E V E L Y N   D I X O N    p a g e   2

Evelyn Dixon was a very large woman—tall and big. Heavy. Big feet, big hands. And a very dark woman, but the palms of her hands were pink. My earliest memory is of sitting on her lap. She was in her white uniform, we were both barefoot, and I was playin' with her pink hands and just holdin' on to ‘em. I was so fascinated by how pink her palms were, and how dark the backs of her hands were. I remember putting my hand on top of hers and looking at the difference in color.

I'm very white, and I have blond hair, and I remember her playin' with my hair and sayin' what good hair I had. I knew what she meant because other blacks have told me that "good" hair is straight hair. "Good" hair isn't kinky. I guess Evelyn had her hair straightened and curled because she had little ringlets, little Vienna sausages, all over her head. She loved getting her hair done. It's funny, because I remember thinkin' I loved her hair: I had this little stringy white hair, and I wanted curly hair, like Evelyn. She always smelled like Tabu perfume. [Laughs.] Even now, if I go into a drugstore, I can smell Evelyn's Tabu. When she got dressed up for church, she would pin these handkerchiefs to her bosom that were full of Tabu.

I was a really shy child, and she was a haven for me. She was very warm, very accepting and real solid. I mean, she was just there for you. I never felt like I could do anything that would totally disappoint her; she just didn't have the same standards that my mother had. She would just pat me and say, "I love my girl. I love my girl."

And I would say, "I love you"—over and over. I just kept tellin' her I loved her till the day she died.