Roundtrip Between the Delta and Bern

No, I haven't gone to Bern, Switzerland. Well, not yet at least. But the Delta has gone to Bern and Bern has come to the Delta.

The traveler was my Daddy, Dr. Jefferson Davis Upshaw, Jr, and the great work he did to understand what became known as Upshaw-Schulman Syndrome. You can read the details here, but it is a form of inherited thrombotic thrombocytopenic purpura.

Jefferson Davis Upshaw, Jr at Gulf Coast Military Academy

Daddy was born in Louise, MS, in Humphreys County, MS on July 19, 1929 - a mere two years after the Great Flood of 1927. He attended elementary school in Louise and then junior high and high school at Gulf Coast Military Academy in Gulfport, MS.

He was nominated to attend West Point Military Academy, but chose (ha ha) The University of Alabama (Roll Tide) where he graduated Phi Beta Kappa. He then graduated from Johns Hopkins Medical School where he also completed his internship and residency in Internal Medicine.

After serving in the Air Force in Bermuda (what a tough life) he and my Mother moved to Memphis where he practiced internal medicine and hematology for 40+ years. He served as both Chief and President of the Medical Staff as well as Director of Medical Education for Baptist Memorial Health Care Corporation in Memphis. He was there when Elvis died!

Now, you are saying, where does Bern, Switzerland come in? Well, Daddy, himself, never went to Bern. But Daddy's work did!

I was actually sitting in my cottage in Rolling Fork, MS in early March 2012, just about 20 miles from Daddy's birthplace and home in Louise, MS, when I got an email from Bern, Switzerland. A little (or a lot) skeptical, I did not respond. But Bern was persistent. Later that month, they reached out again:
.

"Dear Ms Upshaw Travis

We at the Inselpital Bern (Switzerland) in the University Clinic of Hematology and Central Hematology are building an international database for patients with Upshaw-Schulman Syndrom. The disease is named after Jefferson D. Upshaw, Jr.  (last known affiliation: The Memphis Cancer Center, Memphis, Tennessee 38119, USA), who we believe was your father;  and Irving Schulman.

The research database has an official Website (www.ttpregistry.net) for patients, doctors and interested parties. 

One of our goals is to provide patients with usable background information about their disease including a historical note on the people after whom the syndrome was named. 

An article about Mr. Schulman that we hope to be able to use already exists (http://med.stanford.edu/news_releases/2009/june/schulman.html ) but we are lacking information about Mr. Upshaw.

We thought that perhaps you could help us out in this direction.

PS: Maybe you would allow us to establish a link for your blog “deltamemories” which we like very much. "

Could I tell them more about Daddy? Did I have a picture? Could they link to my blog (the one you are reading) as they found it interesting (LOL)?

Jefferson Davis Upshaw, Jr

Well, they had me then. I sent them a copy of Daddy's obituary and then a "good" picture of Daddy as the one in the obit was horrible and then, of course, welcomed them to link to this blog!

Perhaps some of the Bern guys are reading this blog post, so I want to say: Thank you so much for carrying on Daddy's work! He was a practicing physician - not a researcher! But he always understood his responsibility to pass along what he was learning. He also understood his responsibility to advance the knowledge of how to help patients and help physicians help patients. He was proud that his work was notable, but he was moved more by the difference it made in the lives of patients that got better because of what he learned. And, if you want me to come and present at a conference on Daddy's work, let me know! I imagine I can find the time....

I think I kept many of his papers documenting his experience and findings with Upshaw-Schulman Syndrome. They are some where up in my attic. I just couldn't throw them out knowing how much they meant to him and to others.

Me and Daddy, April 24, 1982

Daddy's work made its way to Bern and now many of them are learning about the Delta, the land and people that helped raise the man whose work and name is making their work possible, through this blog.

Who would have thought that a man, born in the Delta, educated in what many would call the "Deep South", and serving patients, not a researcher, would some day be sought after by Bern, Switzerland?

Well, if you know the Delta the way I do, this is not surprising at all!

I Have Arrived!

I haven't posted a blog in what seems like forever. Sure, I posted my backroads video, so I guess that counts. But not a real blog.

