Celebrating Women's History Month- "You Can Bet On It: Women Build Casinos!"

CELEBRATING WOMEN’S HISTORY MONTH

(This is my second blog for Women’s History Month-March 2017)

 

“You Can Bet On It: Women Build Casinos!"

For everyone celebrating a birthday, wedding or anniversary, you hear the phrase, “Let’s go to Vegas!”  Sure, Las Vegas is the typical destination for most people who want to drink, dance and gamble all night, but very few women truly profit from the casino business.  When you think about, the standard casino-owner is male.  The Management team is dominated by men.  The Dealers are normally men.  The Valet staff, the Chefs, the Accountants, the Auditors, Vendors and Construction teams.    

Urrr…not so fast.  I bet I know of one casino-building construction company that is owned by a WOMAN!  That’s right, a woman.   

A few months ago, my mother and her sister went to Biloxi to get away.  It was cool, but I just wasn’t in the mood for the same old getaway.  While they were gone, I did some research and learned about a casino 5 hours from Atlanta, Georgia.  Waiting for the perfect weather and leisure time, I made plans to drive to Cherokee, North Carolina.  Sure, it’s a scary drive for a first timer.  Pretty flat driving until you reach the dreaded, steep mountain hills of North Carolina.

The views from high on top of those green grass, tree-covered mountain ranges is spectacular.  It’s a sight no painter can copy.

I suspect in Autumn--when the leaves are morphing from shades of gold to red to wine to brown—the view of nature transforming from hot Summer days to cool Winter nights is well worth the drive.   

Pulling into the small, remote town of Cherokee, I noticed a sign that brought pride, jealousy and curiosity to my heart all at the same time.  Pure wonderment for a moment.  It was a sign that I had seen many times…in Arizona, the state of Connecticut, Alabama, or Florida.  “Welcome to the Cherokee Indian Reservation,” it basically read.  “Welcome to the Seminole Indian Reservation or the “Mohegan Indian Reservation.”  It was a sign of ownership, of strength.

I had dreamt of this type of ownership for my own people a thousand and one times.  Imagine a sign over the combined 40 acres and mules for thousands of African-Americans in the 50 U.S. states.  For Native Americans, through a shared vision and unquestionable unity, the dream had become a reality decades ago.  Their battle had been won.  They were able to build and operate businesses on their own land.  And I had driven 5 hours, to see with my own eyes, what a Native-American, woman-owned business had built on the Cherokee Indian Reservation in North Carolina. 
 

It was a spiritual experience.  Owle Construction, LLC had built Harrah’s Cherokee Casino. 

The casino was a modern, architectural wonder built high on Cherokee land overlooking waters sacred to the Tribe.  Art and crafts from their tribal nation were displayed with inspirational stories placed under photographs of respected artisans. 

The resort was more than bells and whistles with a spa and a buffet, it was a museum, a shrine, an opportunity for employment and a tribute to Cherokee culture that highlighted authentic Cherokee Indian aesthetics and values.

Why can’t African American people do the same?

I challenge my people.  I challenge African-American women to lay ground for their daughters, to leave land and values so that one day there will be a multitude of African-American, woman-owned businesses built too on our own land. 

Our proof of possibility stands on top of Cherokee, North Carolina.  Perhaps, it’s time for you to take that drive.  And yes, Mother’s Day weekend would be a great time to visit.

 

*Vanessa Brantley  Style395.blogspot.com  March 25, 2017,  "You Can Bet On It: Women Build Casinos!"   Volume 4, Blog 1b [vol. 4, 1-1c].

 

 

Celebrating Women's History Month- "Fashionista Extraordinaire: The Powerful and Quirky Suzy Menkes"

CELEBRATING WOMEN’S HISTORY MONTH

"Fashionista Extraordinaire: The Powerful and Quirky Suzy Menkes"

 

 

(This is my first blog for Women’s History Month-March 2017)

I once dreamt of being part of the fashion industry, the one described in the pages of Women’s Wear Daily, Daily News Record, and “W”.  It was the 1980s and I was a Black girl in Atlanta, Georgia.  Just the thought of speaking my dreams out loud was frown upon by the mainstream Black folks living in southwest Atlanta.  You know, they were the ones everyone yakked about on the pages of Ebony and Jet, the Blacks living in the Black Mecca that most African-Americans could only fantasize about from afar. 

