by Mrs. Lesa Cline- Ransome. They learned about the Harlem Renaissance and how it actually didn’t only exist in Harlem but in other Black cities like Chicago. They learned of writers like Langston Hughes and Gwendolyn Brooks. With Finding Langston alone, they spoke of many civil right issues, such as the housing issues that many Blacks faced then (a lot of them were able to relate to being homeless or not having a place to call your own). They also spoke of the right to a decent education and clean food. When speaking of rights, I exposed them to the 10 point system by the Black Panther Party and asked them if the rights that were asked for by the Party in the 70’s different from the rights we were asking for today. They also expanded their reading and writing skills. As their teacher I witnessed their level of comprehension increase significantly!

Below are mini paper colleges they did after studying the book’s cover. We spoke about different art mediums artist use. (By the way, I created my own reading packet which I will soon load on Teachers Pay Teachers).

Finding Langston‘s main plot is of a little boy who exists during the Great Migration. His family travels north for better opportunity- from a loving home in the south. The fourth graders learned that the Great Migration spanned well into their grandparent’s and parent’s generation. Their eyes grew wide when they realized how much this book was so closely related to the past yet to their present.

After we read the book, there was a celebration!

The fourth graders pose for a group picture during the Renaissance Party

The theme of the party was the Chicago Renaissance. Each student came in as a character from that era. I was the librarian who welcomed prominent writers in to the library built for Blacks. All day my students called me Ms. Vivian (after Vivian Harsh).

The following are the realistic characters my students dressed up as. From the left: Mrs. George Cleveland Hall (Dr. George Cleveland Hall’s wife), Lorraine Hansberry, Ms. Augusta Savage, Ms. Elizabeth Catlett (this character was so popular that this year they all mention an interested in visiting the Elizabeth Catlett show at the Brooklyn Museum…one of them went with me on a random Saturday outside of school), Ms. Katherine Mary Dunham (this character was the one the girls fought over- because who doesn’t want to be a dancer?!), Ms. Margaret Walker, Me (as Ms. Vivian Harsh) , Ms. Gwendolyn Brooks, the little boy in the hat was Mr. Langston Hughes, and the little boy at the far end was Mr. Useni E. Perkins (poet of Hey Black Child). The day of the party they came in full character… so full that I had to remind them that I was Vivian Harsh- with an emphasis on harsh. In high spirits, they traveled to classes and asked students and teachers to guess who they were after putting on short skits. My principal confessed that she didn’t know all of them. Her face lit up when the little girl said yes, you’re correct, I am Katherine Mary Dunham.

At the Brooklyn Museum with Mariah viewing Catlett’s work

The following year when I had them for fifth grade, I started the year with the book’s sequel, Leaving Lymon. With this book, they now spoke about family relationships, detention centers, food lines, and factories in America. They completed a food and race relations project for their work to be shown in a gallery in New York (will share the show soon). They learned about Blacks living in Milwaukee who faced harsh working conditions.

In Leaving Lymon, the reader meets Langston’s bully, Lymon, and finds out why he is a bully. This book teaches compassion for both the victim and the bully. Fifth grade used the lessons during the school year. They had disagreements and once there was even a fight but the core lessons of humanity and self respect was taught and even in very tough times apologies were made and friendships rekindled.

Right here, I want to mention the beauty of these two novels and how apropos it was for them to read it at the appointed time. During the school year, we as a community experienced a death and it was so unexpected. However, my class was already talking about social- emotional skills and self respect. I want to say it was because of the readings they were greatly comforted.

In February of 2024, some of my students joined the program (that I run outside of school) Soap Recipe, on a Black History Celebration trip to Philadelphia, PA. There, they met Mrs. Lesa Cline- Ransome at the African American Children’s book fair. And, oh, what a meeting! For a teacher whose joy it is to find ways for children to connect the past to the present and realize how valuable their history is- I felt loved when my students found Mrs. Lesa Cline- Ransome (on their own) in a gigantic overcrowded gymnasium. They recited Langston Hughes’ One Way Ticket to her between smiles and shrieks. Everyone there witnessed how learning, reading, and writing have the power to transform a human. Everyone was touched at how my students laureled Mrs. Cline-Ransome and in turn honored their educated selves.

