Photo by Andrea Morales | Design by Brian Groppe
I try to avoid unearned superlatives, but when it comes to picking favorites, I am actually The Worst. Standard getting-to-know-you questions elude me. “What’s your favorite book?” Well, what genre? What era? For what kind of mood, what kind of weather? Are we talking something to read on a plane, in bed at night, on a long Sunday afternoon? I have the same sort of follow-up questions when asked to pick a favorite musician, favorite song, favorite meal, favorite season, and on and on. My answers depend on context. Incidentally, before I met my now-husband, this contextual complication made me an absolute riot on first dates, and yes, I am being facetious. No one needs to hear me twist into knots trying to explain my arcane sorting criteria.
Selecting a Memphian of the Year is not the same as picking a favorite, per se — but even in “normal” years (if those ever existed?), I find the process more than a little challenging. Thank goodness others on the Memphis editorial team present well-articulated suggestions, then follow up with lively discussion.
This year, we discussed a broad range of options for Memphian of the Year. Should it be someone involved in the healthcare response to the pandemic? That would certainly be the obvious choice. And many involved have been stalwart, sensible guides throughout this long nightmare. Alisa Haushalter and Dr. Stephen Threlkeld come to mind as two of the steady local medical voices of the year; both deserve plaudits. But the virus is tightening its grip on Memphis as we go to press with this issue; in the narrative arc, we’re nowhere near the denouement. We need more data, more time, before looking back and assessing things. Right now, we’re still in the middle of the storm.
One suggestion I thought smart and generous was to make the Memphian of the Year a group honor: for first responders, or essential workers in general, or healthcare workers, or educators, or restaurant workers, or voting-rights advocacy groups? Where would we draw the lines? Should we just make the cover a mirror, à la the Time Man of the Year cover in The Big Lebowski? This year, after all, honor and heroism are broad, communal, and shared by everyone who shows up day after day to support others. Plus, there was the issue of how to illustrate a group cover when we can’t very well assemble a large group of people, thanks to the very virus that has spurred many to action. No, we decided ultimately, we needed one singular person. And it needed to be someone who’s not only done good, notable work this year, but someone whose work specifically represents Memphis.
What makes Memphis distinctive? Perhaps you think of the music, or the barbecue. But what makes Memphis distinctive in a way that matters most this year? The answer has to be how we engage with our own history — our troubled, tragic, heroic, brave, complicated, painful, hopeful history. 2020 will be remembered for the pandemic that has, so far, taken the lives of at least 250,000 Americans. But it also will be remembered for protests against police brutality and burgeoning support of the truth that Black Lives Matter.
Our conversations zoomed in on the National Civil Rights Museum, and Terri Lee Freeman, its president. Freeman, like many other leaders, has been forced to adapt to the circumstances of 2020, and she and her team have done so with aplomb, converting programs to virtual formats that allow people from all over the world to participate. Moreover, Freeman understands her position to demand that she continue advancing Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.’s legacy now and in years to come. (You can read our full profile of Freeman online tomorrow, and in our December print issue.) The museum isn’t just about understanding and coming to terms with the past: It’s about doing that work so that we can create a better, more inclusive, more equitable future — for everyone. Fittingly, Freeman doesn’t see herself as someone who needs to stand in any spotlight; my conversation with her featured prominently the concept of what she calls “servant leadership.” She worries about the health and safety of her team and of museum visitors, but she also takes seriously the museum’s unique ability to provide context for what’s happening now.
And context, as I keep saying (to the dismay of anyone who just wants a casual chat about books and albums), is paramount. In this year’s context — from navigating the pandemic’s effects on public spaces and cultural exchange, to helping a community find productive solutions to combat racism — Terri Lee Freeman is at the center of what’s moving Memphis forward.