Even so, strangely enough, those same Black folks were tied to hopes and dreams of one day being part of corporate and governmental America. Although, they didn’t want inclusion in all parts of corporate and governmental America, they seemed to only want to make a wave in just the accepted streams, like local Education or Fortune 500 company divisions where degrees in Business, Law, Science, Math and Engineering would land you a good job.  Few, and I mean few, even considered the notion of entrepreneurship. 

Arenas of business ownership in Medicine, Law, Retail, Cosmetology, Insurance, Financial and Business Consulting, Real Estate, Investing, Sports or Entertainment were rarely discussed as options.  So you could imagine the general community reactions when I was asked, “So what are your career goals?”

Being pretty shy about my family and background, mainly relying on my accomplishments in high school, I would give the standard answer of “I’m probably going to Howard University and majoring in Corporate Law.”  They would smile big smiles and give accepting nods of the head.  But inside, I was shaking my head and laughing at how people would beam over the thought of another robotic high school graduate off to pursue the hopes and dreams of average Black America.

Truthfully, my real response would have been, “I’m going straight to New York City to see and engross myself in the industry of conspicuous consumption—FASHION!  I want to know about the social registry and why most of my people want to emulate the appearance, adornment and lifestyle of wealthy White folks and Europeans.  I want to know how to sell designer everything to everyone.”

And, “I want to drool at the fabulous people in fabulous cars, dripping in jewels and living in luxury.  I want to know what is glamourous and glitz-filled out there in the world of wealth.  I want to live, not like Mike, but like Suzy Menkes!” 

Her name is synonymous with Fashion.  She’s been everywhere and seen everything in the fashion world.  At the age of 74, yes 74, no one in the celebrity world of sho’ biz or pretentious red carpet fashion events can rival the AUTHENTIC world of Fashionista Extraordinaire, Suzy Menkes.  After 25 years with the International Herald Tribune as the Fashion Editor, she is now the International Vogue Editor for its 19 online global fashion websites. 

She is the grand dame of all fashion review and critique.  If she likes it, we love it.  If she says it will sell, we buy it. If she sees it and thinks we need to take a second look at it, we do.  Her word is power. 

She is a plus-sized British woman with a quirky hairdo and unconventional style.  She is daring, unapologetic, aggressive, judgmental and daunting.  She cares not for bull nor applauds what’s fake.  She is highly intelligent, travelled and cultured.  She has been a mentor to many and a role model for all who stand in her shadow. 

 
To praise her is to thank God for sending her to Earth, namely for those of us, especially young girls, who knew internally that the fashion world was waiting to be explored.  Suzy showed us women how to maneuver a male-dominated field for over 50 years. 

Suzy Menkes is my Fashion icon.  A woman making history. 

I have heard her roar for decades.  So go Suzy go!  This Atlanta woman “gets you” and admires your undeniable gumption.

 

*Vanessa Brantley  Style395.blogspot.com  March 12, 2017,  "Fashionista Extraordinaire: The Powerful and Quirky Suzy Menkes"   Volume 4, Blog 1a [vol. 4, 1-1c].

Celebrating Black History Month: "Blacker in My Boots"

CELEBRATING BLACK HISTORY MONTH

"Blacker in My Boots"

This is my last blog for Black History Month of February 2017.  You have learned about my passion for wearing Black apparel in previous blogs on Fashion.  However, you probably didn’t know my passion for wearing Black footwear has nothing to do with the myth that wearing Black apparel makes one appear slimmer.  Such a pedestrian notion is far from the truth.

Black is a visibly powerful shade of confidence.  It’s bad-ass.  Period. 

A single note from head-to-toe.  Walk in my shoes, my boots, and you’ll know.  Feet and soles (soul) covered in fabric, keeping me protected, letting me strut my scared, smart, fat stuff with pride.  Letting me be Black.  Letting me be a bad-ass Black woman, winning the life game at times, losing often and awfully, yet failing to feel one bit of remorse.  Hell, I didn’t create this game called Life.  I’m just a Black woman, wearing Black boots, determined not to live a life of expectations, but of grand adventures. 

Hasn’t always been smooth for this old sista/sister girl.  Frankly, it ain’t never been too easy either.  Sure, I wish I could call Yohji Yamamoto

and tell him to send me a pair of those Fall/Winter 2016-17 black lace-up calf-high boots with the gold hooks so I could march through D.C. like a Japanese fashionista.

