by Dionna L. Mann

I was on the phone with Mrs. Olivia (Ferguson) McQueen (1942-), the granddaughter of Dr. George Rutherford Ferguson (1877-1933) who was an African American physician in Charlottesville long before integration. 

“Have you spoken with Teresa Walker Price?” Mrs. McQueen asked regarding my attempt to learn more about some photographs I wanted to use in an author’s note that would appear in my traditionally published debut novel for young readers Mama’s Chicken and Dumplings, then in the final stages of editing.

Out of embarrassment I paused. I had to admit I hadn’t heard of Mrs. Teresa (Jackson) Walker-Price. 

“She’s as old as the hills,” I remember Mrs. McQueen saying. “Try calling her.”

I wondered: why hadn’t I come across the name “Teresa Walker-Price” while doing research about Vinegar Hill, a once thriving African American commercial and residential neighborhood of Charlottesville that is the setting of Mama’s Chicken and Dumplings? After all, I had been digging and digging with madness and discovering and uncovering facts about Vinegar Hill and the larger African American community of Charlottesville for many moons to get the details inside my novel correct. 

And yet, there it was: a missed primary resource—a breathing, flesh-and-blood one, and her name was Teresa (sounds like Tuh-ress-uh and not Tuh-ree-suh). Naturally, the moment I got off the phone with Mrs. McQueen, I searched the Internet. Who was Teresa Walker-Price? 

Soon I discovered that Mrs. Walker-Price had familial roots woven into Charlottesville’s African American history and stretching back to Monticello, the hilltop home of Thomas Jefferson, the third president of the United States. And the most incredible thing? Mrs. Walker-Price, whom I now know as Miss Teresa, was born in 1925, the same year as my ten-year-old main character, Allie! Mrs. McQueen was right! I needed to speak with her! 

Miss Teresa was born to Tessie and William E.  Jackson, Jr. (1888-1972). Her father became locally known as “Billpost” Jackson because of his billboard advertising business. Miss Teresa’s grandmother was Nannie Cox Jackson, an intrepid and beloved domestic science teacher at Jefferson School who generously supported the school’s football team and city lunch program. After Miss Teresa graduated high school from Jefferson School in 1942, she attended Hampton Institute. After passing her final exams, she returned to Charlotteville to teach. She and her first husband, Henderson Day Walker, Sr. had two sons who both became well-respected visual artists. Miss Teresa taught business and typing at Jackson P. Burley High School, and later became certified in library science, and after integration taught at Lane High School. In 2019, Mrs. Walker-Price was awarded a Martin Luther King, Jr. Community Award. She will be 100-years-young on December 14, 2025.

I wondered, though, if Miss Teresa would remember being ten years old in 1935—walking the streets of Charlottesville, shopping the stores on West Main Street, visiting Mr. Inge’s Grocery to buy penny candy? Would she remember details about attending Jefferson School, my main character’s school, and be able to supply me with the answers to questions I still had despite my research? Most importantly, would she be able to tell me more about Dr. Edward Stratton, Jr., the physician who served the African American community in 1935 whose name I’d borrowed for a doctor mentioned in my novel.

I clicked an online telephone book and searched for her. As I dialed the number, I could feel my heart tap dancing.  

“Hello?” A strong yet elderly woman’s voice answered—clear, warm, kind. 

“Mrs. Jackson Walker-Price?” I asked.

“Yes,” she said. “Who is this?”

I introduced myself, and explained the purpose of my call.

 She laughed her beautiful, unforgettable laugh. “I thought you were one of those people trying to sell me something.” 

 I laughed, too. “Not me,” I said. “I promise.” 

And so, our phone conversation ensued—easy as instant pudding—smooth, sweet, uplifting to the soul. Her recollections were crisp. Her humor was delightful. Her stories made my heart soar, my brain happy-tingle, my inside-tears flow. I was reliving history, the kind my parents and grandparents might have experienced, simply by listening to someone who had lived it, someone who remembered it, someone willing to share it. My missed research hole was being filled!

“Come by and see me anytime,” Miss Teresa said as our conversation wound up.

“Really?” I asked. “Anytime?”

“Anytime.”

