Eulogy For Dr. Shirley McLean

A year ago, my friend Shirley McLean died at the age of 91. This is my tribute to her.

The original Shirley McLean!  That’s how Dr. Shirley Richards McLean mischievously loved to describe herself.  And, as you will clearly see in this glamorous cover girl pose, Shirley’s film star namesake had nothing over her.  The original Shirley McLean was a stunning beauty.  And she was certainly original in another sense of that word.  One of a kind: distinctive!  Our Shirley had a brilliant mind, a caring spirit, and an unshakeable faith in divine providence, which guided her over her long and fulfilling life.

In 1975, I went to teach at Atlantic Union College in South Lancaster, Massachusetts. My sister, Donnette, came as a student.  Quite early after we got there, we had the great fortune to meet Shirley.  I can’t remember the exact occasion.  Perhaps, it was at church.  At the time, there were only two other black faculty at the college, Dr. Susan Willoughby and Dr. Melvin Peters.   So we stood out.  Shirley, who sometimes taught part-time at the college then, graciously welcomed Melvin and me who were the newcomers.   

It seemed as if from our very first meeting Donnette and I were drawn into the McLean family.  Shirley, Opal and Nyron claimed us.  They provided a nurturing home for us.  We didn’t live at their house. But we definitely flourished in the circle of their affection.  Shirley became a mother to Donnette and a big sister to me.  We had lost our own mother just three short years before and Shirley helped to fill the huge gap in our lives. She was a most dependable source of comfort in so many ways  – emotional, spiritual and, physical. We enjoyed so many worship services and family dinners at Shirley’s home. One of my long-lasting memories is sharing peanut butter and hot applesauce sandwiches with Shirley on deadly cold winter afternoons.  That nourishing treat fed our spirit as much as it warmed our body.

Family and carefully chosen friends were the centre of Shirley’s life.  One of the stories she loved to tell was about her father, William, an accomplished stonemason, who went to Panama to seek his fortune.  With pride, Shirley related his story.   He excelled at his job and was promoted to management.  But things took an unfortunate turn.  He could not handle the demanding paperwork.  He was certainly literate but he did not go far enough in school in Jamaica to be able to confidently assume managerial responsibilities.  He was forced to give up the promotion and resume his previous job. 

When William returned to Jamaica, he became a prosperous farmer.  He was well respected in his community and was dubbed by the people in the district as “Custos.”  It was not an official appointment and I think that made it all the more authoritative.  The Jamaican Ministry of Justice website outlines the functions and duties of the Custos, the first of which is the following:

“Be the representative of the Governor-General within the parish. It is his duty, in the absence of the Governor-General, to receive the Sovereign, any member of the royal family, the Prime Minister on an official visit, or any important personage commended by the Governor-General who arrives within the precincts of the parish. It is his duty to receive the Governor-General when he pays official visits to the parish.” I can’t resist pointing out the backward gender politics which presumes that the Custos must be male.

That Latin word Custos means guardian.  I don’t know if Custos Richards was a monarchist.  But I’m sure he took his role as guardian of his family with utmost seriousness. Shirley told me that after his humbling experience in Panama, Custos vowed that every one of his children would be educated to the highest level.  And they all certainly were. But not all of them immediately caught their father’s vision. Another story Shirley told me was about one of her brothers who was sent to study at West Indies College, now Northern Caribbean University.  To protect the not-quite-innocent, I will not reveal his identity.  But family members and some friends will know his name.  In his first year, his academic performance was dismal.  It turned out that, instead of doing serious academic work, he had been studying girls.  His father took him out of college and sent him to work on the farm.  In two twos, his priorities shifted and he returned to college with a new sense of purpose.  I don’t think he completely gave up on the girls.  But he knew better than to neglect his academic work.

When I met Shirley, we were both working on our PhD.  I tried my best to encourage her to finish writing her dissertation.  She liked to remind me that I once told her that if she spent as much time writing as she did talking about writing, she would finish the dissertation.  She certainly appreciated my tough love.  One of our most amusing stories about that seemingly never-ending dissertation went like this.  We had gone to church in Hartford and were socialising long into the evening.  All of a sudden, Shirley said we had to leave immediately because she needed to put in some work on her dissertation. The next morning she called and we had a very good laugh.  She had completely forgotten that she’d finished the dissertation and graduated.  And I was just as bad.  I had also forgotten.  That damned dissertation had been a part of her life for so long, it seemed like a besetting sin.  I’ve used that story to motivate so many of my colleagues over the years who keep turning their dissertation into a noose.