This city girl just turned around & left after reading this at the Cypress Preserve in Greenville!

But what's funny is I have 5 draft blog posts that have just gone nowhere. Draft titles such as "The Bible Belt", "We Got a New Preacher Today", "Cousins", "It's the Land Katie Scarlet", and one of my favorites, "Leave All Snakes Alone".

So, why didn't any of these make it to prime time? Well, the ones on faith were, perhaps, a little too personal and in my attempts to put them in context, they became too factual. That's a boring combination: personal and factual! And, as far as the others, life just got in the way and I lost focus.

But underlying all of these drafts and why they didn't make it to this blog is the fact that although I haven't finished my first year in the Delta yet, I have actually become a Deltan and not just its observer.

I hope that does not sound bragadocious, because if you are not from the Delta, you can't just claim this "title", you have to be given it. And, that is just what has happened to me twice over the past month.

Ruffin and I had a great trip to the 1,000 year-old cypress tree at Sky Lake

The first time came as I was having lunch in Belzoni with my cousin Ruffin. He asked me to explain what I did for a living, which is always a challenge for me, and we started talking about how the Delta was getting a lot of federal grant dollars to improve health. I casually said "If y'all get it, Memphis won't get it since we are so close". Ruffin immediately came back with "What do you mean by "ya'll", you are one of us now!". Wow, what a moment for me; and very special since it came from Ruffin, the Mayor of Louise!

Just this past week, a Facebook friend posted a story on yet another stranger that was looking for a place to stay in Rolling Fork and how the community opened its arms to find him a place for the night and a hot meal. This was the second such story in just 8 weeks! Back in late October, the hospital, which had the only handicapped-accessible room in town, opened its doors to Rich, who was hand cycling his way down the Mississippi river corridor, raising funds for Convoy of Hope and crossing an item off his bucket list! (Read about Rich's trip and scroll down for October 28 post to read about his adventure in Rolling Fork). This last week, Michael, a 29-year old Australian making his own trek down The River corridor, spent the night in Rolling Fork's B&B and was treated to a Flatland's Pizza dinner (Read about the hospitality Michael received throughout the Mississippi Delta)!

I was so humbled by the giving spirit of my friends in Rolling Fork that I posted on Facebook how I, too, had experienced the hospitality of "Rolling Forkians". Quickly, a friend posted back that they now considered me a "Rolling Forkian" myself.

So, you see, I have been given the titles of "Deltan" and "Rolling Forkian", titles that are near and dear to my heart. But titles that do come with a lot of responsibility. Now, instead of being an observer, I am a member of this great community and as a new year approaches I am committed to becoming more involved in the fabric of the Delta.

I am reminded of my very first post on this blog:

"So now I start a new chapter in the Delta. I have rented a little house in Rolling Fork, MS for an entire year. It's my little piece of the Delta. A base camp, if you will, to learn what it is like to really live there".

And a later post where I hoped that "Maybe, just maybe, some day, I can say I am from there."

I'm not sure I am completely able to say I am from the Delta, but I know I am closer than I have ever been to being able to say just that.

Taking a Back Road

Coming home from Nashville a couple of weeks ago, I decided to take the "long way home", the "slow way home".. Getting off the interstate and even the main highway just gives my soul a lift..I love seeing life as it is lived along the back roads..it is so much better than on the main road.

Here are my favorite back roads, mainly in the Mississippi Delta and a few other back roads, including that one I took home from Nashville, that have made my year special so far.

I finally put my two most favorite media together: music and pictures. Here is my theme song for my year in the Delta mixed with my pictures making up a day in the Delta. To me, this is a celebration of the beauty of the Delta tied closely to reconnecting with the real me as I explore a life in the Delta.

Being Southern

Being Southern is obvious. My accent, often lovingly referred to as a “drawl”, advertises my region immediately. 

Being Southern can be a real advantage in the work world, especially outside the South. People have told me for years that they just love to hear me talk (which is a good thing since I talk a lot!). Others have told me that they appreciate the graciousness, politeness, and the gentility that I bring to my job (well sometimes bring to my job). Still others, have been surprised when I proved to be a tough, successful negotiator.

