Brick to Brick: Building a Black Family in America

By Mary Dowdell

This book does not follow the customary organizational patterns of writing. It is not totally chronological, and it is not totally topical. It is a hybrid. It begins with the history of my parents and our core family from my vantage point. It moves then to my memories of childhood through college. From there, it becomes topical in that it is written in short stories about meaningful events. Because it is written in topical short stories, there are occurrences of overlaps, which was done for clarity of detail of the memoir. There are three entries not authored by me. One from my sister who is now deceased, one from my eldest sibling, and one from my niece, Leslie
(the daughter of my third brother—now deceased). It ends with some items from a collection of artifacts.
Once I started writing this book, I realized that to write only about the history of our family would not be enough. It is necessary that the oversight and guiding hand of the Lord be seamlessly acknowledged throughout.

I do hope you will enjoy it.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Oct 27, 2020
• ISBN: 9781664138292

Mary Dowdell

I am a native of Eastern North Carolina, born in Brick, North Carolina. As a graduate of Hampton University, with a master’s in public administration from Strayer University and a PhD in business administration/public administration, education is of the highest importance to me. I am a mother of three, a retired public service social work administrator, and a missionary/evangelist. Looking back, I saw (1) how much my parents invested in their children, (2) how much of what they taught influenced my parenting and life, and (3) how God generously kept and blessed us all. This is my testimony about all three of these areas.

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Copyright © 2020 by Mary Dowdell.

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The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

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Rev. date: 10/26/2020

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CONTENTS

PREFACE: Daddy the Teacher

FAMILY ARTIFACTS

REFERENCES

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Brick, North Carolina Rail Stop

PREFACE

Daddy the Teacher

D addy taught us that life for a black person is a continuation of the underground railroad. There is a destination. We all must believe that there is something better for us, that we all are here for a purpose. Life’s purpose is always greater than the mundane daily getting by.

There is a starting place. Where we are now, no matter where that place is, is merely a starting place. It is not the destination. But no one ever reaches the destination without first starting.

There is a committed conveyor. A conveyor is a person who communicates something or transports something or someone. The underground railroad depended on people who would risk their lives, who would give their all to people whom they may never see again, and who had nothing to give them in return. These were committed people who understood the risk of seeking personal attention and repayment. They also understood the risk to the people they were serving to rescue, so the people around them did not know about their commitment to their calling and their commission to saving the least of those among us.

There are provisions. We were taught that there are provisions. Provisions are not always obvious. Provisions are always enough. Our understanding of enough is generally inflated by our dreams of what milk and honey really mean. Sometimes we fret about the manna that we are sent daily because we want abundance now. We want abundance that is seasoned to our taste. But our God will sometimes work on our circumstances to change our taste if what we desire is not for our good. We like that extra salt; we know we live in bodies that cannot prosper with more salt than we need, but we want it anyway. God, our great teacher, must allow our circumstances to trim down our desire for salt. Eventually, we understand that our provider, Jehovah Jireh, provides our needs.

Survival requires sacrifice and determination. To reach freedom, it is necessary that the person fleeing slavery leave the familiar, their family, friends, and current master. They must flee with a few possessions, not too much because it will slow them or weigh them down. They must take enough to make it to the first point of safety. The trip must be strategic; the slaves had to be aware of their surroundings. Trying to move too fast or too recklessly would leave a trail for the enemy. They had to learn as they went along how to escape safely.

The road to life’s freedom has more than one stop. Never stop at your first resting point. God has very coordinated points on the journey that are intended to refresh us, give us more guidance, and move us along. Hold off on the celebration; you are not there yet.

The underground is a hidden path. Not everyone on the path can be trusted. Look for the code, look for the right words. We know that our choices determine our outcomes. But when we are confronted with choices, how do we make the right choice? We sometimes look for the bright lights, the glitter, the signposts of life. Life, however, often does not provide us with the right clues about our best options. That is where wisdom and listening to the voice of God will come through. God is the truth. He is the way. He is the light.

Freedom is not an easy path. There are hounds along the path. Not every person along the way is for you. Not every enticing path is the one for you. Hounds make a lot of noise; their job is to bring fear upon you, to slow your trip. Turn off the noise, listen to God, and stay on the right path. He will protect you from the hounds. The hounds have trainers who release them upon you. Watch out for the people behind the hounds. Do not mistake glitter for gold. Do not mistake every smile for sincerity. Do not follow every prophet. It is important to know the source of the person’s smile, direction, and prophesy.

There are people who are not genuine. Watch out for them. You do not always need to let them know that you know who they are; keep them guessing. You may have been warned that they are not the people you should follow. You do not have to tell them that you have been told this. Just stop listening to them. God will handle the path blockers.

Know that there is a path. There has always been a path to freedom. There will always be a path to freedom. Once you reach freedom, reach back. Someone needs you. The Lord said this:

Luke 22:31–32 The Message Bible (MSG)

³¹-³² Simon, stay on your toes. Satan has tried his best to separate all of you from me, like chaff from wheat. Simon, I’ve prayed for you that you do not give in or give out. When you have come through the time of testing, turn to your companions and give them a fresh start.

