Today as I cook my black eyed peas, rice and greens I am thinking about a dear friend, pictured above, Oz Hopkins Koglin. I met Oz in the early 1980’s through a close high school friend and former roommate who worked with her at The Oregonian, Portland’s daily newspaper. Oz, born in St. Louis, Missouri, had graduated from Reed College in Portland. A radical, a poet, a writer and an all around welcoming human being, Oz knew much more about the racial scene in Oregon than many of her liberal white friends. Oregon has been hostile to blacks since its beginnings when it prohibited free slaves from settling there. Sundown laws(no black person on the street after sundown) were still on the books when we knew each other, whether or not they were still enforced. I lived in an interracial family and felt deeply comfortable and understood around her.
Every New Year’s Day Oz cooked up two enormous batches of black eyed peas, one with ham hocks and one vegetarian. Beer and pop flowed freely. Crowds of people settled onto the sofa, the porch, the floor, the kitchen and ate, laughed and ate some more. All were welcome, so we met many different people each year. Some we saw only on New Year’s Day at Oz’ house.
When we moved east in 2001, we truly missed those celebrations. I carried them on, learning where to buy decent ham hocks and black eyed peas. They simmer now, filling the house with that specific odor that takes me back to southeast Portland and Oz’ small welcoming home. Oz died in 2016, but not before finally retiring from the paper and devoting herself to her writing.
In her honor I post one of her poems: All Aboard
I hold on to mama’s hem
but my little brother
thinks he’s too big
to hold on
We scurry after daddy,
dodging tall trousers
nylon stockings
suitcases and
greasy shoeboxes
finally finding seats
in the back car
crowded with colored
Fried chicken from home
comforts us
too young to know
there’s a dining car
where we can’t go.
Evocative memories of those gatherings, and a lovely tribute to your late friend.
Very nice indeed.
Best wishes, Pete.
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I love this! Thanks so much for sharing.
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You’re welcome.
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So moving! Thank you for sharing.
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You’re welcome.
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I remember being on a train (I think it was the Union Pacific) as a boy back in the late 1940s, being served meals by “colored” waiters in the immaculate dining car where none of the patrons were colored. I was “too young to know [it was] a dining car where [they] can’t go.” Now, when I look back and see how unjust that was, I can appreciate Oz’s beautiful poem all the more. .
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I love that you can connect your experience to hers from a different vantage point.
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Thanks for sharing, Elizabeth. Oz sounds like a fantastic person who must have made an impact on numerous people.
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I am sure she did, judging from the crowds on New Year’s Day.
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Wonderful poem. Very descriptive…and sad.
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I love poetry that can straight forwardly get the feeling across.
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Pete and I just celebrated New Year’s day with hoppin’ john and greens and lots of music. Pete’s from East Tennessee where this was a popular way to ring in the new year.
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Once we learned from Oz that it was to guarantee good luck for the new year we started always eating like that. We had greens too.
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Reminds me of my best friends in childhood memories. Miss them so much.
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I think missing friends is universal.
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What a lovely way to pay tribute to a nice friend Elizabeth. You must miss her.
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She had a wonderful spirit and I do miss her.
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Happy New year, Elizabeth! As I read this tribute to your friend, Oz, my home still has lingering aromas of black-eyed peas and collard greens that I cooked, today. Like Oz, I made two batches of peas: one for my guy who doesn’t eat meat, and one that I cooked with a smoked turkey wing. My father always cooked his with ham hocks. I remembered my Dad all day long because he is the one who I got the New Year black-eyed peas tradition from. When he was alive, if we were not together on New Year’s Day, we would tease each other via telephone about whose recipe was the best. My Dad was a great cook and I still miss his peas, his barbecue, and his scratch-made three-layer caramel cakes.
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I am so glad that you connected your heart to this post. I don’t know about the three layer caramel cake. It sounds delicious. My water broke after a large meal of barbecue. Apparently my daughter was finally ready to be born!
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Oh, what a great tribute to your friend, Elizabeth….
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Thanks Sue.
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😊😊
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Beautiful tribute Elizabeth!
Blessed new year to you my friend!
Jennifer
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Thank you so much.
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I love the way you connect with people.
Have a blessed and beautiful 2020🙏🏼
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