By Mark Wineka
mwineka@salisburypost.com
When Salisbury Mayor Susan Kluttz speaks at W.O.T. Fleming’s funeral Friday, I think she will say something about a man who was “one of the giants.”
“I just feel like we lost a great leader in this city,” Kluttz said Tuesday.
To her, Fleming was a giant in what he did for citizens who needed better housing and what he did for the city as a whole in improving race relations.
He surely will be remembered Friday for his influence as an educator, especially as principal at Lincoln, Monroe Street and Overton schools.
Mention will be made of his efforts to improve the lives of others, his contributions to Livingstone College, his impact on public housing and his influence on many generations.
He received the key to the city, and places were named for him, such as the Fleming Heights Apartments for senior citizens and the W.O.T. Fleming Parent-Child Center at Pine Hills.
That was the impressive thing about Fleming. He somehow always managed to bridge gaps, between young and old, blacks and whites, teachers and students.
“He didn’t prejudge us based on our views and opinions,” said Dana Merck, who came to know the much older Fleming more than a decade ago when Merck was a student at Livingstone College.
“He would listen to us and give us positive feedback about ideas and ways to solve problems. He was proactive, instead of reactive.”
In writing this newspaper eulogy for Fleming, I expected to use words such as “humble,” “unassuming” and “quiet” to describe him. I would have been right, to a point.
But the more I spoke to people Tuesday about Fleming, the more I learned he was anything but quiet.
Time after time, the folks I interviewed told me about their conversations with Fleming.
Kluttz spoke of a long talk they once had over dinner.
Byron Brown, his barber and former student, said he always had interesting discussions with Fleming in the chair.
Several weeks ago, Merck stopped on his way back from a trip to Atlanta to see Fleming. They talked for about 10 hours.
Afterward, headed for his home in Winston-Salem, Merck said, “I was just full with knowledge.”
Layton Woodcock, who was hired as executive director of the Salisbury Housing Authority when Fleming was chairman, said the last time he spoke on the telephone with Fleming the conversation lasted more than an hour.
Dr. Ada Fisher regularly stopped by Fleming’s house on West Monroe Street every Sunday and Tuesday. They would talk for hours, she said.
“He enjoyed engaging in spirited and intelligent conversation,” Fisher said. “He could out-talk me, and you got to go some to do that.”
Fisher recalled having to twist Fleming’s arm to speak one week with male students at Livingstone College involved in the Brother to Brother program.
Fisher thought the young men needed someone to give them perspective, but Fleming resisted, saying he doubted he had anything to offer a younger generation which seemed to know it all.
Fisher dropped Fleming off at the Brother to Brother meeting at 9. At 11:30, Fleming’s wife, Jolene, called Fisher and was desperate to find him.
Fleming was diabetic and hadn’t had his insulin or anything to eat, Jolene explained. Fleming and the students had become so engaged in their discussion that Fleming forgot everything else.
Why did he relate so well to people?
“He had a way of being judgmental in a non-judgmental way,” Fisher said. “That made him very special and unique. Young folks liked to hear what he had to say, and he didn’t mind putting the time in to get the work done.”
Countless times Tuesday I heard about a man who rolled up his sleeves to help people. Kluttz said Fleming was one of the leaders in the black community who influenced all races.
“People had so much respect for him,” she said.
Fleming told Woodcock it was all about working with people.
“Mr. Woodcock,” Fleming used to say, “if we’re not moving forward, we’re moving backward.”
Merck, now 36 and one of the student founders of Brother to Brother, forged a strong friendship with Fleming. In later years, he came to call him “Brother Fleming” and would clear his schedule if his travel ever took him close to Salisbury.
Fleming always had valuable information, Merck said, “and I would sit back and listen, soaking it all in.”
Brown, his barber, said Fleming was a tough disciplinarian as his principal at Monroe Street School. “He would do all the whupping before we went home,” Brown said, because he didn’t want the students’ parents missing work for something he could handle.
“He was always wanting us to succeed in life and do the best we can,” Brown added. “As a principal, he was the same way. He was hard on us because he loved us and wanted the best to come out in us.”
Esther Marioneaux, a retired teacher in the Salisbury school system, said she was probably too old to be mentored by Fleming, “but he gave me good advice.”
“He was always involved in the community and had such a positive attitude,” Marioneaux said.
If people fell down, she added, Fleming gave them inspiration to get back up.
Fisher and Marioneaux said Fleming battled many health problems, including prostate and colon cancer and diabetes. But he even found a way to be positive fighting disease, they said.
The women credited Jolene for closely monitoring his diet and care throughout his illnesses.
Fleming turned 90 on Saturday and died early Sunday morning. Brown had cut his hair Friday, and Fleming confided to him that he was losing his appetite.
After a birthday party Saturday, Fisher worried that the end was near. She knew Salisbury would be losing a valuable historical resource and a leader ó “You have a little wisdom after 90 years,” she said.
W.O.T., if you didn’t know, stands for Willie Odell Thomas. He started going by W.O.T. when he first started teaching because blacks then were seldom given a courtesy title.
The initials prevented people from calling him Willie, a privilege he reserved for his closest friends.
It takes a strong man to carry three names, let alone one.
Fleming was strong enough. Of that I am sure.