‘Everybody in the neighborhood knew who I belonged to’

Intelligent, culturally conscious, aware, down-to-earth, sophisticated, confident and compassionate — that’s North Philly-born and bred Mama Delores Carter Berry.

Berry was born on the 1900 block of North 24th Street in the early 1930s, to the Fullers, a well-known family in the neighborhood. At that time, young people were identified by their families. Elders would ask, “Who’s your people and who that child belong to?” Everyone knew the Fullers and little Delores.

“I was born at 1912 N. 24th St. to a family of adults. I was the only child and I was spoiled, but I came from a family of good, clean, non-smoking, non-drinking people. I was a happy child and I loved Saturdays because on Saturdays I could put on my mother’s high heels and go across the street to the drug store and buy a Tastykake. Tastykakes were big deals back in the day.”

Berry has vivid memories of when she and her mother moved into Johnson Homes — a well-kept, close-knit, public housing community — on Ridge Avenue between Sedgley Avenue and 25th Street.

“My mother finally got her own place. And Johnson Homes were clean. And they were people that ... agreed with each other and, and, and got along very well together. And that was my mother’s first apartment. And actually, I had my first bedroom in the Johnson homes.”

Berry attended Frederick Douglass Elementary School at 21st and Norris Streets and later went to Roberts Vaux Junior High at 23rd and Master Streets, which, at the time, was as predominantly white as the surrounding neighborhood.

“Yes, I went to Frederick Douglass Elementary School and I loved it. [Later, when she attended Kensington High School for Girls, things were a bit different.] Well, first of all, the area, the area, the Kensington area, was surprised to see about seven or eight of us Black young girls coming in at one time. But they were very pleasant and the teachers were acceptable. They weren’t so welcoming, but they were acceptable.”

She graduated from Kensington High School for Girls, where she and Daisy Carter (Editor’s note: Carter is the reporter’s mother) became fast friends after a mix-up in which Daisy Carter was accused of cutting class instead of Delores Carter . The school had only a handful of Black students, the surrounding community had a white working-class population and was a dangerous place for Black people in the 1940s.

“At one time a bunch of Black guys came up to … I guess to meet us. … Coming from North Philly they stood on … the corner and waited for us to come out of high school. And the police quickly came and removed them from the area. They never came back.”

The contrast between Berry’s school experiences and her life in her home neighborhood was noteworthy.

“Everybody in the neighborhood knew who I belong to. My nickname was Pete. So everybody knew when I walk from 23rd and Master to 24 and [Norris] who I belong to. I never had a fight. I never had anything taken from me. And I was a happy, I was a happy child.”

Berry and Carter socialized and raised their children together in central North Philadelphia.

“Marilyn’s mother and I used to walk every Tuesday night to Reynolds Hall. And it was called Mercantile Hall at the time, and we would get dressed up in our high heels and walk from 25th and Norris, which is where I lived. We were raising our daughters. She was raising Marilyn, I was raising Crystal and nobody else could raise our children but us and we didn’t leave them with anybody. And that was the way it was — our children were taken care of by us. …

Marilyn’s mother and I were the only ones that really wanted to be bothered with pure-blooded African men … the men that were directly from Africa, or just came here to go to school. They didn’t drink or smoke, and neither did Marilyn’s mother.”

After graduating high school, Berry was hired as a telephone operator at Bell Telephone Co. It paid the bills but wasn’t a pleasant experience.

“I worked for that racist organization Bell Telephone and, and I hated it. And they really did not like me because I had an attitude when I came there. I knew that those white women that work there had no more education than I did. And their parents came from no [better] financial situations than I did. And so I went there with attitude. And of course, they didn’t like me, but I didn’t care because I needed a job. And that’s what I went for, to get a job.”

She worked there for seven years, and while there went on a group tour to Europe.

“I went to Spain, Italy, Switzerland, and France, on a tour with white folks, where they could not understand why us Black folks would be on the same plane … going on the same trip with them. But we saved our money. We worked at the same telephone company. So we had the same opportunity. And we had a ball.

“But when we got to Europe, we were so accepted. It was unbelievable. Nobody stared at us twice, or came and asked us why are we here? It just didn’t happen. We were just beautiful. And the food was good. But the white folks we came with, they just couldn’t understand why us Black folks could have the same opportunities.”

Carter had introduced Berry to some of her African friends living in Philadelphia, and when Berry later visited Nigeria she felt warmly welcomed.

“I know I met some people that were from Nigeria and I went to visit the areas that they were from. ... When I was in Nigeria, the Black people treated me very warm and very friendly. I felt very accepted. I really did. And that is in opposition to when you go here in the United States.”

Berry was a member of the African Sisterhood, a group of African American women that was prominent in the 1990s, who wore white dresses accessorized by Kente cloth, and who supported cultural/educational programs for African American youth. She loved representing African culture through her locs and attire, and showed up at cultural events dressed in sharp mudcloth or other Afrocentric attire, looking like an African Queen/North Philly Diva.

“I want to say that I enjoy being Black. I never wanted to be anything but Black,” she said during her video interview.

Carter and Berry went together to the Million Woman March, which was all about unity. At 89, and living in a nursing home, Berry wanted to share her wisdom about unity with young Black people.

“I think that Black folks really don’t look out for each other as a family as they used to. And I miss that … respect one another. Stop and listen to one another. Know that we are all here together. We’re Black, we are not changing. We are all here together and we must learn to respect one another. That’s my advice. I would like the feeling of comfort that being around another young Black person gives you simply because they’re Black and you live in their neighborhood. That’s what I would like to see. The comfort that one Black person gives another simply because we’re all Black together. Period.”

Listen to Mama Delores Berry’s recollections in full below or click here.

Racism at Bell Telephone

Million Woman March

Editor’s note: Mama Delores Berry died before the publication of the Elders Project, but her memory and words live on in her oral history.