Or tell Donnatella Versace I could sure use a pair of her Black pointed-toed, front zipper boots to stump out a couple of electoral-college voters.  But, I can’t. No, not this year.    

With society anxious to put me in “my place,” wearing good-looking, bad-ass Black boots from morning to night (yes, Ralph Lauren has us wearing them with Black evening dresses at night) is a call for some straight up, full coverage.  I’m talking about the one and the only—Chanel.  That’s right.  Her name sake label did it again.  Chanel understands what a woman has to go through.  Marching in the streets to get her point across.  Marching in her tweed boots, full up the leg, full coverage.  Full coverage even in Black.  Looks like Chanel got my Black boots firmly in this here reality. 

So, “Yeah,” I tell myself.  Pulling on my Coach brand, side-zip, to the knee Black boots with a top buckle and tassel. “V”, keep your head focused on the goal and wear a powerful shade of confidence.  Come out like a Black Panther on Seventh Avenue.  “Yezzz.”  From head to toe, drape yourself in Black and feel even Blacker in your Boots.

No one is going to take my future away.  No one.  No one’s going to slow down my stride.  I’m standing firm in my boots.  My Black Boots.  “Yeah.”

 

*Vanessa Brantley  Style395.blogspot.com  February 20, 2017,  "Blacker in My Boots"   Volume 3, Blog 1c [vol. 3, 1-1c].

 

Paying Homage to Southwest High School

CELEBRATING BLACK HISTORY MONTH

"Paying Homage to Southwest High School"

Each month, my goal is to write three blogs--one each about People, Places and Things--that I feel have grand style.  One of my basic rules is that I do not write about People who are deceased, mainly because I prefer to acknowledge grand people while they are alive.  Likewise, I chose not to mention grand Things that one cannot currently attain.  Yet, on the other hand, in reference to Places, this month I’m making a one-time exception in honoring a grand place that is impossible to visit.

Thus far, I have revealed my love of Paris, France and my spiritual retreat location of Annie Ruby Falls.  However, the one place that stands high in my memory of grand places is a place that can no longer be experienced, no matter how much money you have earned or how much power you have garnered.  This place is so exclusive, only a precious few have been granted entry, and even fewer people in the world given its prized diploma.  This place in the 1970s.... was Southwest High School in Atlanta, Georgia,

A place that now stands only in the memories of the mighty, mighty Wolves. 

From a fairytale army of attendance-charting students, averaging 93% daily attendance rates to Atlanta’s first cohort of Advanced Placement students, of which I was a member of the first historic 14, Southwest High School in Atlanta, Georgia can never be forgotten.  Our nationally-ranked athletic teams and our envied cheerleaders, band members, majorettes, and bannerettes set a standard of excellence no other local high school, rather public or private, could contend with the mighty Wolves.

With a well over 80% college attendance record, the mighty Wolves have today become entrepreneurs, managers, professionals, credentialed technicians, supervisors, educators, politicians, public speakers, leaders, advocates and change-agents.  We are artists, singers, writers, publishers, dancers, directors, actors, and musicians.  We are travelers and doers.  We have spouses and special loved ones.  We have children and grandchildren and nieces and nephews. 

We own houses and cars and vacation homes and dream of even more.  We are the backbone of a society that gave us the halls of ivy even while in a secondary-level of school.  We were more than a high school.  Southwest High School was more than a high school.  It was a place filled with true life stories of the fictional Cosby Show. 

Yes, America, there was a place where African-American students were just that fabulous!

We did not have security checkpoints on campus for there wasn’t a need to bring a weapon to school.  We did not fear one another.  We didn’t need your new gold chain or fresh Air Jordan’s.  We were fine in our Nik-Nik shirts and freshly styled ‘fros.  We were Wolves.  The mighty, mighty Wolves.

And no, we were not coked-out druggies waiting for the next hit of meth.  Nor did we disengage from our families and friends, avoiding face-to-face conversations, in turn to become robotic zombies swiping screens from left-to right.  We were talkers and thinkers, and students who laughed.  We were flirters and daters and planners for our futures.  We had no time for idle jive.  We were the brothas and sistas of the future.

We were the Wolves and we walked the halls of the mighty, mighty Southwest High. Say it loud and proud!

*Vanessa Brantley  Style395.blogspot.com  February 8, 2017,  "Paying Homage to Southwest High School"   Volume 3, Blog 1b [vol. 3, 1-1c].

