Written by COLUMBUS SMITH

Portland, Oregon – A local grandson of slaves-A J Tyler-almost took his last secret to the grave but it slipped out at his funeral. “He left his dad in a tree in Mississippi,” his grandson, Joseph Harris, whispered. “The Ku Klux Klan got him.”

That happened in 1919 and an instantly orphaned “Tyler” -age nine-ran away alone…leaving his lifeless dad and Mississippi behind forever.

For me the mystery of WHY my 103-year-old next-door neighbor abruptly left Mississippi at age nine was solved.

“Tyler” never talked about his past -to me- but Evalena Hooker, the guardian angel who rescued and took care of him his last 13 years, said Tyler left Mississippi at a very young age, alone, due to “family troubles.” Looking back I am certain this gracious lady was simply trying to spare me some anguish the truth would bring.

That one cauterizing event (his dad’s lynching) would have destroyed most, but not Tyler. He always seemed to me a victor, someone who would prevail in any situation.

The Tyler I saw was walking daily to his top secret “sturgeon holes” along the nearby Columbia River. He was always looking for the “big one” and at 100—give or take a few years—there was still a bounce in his step.

But it wasn’t his exotic past or his age that first pulled me to “Tyler.”

It was his face, that pure African face, that catapulted me backwards to Africa and another face. The face of Company Sergeant Major -J. Chitereka- “B” Company, 1st Bn, Rhodesian African Rifles.

So Tyler’s face, without him knowing it, was my secret path back to my happy Africa years. What neither Tyler nor I knew at the time was that he would be the source of my happiest MOMENT.

That MOMENT, that ‘gift’ from “Tyler,” happened just 11 days before he died on 9 Dec. 2013and seconds after photo journalist Celeste Rose Bicknell snapped this stunning photo:

But let’s back up a minute. No, lets back up 104 years …all the way back to 25 February 1910- Tyler’s birthdate – in Greenville, Mississippi on the banks of the Mississippi River where he was born. And that is about all we know about Tyler until his abrupt solo escape from Mississippi in 1919.

Was Tyler The Son of Former Slaves?

When I began rolling back the calendar it struck me that Tyler’s date of conception was just 48 years after Pres. Abraham Lincoln’s Emancipation Proclamation freed the slaves.

Biologically it is possible that BOTH of Tyler’s parents could have been born into slavery on a Mississippi cotton plantation. A more probable scenario would be that his dad was a former slave but MOST likely both his parents were children of former slaves.

Until he was nine years old Tyler would have grown up among some elders who bore permanent whip welts embossed on their backs. What stories did he hear and what else did he see growing up?

Fast forward to 2004 when my wife -Uta- and I moved to Portland from Texas and noticed this thin old black man walking the streets of NE Portland, Oregon with a fishing pole in one hand and a bucket of bait in the other.

While he didn’t actually swagger there was a definite bounce and a roll in his step. He radiated confidence, toughness, and good cheer.

Had author Mark Twain seen Tyler he would have shouted, “That’s my Huckleberry Finn!” Tyler grew up right on the Mississippi River, as did Twain’s fictional characters Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn. All three would have fished for that legendary 6’, 200-pound Catfish.

But here in the Northwest USA Tyler, until age 102, was hunting something much bigger. Daily he trekked North to the mighty Columbia River in his quest for the biggest sturgeon in the world. Not just a 14 footer, which would have been as old as he was, but one of the 18 footers, or longer. Those ancient aquatic telephone poles, twice the age of Tyler.

Tyler was living the happiest chapter of his life, as he so often told his guardian angel, Evalena, who rescued him 13 years ago. She took him home, cooked all of his meals, laughed at his jokes, told a few of her own, and in response he called his new address on 14th Place his “Heaven on Earth.” After each meal he thanked God and Evalena.

Evalena and Tyler had so much in common they seemed destined to be pals. Both were workaholics. Evalena was “Employee of the Year” at a major Portland hospital before her retirement. Both laughed often and sometimes so hard they wept. Both loved to fish and had one other thing in common. Between them they couldn’t swim a stroke.

But their joint passion for fishing overpowered that fear of drowning and just the two of them would motor out to the middle of our mile-wide Columbia River. Once anchored the ever-mischievous Tyler would start rocking the little boat just to torment Evalena.

“If you fall overboard you’re gonna drown ’cause I’m not gonna dive in and rescue you.”

When Tyler turned the big “One Hundred” I organized a birthday party.

