On October 15, 1995, six of us from Dallas answered the call. Three of us traveled together — men with conviction in our hearts and hope on our minds. We flew into Richmond, Virginia, and walked and bussed our way to Washington, D.C., for the historic Million Man March. Along the two-hour journey, we shook hands with thousands of men and women. The energy was electric, the purpose clear, and the unity unforgettable.
But the moment that forever marked me wasn’t from the stage — it was from the sidewalk. An elder Black woman stood across from the main entrance in her Sunday best, stunning jewelry shining like she was heading to church. I walked up and said, “Hello, ma’am, I’m Terry. We’re from Dallas.” She smiled and said, “They told us this march was for men, but I had to come see our Black men — no matter what.”
Her name was Mildred. We lifted her onto our shoulders, carried her into the march, and snapped a Polaroid together. days later, I mailed her the picture. A week later, she made her first long distance call to Texas, crying tears of joy that we hadn’t forgotten her. Imailed here 25.00 for the call and asked her to call me collect from now on. For the next decade, we spoke on holidays and birthdays until she died. She became part of my :Big Mama” story — part of our legacy…