Jackson Free Press

The exterior of the spacious, charming house that sits directly across the street from a Jackson middle school is black. Inside James Luckett Powell's house, which was built in 1923, is a riot of color from the artifacts James has collected over the years. In the living room, there are dolls from other countries, fertility statues and stained glass windows. Art lines the wood-slatted walls. Clearly, both history and art are important to James.

What might not be so obvious is that James himself is also a piece of history. His niece, Josslyn Luckett, traveled all the way from Los Angeles, Calif., to interview him as part of the oral history project brought to Jackson by StoryCorps, in collaboration with Mississippi Public Broadcasting. Story-Corps invites pairs of people to interview one another about whatever they choose as part of an ambitious project to record the nation's stories, as told by individuals in their own words. These collected accounts will be archived in the Library of Congress for the benefit of future generations. Even today, however, we can all benefit from the stories this project is gathering.

When asked about culture, most people think immediately of something aesthetically pleasing to the eye, like a painting or a statue, but oral history is as important to the preservation of culture as a painting by Vincent Van Gogh.

"Preserving your culture is important," says James, 65. "When the elders pass on, if you haven't taken the time to learn their history or recorded it, it's gone, just like that," he says, snapping his fingers.

When you hear James talk about growing up in Tougaloo with his siblings, one of whom was Josslyn's father, you are transported to a time where black socialites gathered to intermingle, just as their white counterparts did.

"We weren't poor. We were one of the first people ever to wear Levi Strauss—whole denim outfits. … And our family always stressed the importance of education. It's not like I was the first one to go to college," the proud Tougaloo College graduate says. "People in our family went to college. My mother was a nurse."

As he reminisces, James picks up a newspaper clipping of his mother and her graduating class from nursing school in the early 1930s. "She was light enough to blend in; they accepted her, but look …" On the clipping's caption, beside his mother's name, the thing that distinguishes her from the rest of her class is simple and clear: colored.

There's something painfully glorious about hearing James' stories about growing up in a segregated South. From this social devastation, the man matured to be a businessman, world traveler, devoted husband and horticulturist.

As a matter of fact, James became such a skilled horticulturist that during their interview, Josslyn recalls memories of his homemade banana pudding that used the bananas her uncle had grown in his own backyard, here in Mississippi.

From laughter to seriousness, one of the most tender moments during the duo's interviews was when James talked about his brother, Josslyn's deceased father. James shared with his niece how he and his older brother used to bicker a great deal. As punishment, whenever things got out of hand, their mother would make them hug, kiss and make up, similar to many bickering youths.

"We were like two peas in a pod," James says, though he admits he never wanted to kiss his brother. Speaking a week before his passing, the brothers ended their conversation with an "I love you," which the listener assumes was unusual—something understood, but not often said. After he passed, however, James says, "I kissed him … because I wanted to."

No two stories are the same. Oral histories are as individual as the person sharing them, which makes them each uniquely beautiful—artistic, if you will.

James says: "(History) puts things in a parallel mode instead of a comparative one. Conversation—sharing of history—brings so much to light. It brings out the richness of one's family—their relationships—and leaves you wondering, 'How can I make a difference? When will the change begin?'"

Take someone you care about to the StoryCorps booth at the Mississippi Agriculture Museum by Feb. 3 and record your own story. To make an appointment, call 800-850-4406. Sessions are free, though $10 donations are appreciated. You can also visit the StoryCorps' Web site.