One day I was at my computer reading my emails and saw that Mrs. Cline- Ransome was going to attend a book event with the Center for Black Literature in Brooklyn. I told my now fifth graders I was going to be absent because I was going to an event to meet Mrs. Cline-Ransome. I then asked them what they thought about inviting her to the school.

Will she really come?

I don’t know. But is it that hard to write a letter and ask?

With this question, they stopped to do what they did best- argue- about writing the author.

If she doesn’t come it will be a waste of time.

But if she does come, it won’t.

Ms. Hurley, is she your friend?

Of course She’s Ms. Hurley’s friend! She’s going to meet her!

I did what I did best- I quietly waited until they were done arguing, then told them to start writing. I was surprised by the content of their letters. They didn’t even need two days to write her. They put forth their best penmanship and diction. I didn’t have to tell them to use their raggedy dictionaries that they vowed to keep neat in September but by May were a mess. Each writer got up and got their dictionaries.

When I arrived in Brooklyn, I gave her the letters at the end of her workshop and she gave me 12 signed bookmarks for my students.

The author never forgot that moment in Philly, and said so when she responded to their new request to come and visit their school. She returned their sheer passion and joy with an excited yes! Even though she was in Europe when she decided, yes, she’ll come- she emailed me her interest in meeting my students.

Letter from Brooklyn

Before she came, the students went into preparation mode with tenacious energy. Needless to say, it was challenging. It was nearing the end of the school year and there were so many trips, events, and parties happening. In the beginning of the preparation, they argued and fought over who would do what until some of them wished they never wrote her. That wish turned into another argument (that I got involved with). But as time got close, the dedicated fifth graders (with some help from the nearby fourth graders) worked on mini skits, Bottle projects, and a huge classroom banner while their schoolmates read books by the author, wrote papers and drew images to honor her arrival.

When she came, my students were walking to the sanctuary. I double checked my email and saw that she was outside. I told the students and they rushed to the front of the building! All twelve of them were surprised that she actually came.

There are very few moments when I can say they stopped talking this year, and this was one of the them. When they saw her step out of the car they all got quiet.

That’s really her! I heard one student whisper.

They did not even run to open the door! They stood on stairs, gawking. Some were pointing while others stood with their hands over their mouths.

I told two students to go down and let her in- to which when they did like robots. Then, they continued to stand there and gape. She broke the silence by saying- Ahhh, …can I take a picture of all of you?! I, of course couldn’t stop smiling.

That morning, I ordered over one hundred dollars worth of KFC for the class as a surprise. After the two hour talk and book signing, they returned to a classroom that smelled of KFC. They ate with the author and put on their shows, read their poetry, shared their art and brought up their favorite topic – Ms. Hurley doesn’t know how to spell Tick- Tock correctly.

To add to all the excitement of the day, Mrs. Lesa Cline-Ransome’s husband, James Ransome, came and spent some time with us at the very end! What can get better than that?!

By her departure, they were back to themselves, doing what 11 and 12 year olds do best- show off (this is after arguing of course).

Before I end this post, I want to mention one question I heard one of my students asked her during her lecture. She wanted to know why Mrs. Cline-Ransome includes the father (as a character) in all her books. My student struggled to ask the question because she asked the question from a very vulnerable place. While reading the books and talking about relationships with my students, I didn’t realize that because most of them were in house-holds without their fathers, reading her books gave them a sort of insight into a world in which the father existed everyday- and this world, they learned, was a very possible world.

Thank You, Mrs. Lesa Cline-Ransome

The Forgotten Purse

Sister Brenda got off the church bus tired and sleepy. With her big black tote, she walked into the restroom then got a hot chocolate from Dunkin’ Donuts. She was thankful for the mini break.