SHIRLEY ON GRADUATION ON DAY WITH ME (L) AND MY SISTER, DONNETTE

I was always encouraging Shirley to write a book of practical wisdom.  She crafted so many witty turns of phrase.  I suggested that she take each one and elaborate its meaning in a couple of paragraphs. I thought it would be a bestseller.  Shirley could have given Iyanla Vanzant a run for her money.  One of her many witticisms was, “You must finish with people and they don’t know.”  She wasn’t advocating hypocrisy.  Instead, she was affirming the folk wisdom of her Jamaican youth:  Yu ha fi play fool fi ketch wise.  When others do you wrong, you don’t have to confront them.  You just quietly withdraw from their negative sphere of influence and they are none the wiser.

By the time I met Shirley, she had long parted company with her husband Alvin who had turned out to be a disappointment.  I’m pretty sure he knew that she had finished with him.  Sometimes you have to make an exception to your own rules.  But, perhaps, Alvin didn’t quite know exactly when Shirley finished with him.  I think he might have underestimated her judgement and her fortitude.  Undaunted by divorce, Shirley, joined the ranks of all those powerful women who bring up children on their own without the presumed benefit of a father in the home.

Opal and Nyron are a stellar testimony to the efficacy of Shirley’s sustained nurturance.  She tried her utmost to satisfy all the needs of her children, if not all of their wants. As an educator, particularly in the field of psychology, Shirley fully understood the principles of Maslow’s hierarchy of needs:  physiological needs; safety needs; belongingness and love needs; esteem needs; and self-actualisation needs.  As a single mother with one salary, Shirley learned how to economise in order give Opal and Nyron all the essentials and more.  She once told me how surprised the children were to learn as adults that not everyone enjoyed the luxury of a bedtime story every single night.  It was a ritual pleasure they had taken for granted.  And I remember a touching little detail of how Shirley made up the children’s beds.  The right side of the top sheet was always on the inside, snuggling them in beauty.

One of the creative ways in which Shirley provided for herself and the children was by establishing a vegetable garden.  As Donnette put it,  “She was sensible – folk wisdom in synergy with book knowledge. She was practical and could reduce things to essential elements. You need food, start a garden.” As the daughter of a farmer, Shirley knew the value of agriculture.  Her vegetable garden was legendary.  Like the Biblical ant of Proverbs 6, Shirley planted seeds during the summer and her freezer was full for the entire winter.  Long after she needed to, Shirley kept on planting.  A few years ago, she asked me to send her callaloo seeds. I was happy to do so.  And when she visited, she would bring seeds for me.  I must confess that I didn’t follow Shirley’s example right away.  Some of her seeds have long expired unplanted.  They are sitting in a cabinet drawer.  I think I’m still going to plant them now and see what happens.  They just may miraculously grow.  I’ve only quite recently started to do a little vegetable gardening and whenever I get tired of weeding and watering, I remember Shirley’s lush garden and it motivates me to keep going.  I’ve been eating delicious callaloo from my garden for the last several weeks.  And my broad bean vines are running up and down.  I know I’m going to get a bumper crop.

Shirley also knew the value of discount shopping.  She introduced me to the Marshalls department store in the neighbouring town of Leominster and I was hooked. I learned my lesson from Shirley so well that I made regular visits to the store on my own.  At least once a week!  These discount stores are like grab bags. You never know what will turn up when.  So you have to go religiously.  As the Marshalls’ slogans promise, Your Surprise Is Waiting and Never Boring, Always Surprising.  The message on my latest Marshalls receipt is even more practical: Never Pay Full Price For Fabulous. It was Shirley who started to call Marshalls my uncle. She said I got such great bargains there that I must be related to the owner. Incidentally, it was William Marshall, who founded the discount chain in Massachusetts in 1956. I was regularly teased:  “Joy, when yu going back to visit yu uncle?”  It didn’t bother me at all.  I was very happy to cIaim Uncle Willie.  After more than four decades, I still have stuff I bought at Marshalls of Leominster.  And whenever I go shopping in a new city in the US, my first question is “Where’s the Marshalls?”   I even found a Marshalls in Puerto Rico!  Shirley taught me very well.

