THE GREAT MAN THEORY OF HISTORY has been under attack of late. Schools throughout the country now spout an endless stream of nauseating filth upon the heads of such long-revered fathers as Christopher Columbus, Robert E. Lee and Henry Ford. Charges of racism, sexism, meanness of all shades, have been leveled against these gentlemen with a degree of rabid hatred possibly never before seen. Anyone caught admiring them is sure to be defrocked, disbarred or burned alive. As for me, I offer them no defense. First, there’s no percentage in it. And second, no use. My kind are whipped. I know it, and you know it. So I say—“To heck with Albert Einstein, Robert Kennedy and Abraham Lincoln.” Their time is over. I’ll not thank them or their sons. Not for anything. Instead I’ll lay credit for this book on a less controversial bunch—American Women.
American women remain unsurpassed, probably unequaled, by any group in the world. Their strength, fortitude, and spirit sit at the very heart of what it means to be an American. Over the course of the preceding pages you’ve come to know a handful of these American women, including such powerhouses as Eliza Jane Hammond, Hazel and Pearl Lower, and Esther Moss. Each is major a hero to my characters, the sort of person who fights back death and despair just when you think things couldn’t possibly get any worse. But each of these women also happens to be one of my great-grandmothers. So my debt to them includes my very life.
There are also, of course, innumerable women who, though they don’t appear in name, embody the very spirit of what I have tried to do with this book. Chief among these are my grandmothers, Jeane Hammond and Ada Allen Mills, and of course my own mother-dear, Karleane.
Then there are those women without whom this book could never have seen print. My agent and friend, Katherine Fausset, is a stalwart and a champion I do not deserve, but am ever thankful to have in my corner.
Outside of the bounds of the book, though no less important, are Joan Mitchell, whose marshalling of support from the great state of Alabama has been immeasurable, and Anna Mitchell, matriarch of “the folks” in Mississippi. Also of enormous influence and support has been the great Idaho horsewoman, Carol MacGregor. You might be interested to know that hers is the saddle Sadie rides.
Finally, a big open-mouthed kiss to the first girl I ever loved with all my heart—Sadie. If you knew her, you loved her. That’s all there is to it.
To each of these women, and to all American women, I offer my thanks.
But there is one American woman who for me stands above all others. My wife, partner, first reader, stalwart, and the best friend a boy named Lu could ever have—Day Mitchell. As I have said before and will say again, this book is as much hers as it is mine.