But the ugly truth underlying all of this is that many think I am not as sophisticated, educated, or experienced as they are because I hail from the South. I’ve turned this into an advantage, but it is really sad and at times even makes me mad.

Last year I served on a national panel of experts in Washington, DC chosen because of our knowledge and experience in health policy. The panelist right next to me was talking about ideas that had been created “outside the beltway” and said “And, this idea came from Tennessee. Can you believe that anything creative really came out of Tennessee?”.  I was astounded, although not completely surprised because I often hear our region denigrated at conferences. I did interrupt him and in a joking manner reminded him I was from Tennessee. I laughed, as did the audience, but it wasn't really funny to me.

On a weekend trip last year with a colleague and some of her friends, a new acquaintance asked me what it was like to go to a dog fight. I looked at her quizzically and asked “what?” thinking maybe I had not heard her correctly. She asked the exact question again. Dumbfounded, I said “I don’t go to dog fights, I prefer a good cock fight”. You would have loved the look on her face! Of course, I immediately told her I had been to neither one, which I think actually surprised her.

I’ve done a lot of thinking about why others think it is ok to be so openly insulting of a region of the country that, more than likely, they have never been to and one which is so special to me. I won’t belabor that thinking here, but I believe it has its roots in slavery, the Civil War, and the poverty, poor health, and what is often considered “radical” conservatism many see in our region.

This is where the  movie The Help comes into this story.

I can’t remember when I have gone to a movie and laughed, cried, had personal regrets, and remembered the people I loved growing up that are now gone. I was transported back in time to the 1960's growing up in Memphis and the Delta.

The tears came early as I watched Aibileen lovingly teach her “baby girl” to say that she was smart, she was kind and she was important. All I could think of was Willie Belle helping my grandmother understand why I wanted to sit in the sunroom reading comic books instead of playing with local girls I barely knew. Willie Belle understood me in a way that even my family did not. Willie Belle was my Aibileen.

But not all of the memories evoked by the movie were fond ones.

I was reminded of a time that I, like most of the white women in the movie, lacked courage. The details are private because I was not the only player in the drama. But, suffice it to say that even today, perhaps 10 years after the event, I still feel guilty that I could not convince others to join me in making something right that had become very wrong. I was told quite strongly that I should not interfere because “I was not from there”. So when I could not convince the others, I stepped back and let it lay. 

There is a great moment in the film when a mother tells her daughter that “Courage often skips a generation” referring to the fact that her daughter was more courageous than she had been.  The irony is that this mother had just been courageous herself, showing us all that redemption is possible and it is never too late to live with courage.

I fear that Southerners will see this movie differently from those outside the South. Many of us will see it in a very personal way. It will evoke both fond and bad memories. It will cause many of us to reflect on our own lives and our contributions to furthering bad situations or helping to eliminate them.

Those outside the South won’t have the chance to see the movie this way. In a way, I feel sorry for them, as bringing my life to the movie enriched it so for me. I only hope that they don’t use this movie as one more reason to put space between us and them; to disparage the land, region and people I love..

Churches were prominently featured in The Help. Here is one of my favorites in Grace, MS

At the end of the movie, no one got up to leave until the final credits were over. Many of us clapped. Many were waiting for their tears to dry before they left the theater. I sat in my car in the parking lot telling Lee about my private lack of courage. And, I told him I can’t wait to get back to the Delta, where a piece of my heart will always live.

Maybe, just maybe, some day, I can say I am from there.

Cemeteries

We visited the Vicksburg National Military Park yesterday. I had originally thought that there was just something "wrong" about visiting a Civil War battlefield during the 4th of July weekend, but when I learned that Pemberton surrendered to Grant on July 4, 1863, thus ending the battle (seige) of Vicksburg, somehow it seemed fitting.

Interesting side note: July 4th was such a painful day for Vicksburg that it took over 80 years for them to start celebrating it again! As said on the Old Courthouse Museum's website: "On July 4, 1863, the victorious Union Army marched into Vicksburg, and the United States flag was raised over the courthouse.  Having to surrender was bad enough, but doing it on Independence Day made things worse for the citizens, and they didn’t forget the pain of surrender.  The city did not celebrate the holiday again for 82 years – July 4, 1945, at the end of World War II was the next official celebration in Vicksburg."

