never get the lightbulbs or the toilet paper, because we’d have to get food instead. So it kind of became a joke: If we wanted a lamp in the bedroom, we’d take this lightbulb out of the living room and carry it to the bedroom to use. We might have had one or two lightbulbs that moved around the whole house.
And then sometimes if we ran out of toilet paper you’d have to use newspaper or whatever was handy. This sounds kind of crude, but we’d have to rough up the paper and then use it for toilet paper. So I always said when I got older, if I didn’t have anything else, I was always going to have toilet paper. I told you that story, and now to this day, you always make sure our cupboard is full of toilet paper. So I always joke and say, “I’m displaying my wealth,” because I’m showing everybody how much toilet paper I have.
I think I had the greatest mom in the world. She was very forgiving, nonjudgmental, would give you anything . People say they’ll give you the shirt off their back—but, I mean, she literally would. She never hit us or whipped us, although trust me, there were times I wish she would have just spanked me instead of sitting down and telling me that she was “disappointed with my actions.” It would be easier for her just to whip me and put me in a room, but she didn’t do that. She sat down and taught us that there’s consequences to everything you do, and if you can live with those consequences, then go ahead and make those decisions, but before you make those decisions, try to think them through. I think the most important thing she gave to us was to care for people, to be generous, and not to be judgmental. She was a huge influence in my life. I had a lot of opportunity to go very bad in my life. Thank God I had my mother to help me focus on doing the right things and not to screw my life up to the point of no return.
When Mom died, I was blessed to be with her. The whole family was with her, as obviously you were, Sue. I was lying in the bed next to her, holding her, and telling her it was okay to let go, because I knew it was probably hard for her to let go of us. So we had to make sure she knew we were going to be okay. That was probably the proudest, the happiest, and the saddest moment of my life. I could only hope that I could be as lucky—just surrounded by the people you love, holding you while you take your last breath. And the very last thing she said to us was that she loved us.
Recorded in Louisville, Kentucky, on October 14, 2007.
WANDA ZOELLER ( left ) AND SUSAN HERNDON ( right )
JERRY JOHNSON, 52 interviews his mother, CARRIE CONLEY, 80
Jerry Johnson: Now, Daddy left when I was around five or six. You had six kids at that point. And I guess the thing that puzzles me, as a parent now, is how you kept all that together. You know I cannot remember one Christmas that I didn’t feel like I was the luckiest kid in the world, even though now I realize we had hardly anything in terms of money. How did you hold that together?
Carrie Conley: I worked at Outer Drive Hospital in Detroit, and we got one sick day a month: that was twelve days a year. If I was sick, I would still go to work. I would never call in a sick day—I was saving those days for Christmas. And at Christmastime, they would pay me for those days. That’s what I would use for y’all’s Christmas. They had a nice Salvation Army. Around the first of December, all the rich people would clear out their children’s toy chests, and they would take all these nice toys to the Salvation Army. I would go there and I would get me a huge box, and I would go around and pick out toys. I would get that whole big box of toys for a couple of dollars. Then I would get y’all one new toy, because that’s all I could afford. Then I would use the rest of the money for food. And so it always seemed like we had a big Christmas.
Jerry: I remember those boxes of fresh oranges and apples and the cakes—
Carrie: I baked
And then sometimes if we ran out of toilet paper you’d have to use newspaper or whatever was handy. This sounds kind of crude, but we’d have to rough up the paper and then use it for toilet paper. So I always said when I got older, if I didn’t have anything else, I was always going to have toilet paper. I told you that story, and now to this day, you always make sure our cupboard is full of toilet paper. So I always joke and say, “I’m displaying my wealth,” because I’m showing everybody how much toilet paper I have.
I think I had the greatest mom in the world. She was very forgiving, nonjudgmental, would give you anything . People say they’ll give you the shirt off their back—but, I mean, she literally would. She never hit us or whipped us, although trust me, there were times I wish she would have just spanked me instead of sitting down and telling me that she was “disappointed with my actions.” It would be easier for her just to whip me and put me in a room, but she didn’t do that. She sat down and taught us that there’s consequences to everything you do, and if you can live with those consequences, then go ahead and make those decisions, but before you make those decisions, try to think them through. I think the most important thing she gave to us was to care for people, to be generous, and not to be judgmental. She was a huge influence in my life. I had a lot of opportunity to go very bad in my life. Thank God I had my mother to help me focus on doing the right things and not to screw my life up to the point of no return.
When Mom died, I was blessed to be with her. The whole family was with her, as obviously you were, Sue. I was lying in the bed next to her, holding her, and telling her it was okay to let go, because I knew it was probably hard for her to let go of us. So we had to make sure she knew we were going to be okay. That was probably the proudest, the happiest, and the saddest moment of my life. I could only hope that I could be as lucky—just surrounded by the people you love, holding you while you take your last breath. And the very last thing she said to us was that she loved us.
Recorded in Louisville, Kentucky, on October 14, 2007.
WANDA ZOELLER ( left ) AND SUSAN HERNDON ( right )
JERRY JOHNSON, 52 interviews his mother, CARRIE CONLEY, 80
Jerry Johnson: Now, Daddy left when I was around five or six. You had six kids at that point. And I guess the thing that puzzles me, as a parent now, is how you kept all that together. You know I cannot remember one Christmas that I didn’t feel like I was the luckiest kid in the world, even though now I realize we had hardly anything in terms of money. How did you hold that together?
Carrie Conley: I worked at Outer Drive Hospital in Detroit, and we got one sick day a month: that was twelve days a year. If I was sick, I would still go to work. I would never call in a sick day—I was saving those days for Christmas. And at Christmastime, they would pay me for those days. That’s what I would use for y’all’s Christmas. They had a nice Salvation Army. Around the first of December, all the rich people would clear out their children’s toy chests, and they would take all these nice toys to the Salvation Army. I would go there and I would get me a huge box, and I would go around and pick out toys. I would get that whole big box of toys for a couple of dollars. Then I would get y’all one new toy, because that’s all I could afford. Then I would use the rest of the money for food. And so it always seemed like we had a big Christmas.
Jerry: I remember those boxes of fresh oranges and apples and the cakes—
Carrie: I baked
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