This book records the journey of the McLean family. It includes racial struggles, educational and socioeconomic struggles, strengths, and victories of this Eastern Carolina family. The book ends with a compilation of pictures, literature, and historical documents of a proud family.

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McLean Family at Brick, North Carolina

M y

family started with Neill Archie McLean—we later found that he was named Neill Archibald McLean—and wife Iva Miller Eugene Jones McLean coming together at Hampton Institute. My mother went to Hampton Institute, beginning at the academy. Mother graduated from the highest level of public schools in Pulaski, Virginia. However, that only went to the tenth grade. So in order to complete the twelfth grade and get into college, she had to attend the academy at Hampton. Once she completed the academy, she went into the college. My father also went to Hampton Institute.

Daddy was born in Harnett County, Lillington, North Carolina, one of seven children born to Henry McLean and Louise McLean. My father talked about the fact that his parents were together for the early part of his life, but they had a stormy marriage. His father was a magistrate in Lillington, and I understand that he was always called or referred to as Squire Henry. Squire Henry, at some point, left the family. They do not know where he went. Based on my understanding from my mother, my father was always reading the news, looking and hoping to find his father. There were some who thought that his father had gone to the Philadelphia area, but no one really knew for sure.

I interviewed my mother and recorded it in 1998. She told me about how she and Daddy met. She stated that she was working in the dining hall at Hampton, and my daddy would come in regularly. At one point, he asked her to attend a dance with him. Momma said she grew up rural and Pentecostal; she never learned to dance because dancing was considered wrong. Her girlfriends, however, convinced her to attend the dance and taught her how to dance.

In time, Momma realized that Daddy was serious about her and was interested in her as a girlfriend. She also was interested in him. She stated that what appealed to her was his very serious approach to life and that he made time and put in energy to check on his mother and sisters after his father left them. She said he would take a bus back to North Carolina whenever he could to handle business for the family and would put aside money for them. She said that although Daddy had brothers who were older, the family looked to him for leadership.

The relationship between my parents deepened, and they stayed together until my father passed on in February 1995. Their relationship was very strong. They supported each other, they were committed to the promises they made to each other, and they were able to handle courageous conversation without fear of offense. They were not threatening or insulting toward each other but were open and honest. They always reached consensus, even if it took a long, hard road to get there.

Hampton was very different at the time that they attended. Males could not go over to the female side of the campus and females could not go over to the male side without prior approval. When there were school-approved activities, the males could go to the female dormitories and escort them to the event. No student could leave the campus without prior approval from the school. The students all had a dress code; students went to class dressed in their Sunday best. Uniforms were permitted for some classes.

My mother majored in home economics. She worked in the dining room and in the dorms. She also spoke about working in the faculty house; she had a variety of jobs there. She was taught the formal way to make beds. There were no shortcuts allowed, and a low performance was not tolerated. Hampton students were trained to be consistent top performers and to represent the school well always.

So anyway, my father did all kinds of odd jobs—whatever he felt was needed to assist his mother with taking care of his siblings, even if he was still a teenager. When he became old enough to get into college, he went to Hampton Institute in Virginia, which is now Hampton University. He went there on what they called a work year program, where you would work a year to get the money you needed for school and then go to school a year, repeating this until you graduated. And so he went on to work on a ship, did barbering, farming, and other jobs. He talked a lot about the different types of jobs that he had. My mother would always tease him and say, Mac, you have had more jobs than you could possibly have had at your age, and then they would just laugh at it. But he did whatever he felt he needed to do. He really was into supporting family and providing. Daddy worked in whatever was legal and available. Daddy graduated in 1934.

On November 29, 1935, my parents married in New York City Hall. My daddy had gotten a job, and my momma said he told her that he needed a wife for that job. Of course, they had liked each other for several years by then. She was happy to get married, and they went to Brick to start their life together. My father wanted children. Momma was not interested in a large family but yielded to my father on that. They worked together on and off the job. There was no job or aspect of the job that they were shy about doing. My mother would always tell us that any work that is not ungodly is good work and to take what is available, not wait for your ideal job; you cannot be sure that ideal job will come. You may not get the job you want at first, but in time, a good job will come. They had a healthy respect for work. Both of my parents did; my mother worked as well as my father whenever they could. Momma also kept her house up.

On top of that, I do not remember ever being at home with my mother not making sure that there was food and that there was clean clothing whenever we needed it. She really believed in taking care of the needs of her husband and her children. She would make sure that my daddy had his suits and his white dress shirts. All his things were available to him and pretty much laid out for him. Most of the time, if she was not overwhelmed in some other area, she would make sure his things were laid out and ready for him.

I remember my father always wearing white dress shirts, which was what the men wore at that time. They did not do too much of colors when I was young, and so she would press only those shirts for him. I remember that he liked the starch in the collar, the little lapel down front and the cuffs, but he did not want starch in his shirt. She did it the exact way he wanted it done, and she taught all of us how to iron and