Vicksburg National Cemetery, burial ground for 17,000 Union soldiers

One of the most beautiful and moving stops on the battlefield tour is the Vicksburg National Cemetery, where of the over 17,000 Union soldiers buried there, 13,000 are "unknown". Many of the Confederate soldiers were buried in Vicksburg's Cedar Hill Cemetery.

I have noticed that cemeteries seem to be all around me here in the Delta and they show up in very unexpected places. Well, that is a nice way to put it...very weird places would be more like it.

For example, right here in rhe Rolling Fork, MS area, there is a cemetery in a corn field; another one behind a gas station on Highway 14; and another one next to a church. In Louise, the only cemetery I can find is along a creek bank. In Tunica County, a mound cemetery sits just a few feet off Highway 61.

In Memphis, cemeteries are behind stone walls, on the edge of town (or at least what used to be the edge of town), and are very formal, reverent places.

Down here, cemeteries seem to sprout up wherever they are needed. They are in the middle of something else. They just appear and seem to be a part of normal life.

I am used to putting death in its place. Because it is behind a wall, on the edge of town, I can deal with it when I want to deal with it. Down here, it just appears..totally unexpected...totally part of something else, like a corn field or a gas station. It cannot be avoided. It cannot be ignored.

Here in the Delta, death is not relegated to a part of town. It is not pushed off to the side. It is not forgotten. It is, indeed, always present. When death is always present, life takes on a different meaning and purpose. It is easier to remember that life is precious, all be it limited, when you have cemeteries that unexpectedly appear and remind you.

Cleaning Out Files

I dropped by my Mother’s yesterday and she was still in her pajamas at 4:00 in the afternoon.”Why?” I asked. Well, she had been cleaning out files.

My Mother has been into genealogy for as long as I can remember. She has tracked her family back to Scotland, through Virginia to Tennessee.  We have family crests, faded photographs, burnt-edged court house records- all because she has taken so much time, effort and love to find out who we “come from”.

All of Mother’s records are on paper. She has file cabinet after file cabinet of original material, documenting every detail of “who begot who” throughout the generations.  But although paper was her preferred method, she has put almost all of her knowledge into Family Tree Maker as well, entering her family history into the digital era.

Etna Brown Upshaw, Plain Mamma to me, at age 18 in 1892

She pointed to a now empty metal brown file cabinet telling me that Plain Mamma, my great-grandmother from Louise, MS, had given it to her and Daddy after they had been married about a year. She laughed that she had kept it for 60 years and now it was empty and she would give it to someone else that needed it. She had such fond memories of Plain Mamma, my Delta great-grandmother, remarking how practical and honest she was, even when it was not politically correct to be so!

As we sat in her den, I asked why she was going through all her files that day. Without any hesitation, she said “I want to have it all done so you and your brothers don’t have to worry about it after I die”.

Her words were very matter of fact. I imagine, she was telling it just as it was, for her. But for me, my immediate reaction was “take your time. Don’t finish too soon. Keep working on it. For if you finish, will you feel it is ok to die?”

I know she is trying to get her life and her place in order. She will be 83 in August. I am sure her life and her death weigh heavy on her mind. She is getting ready. But for me, I don’t want her to get ready. I am not ready! I don’t think I will ever be ready!

For some strange reason, I am remembering my last month of pregnancy. All the old wives’ tales were showing themselves in me – I was definitely nesting. Getting ready for Lee by getting his room ready; his clothes ready; his bottles, dishes, diapers ready. Nature took over. I was on overdrive and God was showing me what to do to prepare for the new life that was about to join our family.

Grace Marie Hall Upshaw -- My Mother

I imagine my Mother is going through something similar. She is in overdrive. God is showing her what to do to get ready –ready for the new life outside this world that will be her’s at some point.

When we are preparing for new life, we build nests. When we are preparing for the life after this, we clean out files. Either way, I am thankful that God helps us on our journey.