There were other practical lessons I learnt from Shirley such as how to drive a stick shift car.  I knew how to drive an automatic car.  That was easy.   But stick shift was a whole other story requiring skillful foot/hand coordination which I had not yet learnt.  This did not stop me from buying a stick shift car – my very first.  It was Shirley who patiently supervised me as I drove in stops and starts up and down the hilly back roads of our rural community! Within a couple of days I was driving the car on my own, if not quite like a pro.  Donnette recently reminded me that even after I graduated from Shirley’s driving school, I still had problems with stick shift. Donnette vividly remembers that when I got stopped on an incline, I would get out of the car and ask the driver behind me to back up so I could avoid rolling down into an accident.

Donnette had her own car stories involving Shirley, who she affectionately called ‘Mrs. M.” It was Shirley who found Donnette’s first car.  She was head of vocational education in Massachusetts and part of her portfolio included automotive training.  Students would be trained in car repairs and the cars were then sold to the public.  Shirley told the instructor that when next he saw a good, sturdy car he was to tell her because she was looking for one for a young friend.  The car turned out to be a station wagon.  This was absolutely not the style of car Donnette wanted in her early twenties.  Fortunately, she had the good sense to go with the programme because that sensible car saved her life.  The next winter, on a snowy morning, on her way to work, she collided with a truck.  That station wagon was so sturdy, Donnette did not even get a scratch.

Donnette’s other car story has to be told completely in her own words for reasons that will become obvious.  This is what she told me: “You had gone on a trip and left your car with Mrs. M for safekeeping and for her to start up the engine periodically.  I was going to New York with a bunch of AUC students.  The car we were driving proved not to be roadworthy.  So I had this bright idea to go and borrow your car from the original Shirley McLean.  All now she don’t tell me NO.  She just started up with, ‘Miss Don, do you think that is a good idea?’  By the time she was finished with me I was in complete agreement with her position and went about my business minus the car.”  Shirley was so discreet, I didn’t even know about Donnette’s ill-considered request.

Shirley was also an academic mentor for Donnette.  Together, they developed the pre-school curriculum for the Berea SDA School in Mattapan when they added Kindergarten and two pre-school grades.  Donnette had been invited to apply for a teaching job in the programme and when she realised there was nothing in place–not even a license–she told them she knew the ideal consultant to get things up and running.  Shirley agreed to help and she and Donnette worked hard that summer to develop a curriculum for the 3 grades from scratch; meet the licensing requirements; hire staff; buy equipment, books and other teaching tools; and so much more.  Donnette ended up as the preschool director, supervising 3 teachers and a couple aides.  As Donnette put it, “Mrs. M (and our alma mater, Clark University) gave me the confidence that I could do it and she was there every step of the way advising, mentoring and cheering me on.”  

Shirley also mentored Donnette during the process of applying to law school.  She encouraged her in the application process and the practice course for the Law School Admission Test, including reading Donnette’s essays.  Shirley never studied law but she knew how to sharpen Donnette’s writing skills.  And when Donnette got into the Howard University School of Law, Shirley was always supportive. In Donnette’s own words, “Mrs M would check on me during law school – sometimes sending a little gift with instructions for me to have a good meal.  She came to DC for my graduation.  It was Sabbath so she didn’t come to the ceremony but she and Opal came to the celebratory dinner afterwards. She was always proud of my achievements in law and life.”

Donnette and I look back at those long-ago days in Massachusetts with much pleasure, largely because of Shirley.  Mrs M was a mother/sister/friend who lovingly cared for Donnette and me, her adopted children.  And we weren’t the only ones she took under her wings.  I remember Sean, her nephew’s son, who lived with her for a while.  Sean inherited Shirley’s wicked wit.  Once, an adult male who was rather short, made the mistake of addressing Sean as, “My little man.” Without missing a beat, Sean replied, “You’re a little man, too.” Out of the mouths of babes and sucklings!

Donnette and I had planned to visit Shirley earlier this year when it became clear that she was fading.  We had kept in touch by regular phone calls but we wanted to see her face-to-face in the flesh.  I remember her telling me more than once that 91 felt far different from 90.  She just didn’t have the strength she had enjoyed for so many years.  It was as if Shirley had a premonition of the illness that would claim her and take her away from us.  Donnette and I had both booked our tickets and then came the deadly coronavirus.  So we had to settle for more phone calls. It is our lasting regret that we didn’t get to be with Shirley in person one more time. 

When Donnette realised we could not make it, she asked Opal to look for the quilt she had made for Mrs. M some years before, to put it on her so she could feel her love.  When Donnette had sent the quilt she had included a message letting Mrs. M know that it was imbued with her love.  It has been such a joy to be part of Shirley’s circle of love. There’s a West African proverb that gives us much comfort:  “You never truly die until no one remembers you.”  We will always remember the original Shirley McLean.