I attended the memorial service of a friend and former co-worker on Saturday. Jackie and I had worked at our local newspaper for 37 and 37 ½ years, respectively. She was the first African-American woman to be hired in the paper’s composing room while I was the second African-American female to be hired in the Macon Telegraph’s newsroom located on Broadway in Macon, Ga.

In the early 1980s, I began to design the paper’s inside pages, and had to go to composing where workers pasted up the type and pictures. I talked to Jackie about the pages, and later we began talking about our families and the hardships we endured at work simply because we were black.

Integration was not a smooth transition in the South. Although neither of us was physically harmed, we encountered unnecessary hardships. The white men in her department tampered with her locker, made sure she did the dirty work, and talked about sex and used the “N” word as if she was not there. Jackie said it bothered her, but she could not quit because she had five children depending on her.

I started out as one of four typists – three whites and me – in the newsroom. But there were some white co-workers who didn’t want me to touch their copy. I vividly recall being in the middle of typing an editorial when its white originator snatched the copy off my stand and walked away. Another time, a sports editor told the typist who sat across from me that he only wanted her to touch his copy because he knew it wouldn’t get “dirty.” Then he had the gall to laugh at his not-funny joke. I endured the harassment until one day an editor called me a “little monkey shine.” Job or no job, I went off the deep end, jumped out of my chair, got in her face and set her straight. After that episode, the snide remarks were toned down considerably.

Jackie worked the 3-11:30 p.m. shift in the composing room, and would leave that job and work the midnight-to-6 a.m. shift at a radio station. Years later, she became a supervisor when composing split into departments. She was on duty on June 9, 1983, when a former Telegraph employee walked into her department and fatally shot his estranged significant other. When the guy pointed the gun to his head, Jackie rushed to him but he shook his head for her to stop and then pulled the trigger, she said.

Jackie was a very religious person and said that faith got her through that ordeal. A few years later, Jackie became a copy editor and designer on the night shift in the newsroom. She also began playing old gospel songs on WDDO-AM from 10 a.m. to 2 p.m. We bonded and began hanging out after work. As a popular radio personality, she was in demand to be mistress of ceremony at concerts, fashion shows, hat shows, etc.

Jackie and I got along so well because we were what my grandmother called “two peas in a pod” – we often thought alike and acted alike except when it came to putting people in their places. Jackie constantly would say to me, “Ella, let the Lord take care of it.” And in the heat of the moment I’d say, “I know he will, but this time I need to give him a helping hand.”

I never saw Jackie angry or heard her speak an unkind word to anyone. Then, one day a lady wanted to fight Jackie because she said Jackie didn’t do justice to her free community announcement on the radio. Jackie was calm when she said, “I love the Lord, but sweetie you don’t wanna tackle me. I know how to rumble if I have too.” I was amazed because it sounded as though Jackie was having a conversation with a friend.

Jackie and I was the eldest in our department of 20- and 30-somethings. But the younger workers hung around us and picked up a lot of our sayings. Jackie and I formed a birthday club. She was born on Nov. 2 and I was born on Nov. 17, so we’d take each other out for dinner and drinks on our respective birthdays. Then the younger co-workers joined our club. We did this for more than eight years.

Then one year, four of us decided we wanted to celebrate in a different manner. We rented a limo and went to McDonough, Ga., for dinner. On the ride there, we had drinks, hors d’oeuvres and plenty of music. We were slow about getting out of the limo when we arrived at the restaurant, so a crowd began to gather in hopes of seeing a celebrity or two. They were disappointed when we stepped out. I tried to give them my autograph, but no one wanted it.

Also, Jackie and I formed a card club. We took turns meeting at each member’s home every other Sunday evening. We’d each bring a dish and drinks, or we’d cook out and then play game after game of spades.

About five years ago, Jackie’s health declined and she had to retire. But she’d join us for card games and birthday celebrations when her health permitted. She talked about not being afraid to die because she would then go “to a better place.” And she wanted to be cremated. “I can’t handle cremation because I might not end up in Heaven and I wouldn’t want to burn twice,” I told her. She laughed and said, “That’s so Ella.”

She died at 11:15 a.m. on Sunday, July 18. To my surprise, she had planned her funeral and left her instructions with a letter to her children. Jackie and I never talked about planning our funerals. I began planning my funeral a few weeks ago and wrote about my plans in a post.

Her memorial service was a beautiful tribute to her life. The church’s sanctuary and balcony were packed with Jackie’s family and friends. The crowd was so large that chairs were placed in the aisles while other people stood along the walls.

At the very end of her service, doves were released. They flew around the church twice and then returned to their owner. That was a beautiful sight to behold. I’m adding that to my funeral arrangements. And “that was so Jackie!”

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