By Maya Angelou
A lovely number 1 bestseller that has seemed at the New York Times bestseller record for almost 3 years, this memoir lines Maya Angelou's youth in a small, rural group throughout the Thirties. jam-packed with photos and memories that time to the glory and braveness of black males and women,
Angelou paints a occasionally disquieting, yet regularly affecting photograph of the people--and the times--that touched her lifestyles.
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Extra info for I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings
Lasting gratitude to GERARD PURCELL who believed concretely and to TONY D’AMATO who understood. Thanks to ABBEY LINCOLN ROACH for naming my book. A final thanks to my editor at Random House, ROBERT LOOMIS, who gently prodded me back into the lost years. “What you looking at me for? I didn’t come to stay …” I hadn’t so much forgot as I couldn’t bring myself to remember. Other things were more important. “What you looking at me for? I didn’t come to stay …” Whether I could remember the rest of the poem or not was immaterial.
The smudged footprints were easy to erase. I worked for a long time on my new design and laid the rake behind the wash pot. When I came back in the Store, I took Momma’s hand and we both walked outside to look at the pattern. It was a large heart with lots of hearts growing smaller inside, and piercing from the outside rim to the smallest heart was an arrow. ” 6 Reverend Howard Thomas was the presiding elder over a district in Arkansas, that included Stamps. Every three months he visited our church, stayed at Momma’s over the Saturday night and preached a loud passionate sermon on Sunday.
One greeting a day was all that could be expected from Mr. McElroy. After his “Good morning, child,” or “Good afternoon, child,” he never said a word, even if I met him again on the road in front of his house or down by the well, or ran into him behind the house escaping in a game of hide-and-seek. He remained a mystery in my childhood. A man who owned his land and the big many-windowed house with a porch that clung to its sides all around the house. An independent Black man. A near anachronism in Stamps.