On the Shoulders of Giants

Betty Brown-Chappell, PhD

Dream Deferred
My Grandfather, a sharecropper, moved to rural Michigan on a long run from the law in Kentucky; his youngest son was my Dad, Benjamin F. Brown. Meanwhile, my Mom, Clara Lucille Williams Brown grew up as a foster child of Dr. and Mrs. Adams in Waco, Texas after the death of both her parents. Although Mom qualified for admission to college, as the Adams’ foster child, she had no financial means to attend either of the historically Black colleges in Texas, but this ‘dream deferred’ created a life-long desire for Mom to see her children become college graduates.  Over the decades, her desire became a reality as all of her children attained college degrees and beyond: two have Master’s, and I have a PhD from the University of Chicago.

Those Who Helped Make It Possible:  
A successful educational outcome was far from preordained for any of us: Dad, an automobile laborer, had only a seventh grade education and Mom was frequently pregnant with what became a family of eight children.  I am sure that my parents found it arduous to provide basic necessities for themselves and their brood of children. Mom worked very hard to raise her children, but she did not earn money outside the home.  Because we lived in rural Michigan on a farm, my parents learned to grow a great deal of the food that we ate -- they had a ready-made workforce to tend and harvest crops. Eventually these crops added to our family’s income.   In retrospect, it seems improbable that my parents were able to pull 10 people out of poverty within their life time, but they had some help from their extended family and in turn taught us the value of a charitable nature. It was this parental impulse to generosity that ultimately led me to pursue social work as a career in the University of Michigan’s School of Social Work.

My parents had absolutely no idea how to guide me through the myriad of forms and processes necessary to apply for college and obtain a degree.  This was left to others such as my high school counselor, and during my first year at University of Michigan, the sisters of Delta Sigma Theta Sorority who told me how to apply for financial aid and who modeled upper-class behavior.  A successful job application to become a social work research assistant led me to my first professional mentor, herself a first-generation doctoral student.  She not only provided advice and counsel, but also paid my application fee for graduation (despite her own family poverty).

Why a Doctoral Degree?
Although my graduate school teachers tried to interest me in doctoral studies, by the time I had a master’s degree, I wanted to reduce my debt, make some money and have fun. However, in my late thirties, I was employed in higher education without the ‘union card’ of a PhD. On the face of it, I was not a good candidate to attend the most prestigious (and probably the most expensive) school of social work in the country: I was an older married student with financial obligations and little disposal income but a lot of debt. I had two very young children, and I had statistics anxiety. 

It was the very strange Salvador Dali print that helped me to make the decision to apply for doctoral studies. The first African-American president of my university had a reception for faculty at his home, and I could not believe that he had a numbered Dali print in his bathroom.  I watched his mannerisms, I read his vitae, and I realized that the primary difference between us was the doctoral degree. 
Even without the doctoral degree I had served as President of a number of state-wide organizations, published articles in a professional journal and presented at numerous national, state and local conferences.  Northeastern Illinois University had granted me tenure and promoted me to the position of Director of Academic Advising.  I believed that I was on my way up the academic ladder when the University Of Chicago School Of Social Service Administration concurrently offered me the position of Assistant Dean and admitted me to their doctoral program.

 Slowly, Oh So Slowly -- It Is Done!
Yes, I was on the way up, but slowly – very, very slowly.  The doctoral program was extremely difficult, if not torturous for me.  I studied while flying or driving to the 35 plus colleges and universities on my annual recruitment itinerary.  I slept very little and when not traveling studied on nights and weekends. I hired a statistics tutor and made virtually every office hour held by my statistics professor; this was one of the two B grades that I earned. I missed many family events such as my sister’s second wedding or some of my children’s performances. Money worries were somewhat abated by a tuition benefit that I received as full-time employee. Meanwhile, on the home front my husband worked and did MUCH more than his share of night duty with the children.  We employed a housekeeper, Luticha Raggs, to make sure that our home was sane and safe for our children. 

Despite this somewhat chaotic existence, as adults, my children remember the markers along the route to graduation (completion of course work, specialized and general examinations, proposal and dissertation hearings, graduation and employment) that we celebrated as well as the bread that I baked to take out my frustrations from working and studying so hard. They also think that obtaining a graduate degree – my son is a doctoral candidate and my daughter recently completed her master of education degree – is normal.

I was often an absent and absent-minded wife and friend.  My husband, Michael, and friend, Dr. Earlie Mae Washington, now Dean of Health and Human Services at Western Michigan University, carried me when I could not stand on my own. Both made me meals when I could not cook, listened to exhaustive and repetitive orations about my research, found money for my research when there was none (grants, second mortgage) and loved me even when I was too distracted and self-centered to inquire about their lives. Without them there would be no Doctor attached to my name.

With their help, by the summer of 1991 I was poised to defend my dissertation and assume an academic position.  Then disaster struck.  My chairperson’s husband died during a car accident and she was injured.  Days later, during his wake, standing at the end of his casket, Dr. Pastora San Juan Cafferty put her grief aside and said, “Don’t worry, I am going to get you out this summer.”  She did.  I defended in July and assumed my position as an Assistant Professor at a research 1 institution in September.
I believe that I stand on the shoulders of my parents and all my generous family, friends and teachers.
Thank you to each of you.

Betty Brown-Chappell, PhD, LMSW, MSW is a tenured Professor at Eastern Michigan University.  Her research interests are in the areas of Black political leadership, fiscal policy and gerontology.