MY CELESTE STORY
I used “Celeste” in my title because it allowed me to note that prior to this title, I had never referred to Dr. Celeste Nichols without the “Doctor” preceding the “Celeste,” and the “Nichols” following it, and I never even thought to call her Celeste when speaking to her. Those people exist for most of us born before the era where children call their parents by their first name (an old man rant for another day), 4 or 5 people we held in such regard that we would never be able to simply call them by a first name. How could I? She was at the top of the list I compiled last week of the people who were most influential in shaping the person I would become. We met when I was 19, and I had no idea what to expect. Until that first day I walked into her classroom, “Nichols, M. Celeste” was simply a name on my class schedule. From that point on, she would never be “simply” anything again.
Dressed in—or perhaps more apropos, adorned in—a bright, flowing yellow dress with brown, blue, and orange patterns repeating throughout, she was like no one I had ever spent any meaningful time with. We would spend SO much meaningful time together over the next 3 years, and what I would learn from her would alter the course of my life. Indeed, it was because of my experiences with Dr. Nichols and the bond we formed that I first became aware of how much I didn’t know about the world--the REAL, actual world, the one that existed outside my little circle--and how much I craved learning all about that world.
How instantly and fully did we connect? Before that first semester was over, she often began replies to me with “My Douglas…”—a quip that, to this day, makes me smile so fully it confuses most people around me. I would change my class schedule around completely to take a class with her the next semester, and then meet with her after classes for a month to essentially create a class that she would teach the following year, an honors seminar that would spend half the year delving into the often-overlooked slave narratives of women, and half the year actually creating a book (a book still on the shelves at the Bellarmine University library).
Of course, Dr. Nichols’ value to the world went well beyond the sleepy campus in Louisville, well beyond how much she changed the life of one Schutte. She created and coordinated the first-ever Toni Morrison Conference, hosting it in Louisville, AT Bellarmine. She was, in short, a magician.
It was during this conference that my favorite Dr. Nichols story took place. I had been helping out wherever I could at the conference, even hosting one of the events...welcoming folks and introducing the speaker. After introducing the speaker, I walked off to the side of the large auditorium and began looking around at the attendants. It hit me: I was the only white person in the room. 60 people in this room for this session, only one whitey. Once aware of this, I couldn't STOP being aware of it. Was I accepted here? Was that woman just glaring at me? Do I belong here?
The moment the session was over, I raced to Dr. Nichols’ office. “You won’t believe what just happened. I totally understand it now,” I exclaimed. She pushed her glasses down ever so slightly, always skeptical whenever I jumped to any conclusion (which apparently I did a lot) and asked, Understand what?” “Race. Racism,” I let out, and then recounted what I had just experienced.
A pause. Silence. Then a laugh.
“My dear, dear Douglas.”
“You hosted that event, you welcomed them in…essentially ALLOWED them in...you were in control of that room from beginning to end. And even if you had not been the host, you would have held much of the power in that room. There could have been 200 black folks in that room, and as a white man you’ve been given that status. Given," she noted. "Not earned. You did not experience what a lone black man experiences in a room with 50 others who are white. That man’s body responds as though he is in danger, because history tells him that he is. If he were the speaker, he would have to prove that he should be listened to or valued at all. His appearance would be judged. His speech patterns. He must be confident enough to be believed, but not TOO confident so as to not be labeled arrogant. My Douglas, you will never have that experience. You begin to talk, and people listen. Your confidence is always a strength, and if you showed any lack of confidence it would be called endearing, a show of humility.”
Over the course of the next year, I would see Dr. Nichols 3-4 times every week, never knowing what we might chat about that day, but itching to find something else in the world I might get to see from a vastly different perspective. The beauty was there was no agenda, just an opportunity.
Almost exactly a year after that life-altering chat at the Toni Morrison Conference, Dr M. Celeste Nichols would die unexpectedly. I was devastated, to be sure. I feel my eyes welling up now, decades later, simply mentioning it. I would miss her terribly. I still miss her. I still had much I could have learned from her, but my heart is whole when I remember that I didn’t waste a moment during the time I knew her.
And I haven’t uttered the phrase “oh, I totally understand racism now” in the many years since.
That's a start.
Dressed in—or perhaps more apropos, adorned in—a bright, flowing yellow dress with brown, blue, and orange patterns repeating throughout, she was like no one I had ever spent any meaningful time with. We would spend SO much meaningful time together over the next 3 years, and what I would learn from her would alter the course of my life. Indeed, it was because of my experiences with Dr. Nichols and the bond we formed that I first became aware of how much I didn’t know about the world--the REAL, actual world, the one that existed outside my little circle--and how much I craved learning all about that world.
How instantly and fully did we connect? Before that first semester was over, she often began replies to me with “My Douglas…”—a quip that, to this day, makes me smile so fully it confuses most people around me. I would change my class schedule around completely to take a class with her the next semester, and then meet with her after classes for a month to essentially create a class that she would teach the following year, an honors seminar that would spend half the year delving into the often-overlooked slave narratives of women, and half the year actually creating a book (a book still on the shelves at the Bellarmine University library).
Of course, Dr. Nichols’ value to the world went well beyond the sleepy campus in Louisville, well beyond how much she changed the life of one Schutte. She created and coordinated the first-ever Toni Morrison Conference, hosting it in Louisville, AT Bellarmine. She was, in short, a magician.
It was during this conference that my favorite Dr. Nichols story took place. I had been helping out wherever I could at the conference, even hosting one of the events...welcoming folks and introducing the speaker. After introducing the speaker, I walked off to the side of the large auditorium and began looking around at the attendants. It hit me: I was the only white person in the room. 60 people in this room for this session, only one whitey. Once aware of this, I couldn't STOP being aware of it. Was I accepted here? Was that woman just glaring at me? Do I belong here?
The moment the session was over, I raced to Dr. Nichols’ office. “You won’t believe what just happened. I totally understand it now,” I exclaimed. She pushed her glasses down ever so slightly, always skeptical whenever I jumped to any conclusion (which apparently I did a lot) and asked, Understand what?” “Race. Racism,” I let out, and then recounted what I had just experienced.
A pause. Silence. Then a laugh.
“My dear, dear Douglas.”
“You hosted that event, you welcomed them in…essentially ALLOWED them in...you were in control of that room from beginning to end. And even if you had not been the host, you would have held much of the power in that room. There could have been 200 black folks in that room, and as a white man you’ve been given that status. Given," she noted. "Not earned. You did not experience what a lone black man experiences in a room with 50 others who are white. That man’s body responds as though he is in danger, because history tells him that he is. If he were the speaker, he would have to prove that he should be listened to or valued at all. His appearance would be judged. His speech patterns. He must be confident enough to be believed, but not TOO confident so as to not be labeled arrogant. My Douglas, you will never have that experience. You begin to talk, and people listen. Your confidence is always a strength, and if you showed any lack of confidence it would be called endearing, a show of humility.”
Over the course of the next year, I would see Dr. Nichols 3-4 times every week, never knowing what we might chat about that day, but itching to find something else in the world I might get to see from a vastly different perspective. The beauty was there was no agenda, just an opportunity.
Almost exactly a year after that life-altering chat at the Toni Morrison Conference, Dr M. Celeste Nichols would die unexpectedly. I was devastated, to be sure. I feel my eyes welling up now, decades later, simply mentioning it. I would miss her terribly. I still miss her. I still had much I could have learned from her, but my heart is whole when I remember that I didn’t waste a moment during the time I knew her.
And I haven’t uttered the phrase “oh, I totally understand racism now” in the many years since.
That's a start.