Alex Haley: 1921-1992

Alex Haley: 1921-1992 Wilma Dykeman To be a citizen of the world is also to be a citizen of Appalachia. No one fulfilled both challenges better than writer, storyteller, lecturer, friend Alex Haley. He was a magnificently common uncommon man. Alex Haley's death must have come as a shock to everyone who knew him, even the doctor-friend who had warned of some of his health problems. He was so totally alive, so fully aware of the world around him, that it was difficult to believe he could not continue sixteen-hour days for an endless lifetime. His conversations were of a future crowded with ideas and plans and projects—books, television programs, philanthropies. We were to have met three days after he died to discuss one of those projects. On one occasion he returned from a visit as the house guest (is palace-guest correct?) of the King of Morocco talking about a novel he would write about an Appalachian boy and his grandfather. (Grandparents and grandchildren enjoyed a special bond against a common enemy: parents.) Within ten minutes after he had begun telling the story of old man and little boy in their Appalachian mountain place, the soft voice and compelling descriptions had etched the characters and scenes forever in a listener's memory. In East Tennessee, near Knoxville, he restored an old farmhouse and built a conference complex of log-cabin guest quarters, lake and rolling lawns, where many kinds of groups could gather for creative exchange of ideas—or stories. Always the stories. I met Alex on the occasion of his first "official" return to Tennessee after Roots had made him an international celebrity. Five of us were gathered for a conference in then-Governor Lamar Alexander's office in Nashville. The governor entered and introduced the man with him, Alex Haley. Another friend at that meeting was John Rice Irwin. Following the One of Appalachian most eminent writers, Wilma Dykeman is at home in a variety offields—fiction, history, and biography. In addition, she enjoys wide popularity as a lecturer. 6 group's conversation that day Irwin invited the famous author to visit the Museum of Appalachia near Norris, Tennessee. Alex accepted that invitation reluctandy at first. A museum? He'd already visited too many museums in too many countries. What would be on display at a Museum of Appalachia? Well, he came, he saw, he was conquered—intrigued by the uniqueness, the ingenuity, the variety of the museum and the way of life it represented. Irwin invited Alex to become a neighbor; and through that friendship Alex found a home, several homes in the area, far away from his homes and offices in other parts of the country. As I came to know Alex I realized that he should know Berea College, which embodies so much of the history and so many of the principles he valued. We visited Berea, he spoke at a convocation (nowhere he visited could he get away without one of those memorable conversational, storytelling lectures). We walked over the campus, talked with students, found a handsome cherry rocking chair he would take home, enjoyed the good food. How he did relish good southern country cooking! When then-President Willis Weatherford and I asked if he would consider serving on the Berea board of trustees, he said, "You've got it." His eyes twinkled. He told me later that of course he'd known from the beginning what was in our minds. Alex was one of the rare superstars of the literary and entertainment world who remain natural, approachable, thoughtful of those around them. He was one of the most perceptive readers of character that I have ever known. He listened, he looked, you could see him gathering understanding of anyone with whom he spoke. To escape the many demands and interruptions that drained his time and energy, Alex made frequent long voyages on freighters where he could find the peace to write. He had returned from such a voyage shortly before his death. And one of the last things he said to me, as we ate dinner together, was, "Wilma, you'll have to come to sea...