| An Interview with Dr. Debbie Jones: The Touch |
When Jones was a child in the central city of Chicago, her mother, her three siblings and she almost became homeless.
“We lived in a tenement apartment building in Chicago,” Jones said. “I don’t know the details. My mother absolutely doesn’t talk about it
at all. Angry footsteps were coming up the front steps. And my mom woke me up out of a sound sleep along with my other siblings. She
said, ‘Wake up. We have to go now.’ We went running down the backstairs leaving behind everything that we had and everything that
we knew. We went running down the alley. At that time, there were just four children with her. I was the youngest one who could run.
She had one younger than I in her arms. And we took off running. Frankly, this is my earliest childhood memory, this moment right here. I
was running and afraid that whoever these people were, they were going to catch me because I was the youngest one. I was the
caboose as we ran down the alley. We hopped on the CTA bus. Sitting on that bus, my mother — we had nothing except what we had
right there — told a woman enough where the woman knew we had nowhere to go. And that woman took us home with her. And she
became my Aunt Rose and her husband became Uncle Willie. I often wonder what that poor man thought of this woman with four babies
and no place to go. We lived with her for a good while.”
Eventually, Jones family moved out and got their own apartment. And their family grew to eight children living in abject poverty. Jones
did okay in school during this time, but she was directionless.
“I was just trying to get through school and hoping I could get back home alive without catching a psycho bullet,” Jones said.
And then one morning, out of all her children, Jones’ mother woke her up and told her to get dressed because they were going
somewhere. They went to a house in the neighborhood where a crowd began to grow soon after they arrived there. The house had a
porch that stretched across the front of the house and Jones began to get pushed against it as the crowd grew.
“I was pressed up against the building, thinking, ‘Gosh, I can’t wait for this to be over,’” Jones recalled. “’I want to go back home and
watch cartoons and be done with this.’ And I wasn’t quite sure why we were there. I started to get wind though that Dr. King had moved
to our neighborhood and that he was going to come out and speak to us. I didn’t know entirely who he was. I knew he was a great man.
And I knew that he was working for social justice for all people. But I never met him. I had never met anyone famous for that matter. And
at eight years old, I was just trying to get through school. That’s all that I knew about. So I thought that I was there so that my mother
could meet him and then I would go back home, get in bed and watch cartoons. And the press was there. There were a lot of cameras
and pictures being taken. There was all of the reverie that you would expect to be around this great man. And finally he came out. His
wife was with him. I remember that they were carrying one of the daughters there. I was craning my head up so that I could see what
was going on.”
After Dr. King gave a short speech that Jones had a hard time hearing because there were no microphones or PA system, Dr. King began
to shake everyone’s hands.
“It took him a while to get down to where we were,” Jones said. “And he was clearly trying to touch everyone. When he got down to me
and my mom, I was like, ‘Good, she is going to shake his hand and then I’m getting out of here.’ Instead, she reached down and hoisted
me up to him, so much so that I was nearly falling. He grabbed my hand and broke my fall. He shook my hand and looked me in the eye.
And to this day, I don’t remember what he said. But I felt him.”
And in that moment, Jones was transformed.
Next Issue: The impact of that moment.
“We lived in a tenement apartment building in Chicago,” Jones said. “I don’t know the details. My mother absolutely doesn’t talk about it
at all. Angry footsteps were coming up the front steps. And my mom woke me up out of a sound sleep along with my other siblings. She
said, ‘Wake up. We have to go now.’ We went running down the backstairs leaving behind everything that we had and everything that
we knew. We went running down the alley. At that time, there were just four children with her. I was the youngest one who could run.
She had one younger than I in her arms. And we took off running. Frankly, this is my earliest childhood memory, this moment right here. I
was running and afraid that whoever these people were, they were going to catch me because I was the youngest one. I was the
caboose as we ran down the alley. We hopped on the CTA bus. Sitting on that bus, my mother — we had nothing except what we had
right there — told a woman enough where the woman knew we had nowhere to go. And that woman took us home with her. And she
became my Aunt Rose and her husband became Uncle Willie. I often wonder what that poor man thought of this woman with four babies
and no place to go. We lived with her for a good while.”
Eventually, Jones family moved out and got their own apartment. And their family grew to eight children living in abject poverty. Jones
did okay in school during this time, but she was directionless.
“I was just trying to get through school and hoping I could get back home alive without catching a psycho bullet,” Jones said.
And then one morning, out of all her children, Jones’ mother woke her up and told her to get dressed because they were going
somewhere. They went to a house in the neighborhood where a crowd began to grow soon after they arrived there. The house had a
porch that stretched across the front of the house and Jones began to get pushed against it as the crowd grew.
“I was pressed up against the building, thinking, ‘Gosh, I can’t wait for this to be over,’” Jones recalled. “’I want to go back home and
watch cartoons and be done with this.’ And I wasn’t quite sure why we were there. I started to get wind though that Dr. King had moved
to our neighborhood and that he was going to come out and speak to us. I didn’t know entirely who he was. I knew he was a great man.
And I knew that he was working for social justice for all people. But I never met him. I had never met anyone famous for that matter. And
at eight years old, I was just trying to get through school. That’s all that I knew about. So I thought that I was there so that my mother
could meet him and then I would go back home, get in bed and watch cartoons. And the press was there. There were a lot of cameras
and pictures being taken. There was all of the reverie that you would expect to be around this great man. And finally he came out. His
wife was with him. I remember that they were carrying one of the daughters there. I was craning my head up so that I could see what
was going on.”
After Dr. King gave a short speech that Jones had a hard time hearing because there were no microphones or PA system, Dr. King began
to shake everyone’s hands.
“It took him a while to get down to where we were,” Jones said. “And he was clearly trying to touch everyone. When he got down to me
and my mom, I was like, ‘Good, she is going to shake his hand and then I’m getting out of here.’ Instead, she reached down and hoisted
me up to him, so much so that I was nearly falling. He grabbed my hand and broke my fall. He shook my hand and looked me in the eye.
And to this day, I don’t remember what he said. But I felt him.”
And in that moment, Jones was transformed.
Next Issue: The impact of that moment.
| Dr. Debbie Jones (R), a hospitalist at St. Mary’s Hospital, with her patient Jaleen Foley. Dr. Martin Luther King Dr. changed the trajectory of Jones’ life when she was a little girl in Chicago. |
By Jonathan Gramling
Part 1 of 2
There are times when one can’t help but feel that there is a more than
random order to things that happen in life that are beyond our ability to
comprehend. Some call it luck, but perhaps what we are talking about
destiny and the ability of one human being to indelibly touch the life of
another.
By all of the statistical analyses and the stereotypes that the poor are
burdened with in our society, Dr. Debbie Jones, a hospitalist at St. Mary’s
Hospital, should be a single parent on welfare on the south side of Chicago.
But because of luck, the will of her mother and the touch that she felt from
someone special, Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., Jones proved the statisticians
and the pundits wrong and made something of her life that benefits
hundreds of people each year.