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BLOG: A Voice In The World - From the heart of Ginny Dye
August 29, 20133
The Day I Discovered The Truth...
I was three books into The Bregdan Chronicles before I truly understood why I was writing them, and why I was so passionate. The truth was rather hard to swallow…
Before I take you back to the real reason I discovered, I want to give you a little more current history. I was six years old when Martin Luther King gave his famous I Have A Dream speech during the March on Washington in 1963.
I was 13, and in the 7th grade, when the first black students started coming to my school. Because I was an athlete I had the honor and privilege of making some great friendships because we played sports together. I was fairly unaware of the violence brewing beneath the surface.
I was 15, and in the 9th grade, when the violence spewed over; resulting in race riots in almost every high school in Charlotte. I was still in Junior High when I received a call to the office, and was told my brother had been badly beaten during a riot and had been taken to the hospital.
My Algebra teacher, a wise and wonderful teacher, helped me make a choice that day to not respond with hatred and anger. (That’s probably another blog post…) And, yes, my brother recovered.
When I was 16 I had the privilege of connecting with a wonderful group called the New Directions – one of the very few interracial singing groups (consisting of high school and college kids) in the South at the time. I made many wonderful friends, both black and white – relationships that have lasted to this day.
My family was completely mystified by those relationships. In a family fraught with bigotry, fear and hatred, I was working to build relationships and bridges.
My father forbade me to spend time with my black friends. I did it anyway.
He forbade me to visit them in their homes and neighborhoods. I did it anyway.
It was not rebellion – it was a compulsion; something I knew I had to do, but I didn’t understand why. I simply knew it was the right thing to do.
I was 19, and on my way with a black friend to a favorite swimming hole near my college campus when we rounded a curve and saw a burnt cross in a rural front yard – the work of the KKK. We never made it to the swimming hole that day – our fear drove us back to the security of our college campus.
I have always hated prejudice and have worked to end it.
Which brings me to the day I learned the real truth…
My research for Dark Chaos (Book # 4 in The Bregdan Chronicles) had led me to a lunch with the director of the Black Historical Society in Norfolk, VA. She asked me during our phone call to bring copies of my first three books. At the time I was writing under the pen name of Virginia Gaffney but, of course, I had introduced myself to her as Ginny Dye.
Lunch with Effie was a complete joy. She was a tiny lady with wrinkled ebony skin and glowing eyes that reflected a wonderful soul. She was also an amazing source of information about the Grand Contraband Camp, Fort Monroe, and Hampton University.
Toward the end of our lunch, her eyes continually strayed to my books. She finally asked the question that changed everything. “Where does the name Gaffney come from?”
I told her of my maternal great-great-great-grandfather who had come over from Ireland to escape certain death because he had converted to Protestantism. He had swum out to a boat in the middle of the night and had hidden aboard until they were far enough from shore that he knew they wouldn’t turn back. He worked his way across the ocean, ended up in New York, and then made his way to South Carolina. I’ve always heard him called “Captain Michael.”
I proudly told her how Captain Michael Gaffney had owned a large plantation, founded Gaffney, S.C. and, then, Limestone College.
My gift of writing came from my grandfather (though it probably goes back further), so I used his name and dedicate all my writing to him. (Though I use my own name now, you’ll find him on the dedication page for Storm Clouds Rolling In.)
The whole time I was telling my story, Effie had the funniest look on her face. I finally stopped. “Effie, what is going on?” I asked.
She sat back in the booth and gave me a long look. “One of my very best friend’s last name is Gaffney, and she says her family founded Gaffney, S.C.,” she finally said.
“Cool!” I said excitedly. “We must be related.”
“Yeah,” Effie agreed, “but, honey, she’s black.”
Now, there was nothing earth shattering about that. I had done enough research to know that either Captain Michael’s slaves had taken on the Gaffney name, or Captain Michael had impregnated one of the slaves and begun a whole black side of the family. Rather, I was excited to learn more.
When I left her I went to Hampton University to do some more research. While I was there I got in the elevator to go to the top floor of the library. Two black students, both wearing name tags because of a conference that day, were in the elevator with me. I was astonished when I looked at these two strapping black men, and realized both of them were Gaffney’s! I was too stunned to say anything at the time. I’ve always wished I could go back… Someday I will, and then I’ll have another whole series to write… :)
As soon as I got home that day I called my mother to excitedly share the news. Let’s just say she didn’t respond positively… She was incensed that I would believe Captain Michael owned slaves – insisting it just wasn’t true. My calm response that of course he owned slaves because he owned one of the largest plantations in the South during the 1850’s, and up until the Civil War, only made her more angry.
Her reaction made me determined to find answers.
The next morning I drove to Gaffney, SC (7 hours away) and walked into the Gaffney Family archives housed at Limestone College.
Within 5 minutes I had the information I needed that Captain Michael was indeed a slave owner. That was hard enough to accept, but it was when I turned the page that my understanding came…
I learned that when Captain Michael passed away, my great-great-great grandmother had given their entire estate (worth millions in today’s currency) to the KKK.
The Ku Klux Klan??
I blinked my eyes and then buried my face in my hands, simply unwilling to believe that was my heritage – that generations of my family had supported the work of the KKK. The truth was horrifying and humiliating.
Until God whispered in my ear and I suddenly understood…
Generations later, it was my job to redeem what had been done. It was my job to be a voice for love and equality.
It was my job to share truth, and bring people to life through my books – people who could compel readers in this generation to think and then open their hearts to love and equality.
It was my job to help abolish prejudice and inequality through the gift God has given me.
It was my job – but more importantly it was my privilege.
As that reality filtered into my heart, I raised my head, closed the book, and walked out into the bright sunshine – surer than ever of what I was supposed to do, and who I am called to be.
So I write…
I am so excited to write Carried Forward By Hope (Book # 6 in the Bregdan Chronicles) because finally I will get a chance to share how our country was rebuilt. I will also come to fully understand the fears and prejudices on all sides of the equation that have created the world I live in today – and then share it with all of you.
50 years after Martin Luther King gave his speech it’s time for each of us to continue the struggle for equal rights for all people.
YOU matter. YOUR actions will help change history – for either good or bad.
That is...
The Bregdan Principle
Every life that has been lived until today is a
part of the woven braid of life.
It takes every person’s story to create history.
Your life will help determine the course of history.
You may think you don’t have much of an impact.
You do.
Every action you take will reflect in someone else’s life.
Someone else’s decisions.
Someone else’s future.
Both good and bad.
What will you do?
How will your life impact history?
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