This tribute was first published here in 2012.
Death of an Urban Saint
Death of an Urban Saint
Athalie “Betty” Elizabeth Wimbish, was
familiar to residents of uptown Kingston, New York as a local presence from the early1940s
to the early 80s; a women of color dressed entirely in black daily making her
way from her home on Prospect Street or from St. Joseph’s Church on to London’s
Clothing Store at the intersection of Wall and North Front Street where she was
employed for thirty-three years. To those who did not know her history she was
just “Black Betty”. Betty died at Ferncliff Nursing Home on Good Friday, April
6, 20012 at the age of 95.
She was born on August 4, 1916 at 100
Gage Street, Kingston,
the daughter of Andrew and Blanche Elizabeth Wimbish and
grand-daughter of Hannah “Hattie” Jackson Betty spoke proudly of the African
slave heritage of her father combined with the African, Spanish and Dutch
ancestry of her grandmother. She recalled that in her childhood a Dutch dialect
could still be heard in Kingston.
Athalie Wimbish graduated from Kingston
High School in 1934.
There she wrote interviews for “Dame Rumor” and played basketball. The year
book indicated that she was college bound and spoke of missionary work in Africa.
Kingston High School 1934 |
Her childhood was spent in Albany
Avenue mansions where her grandmother and mother served as housekeepers and her
father as driver and handler of carriage horses. One employer was owner of the
Fuller Shirt Factory. In these settings and as a precocious child of mixed race
she was exposed to a variety of educational influences. Her grandmother
provided religious formation at both St. John’s
Episcopal Church on Albany Avenue
and the AME Zion Church
on Franklin Street.
Following graduation from high school Betty
Wimbish ventured to the Big Apple where although disappointed in her effort
pursue a nursing education she experienced the excitement of the Harlem
Renaissance and later her first trip to Europe. Early in the 1940s she returned
to Kingston to
care for her mother and grandmother, working first at Montgomery Wards where she
replaced her mother as elevator operator. Beginning in 1943, she fulfilled many
tasks for London’s, including inventory, accounts receivable, shipping aid
packages to Stanley London’s relatives in Europe and providing secretarial
assistance to Mrs. London who was President of Hadassah, a Jewish organization for
women. During this time, London’s was the only white owned business that would
hire Black teenagers. Betty spoke of
them as “my boys” and took these youngsters under her wing as a woman of color
guiding them in the requirements of a responsible working life. Some remained
in contact with her for years. The London
family was always concerned for Betty’s welfare and that of her family. After
her retirement they provided a security system for her home and continued to
send ‘pension’ funds.
First attracted to the Catholic faith
during her time in New York City, she was received
into the Church in the 1940s at St. Mary’s Church in Kingston which was very welcoming to people
of color. After being rejected in an effort to become a Catholic sister because
of her race, she made a decision to serve the Church in every other way
possible; as catechist at St. Mary’s; as prayer support to any number of
priests including Rev. Daniel Egan known as the “Junkie Priest” who was one of
the first to draw attention to the need for drug addiction treatment; as
participant in the ecumenical efforts of the Franciscan Friars of the Atonement
at Graymoor, Garrison, NY, and as a tireless fund-raiser for overseas missions.
She was a member of a world-wide mission
tour in 1965 which included stops in Hawaii, Japan, India
and the Holy Land. In India she sat
on the dais during Mass celebrated by Pope Paul VI.
Around the time of her conversion to
Catholicism Ms. Wimbish made a life choice, a preference for personal poverty
and simplicity motivated by her deep faith and supported by a lifetime of
contemplative prayer. By the 1970s she had assumed this persona to such a
degree that she became known only as “Black Betty”, dressed always in black from
head to toe with a kerchief or beret covering her head at all times. She was
readily recognized on uptown streets as she walked to and from daily Mass and
on to work. For more recent residents of the city she merely seemed to be a
local character, the woman in black who swept the floors at London’s clothing store.
After retirement in 1976, she became
an urban hermit, praying constantly, serving as confidant and aide to the poor
and as a conduit of funds she received from more fortunate friends. Agnes Scott
Smith, now deceased, who taught at Kingston
High School, described
her as “quietly pious, an enigma who became a nun without going into the
convent.” By 1985 Betty’s daily hikes from Prospect Street to St. Joseph’s
became too arduous so a few parishioners began to visit her weekly to bring her
spiritual food in Holy Communion and also fresh fruits and vegetables for bodily
nourishment. A number also kept her supplied with donations which she, a keen
judge of character and need, would pass on to others of all shades of color who
came to the door seeking guidance or material assistance. The women who prayed with her came to know
her sanctity first hand. Some even came to know her secrets and her wisdom.
With time her memory of the present
failed. Yet, memories of the past never faded. She claimed to know the
skeletons in many Kingston
closets at all locations on the color spectrum. She spoke of attending as a
child a ceremony at the Kingston Academy and of arriving late at Kingston High School
and being rushed to class by Kate Walton for whom the field house is named. She
spoke of being appalled at Jim Crow Laws in the south when visiting her
father’s family. For those who took the time to know her she was a
knowledgeable and well-read world traveler. In the end, she became an urban
saint, a hermit in the midst of the city, praying constantly.
And Betty would admit to having the
humor of a rapscallion. Upon bidding her goodbye, a guest could teasingly say,
“Now, be good.” To which she would reply, “Now don’t you threaten me!” But her
last words were always, “God bless you.”
I visited Betty once a week for over ten years. We laughed, prayed, spoke of the local news, shared memories and stories, spoke of our troubles and consoled each other. Betty generously introduced me to the Black, African American, sensibility. Her personal history was a revelation and inspiration to faith, perseverance, love of family and personal sacrifice. She taught me such expressions as "The blacker the berry the sweeter the juice" and "What's bred in the bone cannot be beaten out of the flesh." To know her was a privilege, an unforgettable privilege.
I visited Betty once a week for over ten years. We laughed, prayed, spoke of the local news, shared memories and stories, spoke of our troubles and consoled each other. Betty generously introduced me to the Black, African American, sensibility. Her personal history was a revelation and inspiration to faith, perseverance, love of family and personal sacrifice. She taught me such expressions as "The blacker the berry the sweeter the juice" and "What's bred in the bone cannot be beaten out of the flesh." To know her was a privilege, an unforgettable privilege.
4 comments:
Thank you for sharing Sister Hildegard. Beautiful history of a saint in our midst.
I remember Betty when she worked at London's. Always smiling and pleasant. What a beautiful bio and what a humble and caring woman. A saint for sure.
I'm happy to have found your blog and the story of this unique woman. We're all called to create a life. It is a journey we all must take. It's made all the more sweet when we have to fight/work for it. Being here is a gift. Thank you for introducing me to a woman I may never have known. Rest in power Black Betty.
I'm happy to have found your blog and the story of this unique woman. We're all called to create a life. It is a journey we all just take. It's made all the more sweet when we have to work/fight for it. Being here is a gift. Thank you for introducing me to a woman I may never have known. Rest in power Black Betty.
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