 

 

Bev Smith: Journalist, Truth-Finder and Truth-Teller

CELEBRATING BLACK HISTORY MONTH

"Bev Smith: Journalist, Truth-Finder and Truth-Teller" 

 

For African-American people and people of Black African descent, life in America has not been smooth nor easy.  Trying to maintain sanity and a sense of success takes up most of our time.  Year after year, in an effort to keep up with the rhetoric, conspiracies, strategies, and current events, I’ve had to rely on social and political summaries from political activists and commentators. 

Looking back on the 1980s to now, I had a roster of regulars, my go-to commentators to help me stay in the know.  Besides the mainstay activists like Rev. Jesse Jackson, Rev. Al Sharpton (both ran for the position of U.S. President) and the Honorable Louis Farrakhan, I listened to excellent journalists with their own television and radio shows.  In particular, outlets for journalists/activists such as Tony Brown’s Journal or Dick Gregory and his books to Bob Johnson’s original BET cast with Ed Joiner, Tavis Smiley, Bev Smith and Jacque Reid were my preferred resources for world news and Black diaspora perspectives. I felt extremely secure receiving information leading to my attained knowledge. 

Then it all changed.

When Bob Johnson sold BET, my heart sank and a big resource for nightly news focused on my community disappeared.  What was an original concept for delivering “our news,” was no longer in existence. 

I have no idea what happened to Tony, Ed or Jackie.  Dick is still engaging, but mostly through YouTube videos.  Tavis mellowed out and became a Public Broadcast news figure. And Jesse and Al are now on mainstream television and radio, but rarely do they discuss other issues besides politics. 

Naturally, I thank Jesse Jackson and Al Sharpton for all they have done.  Their high level of sacrifice cannot be ignored or denied.  Their courage is God-ordained; if I am ever in trouble, do know I am going to call on Jesse and Al.

However, as a learned woman, I need more.  For years, I have traveled about and lived in many different states, ever searching for my kind of Black-owned talk radio stations and Black journalists with talk radio shows.  No, I wasn’t looking for a Herman Cain.  He’s not, nor ever will be, my kind of commentator. 

Although tired and frustrated, I never gave up.  One day, it happened.  I found her, again.  Bev Smith was on the radio.  I found her on WAOK 1380 in Atlanta, Georgia.  I’ve gathered that for decades, she has been on the radio out of Washington, D.C.  I can now listen to her night after night.  She never disappoints.

Bev Smith talks about it all.  Some nights she discusses education.  Other nights she discusses race relations.  Some nights it’s all about love and relationships.  Then other nights, yes, it’s politics. 

Settings her apart from other journalists, is her courage in finding the truth behind her topics.  Whether it’s the truth about Thanksgiving or the genetically-modified produce on our tables, she’s my go-to commentator.  She can be an out-spoken advocate for her beliefs and a watchdog over governmental actions.  She’s not afraid to be bold and in-your-face.  She calls a trump, a trump!  And I’m right there with her. 

Bev Smith, many people may not know about you or how long you have been a voice for your people.  However, for this 2017 Black History Month, I just wanted to salute you and thank you.

Bev Smith, you are a Journalist, a Truth-Finder and a Truth-Teller.  Know for a lifetime that I am listening.  

*Vanessa Brantley  Style395.blogspot.com  February 5, 2017   "Bev Smith: Journalist, Truth-Finder and Truth-Teller"   Volume 3, Blog 1a [vol. 3, 1-1c].

Annie Ruby Falls...Where God Lives

Annie Ruby Falls…Where God Lives

Years ago, I told a guy I was dating that I wanted to take him to where God lived.  Of course, he laughed and indulged my offer for a day trip.  I told him we would not leave the state of Georgia, but do expect a bit of a drive.  He had no idea I was taking him to one of the most beautiful and serene areas in the state.

I was roughly 16 years old when I first saw where God lived.  As the Senior Class President, I was often invited to attend city-wide meetings with other student leaders.  This trip, however, was set for an entire weekend, out of the city.  We were headed to Helen, Georgia, a place my parents had never visited.  Although, my mother and her friends were faintly familiar with the name Unicoi State Park and Lodge, none of them had been there.

