About Alma
My name is Lisa Smith Henderson and I was raised in North Florida and cared for by a strong, beautiful, loving black woman. Her name was Alma Salter and later Daniels. From the time I was 7 years old until I was 13, Alma shielded me from my mother. My mother was diagnosed as “paranoid schizophrenic”, but she was high-functioning during those years and non-psychotic for much of the time. Her rage, however, was stirred up in an instant and usually result in some form of physical abuse. Alma would often stop my mother and would warn me when my mother was in a rage. Alma looked out for me and I took her nurturing comfort and presence into my psyche.
Because of my love for Alma, that love translated to black people. I remember being baffled at 7 years old as to why Alma couldn’t sit down and eat lunch with my sister and me at the kitchen table. After days of pondering, I was sure I had figured out why! I came to Alma and told her I had figured out why we couldn’t eat lunch together, “…because I’ll turn black, too.” She laughed heartily with her white teeth and magnificent smile and told me that wasn’t the reason. I don’t remember if she told me it “just wasn’t done” or if she let it rest there between us. It made no sense to me at 7 years old and it makes no sense to me now. Why are black people treated differently.
I remember feeling sad on Friday afternoons when we took Alma home and I knew I wouldn’t see her again until Monday. I asked to go home with Alma and if I couldn’t do that why couldn’t her family come spend the weekend with us. Her son, Willie Salter reminded me of a Friday night in the 60s when his mother babysat for my sister and me. We all ate Jiffy-Pop popcorn and watched that flat pan puff up into a big aluminum dome with piping hot, ready-made popcorn.
There was a point where Alma wanted my father to pay for her Social Security and he refused. My father had money, plenty of money and it seemed so unfair that he wouldn’t come up with the extra money so she would have benefits later. My father looked at it from a business viewpoint and I was bereft, because he was being miserly. I let my father know I was angry and how I felt, but by then Alma was gone and had found a job that covered her benefits. Even then, I was impressed that she stood up to my father and asked for what was fair and right. She was prepared to walk away if he didn’t agree. That is courage of a special type as a black woman standing up to a prominent white attorney in a small Southern town.
