Grandma Was A Commie
I turn to my maternal grandmother, Grandma Birnie, last. Though she had the shortest life of any of my grandparents, dying when I was just 12 years old (more than 12 years before my next grandparent died), she had more of an influence on me growing up than anyone but my two parents. She was a remarkable woman.
In 1932 at the age of 21 she joined the Communist Party - or as she put it, the Communist Party joined her. She had met and become friends with the mother of Tom Mooney and Richard Moore of the International Labor Defense, a Communist front organization that was integral in the defense of the Scottsboro Boys. Later that year she was "tutored" in Communist dogma by William Z. Foster, the party leader who was running for U.S. president. They saw in her an energetic, opinionated woman who hated Capitalism and understood what class struggle was all about. Even though she was very green she was made a district organizer for the IDL.
Now, I put all those links in because very few people remember the very significant threat that Communism was in and to the United States, who the players were and what their strategy was. My grandmother was mixed up right in the middle of it all, and worked with the tireless enthusiasm of a fanatic throughout the Midwest and Rocky Mountain areas on behalf of the Party, even at the expense of her own health and well-being.
What led her away from the Communist Party was the realization that they really weren't about helping people like they said they were. Grandma had been discriminated against as a girl growing up, and seen others - Native Indians and Blacks - mistreated as well. As a result she was both terribly bitter about the world around her, and passionate about helping the less fortunate in society. During her time with the Communist Party she spent much, maybe most, of her time with and for black people. This was an era of lynchings and virtual show trials where young black men were often charged with crimes they did not commit. The Communist Party tried to take advantage of that by coming to their legal defense. But my grandmother found that their heart was not in it. The Party was also trying to organize and rally farmers and other blue collar workers to its cause, many of whom were white. Grandma Birnie was very good at what she did for the Party, but this also caused jealousy.
Eventually she was brought up on charges by the Party. Her crime? Fraternizing with black people and upsetting the Party's efforts to reach out to white folks who were, quite frankly, racist. So, because she rode streetcars with blacks, ate at restaurants with blacks, stayed at the homes of blacks, she was brought up on charges. Before they could officially kick her out of the Party she tore up her Communist Party book in front of them all and effectively declared war. She followed through on that war.
In the meantime, she drifted from Marxism/Socialism to nominal Christianity (my mom was baptized in the Catholic Church with a due complement of saints' names - five of them!). But she didn't really become a believer until a man, who would become her second husband, literally stuck his foot in her front door and wouldn't leave until she heard the Gospel. He was a pastor, and built a church in Riverside County that I think is still there. My grandmother readily saw that the answer to Communism was not another political ideology, but rather Christianity itself.
She became as tireless a spokeswoman for Christianity as she had been for Communism. For many years she traveled throughout the Western and Midwestern U.S. and up into Canada, speaking at churches, community centers, anywhere she could get an audience, to warn them about the dangers of Communism and the answer in Jesus Christ. She testified before Congress and had her life story dramatized on national radio (she played herself - I can't imagine anyone else doing it).
Grandma had a knack for meeting people. She remained active in the black community, knew Nat King Cole when he was a young man and loved his music for years afterward. Somehow she got to know people like James Arness (of Gunsmoke fame) and George Putnam (a radio/TV commentator who is still at it out here in SoCal). Merlin Olson, while a member of the L.A. Rams was going door to door for his Mormon faith. He knocked on Grandma's door, and since she was never one to back down from a good debate, she let him in. He was so intrigued by her he came back, but neither one converted the other.
By the time I came along Grandma was along in years and her health was suffering. She was no longer speaking, so I only knew her - at least at first - as my grandmother. She was an amazing story teller, would knit stuffed animals of her own creation, liked to draw and paint, and made some mean popcorn balls. She was fascinated by American Indian culture and nature in general, and would read to me from various books she owned or that she bought for me. She taught me a bit on how to draw, and also taught me how to identify birds as we sat in the porch at the back of Grandpa and Grandma's house. The porch looked out into a back yard that was like a mini Garden of Eden, full of an amazing variety of flowers and plants, and so it attracted a wide variety of birds.
Grandma Birnie had a very compelling personality. When I was young, and we would visit in Long Beach with my grandparents, invariably we'd receive a visit, or go and visit, a man (and his family) that she and everyone else called Uncle Jesse. Because she called him that - and no one seemed to contradict her - I believed he was my uncle. He was black. I almost got into a fight with a kid when I was about 9 or 10 who wouldn't believe me that I had an uncle who was black. But I believed it, even though there was some sort of cognitive dissonance that informed my kid brain that black babies don't come out of white women. But that's how persuasive she could be, just by the force of her personality.