And so, a few weeks later, I took her up on the offer. 

I drove down Miss Teresa’s narrow street—the same width it had been since the early days of Charlottesville, parked, walked up the steps to her brick home onto a fine porch, and knocked. Miss Teresa’s daughter-in-law opened the door, and invited me in. Miss Teresa, being 97 years old at the time, was descending her stairs in a mechanical chair. She was as beautiful as her laugh. Her short gray hair her crown. Her blue eyes her jewels. Her peachy tan skin her satin robe. She rose from her throne.

“Hello, Mrs. Walker Jackson Price,” I said. “I’m Dionna Mann, the author of that children’s book that takes place in 1935 Vinegar Hill. We spoke on the phone.” 

“Yes, of course!” she said. “Come in, and sit with me.” 

I walked behind her, past her piano lined with photographs, through her tidy living room, and into a sitting room with walls graced by her son Franklin’s pencil, ink and charcoal sketches. She settled into a chair surround by piles of books and magazines, all of which had pages turned out, or bookmarks inserted to indicate where she’d stopped reading. A wall with inset bookshelves with barely any space stood ready to accept more from her read collection. Miss Teresa’s sitting room was a true sign that she had spent many years as a school librarian, and the obvious subject of her interest was African American history. 

A dignified bust of a contemplative Black man sculpted by her son Henderson Day “Bo” Walker, Jr. peered in my direction. Mind your manners, it seemed to say. This is my Mama you’re talking to. 

I sat up straighter. “Do you prefer that I call you ‘Mrs. Jackson Walker Price, or…’”

“My friends call me Miss Teresa.”

“May I call you Miss Teresa?” 

“That’s what I meant,” she said, then laughed again. “So, what do you want to know.”

Where to start? 

I pulled a photograph up on my phone. I believed it to be of Dr. Stratton but wasn’t sure, so I handed the phone to Miss Teresa. 

“Is this Dr. Edward Stratton who was a physician here in the 30s?” I asked.

“Oh, yes! That’s Dr. Stratton, all right!” she said.

My research was confirmed!

“Did you know him?”

“Know him?” she said. “He ate supper with my family.” She gestured toward her neat-as-a-pin kitchen.

I pulled in closer. “Right here in this house?”

“Oh, yes. Right here. Until his wife came.”

“And he practiced at…” I searched my notes for the location of his practice as it was listed in the 1934 Hill’s Charlottesville City Directory. Only then did I realize that Miss Teresa’s address (with an ½ added) was the same as Dr. Stratton’s practice!

“My father fixed up the basement so he could have a nice place to see his patients.” 

I took a closer look at the walls inside Miss Teresa’s home. It was the place where history happened!

“What was he like?” 

Miss Teresa eyes lit up as she shared how Dr. Stratton was approachable, warm and kind. She shared how she would ride along with him when he treated patients in their country homes. She was about ten then, the same age as my main character. 

“I was his goddaughter,” she said. “He was my buddy.”

Miss Teresa painted a scene of 1935 Charlottesville that I never would have been able to envision inside UVa’s Albert and Shirley Small Special Collection Library. Her recollections were as clear as a hot summer day without humidity, and I loved the crystal-clear view. 

Since my first in-person visit with Miss Teresa, I’ve been privileged to sit with her several more times. Each occasion I’ve learned something new. Sometimes it’s about growing up in Charlottesville during the 30s. Sometimes, it’s about Miss Teresa’s family’s history. Sometimes it’s about life or people in general. But every time, I felt what it means to have someone from an older generation extend her hand to someone of a younger generation. Come on in, out of the cold. Sit for a while, and get yourself warm. 

Thank you, Miss Teresa, for warming me, and allowing your story to be a chapter in mine.

Dionna L. Mann is the author of Mama’s Chicken and Dumplings, a West Main Street adventure in which Alexandra Lewis determines to take her life from broken to perfect, one jar of chicken and dumplings at a time. If only Mama will cooperate. Published by Margaret Ferguson Books, an imprint of Holiday House, August 6, 2024, Mama’s Chicken and Dumplings is a Junior Library Guild Gold Selection. Find out more about Dionna online at dionnalmann.com.