At Evalena’s home Tyler was always busy

When she returned from grocery shopping Tyler would meet her car and tote the heavy bags up two staircases. And he rolled out the heavy trashcans for weekly pick-up and even at age 101 was expanding Evalena’s backyard garden via a long handled shovel.

On daily walks to the river Tyler had a few close calls with traffic and I gave him a very bright neon colored vest, like the ones worn by road workers.

Two days later Tyler, who had just turned 100, pitched up in my driveway with a $20 dollar bill in his hand and tried to pay me for the vest. After I refused payment he launched into a spirited rant about his own work ethic:

“Nobody ever had to tell me where to find work. I could always find a job! I could always find work!”

It was more of a manifesto and I had a feeling he wouldn’t have minded being overheard.

In Texas, where I’m from, we’d say Tyler had a “get’r done!” kind of attitude. Grandson Joseph Harris reinforced the point when I stupidly asked him at the funeral: “Did Tyler like you and your brother?”

“I don’t know whether he liked us or not,” said Harris “but he damned near worked us to death….If he ran out of work he would rush out and start cutting lawns…(at no cost,)” He credited Tyler with instilling in him a strong work ethic that sustained him through a 25 year career as a metro bus driver.

“Red Summer” Claims 52 Blacks in 1919

Curious about the year “1919”—when Tyler’s dad was hung from a tree- I discovered there was a national eruption of race violence that year dubbed the “RED SUMMER.” At least 52 blacks were killed across 36 cites. In Mississippi three blacks were lynched in Ku Klux Klan violence. One in Macon, one in Monticello, and one in Hattiesburg. I suspect, but have not yet confirmed, that one of these three was Tyler’s dad.

Postscript: My Gift From Tyler

Tyler began losing his way at age 102. He would forget where he was on the streets. Evalena, who has severe arthritis in her knees, would call the police to find him when he didn’t return from one of his fishing trips. After a year of this she placed Tyler in a nearby nursing home… but very closely monitored his care.

She told me Tyler was there but I procrastinated and when I finally visited the nursing home I was shocked at his deterioration. Tyler, who instantly recognized me, was now wheelchair bound…but after all he was 103.7 years! While he had lost orientation he still remembered faces, names, and voices…and smiled broadly when I greeted him. I was saddened to see him this way and furious with myself for waiting so long. I was too emotional to stay and left the nursing home in less than five minutes. Yea, some friend I am.

About a week passed before photojournalist Celeste Rose Bicknell dropped by our home and recalled her meetings with Tyler on his hikes to the river. She too sensed how special he was and an alarm bell had tripped in her head that warned her Tyler wouldn’t be around much longer. She wanted to record his image before it was too late.

The day after Thanksgiving Celeste and I rendezvoused at the nursing home. Uta, my wife, sent along a piece of leftover pumpkin pie. I asked a nurse if it was OK for Tyler to eat it.

“Sure,” she said, “Tyler has no dietary restrictions!”

My job was to get Tyler to relax so Celeste could get the great photo she did. His speech was not clear but he was muttering Evalena’s name almost nonstop. Obviously Tyler was lobbying me and Celeste to return him to his “heaven on earth” with Evalena.

Celeste was alternately feeding Tyler pumpkin pie (which he loved) and snapping pictures. I felt pretty useless and was sitting in a chair facing Tyler in his wheelchair. . . but I felt something pulling. Tugging at me. There were no physical line but Tyler was pulling me.

There was some sort of mental suction drawing me to Tyler.
Silently I was asking myself “What does he want? What is he ‘asking’ me for?.”

At this point we were both silent but his invisible fishline kept tugging sat me.

It hit me! Tyler craved simple human touch. He wanted me to touch him. Of all the people in the world he could have asked for the human touch he WOULD ask me. I HATE to touch anyone.

Ten seconds and then a half-minute ticked by before I reached out my left hand, gently grabbed his left bicep, and said “You’re a good man Tyler!”

As Good As It Gets!

Tyler’s face pivoted toward me and he switched on his million-lumen smile. I felt a warm tsunami of happiness roll through me. My mainspring melted. I let go of Tyler’s arm but his smile remained.

That happiest moment of my life lingered all day.

Tyler died peacefully in his sleep 11 days later on the night of 9 December 2013.

Important Dates & Years in Life of A J Tyler, Grandson of slaves:

25 Feb 1910, born in Greenville, Mississippi
1919- Left Mississippi ALONE at Age Nine, after his father was lynched, a victim of the Ku Klux Klan.
9 Dec 2013- Died in Portland, Oregon age 103.7 years.