I only saw my Birnie grandparents about once a year. But during the summers when I was 10 and 11 we spent several weeks visiting. During that time my grandmother began to tell me stories about her life, and about her family. The stories about her life, many of them, were quite disturbing. She would tell of some of her activities as a Communist, almost all of them with great regret. Grandma would sleep in a recliner on the porch with me, my brother and sister in sleeping bags on the floor. Late into the night she would talk and tell stories. Every now and then she'd ask me if I was still awake and if I wanted to hear more. I always did. Because for every story about her regret in riling up a mob of people (one mob she was convinced had caused an innocent bystander's death), and how sorry she was and how terrible a person she had been, there was at least one story about her life growing up in Minnesota, or about her extended family and her latest visit with or letter from them.
I learned a lot from Grandma Birnie. She taught me how to draw, how to identify birds, to love nature (besides birds, especially animals and trees), about Indians, and introduced me to stories that I still love today, like the delightful Thornton Burgess animal stories that beat Beatrix Potter by a good American mile. Her stories about her family piqued my interest in my family history and genealogy. She gave an old family piano to my parents so that I could learn to play the piano. That is one of the things I am most thankful for, because music is a big part of what I did growing up, and who I am today.
More than those, however, I learned to hate bigotry and racism. I also learned to despise those who use race for political gain. I learned that the real answer to, not just Communism, but every other "ism" in this life is Christianity. Whether political, philosophical, psychological or some other false religion, these all have one thing in common: they are devised by man to make himself feel better about himself. They all deny the one truth that Christianity alone admits, not only admits but proclaims: man cannot save himself. God must do it for us.
Finally, I learned that no one is beyond the mercy, grace and love of God in Jesus Christ. From those late night conversations on the back porch, I know that my Grandma Birnie lived with deep sorrow and pain for what she had done earlier in her life. Her tears and cries of sorrow were real. But I also know from those late night talks that she had a deep and abiding love of Jesus and thanksgiving for what He had done for her. Her tears of joy were also real.
I wrote above that Grandma Birnie was a talented storyteller. She was also a gifted writer. Toward the end of her life she wrote this poem, which seems an appropriate close:
In 1932 at the age of 21 she joined the Communist Party - or as she put it, the Communist Party joined her. She had met and become friends with the mother of Tom Mooney and Richard Moore of the International Labor Defense, a Communist front organization that was integral in the defense of the Scottsboro Boys. Later that year she was "tutored" in Communist dogma by William Z. Foster, the party leader who was running for U.S. president. They saw in her an energetic, opinionated woman who hated Capitalism and understood what class struggle was all about. Even though she was very green she was made a district organizer for the IDL.
Now, I put all those links in because very few people remember the very significant threat that Communism was in and to the United States, who the players were and what their strategy was. My grandmother was mixed up right in the middle of it all, and worked with the tireless enthusiasm of a fanatic throughout the Midwest and Rocky Mountain areas on behalf of the Party, even at the expense of her own health and well-being.
What led her away from the Communist Party was the realization that they really weren't about helping people like they said they were. Grandma had been discriminated against as a girl growing up, and seen others - Native Indians and Blacks - mistreated as well. As a result she was both terribly bitter about the world around her, and passionate about helping the less fortunate in society. During her time with the Communist Party she spent much, maybe most, of her time with and for black people. This was an era of lynchings and virtual show trials where young black men were often charged with crimes they did not commit. The Communist Party tried to take advantage of that by coming to their legal defense. But my grandmother found that their heart was not in it. The Party was also trying to organize and rally farmers and other blue collar workers to its cause, many of whom were white. Grandma Birnie was very good at what she did for the Party, but this also caused jealousy.
Eventually she was brought up on charges by the Party. Her crime? Fraternizing with black people and upsetting the Party's efforts to reach out to white folks who were, quite frankly, racist. So, because she rode streetcars with blacks, ate at restaurants with blacks, stayed at the homes of blacks, she was brought up on charges. Before they could officially kick her out of the Party she tore up her Communist Party book in front of them all and effectively declared war. She followed through on that war.
In the meantime, she drifted from Marxism/Socialism to nominal Christianity (my mom was baptized in the Catholic Church with a due complement of saints' names - five of them!). But she didn't really become a believer until a man, who would become her second husband, literally stuck his foot in her front door and wouldn't leave until she heard the Gospel. He was a pastor, and built a church in Riverside County that I think is still there. My grandmother readily saw that the answer to Communism was not another political ideology, but rather Christianity itself.
She became as tireless a spokeswoman for Christianity as she had been for Communism. For many years she traveled throughout the Western and Midwestern U.S. and up into Canada, speaking at churches, community centers, anywhere she could get an audience, to warn them about the dangers of Communism and the answer in Jesus Christ. She testified before Congress and had her life story dramatized on national radio (she played herself - I can't imagine anyone else doing it).
