the country, but I intend to finish it…despite what Oprah says….
“It disappoints me that she has changed so much over the years. She’s become too close to that woman Gayle, and she no longer believes in Jesus Christ as her savior. That’s just not how I raised her.”
If Oprah had seen her father’s sixty-two-page book proposal, she would have realized that it was, as he said, as much about his life as the sixth of nine children born to Elmore and Ella Winfrey as it was about raising Oprah. What would concern her, though, was what he wrote about her “secrets, dark secrets. Some I didn’t discover till she was a grown woman, till it was too late.” He also expressed regret for having to be stern and hard on her during her teenage years and for not expressing his love as effectively as his discipline.
Still, he continued to disapprove of the “dark secrets” he discovered about the little girl he had raised. “She may be admired by the world, but I know the truth. So does God and so does Oprah. Two of us remain ashamed.” He pointed to the sign behind his barber chair as if he were sending his daughter a message: “Live So the Preacher Won’t Have to Tell Lies at Your Funeral.”
The television set in Winfrey’s Barber Shop is no longer tuned to Oprah’s show at 4:00 P.M. on weekdays the way it once was, but one of her early publicity photos, unsigned, remains taped to the mirror behind Vernon’s chair, next to a photograph of his Yorkshire terrier, Fluff. When it was noted that the photo of Fluff gets pride of place over Oprah’s photo, Vernon smiled slyly. “So it does,” he said. “I just love that little dog.”
Vernon’s role as Oprah’s revered father came to an end in the summer of 1963, when he drove her to Milwaukee to spend a few weeks with her mother. “I never saw that sweet little girl again,” he said. “Theinnocent child that I knew in Nashville disappeared forever when I left her with her mother. I shed tears that day because I knew I was leaving her in a bad environment that was no place for a young child, but there was nothing I could do about it.”
Oprah agreed at the end of the summer to stay with Vernita because her mother said she was going to get married and wanted to have a real family. Besides, Oprah’s life with “Daddy” and “Mama Zelma” in Nashville had been a bit too regimented, with only an hour of television a day, and never on Sundays. Vernita promised Oprah all the television she wanted in Milwaukee, and, ironically, it was that little bribe that led to a life-changing moment for her daughter.
“I stopped wanting to be white when I was ten years old and saw Diana Ross and The Supremes perform on
The Ed Sullivan Show,
” Oprah said. “I was watching television on the linoleum floor in my mother’s apartment [on a Sunday night]….I’ll never forget it….It was the first time I had ever seen a colored person wearing diamonds that I knew were real….I wanted to be Diana Ross….I had to be Diana Ross.”
The phones had started ringing in the inner cities of Detroit, Chicago, Cleveland, Philadelphia, and Milwaukee a few days before Christmas 1964: The Supremes were going to be on
The Ed Sullivan Show,
then the premier showcase for talent in America.
“Colored girls” on prime-time television were like Yankees in Atlanta—enough to give Southerners the vapors and sponsors the bends. But Ed Sullivan, who had an integrationist booking policy, was not to be deterred. He had introduced Elvis Presley to television audiences in 1956, and had launched the Beatles in America earlier in 1964. He was determined to present what he called “three colored gifts” from Motown who had produced three number one hits that year. His decision came five months after President Lyndon Johnson signed the Civil Rights Act, which put the federal government squarely behind the drive for racial equality in the country. Now Ed Sullivan was going to change the national
“It disappoints me that she has changed so much over the years. She’s become too close to that woman Gayle, and she no longer believes in Jesus Christ as her savior. That’s just not how I raised her.”
If Oprah had seen her father’s sixty-two-page book proposal, she would have realized that it was, as he said, as much about his life as the sixth of nine children born to Elmore and Ella Winfrey as it was about raising Oprah. What would concern her, though, was what he wrote about her “secrets, dark secrets. Some I didn’t discover till she was a grown woman, till it was too late.” He also expressed regret for having to be stern and hard on her during her teenage years and for not expressing his love as effectively as his discipline.
Still, he continued to disapprove of the “dark secrets” he discovered about the little girl he had raised. “She may be admired by the world, but I know the truth. So does God and so does Oprah. Two of us remain ashamed.” He pointed to the sign behind his barber chair as if he were sending his daughter a message: “Live So the Preacher Won’t Have to Tell Lies at Your Funeral.”
The television set in Winfrey’s Barber Shop is no longer tuned to Oprah’s show at 4:00 P.M. on weekdays the way it once was, but one of her early publicity photos, unsigned, remains taped to the mirror behind Vernon’s chair, next to a photograph of his Yorkshire terrier, Fluff. When it was noted that the photo of Fluff gets pride of place over Oprah’s photo, Vernon smiled slyly. “So it does,” he said. “I just love that little dog.”
Vernon’s role as Oprah’s revered father came to an end in the summer of 1963, when he drove her to Milwaukee to spend a few weeks with her mother. “I never saw that sweet little girl again,” he said. “Theinnocent child that I knew in Nashville disappeared forever when I left her with her mother. I shed tears that day because I knew I was leaving her in a bad environment that was no place for a young child, but there was nothing I could do about it.”
Oprah agreed at the end of the summer to stay with Vernita because her mother said she was going to get married and wanted to have a real family. Besides, Oprah’s life with “Daddy” and “Mama Zelma” in Nashville had been a bit too regimented, with only an hour of television a day, and never on Sundays. Vernita promised Oprah all the television she wanted in Milwaukee, and, ironically, it was that little bribe that led to a life-changing moment for her daughter.
“I stopped wanting to be white when I was ten years old and saw Diana Ross and The Supremes perform on
The Ed Sullivan Show,
” Oprah said. “I was watching television on the linoleum floor in my mother’s apartment [on a Sunday night]….I’ll never forget it….It was the first time I had ever seen a colored person wearing diamonds that I knew were real….I wanted to be Diana Ross….I had to be Diana Ross.”
The phones had started ringing in the inner cities of Detroit, Chicago, Cleveland, Philadelphia, and Milwaukee a few days before Christmas 1964: The Supremes were going to be on
The Ed Sullivan Show,
then the premier showcase for talent in America.
“Colored girls” on prime-time television were like Yankees in Atlanta—enough to give Southerners the vapors and sponsors the bends. But Ed Sullivan, who had an integrationist booking policy, was not to be deterred. He had introduced Elvis Presley to television audiences in 1956, and had launched the Beatles in America earlier in 1964. He was determined to present what he called “three colored gifts” from Motown who had produced three number one hits that year. His decision came five months after President Lyndon Johnson signed the Civil Rights Act, which put the federal government squarely behind the drive for racial equality in the country. Now Ed Sullivan was going to change the national
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