But for Randall Kenan

I would never have known what literary journalism was but for Randall Kenan. When I saw the subject matter he was teaching, I groaned. I could not imagine something I wanted less to do with. But Randall was at the University of Memphis as a visiting professor. I couldn’t believe I had the chance to learn under him, even if I would only be auditing his class. I held my nose and signed up.

Of course, I fell in love with it. Randall was an amazing teacher, and he was open to my odd way of coming at things. Plus, I was so ready for it. I was worn out with the “me” “me” “me” of the personal essay. To discover there was a different form, where you brought your slant to the telling but the subject wasn’t you. It was a long drink of cool water I would not have experienced but for Randall Kenan.

Randall had so many accolades. He was a fine writer, endlessly skilled. Sometimes I would finish reading one of his short stories and go back and re-read it to see how he did that. He was also kind. And a Carolina grad. Who wrote about North Carolina. We had lots in common.

According to a biography of Randal, he got his first job in publishing because Random House was in trouble with the EEOC for not having enough Black employees. You see how that works? A white-dominated publishing house that doesn’t know what the hell it’s doing when it comes to Black writers stumbles over a genius who they hire because he is Black. Randal was a “DEI” hire. Not because he was incompetent. Because his white employers were. Thank God for the EEOC.

My telling of Black History Month: How historic Black Americans have intersected with my life.

I would not have written half the essays I’ve written but for Randall Kenan.