Grandma had a knack for meeting people. She remained active in the black community, knew Nat King Cole when he was a young man and loved his music for years afterward. Somehow she got to know people like James Arness (of Gunsmoke fame) and George Putnam (a radio/TV commentator who is still at it out here in SoCal). Merlin Olson, while a member of the L.A. Rams was going door to door for his Mormon faith. He knocked on Grandma's door, and since she was never one to back down from a good debate, she let him in. He was so intrigued by her he came back, but neither one converted the other.
By the time I came along Grandma was along in years and her health was suffering. She was no longer speaking, so I only knew her - at least at first - as my grandmother. She was an amazing story teller, would knit stuffed animals of her own creation, liked to draw and paint, and made some mean popcorn balls. She was fascinated by American Indian culture and nature in general, and would read to me from various books she owned or that she bought for me. She taught me a bit on how to draw, and also taught me how to identify birds as we sat in the porch at the back of Grandpa and Grandma's house. The porch looked out into a back yard that was like a mini Garden of Eden, full of an amazing variety of flowers and plants, and so it attracted a wide variety of birds.
Grandma Birnie had a very compelling personality. When I was young, and we would visit in Long Beach with my grandparents, invariably we'd receive a visit, or go and visit, a man (and his family) that she and everyone else called Uncle Jesse. Because she called him that - and no one seemed to contradict her - I believed he was my uncle. He was black. I almost got into a fight with a kid when I was about 9 or 10 who wouldn't believe me that I had an uncle who was black. But I believed it, even though there was some sort of cognitive dissonance that informed my kid brain that black babies don't come out of white women. But that's how persuasive she could be, just by the force of her personality.
I only saw my Birnie grandparents about once a year. But during the summers when I was 10 and 11 we spent several weeks visiting. During that time my grandmother began to tell me stories about her life, and about her family. The stories about her life, many of them, were quite disturbing. She would tell of some of her activities as a Communist, almost all of them with great regret. Grandma would sleep in a recliner on the porch with me, my brother and sister in sleeping bags on the floor. Late into the night she would talk and tell stories. Every now and then she'd ask me if I was still awake and if I wanted to hear more. I always did. Because for every story about her regret in riling up a mob of people (one mob she was convinced had caused an innocent bystander's death), and how sorry she was and how terrible a person she had been, there was at least one story about her life growing up in Minnesota, or about her extended family and her latest visit with or letter from them.
I learned a lot from Grandma Birnie. She taught me how to draw, how to identify birds, to love nature (besides birds, especially animals and trees), about Indians, and introduced me to stories that I still love today, like the delightful Thornton Burgess animal stories that beat Beatrix Potter by a good American mile. Her stories about her family piqued my interest in my family history and genealogy. She gave an old family piano to my parents so that I could learn to play the piano. That is one of the things I am most thankful for, because music is a big part of what I did growing up, and who I am today.
More than those, however, I learned to hate bigotry and racism. I also learned to despise those who use race for political gain. I learned that the real answer to, not just Communism, but every other "ism" in this life is Christianity. Whether political, philosophical, psychological or some other false religion, these all have one thing in common: they are devised by man to make himself feel better about himself. They all deny the one truth that Christianity alone admits, not only admits but proclaims: man cannot save himself. God must do it for us.
Finally, I learned that no one is beyond the mercy, grace and love of God in Jesus Christ. From those late night conversations on the back porch, I know that my Grandma Birnie lived with deep sorrow and pain for what she had done earlier in her life. Her tears and cries of sorrow were real. But I also know from those late night talks that she had a deep and abiding love of Jesus and thanksgiving for what He had done for her. Her tears of joy were also real.
I wrote above that Grandma Birnie was a talented storyteller. She was also a gifted writer. Toward the end of her life she wrote this poem, which seems an appropriate close:
Dear Lord Jesus:
I copied a poem,
I bought a song
For each did seem to say
Something that has been
In the depths of my heart
For many and many a day.
But as I walked back
On yesterday's road
As memory led me along
I found myself loving
Each shadow there
And thankful for each wrong
So long endured in pain and tears
Which somehow enriched life's song.
For that long, long road
I walked alone
Led to this glad new day.
For I found in the rays
Of morning light
Emerging out of my night
A bright new life
Standing straight and tall
With eager hands to grasp and hold
None of the chaff but all of the gold
To be mined from unselfish service
To the untarnished dream
Of Freedom's Light that began
When God in a far away guileless world
First breathed His breath into man.
Labels: Family
What a fascinating woman! I would have loved to sit and have a chat with her.
Posted by
Hechung |
11/13/06, 2:13 PM