The Help--Sally

My beautiful Sally on the day of my wedding

I went to see The Help last night, so you will be reading about it on my blog for the next couple of days. It brought back memories—some good and some not so good.

I grew up in Jackson, Mississippi in the exact time period of the book/movie. Sally was our “help.”  She was exactly the same age as my mother and they were very close…in fact today my mother admitted that they were like sisters. They laughed together, they cried together and they shared their faith together through their long conversations. 

Sally was a vital part of our family and I believe that I would have been an entirely different person if she had not been a part of my life. She came to work for my family in December of 1951 just a few days after my sister Ginny was born. She was there when I was born. She was there when I started kindergarten. She cried with us when my grandmother died. She was present during my month long hospital stay. She went with me to set up my college dorm room, not because she had too, but because she wanted to be there. She attended my wedding as a guest. Sally worked for us until June of 1973 when my parents moved to Iowa. She continued to be a friend to all of us through the years by visiting my parents in Des Moines, Iowa and Laurel, MS--even sleeping in their guestroom.  She also helped me by babysitting my own children for a brief time when we lived in Jackson. 

I loved Sally and she loved me, not that the words were ever uttered, but we just knew it. Sally carried my picture in her wallet until I went away to college and maybe longer, but that was the last time that she showed it to me.  She had two sons of her own that were just a few years older than me—James E and Baby Junior, but I think she always considered me one of her own too.

My family did not treat her as the families did in the movie, but there were inequalities due to the period of time.  When Sally would stay with Ginny and me when Mother and Daddy were out of town, she would sleep on a cot in the hallway outside of our rooms, snoring up a storm. I always wondered why she didn’t sleep in our guest room. And instead of sitting on the sofa when we were watching TV she would sit in a straight back chair behind the sofa, sewing and chuckling with laughter at the comedies. I don’t think anyone actually told her that she had to sit there, but it was just the way that things were done in those days.

Sally wore a uniform to work, just like in the movie. And she too could make delicious fried chicken and Bundt cakes. When a funeral or a party was held in someone else’s home, Sally was part of the crew of women who were there to assist. Her hands smelled like bleach—maybe that’s why I still love that smell.

My parents always treated Sally with respect and kindness. She was never required to go outside to use the bathroom; instead she used the guest bathroom. If they ever found out that she was in need of anything they were ready, willing and able to help her. It might have been getting her a car, or a house or something for her sons. Perhaps that’s why she used to tell of her dream where my dad, “Mr. Tommy,” was in a helicopter throwing out $100 bills. (She also thought he should run for governor.)

Sally had a hard life. I have often wondered why she died at such a young age, but I now think that it was God’s reward for her faithfulness through the years. Life was not fair for her, but she always remained true to her God. My mother still says that she hopes Sally has the biggest mansion in heaven, because she deserves it for her unwavering gift of service to my family. She was our help, but not like the title and the book suggests. Instead she “helped” shape and mold me into the person I am today. 

Sally, I look forward to the day that I will see you in heaven and am able hug your neck and say, “I love you.”

1Corinthians 13:13 And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love.

www.hearthope.org