Columnist Jamala Rogers
Vincent Terrell, artist and activist, died of hypothermia on December 4, 2006, during the power outage in St. Louis.
I keep wondering if Vincent left us a message in his death, as he always did in his life.
Was he forcing us to look at preventable deaths?
Was he telling us to respect Mother Nature so as to quell her wrath in response to our destruction of the planet?
Was he appealing to our humanity to take care of one another?
If you knew Vincent, you know he couldn’t leave this world without some fanfare, some punch in the stomach, to get our attention.
Vincent was dramatic in his presence and his actions, but this didn’t always mean being loud and overpowering. He was adventurous, yet thoughtful. He was reflective, but he had a keen sense of humor.
He was always generous with his limited resources, his talents and his wisdom.
I remember Vince at one of the local observances of the National Day Against Police Brutality. The October 22 protest included a rally at the Municipal Courts. Vincent came with a bandana tied across his face, symbolizing most black men’s fear of reprisal from the police. It was a quiet but powerful gesture that will have an enduring impact.
Wiley Price captured that image, and the photograph appeared in the St. Louis American. The award-winning photographer also included it in a photo exhibit at the St. Louis Association of Black Journalists that year.
When Vincent’s friends and family gathered Monday to eulogize his full and engaging life, common themes permeated their stories. The important things in Vince’s life were family, friends, the community and African culture. He loved theater, music and nature.
A message was sent from J.D. Parron, renowned saxophonist, and spoken words came from poet Shirley LeFlore. Both were members of the Black Artist Group, better known as BAG.
Vince was a BAG member, an avante garde formation of the late 1960s. It brought together some of St. Louis’ most talented artists in theater, visual arts, dance, poetry, film and jazz. One of their goals was to “bring together many art forms into a unifying experience.”
He was born in St. Louis on July 19, 1945 and grew up acting in plays in the Laclede Town area. He graduated from Hadley Technical School, served in the U.S. Army and earned a master’s in art from Goddard College. He designed stage sets in New York, Boston and Houston.
Recently, an excited Vince told me BAG was reconstituting and he wanted to do a fundraiser for Reggie Clemons, who is on death row. That was so vintage Vincent, making and using connections to support critical issues in the community.
Michael Gaskin knew Vince since kindergarten. His childhood friend shared a story about an adolescent Vince writing a poem on the spot. He called it “Still Blue on Easton Avenue.” Gaskin later told me that Vince took him on his first trip to New York City as a young adult, remarking that Vince had already made two treks to the Big Apple before the age of 19.
I guess that’s what makes it hard for me to accept his death. Here was a resourceful person who had traveled all over with little or no money, who had probably cheated death more than once, but who got caught in the crossfire of Mother Nature and AmerenUE.
It is impossible to think of Vincent Terrell as a victim of anything.
For now, I won’t ponder about the unknown messages of his death. I’ll focus on what I know Vince was about while he lived. He was about the celebration of life and the struggle against all that oppressed and exploited life.
So, rest, my brotha, the struggle will continue.
Vincent Terrell leaves to mourn a brother, Jesse Lawrence Terrell, stepmother Iretta Terrell, niece Myra Patrice Terrell, nephews Cletus Terrell, Clifford Terrell and David Terrell, uncle Aaron Terrell, sisters-in-law Mary Dean Terrell and Alimetric Stewart, and host of other relatives, friends and fellow artists.