Scared and nervous, mainly because I was away from home--and headed to an unknown place--I quickly found my smile widened as the mountain-surrounded structure called Unicoi Lodge appeared through the soft falling snow.  I had never been skiing nor I had I ever been to a ski lodge.  But surprisingly, I thawed and began to feel right at home.  Walking through the conference center, passing the large warm fireplace, I knew I would return one day to show family and friends this enormous building in the heart of the north Georgia mountains.

An hour later, after settling in our rooms, we were told to prepare for a side-trip to the Alpine Village in Helen, a German-inspired wonderland.  The Village made me feel like a character in the movie, The Sound of Music.  There was European food, drink and handmade toys, along with authentic music one would normally hear sweeping throughout the Alps.  The trip was incredible, but the next day, we were headed to a most tranquil place.

We left out early that morning.  All of us told to wear comfortable walking shoes, ones we didn’t mind getting wet.  Such an odd request I thought.  We walked and paused, taking in the trees and natural, unspoiled setting.  With every step, the sound of rustling water grew louder.  The sound wasn’t scary.  I was simply curious.  Where were we headed?  I had only heard of a waterfall, never seen one up close.  And then it appeared!

Half rainbows and pounding waters, not one but two merging, powerful downspouts of roaring waterfalls.  Wow!  It was magnificent.  The power of God was here.  The brilliant light, the cooling sprays of water hitting the creeks below.  I’m struck with silence.  Take it all in.

Years later, the man I was dating was having the same experience.  He, too, fell silent.  Looking back and forth from me to the waterfall.  He shouted in a whisper towards me....you’re right, this is where God lives.

For those of you who can, do visit Annie Ruby Falls in Helen, Georgia.  And for those of you in other states, take time to visit local waterfalls.  It’s a trip you will never forget.  You will find peace in a godly place.

*Vanessa Brantley  Style395.blogspot.com  January 26, 2017   "Annie Ruby Falls…Where God Lives"   Volume 2, Blog 1b [vol. 2, 1-1c].

"Hillary Rodham Clinton: Leader Amongst Olympians "

"Hillary Rodham Clinton: Leader Amongst Olympians"  

Saying goodbye to President Barak Obama hasn't been easy.  We, the People, spent over a year listening to speeches, advertisements and comments to help us decide who to vote for next.  A decision had to be made about who would represent us, the American People, for the next 4 years.

On a long and exhausting November Tuesday in 2016, we made the right decision, a very popular decision to support and vote in Hillary Rodham Clinton as our next American President.  We made the right decision, the intelligent decision, the only sane decision.  We voted to finally have the first female candidate for the Democratic Presidential ticket serve as our commander and chief.  We voted for Hillary, the most well-qualified candidate in modern history to run for the position of President.

We voted for you, Hillary...and Hillary...you won.

Hillary Clinton won the popular vote.  She did not win by 10 votes or 10,000 votes.  She won by millions of votes.  She is the President of the People.  She is Madam President. 

I don't need permission to say that I supported her.  I don't need approvals or endorsements.  I wanted to vote for her because I wanted her to win.  She was the best and most qualified candidate, period. 

Hillary Clinton has a talent I will never have as a woman.  I would not know how to control my hurt and anger while having to endure a public scandal as a wife, mother and sitting First Lady.  I would not know how to pick myself up, brush myself off and have the nerve, experience and confidence to run for state office and win.  I would not know how to work daily amongst evil-intentioned people determined to bring down my values, my family and life goals in a city miles and miles away from the comfort of my family's love and friends' compassionate arms. 

And most certainly, I would not know how to stand tall after defeat, awaiting God's wisdom and vision to place me out in the world to learn even more in preparation for the global stage.  I would not know such inner strength.  I could come close, but never arrive within even an inch of the strength and courage of Mrs. Hillary Rodham Clinton. 

Hillary Clinton ran for the position of President of the United States, not once but twice.  Hillary Clinton stood against campaigns and opponents that only oral histories will do justice in telling fairly.  For what Hillary Clinton endured and survived required nothing short of divine destiny, prophetic contribution to an American mythology that will flow down in history from generation to generation. 

Hillary Clinton ran for the Presidency.  She is a Zeus, an Athena, and worthy of the mythological golden wreath.  She is Hillary, leader amongst Olympians.  She is leader of the People.

*Vanessa Brantley  Style395.blogspot.com  January 12, 2017   "Hillary Rodham Clinton: Leader Amongst Olympians"   Volume 2, Blog 1a [vol.2, 1-1c].