My mama taught me never wear white shoes after Labor Day!
But we could wear “winter white” woolen suits to church or special occasions.
There aren’t any “After Labor Day Fashion Police” today, and people do what they choose in deciding what colors to wear.
Actually, in the past, the richer upper class wore white in the summer during vacations, and retired the color at the end of summer signaled by Labor Day. The lower classes of working people couldn’t afford vacations or summers off, so they weren’t wearing the summer whites.
Wearing white or not was a way to distinguish between the upper and middle classes.
Labor Day was in remembrance of the struggle for better working conditions by the working class in America. Labor unions started and worked to get better working conditions, an eight-hour work day, and better safety for workers — along with decent wages.
Like many things, the highest ideals of the labor movement weren’t always maintained as corruption seeped into unions to give them a bad name.
Mama was 16 when she started going to the local hosiery mill asking for a job. The boss told her she was too young, and come back when she was older.
She did.
She came back, and asked, asked, and asked until she was finally told to come in and report for the night shift making nylon hosiery.
It was a time of change for Mississippi as factories hiring women were locating in our rural areas to take advantage of an eager work force willing to work for lower wages than their counterparts around the country.
When the union came to Mississippi to organize the workers, mostly women, to get better working conditions and wages, Mama became a part of it.
Mama was proud to work, she loved to work and she strove for excellence in any job she did.
She taught me these ideals.
She didn’t even know there was a “glass ceiling” there to hold her back. She aimed for the highest jobs she could find. She was willing to be trained, to learn new things and take risks to better herself.
Five years ago, in the morning, as the sun came gently through the pale blinds of her hospital room, my precious mama died. She went from this earthly home to her heavenly home. I was right there at her side as she took her last breath.
She asked for this epitaph to be on her tombstone: “She wasn’t all she could have been, but she tried her best.”
Psalms 90:17 tells us: “May the favor of the Lord our God rest on us; establish the work of our hands for us — yes, establish the work of our hands.”
I miss you, Mama; and I am proud of all the work you did.
