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telling stories /continued from p. 1316tion for her daughter. And I wasstanding there. And finally the sistersaid, “Well, how about this littlegirl?” And the lady said, “I don’tknow her! She didn’t come withme!” And so the sister asked mewhat was my name. I knew myname and I told her that my brotherand my sisters went to that school,and I told her their names. So shesays, “All right. But you have to havea seat.” So I was elated! Because allof the kids were there, and theteacher, she was singing, and I’llnever forget: “A, B, C, D, E, F, G.…”And I learned my ABCs! But I wasn’told enough to be in school. And thething about it was, when we went torecess, we came out of the schooland went into the schoolyard, and Iwas standing there getting ready toplay something. And I looked at thegate and here came my mother. Shewas running—she didn’t know whathad happened to me. But Mr.Whitey had gone and told her, said“Mommy Lump said she was goingto go to school and I took herthere. “So when I saw here, I knew Iwas headed home. And I startedcrying. And the nun, Sister HelenRita, I remember her—She told mymother. She says, “Oh, don’t takeher.” She says. “Her brother or hersisters can take her home atlunchtime.” Because I was enjoyingmyself. And she let me stay.And my sister Lucy brought mehome at lunchtime. And evidently,after lunch I must have fell off tosleep because when I woke up mysister was coming in from school inthe afternoon, and I wanted to goback. I told her, “Mom, can I goback?” And when my sister came in,she was always loud. And first thingshe hollered out, “Sister wants toknow when Thelma’s coming back!”And that was it! I cried and I criedand I begged and I begged. So finally,she let me go the next day. So Istarted going to school! But theycouldn’t promote me because I wasn’tsix. And so they had me stay infirst grade for an extra school term.So that’s about it! That’s how I putmyself in school.I memorized poems when Iwas young. Just for myself. I lovedPaul Laurence Dunbar. His poetrystuck with me. At school there wasanother girl. Phyllis. Paul LaurenceDunbar seemed to be her baby. Andshe’d do that. So I would do otherthings. I loved rhyme. That’s how Iwould remember. One time I couldflip them right off. That’s what Ilove— it’s just like songs! You heara song and you like it, you hear itenough, you’ll learn the words.I guess I started writing in highschool. But I really didn’t push it.Because we had a girl. ChakaFattah’s mother, Frances Davenport,she was in my class at Southern.And Frances was the poet. So Inever even considered myself as apoet, right? Because you know howthey say who’s going to be what?Well, they said Frances was definitelythe poet. One teacher there said,there’re two girls in this room whohave a tendency to poetry. And shesaid, “Frances Davenport.” I knewthat. Then she said, “ThelmaShelton.” I said—“What?” I didn’tknow it! I didn’t even pay it any mind.When I was working for thecity, this guy was retiring and theywanted someone to write a verseand I happened to come into theoffice, and this little secretary—shesaid, talking about me, “She couldwrite it.” I said “OK.” And it wasn’tthat difficult to write, because thisman was comical, and everybodyliked it. So then, every time somebodyretired, they’d get me to writea verse. I gave away so manypoems. Because I didn’t think it wasanything special.And so then I started thinkingabout the different stories that fascinatedme: Corrine Sykes, Soldierson the Trolley. So I just wrote ‘emfor myself. I wrote Soldiers on theTrolley because my son, we weretalking one day, and he was inDrexel and he thought he kneweverything. So he was telling mesomething, and I said, “Oh yeah,that was like soldiers on the trolley.”And he said “What soldiers on thetrolley?” And the same thing forCorinne Sykes. He was instrumentalin my doing it because he didn’tknow about it. And I thought, well,if he doesn’t know about it, thereare a lot of people who have seenhistorical things, but they don’t payit any mind. They don’t say anythingabout it. And then children comealong and they’re shocked! Theynever heard that before.After I retired, I went to thispoetry reading. And I was just surprisedthat the people liked what Iwrote. Before that, I had a thing. Iwould always write. But I would neverread it. I’d always give it to somebodyelse to read. And so this way, atthe open mike, I started reading.And when I found out I wasn’tbeing laughed at, I went along withit. I used to just go for the openreading, and then Bob Smalls, Poetsand Prophets, he asked me to be afeatured reader. And that’s how Istarted. I had no intentions. I didn’thave even any plans as to what Iwanted to do after I retired. Butsomething came— and something Inever even dreamed about. I said,“I’ve been telling stories all mylife—but not this way!”I think that after I went to thatfirst reading, I said to myself, “Icould do that,” so after that, everybodyhad some kind of title, and Ido write in rhyme, so I said, “I’m apoetic storyteller.” That’s how Icome up with that. And then I hesitatedsaying that. I said to myself,I’m stepping too far.I’ve had a couple of olderwomen come to me and say, “Oh, Iwish I could do that.” If I can do it,you can do it, too! I don’t think anybody’slife is boring. If you don’twrite about yourself, you writeabout things that you see. And I dofind that people like to listen tosomething that they can relate to.That’s what I try to do. What Iwrite, it’s not any original story. It’sa story that I actually saw or heardabout that stayed with me. Lastingimpressions. That’s what it is, that’swhat I tell. The things that havestuck with me.Ms. Robinson will rell stories as part ofthe PFP “Self Knowledge” program onFebruary 19th. See next page.