The Minister and Flo

Before I knew it, I had perfect attendance at God is Love. Not only was I a member, I had also gotten “saved.” Getting “saved” means that you accept the Lord, Jesus Christ as your personal savior. You vow, from that point on, to live a life that mirrors kindness, forgiveness, service and most of all, love. I don’t remember the exact day, but could imagine I felt the same way most do when this occurs. The minister would announce the alter call, tying the request to the the message he had just belted out. While seated, there was usually a sense of conviction that overcame you. You’d think, “Man, that message was for me, I needed to hear that.” Then, the minister would ask “If the Lord were to come today, would you be ready?” Then, you would feel even more guilty thinking that if He were to come, you would not make the number. So, off you went to the alter. The walk was always long no matter the distance from your chair and you would always be conscious of who was looking at you. Sweating, and breathing heavily, you’d finally arrive, standing next to the people assigned to alter calls. They would greet you, rub your back and shoulder and instantly the tears would start to flow. I guess crying was immediate because the moment is so intimate, so personal.

The Minister not only lead us at God Is Love, she became an important part of our personal lives. She treated us like her own, buying us school clothes, church clothes, and taking us out to dinner. On occasion, she would treat us to Sadie’s Buffet. Oh, how we loved to eat there. I hear it was located on the northern end of University Drive. There were 8 of us, so I imagine the bill was split amongst the minister and a couple of other folks who wanted to help out. “The Bufords” as we were called, would be be the first in line, consuming all of the fried chicken we could fit into our little tummies. And to top it off, we had ice cream. The bowls would be piled high, towered with nuts, cherries, strawberries….all of the good stuff. Those meals were so appreciated because Babalu wasn’t feeding us on a regular basis, and definitely wasn’t going to take us to a restaurant. We were full as ticks when we got home.

I think the most significant thing the Minister did for us, well at least the girls, was introduce us to dance. Her one and only biological daughter danced as a child and she wanted us to do the same. Fortunately, her daughter’s former dance school was still up and running and before we knew it, we were dancing at “Inner City Children’s Touring Dance Company , Inc. (ICCTDC), founded by Florene Litthcut Nichols. If you read Ms. Nichols’ bio, you would see that her dream was to” give the “gift of dance” to a small group of children in Miami’s Liberty City.” And that she did. If you grew up in Miami, you or someone you knew, attended her school. I don’t know if her business was labeled as profit or non-profit, but I do know we went for free, all because of the Minister. My sisters and I would walk from our house to the studio, which was located on 43rd street (I think) and 7th avenue. If you drive south on 7th avenue, there is a break in the road that leads you to an overpass. Just before the break, ICCTDC sat on the right. The building remains but is no longer in use.

I’m tearful every time I think about the opportunities we were afforded by dancing. I mean it opened our eyes to a totally different world. We went from a tunneled view of dreadful day to day living without purpose to panorama filled with direction, and intent. We learned tap, ballet, Duhnam, African (West) and Hip-hop (which I was the worse at). Ms. Nichols provided everything including practice attire, performance attire and even transportation at times. The only thing we had to do was show up. And that we did. How could we not, dance was now the highlight of our lives and we didn’t take it for granted. We all worked hard, well at least most of us. One of my younger sisters darted out of class one evening and never returned because she had to take ballet. She joined the track team, but now owns a very successful performing arts dance studio in Miami. Ironic, right?

We would perform for the mayor and a host of other city dignitaries. She taught us how to talk, walk and eat at a dinner table. The latter lessons were usually learned when she would invite us over to her house for one of her famous dinners. My greatest moment and memory as a dancer was performing in “The World’s Fair” of 1992. Spain was the hosting country. Man was I excited. Although the trip was free for me, the minister collected money so that I could have decent clothes for the trip as well as spending money. And as promised, I was at Miami’s International Airport with my Nike Sweat Suite (This was the company’s travel attire) on and ticket in hand. The trip was long, at least 12 hours, but the excitement I had overshadowed thoughts associated with such protracted travel time. The city was beautiful. I remember the houses being archaic pieces of art perfectly settled below the level of the roads. My only regret is not having a camera to capture those moments.

I think we were there for a week and performed for thousands of people, multiple times in that week. My pieces were “Put Me In the Mix” (M.C. Hammer), “Spreadin Rhythm” and “Compasa”. We had such a great time. Words nor actions could begin to express how grateful I, as well as my sisters, were (and still are) for those opportunities. Because of those experiences, they both own dance studios where they are the sole artistic directors and choreographers. And although I don’t dance formally, it continues to be one thing that centers me, always bringing me back to that moment, that moment I met two of the most important people in my life: The Minister and Ms. Nichols.