Not Just A Number
By
Treopia Green Washington
May, 2020
Every day, the coronavirus victim numbers increase. Now, over 100,000 lives have been claimed. It is of utmost importance, however, to realize that each of those numbers represent a family that has suffered a tremendous loss.
On Easter Sunday, April 12, 2020, my brother, Scott Green, became one of those numbers. After spending a couple weeks at a hospital, he was moved to a Rehabilitation Center. He died that day, alone (no visitors allowed), in New York City.
Who was this person that meant so much to our family?
I remember when Scott was born, on December 23, 1943. His birth made me an undeniable believer in Santa Claus. Why? My father was working Christmas Eve, my mother was in the hospital with my new baby brother, and my adult cousin spent the night with my brother Ernest and me. When we awoke Christmas morning, we dashed to the Christmas tree - everything I had wished for was there! I was forever convinced that Santa Claus was real, alive, and well!
When Scott was three years old, we noticed an odd limp when he walked. Mother immediately made an appointment with our pediatrician for the next day. She took him, on the bus, to see the doctor. After a couple of hours, I watched for her return, from the back porch windows. I finally saw her walking from the bus stop, carrying Scott’s clothes, but without him. She was crying. When she walked in, she told Daddy and me that Scott had polio, and the doctor had immediately sent him to University Hospital. What a shock! Scott remained in the hospital a short while, and fortunately, did not need the iron lung, nor was he paralyzed.
As Scott grew up, from elementary school, on to Jr. High School, I was busy graduating from Dunbar High School, preparing for college at Hampton Institute, in Hampton, VA. During the years, our mother; a teacher, superior seamstress and designer, made beautiful clothes for me. It was not until two years ago, that I learned from Scott, that he was the model that mother used, to hem the garments she made for me in college (most disgusting to him). It was during this period that our father passed away suddenly, and mother had responsibility of the family.
When Scott was in the ninth grade, our brother Ernest was one of the nine students chosen to desegregate Little Rock Central High School, in 1957. This designation followed the 1954 Supreme Court decision that declared segregated schools to be unlawful. Ernest was the only senior among the “Little Rock Nine”, thus had to combat the horrors that accompanied that year, and pass his classes, in order to graduate.
On the morning Ernest was to begin school, I became aware of the rioting in Little Rock, and was in total shock. As a result of the unrest, President Dwight D. Eisenhower, several weeks later, deployed 1,000 paratroopers to Little Rock, to safely escort the “Little Rock Nine” to school. Although Scott and I never talked about it, I am sure he fielded the “hate calls” that came during that stressful time. Ernest successfully completed the year, graduated in May, 1958, and thus became, Little Rock Central High School’s first Black graduate. A special guest, attending the graduation with our family was, Rev. Martin Luther King Jr.
The following school year, Gov. Orval Faubus closed every high school in Little Rock, to assure that Ernest would be the last Black student to graduate from a desegregated school. Scott was in the 10thgrade, and mother was still teaching. Scott informed me, just last year, that mother tried to enroll him in eight neighboring school districts, but nothing worked, because of her teaching responsibilities. So, in October, she arranged to send him to Oakland, California, to live with two aunts (our father’s sisters), whom Scott had never met. From Scott’s statements, that was another challenging year.
I was then living in Baltimore. As a Hampton Institute graduate, I was beginning my first teaching experience as a kindergarten teacher (following in mother’s footsteps). About this time, Scott left California, returned to Little Rock, married, and joined the Air Force. We were not in contact much during this period, but I was happy to learn that he and his wife became parents, having a son - Scott Green Jr.
Ernest, upon graduating from Little Rock Central High School, received a full 4-year scholarship from the President of Michigan State University. There, he earned both BS and MA degrees. He then moved to New York City, and was appointed Executive Director of the Recruitment Training Program, under the auspices of the A. Phillip Randolph Institute. This program prepared minority men and women to become members of building trade labor unions.
Scott eventually moved to New York and enrolled in the program. This propelled him to become the first Black member of the New York Sheet Metal Workers Union #28. When asked why he chose that line of work, he replied that he was curious to learn why there were no black members in that union. In fact, he recruited additional black members, and fought racial discrimination in the union, until his death.
His career as a sheet metal worker provided the opportunity to help build several New York City landmarks, including the World Trade Center. I recall the day, in mid-60s, that Scott called, terribly upset, because he and three other Black workers had been hired to work on one of the Trump family buildings. The moment they appeared for work, all four were fired, and immediately replaced by four White workers. He was furious, as that had never happened, and he took great pride in his responsibilities.
During that conversation, he described his disdain regarding the Trump family’s refusal to rent apartments to people of color. These issues, clearly disturbing to him, served as additional motivation toward his quest for racial justice in the building trades.
Scott loved living in New York. He married again there, and eventually had another son – Shomari Green. After that union dissolved, he moved to Harlem, where he resided in the same apartment, a 5-story “walk-up”, for 20 years. During this time, he would travel to Brazil, with a friend, and spend most winters. There, he became an avid soccer fan, calling it “the real football”. In summers, he loved to swim, and truly, enjoyed the New York beaches.
Scott lived a full, adventuresome life. He was a special person, and I will truly, miss him. Each year, on my birthday, July 3, he would come to Baltimore on the afternoon train, celebrate the day, and leave on the last train to New York. He never spent the night because it was “too quiet” here. I will also miss our Sunday afternoon telephone visits, usually lasting an hour or more.
Easter Sunday, I called Scott at the Rehab Center, around 3:15. We talked for a couple minutes, and I said I would call again later. I called about 7:15, not wanting to wait too late. This time he sounded extremely weak. He explained that he was wearing a mask, and tubes had been placed in his body. After a few seconds, I told him that he should not talk any more, because he needed to rest, and I would call tomorrow. At 11:00 PM, the nurse called, saying, “Scott has passed away”.
Another New York City death number! This time though, it was our brother, Scott Gravelly Green; youngest of the three Green siblings - Ernest G. Green, and yours truly - Treopia Green Washington.
Update:
After Scott passed, we struggled to locate a funeral home in the NY area to which his body could be released. They were all at and over capacity! So, we reluctantly, fell to the mercy of the NYC mortuary, to bury him in the public burial grounds – Hart Island. This was a heart-breaking experience. However, we were blessed to connect with wonderful, understanding people, and we continue to communicate to this day. A bright light in this journey, is the relationship that has developed with the exciting and meaningful Hart Island Project.
Since this was written, following my brother’s death, a total of over 500,000 have passed away, due to this horrible disease. We must never forget, that each one is, "Not Just a Number”, but a missing part of a grieving family.