When she got back on the bus she sat comfortably. Everyone was eatting and the lights turned off. The bus driver, Deacon McCloud, left the rest area and picked up the speed on the turnpike.

“I left my purse!” Sister Brenda yelled frantically.

“You did what?! Sister Brenda?!”

“What was in it?”

Everyone begin to ask her questions as the bus inched over the George Washington bridge.

“Did you have money in it?”

“How much?”

“My iPad is in it -with all my memories!!” She sobbed.

The questions stopped and everyone begin to brainstorm. Finally, someone got the number to John Fenwick Service area. But no one picked up.

“Let’s pick it up on our way back.”

Sister Brenda wasn’t happy but what could she do? She tried to stop worrying about it. The weekend came to an end and the church trip ended. All the people hugged. “Peace Be!” The church family climbed the bus while the saints in New York waved.

Sister Brenda went to sleep. Everyone went to sleep but Deacon McCloud. Thoughts about the past weekend was heavy on everyone’s mind. The sermons, the conversations, the food, the songs…

The bus left the Bronx. It breezed pass what was left of the city and rolled into the George Washington Bridge. It hit traffic. It sped up. Then, it slowed down again. New Jersey vanished as well as the service area, John Fenwick…

“My purse!!” Sister Brenda yelled with hope. “My Purse!!”

People near her woke. Others repositioned their bodies. Deacon McCloud looked into the rearview mirror with blood shot eyes. He gripped the wheel and asked in his most patience voice.

“Why didn’t you tell me? Remind me earlier? I’ll swing the bus back.”

Sister Brenda stood up this time. Fighting sleep. She watched the driver make a wide turn.

“This is not the station.” she said matter of factly when he creeped up to it. “It is too!” They began to banter about which service station she left her bag. She never got off the bus because she was now confused. “My bag” she whispered. She went back to her seat.

The bus driver drove the bus back to the south. As the people awoke, they were surprised she still didn’t have her bag! They begin to brainstorm.

“Can’t someone who is passing the station get the purse?”

“There are other buses.”

“The bus going to Virginia will get it!” Someone hung up their phone.

“Nope, Virginia already passed the station too!” Someone else hung up their phone.

“The bus going to South Carolina will get it!” Another person in the back chimed in.

But the South Carolina bus couldn’t describe the bag well enough. They left.

A week passed and Sister Branda thought about her iPad. She focused on all her pictures she took and songs she wrote. Imagining each song help to drown out the voices of doubt. There were plenty. Some whispered and other voices said it loud and clear.

“You can always get another iPad.”

“You probably won’t get your bag back.”

“You know how big that station is!?“

Then she got a call. A couple who lived in New Jersey and attended the conference got the news. They lived right next to the station! It was nothing for them to casually stop by. And it was nothing for the service station to hand over the big black bag with all of Sister Brenda’s belongings. Her money she forgot she had and the iPad with all the memories.

Pocahontas

This year my social studies class is a combined class. The fourth grade and fifth grade students learn side by side.

I follow the fifth grade curriculum.

Today, we are going to watch a movie I said to all the students. Immediately a celebration took course.

Yayyy!!!

They smiled at one another while I waited for them to settle down.

They were so excited. No doubt their thrills were heard down the hallway and out the front door.

Class, do you ever watch movies with Ms. Hurley?

Noooo!!!

They were still exited.

So will this be for pure entertainment?

Very few answered. They were t sure what to expect next.

We will take notes and analyze the pictures. This is called, Art and Race Relations. In Stamped from the Beginning, their reading companion, they read about the corruption of Disney movies. There was no better time to watch Pocahontas.

The movie started and there were times I had to ask them not to talk during the ‘boring parts’ – and then there were times they went absolute silent – during the romantic parts (that’s how I know they are growing up!!).

