My first memory of Jo Williams-Taylor:
I’m a first grader at Thomas Jefferson, and I’m sitting in a big-person’s wooden chair. The chair is butted against Mrs. Williams’ big-person’s desk, and I’m being quizzed about my favorite color, my favorite food, and my date of birth.
I feel small around the big stuff, and just as I’m sure I’ve answered all the questions incorrectly, a life-long friendship begins.
When I revealed my birthday to Mrs. Williams, she looked down at me over the top of her reading glasses and filled me in on “a secret”: we shared a birthday, so we were the same age.
I believed her.
Most who remember Mrs. Williams remember Rocky, her raccoon. Rocky had his own motor home and a towering cage in her classroom. He was carried to that room each day atop her shoulder or mine. (How lucky I was to have been a kid when a raccoon in the classroom was possible.)
Gradually, Mrs. Williams became Jo to me, and armed with her camera, she came to many of the milestone celebrations in my life. For most of my adulthood, Jo and I shared a meal and a candle-clad dessert on our birthday. (Our families shared us without question.)
Jo Williams-Taylor passed away peacefully at home with her family on May 14, 2010. She was 82 or 45—depending on what you believe.
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