Featured below are three diary entries from an interpreted perspective of those affected by President Johnson's Great Society:
DATE: January 5, 1964:
Dear Diary,
Finally. Finally the sunlight has shown through the ashen clouds that restricted me to an all too familiar melancholic state. My soul has been resurrected from the cold walls I had suppressed myself to by the strange light of hope. It is the feeling one attains when a new friend is made; when the feeling of betrayal no longer persists, freeing the soul from the chains of negativity as it ascends to the euphoric heavens above. The hope lingers in my (once-cold) heart for my posterity. The children of my blood, they will no longer feel obligated to continue this familiar cycle of poverty that our family has endured. They have been given an opportunity of education; the defining factor of the worth of life in this society. It was yesterday when Johnson had announced the programs outlined in his Great Society, including the Head Start Program; the program which has reanimated a feeling of pure bliss. My children. My pure, innocent children. They will no longer be cursed with the question of whether they will have dinner each day. They will no longer be cursed by the cold-hearted blizzards of winter. They will no longer be cursed by the ambiguity of surviving each day. President Johnson. Oh god bless the great Johnson. Given this opportunity my children will thrive and relive the once prominent American Dream. My children will be successful and prosper in this nation, and so will their children and so on and so forth. Our family name will spread across the Americas. Our legacy of survival will precede our legacy of impoverishment. They will no longer associate us as the flea-ridden rats that thrive within the dark alleyways. We will forever be known as Stewarts: the strong-willed.
May god bless Johnson and his angelic soul. He has renlightened my life. Oh the skies have never gleamed so bright a blue and birds have never chirped so beautiful a song.
Mary Patricia Stewart
DATE: May 22, 1964:
Dear Journal,
I remember all the stories my grandmother would tell me as a teenager. However, unlike most stories, which are filled to the brim of bliss and impossible happy endings, her stories came from the harsh truth. From the scars; some of which were visible and others which lay deep within her heart and mind. She grew up in Alabama and was born in a filthy, fly-ridden barn. Unfortunately, my great grandmother had died giving birth to her. She doesn't remember much from her childhood, except the insecurity of being different. Different in a way that nearly every white person would either look right past you or acknowledge your presence with a face of horror and disgust. She was raised by her father as an only child. She described him as a hard man, he would try to hide his pain in front of her by constantly smiling around her, but she always felt the burning presence of his pain. She would tell me about how her father's eyes were "dead" -- though he seemed very much alive. When she reached the age of 17 the landowner had died and his nephew inherited the land. Immediately, after the death of the landowner, the nephew sold them into slavery. Upon the auction day, her father made a promise to remain by her side. When the auction began, she knew it would be the last time they would see each other. The prices ascended, his new owner stopped voting. She remembered the look of terror on his dazed and wet face as he tried to break free, as well as the cry of pain as he was beaten right in front of her for resisting. She had never seen her father ever again. Within a year, she had given birth to my uncles. At 19, my mother was born and the following year my aunt.
By the 1900s, the plantation was no longer functioning, but the racism driven violence and segregation still remained. They traveled to the northwest toward Colorado; arriving the approximate year. They lived in a segregated neighborhood of darker individuals. Although all seemed fine and peaceful, they remained fearful of of the lynchings. When she was 25, her mother had passed away of pneumonia, and the following year her brother. When she was 26 she met my father and they became one. By the age of 32 they had three children; my older sister Ruth, me, and my brother James.
When the Great Depression hit us, we were bombarded with famine and sickness. We had suffered through cold winters and days with no food. The families usual humor and happiness began precipitating off our faces and consequently our smiles. During one harsh winter my brother James died of tuberculosis. I was ten when he passed away, his contagious smile and pure goodness forever remains in my mind.
When I was 22 I met a man who stole my heart. Jack Henry Turner. It had never been a happier time in my life. I always felt safe around him. We married on April 21, 1940 and had our daughter Bethany on March 15, 1941. We raised her to be a beautiful and classy young lady. She inherited my eyes and her father's sarcastic humor. When all was going well, things turned for the worst. At 1:14 am on Febuary 23rd of 1963 my husband was lynched along with two other civil rights activists by 5 members of the KKK. To this day the authorities have yet to find him. He will forever remain a part of my heart and I will never forget him.
My family history has been burdened with moments of pain, terror, death, and injustice. However, today is the start of a new beginning; not only for me but for my family. Although the pain of the past remains, the terror and injustice are fading away. My hope for the end of racism and slavery in the future has begun. They are finally taking action and God has finally received my message. They've created the Voting Rights Act of 1964. They made it to my disbelief. My people have received their voice, will live for justice and we will fight for equality. No longer will their exist the discrimination and corruptness of the voting system. It has been purified. We will no longer be belittled by those damn literacy tests. We will rise above as equals. If only Jack were here to see this monumental move forward; he would be smiling of pure bliss from this progression Praise the lord and his mighty powers. Praise President Johnson and his blessed soul!
"I have a dream that my[...] little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin, but by the content of their character." -Martin Luther King Jr.
I believe this dream may come true. It may actually come true.
Helen Dorothy Turner
DATE: July 30, 1965:
Hello Again,
I bring joyous news! Today, after a long life of filled with aches and pains (due to the costly price of medical care), I may finally receive help for relieving the common discomfort of aging. President Johnson has implemented a plan that lay within his "Great Society," Medicare. To my benefit, it helps offset the costs of health care for senior citizens.
I am afraid that this event has caused a blissful smile to ascend permanently upon my face. Although, I find no problem with the existence of this bliss, a slight pain has begun to tingle on my jaw and cheeks due to the continuity of this expression of happiness.
Since the age of 22, I have suffered from the troublesome genetics of my parents. I am, however, not complaining in the fact that they have so gracefully provided me with their attractive physical features. Many of the doctors that have worked with (or rather on) me have described my case as a miracle. I have been bombarded with several diseases throughout my life; many of which the survival rate has been minimal. I am very thankful for the grand immune system that my parents have allowed me to inherit and the doctors that have aided me in my several recoveries; but I cannot help but feel guilt from the constant worry and financial burdens they must have suffered through. Unfortunately, My immune system has begun to disintegrate; as does everything else with aging. I would not have minded the common symptoms: the development of wrinkles, the aches, the pains. But, I do believe that this last struggle will begin to take control of the entirety of my life. Perhaps, even end it. Although, their remains a constant fear in my heart that these may be my last few years, my optimism has drowned the noise of this fatal prediction. And, so, I remain grateful for the life I have lived and will continue to fight as I have since the beginning of my life. Nonetheless, Medicare will at least degenerate some of the stress that my constant battle has brought upon me.
Richard William Lincoln
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