Every-time I asked them about the voice of the character, to explain the if the dialogue or art was racist or anti- racist- they were correct.

While I was watching it, I heard my close friend’s voice, if you are going to teach them about Pocahontas make sure to tell them the truth. He told me that last year when they were in the fourth grade reading Heart and Soul by Kadir Nelson. That time, we got as far as analyzing the painting that hangs in the nation capitol entitled- Pocahontas Baptism. This year though, our curriculum gave us room to talk more about the Native American. None of them saw the Disney movie and were naturally happy to see it.

The movie ended and there was a common feeling in the room. No one was surprised about the love story or Pocahontas ending up with the White man and few of them questioned it.

Then, I played a video I found on the internet. It talked about the real meaning of Pocahontas and how it connects to Native people. It gave Pocahontas a different name and shared different images. Unlike my student’s jolly behavior during the movie, they were alert and inquisitive. They took notes and asked questions like- Ms. Hurley, is it okay to say sexually assaulted? What does molested mean? Why did Disney lie? What does genocide mean? What is a homicide? Then they answered their own questions: But Disney is for children and if they told the truth then it wouldn’t be a children’s movie anymore! If suicide means to kill yourself, then homicide means to kill other people.

The children had art next but none of them moved when the bell rang. They had more questions about the supreme court and how people were being charged. I asked them to write their feelings down then we spoke about them. We spoke about protecting ourselves and protecting others. The boys had an opportunity to talk about how they felt about girls getting hurt and the girls spoke about how to respect boys, understanding that anyone can hurt anyone.

The students who were known for being quiet were the most vocal when sharing stories they saw on the internet. Students who were known for bravery spoke about Pocahontas losing her agency and how scary that was for them. The lesson lasted until 10 minutes before lunch as oppose to a hour before lunch. I realized that while they were asking me questions, they were mostly interested in what each other thought and how each other felt in that moment. Realizing this made me talk less as the space was there for them to grow and give each other agency.

Mother Addie and Mother Lydia

Mother Addie was rushing and Mother Lydia was ushering. When they saw each other they genuinely embraced.

Can I take a picture of you two? I asked.

And they posed.

When I heard about the homegoing of Mother Lydia I thought of many things.

Her smile.

Her kind words after church.

Her spirit of giving.

Her relationship with my mother.

Her singing, “This Joy that I have, the world didn’t give it to me”

Her getting happy and jumping up and down in service.

And the last time I took a photo of her.

Seneca Village

The fifth grade read Maritcha: A Nineteenth-Century American Girl by Tonya Bolden.

It is a wonderful biography on the life of a young person who grows up in colonial America. She is living in New York and even though is Black comes from a family that is hard working and not enslaved.

Maritcha Lyons’ Grandfather Marshall owned property in Seneca Village. Seneca Village was a large Black successful town with a school, three churches, and up and mobile people living there. The village was shredded apart before the villagers eyes by the city officials who took the space to build Central Park.

My class created a mini Seneca Village out of tubes.

My class also created their own auto-biographies as a book report and presented them in class. The most successful part was seeing them share their stories with each other after school. They were honestly interested in each other and were asking questions that they were not able to ask in class.

Singing a different Yum for a once Yuck

A few years ago my sister and I harvested bitter melon and we couldn’t wait to bring it home and eat it.

We ignored the word bitter.

It was so bitter we put it in compost and did not harvest anymore. I think we let the rest return to the earth.

This week during PD, I heard some teachers talking about bitter melon as if it was the most wonderful meal they had in a while. I was curious.

Did y’all say bitter melon?

Yes, you had it before?

Yes, from the garden! It was really nasty tho.

Oh, Ms. Hurley, don’t Yuck someone else Yum.

Okay…I am curious thou, are y’all cooking it?

Yes, with salt fish and we eat it with bake.

This morning, Ms. Cheryl, shared some out to the staff – she said she made the bitter melon with salt-fish and her husband made the bake. It was much better than the raw one I picked from the garden.