The Other Minnie

From Stuff with Stories


“Was your grandmother named after the mouse?” asked Anna Lauren.

“Not really. She was named after her mother,” I replied.

“Was she…”

“No, she wasn’t named after the mouse either.”

And so it began. Anna Lauren, 5, forever curious about various family members, was spending the weekend at the lake. She was catching frogs, examining snails, and pretending to read. Kindergarten was starting soon, and life was about to change for the little girl with the big imagination.

I glanced at the over-large diploma from Huntsville Public Schools hanging on the wall. It wasn’t mine; it had been awarded to The Other Minnie. On Thursday afternoon, May 31, 1900, Minnie Strother Jones took her place among the graduates of Huntsville Public Schools. She listened attentively as Superintendent S. R. Butler gave a short speech before handing out the certificates. At seventeen, Minnie didn’t understand the significance of her achievement or what it would ultimately convey to her daughter and granddaughters. At that time, less than half of all school-age children in the US were enrolled in school and only 6.4% of those graduated from high school; Minnie Jones was one of those.

Undoubtedly, Minnie’s family needed her at home to help with the four younger siblings. And after all, there was no competitive job market where a very basic education was the key to a great salary with lots of benefits. Schools concentrated on reading, writing, and arithmetic. Alabama didn’t even enact a compulsory attendance law until 1915. Minnie didn’t have to go to school.

In those days, an academic education was for wealthy children and regarded as unnecessary for everyone else. While that idea is no longer pertinent, the relevancy and competency of public schools is often in question. That is an argument for another day. What is not up for debate is the undeniable, transformative power of education.

Minnie, my grandmother and not the mouse, never worked outside her home. But she used her education to read her Bible, balance her household accounts, and write beautiful letters to her sons as they served their country during the war. She didn’t see herself as an extraordinary woman, but her 1900 certificate from Huntsville Public Schools is testament to something very different. Her life was transformed through education, and her daughters and generations of granddaughters took that meager beginning and used it to transform an entire family.

The other day Bryan, 8 years old and in third grade, told me that he had taken an IQ test.

“Do you know what IQ stands for?” I asked.

“Sure,” he replied. “It stands for Idiot Quiz.”

Perhaps “transform an entire family” was a little premature.