Jackie Torrence - The
Story Lady
Hailing
from an
extended family of tale spinners, Torrence learned everything she
needed to develop her craft from her grandparents, aunts, and uncles.
She was born on February 12, 1944, in Chicago, Illinois, but raised in
the South. Torrence spent her early childhood on Second Creek in the
North Carolina countryside, where she lived on a farming settlement
with her grandparents. Jim Carson, Torrence's grandfather, regaled the
family with traditional tales told to him by his own father, a former
slave. It was from Carson that Torrence first heard many of the
narratives her audiences enjoyed-the "Br'er Rabbit" parables (which
recount the adventures of a furry friend) and other African-American
tales that have been passed along from generation to generation by
descendants of slaves in America's rural South.
Overcame
Childhood Speech Impediment
Torrence left her grandparents' farming settlement when she was ready
to attend school in nearby Salisbury, where she lived with an unmarried
aunt. As a schoolgirl, she discovered that she had a speech impediment
and had to withstand the taunting and laughter of her classmates. She
was a lonely child, and the speech impediment might have destroyed her
self-confidence were it not for the nurturing attention and coaching
given to her by two extraordinary teachers. One of these, grammar
school English teacher Pauline Pharr, invited Torrence to write stories
and offered to read them out loud to the class, giving the shy child a
"voice"-and a creative presence-in the schoolroom.
Just before she entered high school, Torrence discovered that she had
impacted teeth, an uncommon condition in which a second set of teeth
develops, cramping space in the mouth and obstructing speech. With
corrective dental work, she was able to overcome her speech
difficulties, though progress was slow and came only with persistent
effort. A high school teacher, Abna Aggrey Lancaster, stepped in to
offer the support and encouragement that Torrence needed, coaching her
during and after school, and even on weekends. Soon Torrence was
reading the Scriptures to audiences that gathered during school
assemblies, gaining valuable experience for a future career that she
would never have anticipated for herself.
After high school, she attended Livingstone College and joined the
drama club, taking her newly found flair for public speaking to another
level. But Torrence did not remain a coed for long. Before graduating,
she met and married a ministerial student. The young couple began a
life on the road, traveling from state to state and visiting church
communities in the rural South. When Torrence told Bible stories to
church members, she did not realize she was honing skills that would
later come in handy.
Torrence gave birth to a child, whom she named Lori, but her marriage
to the little girl's father did not last. Needing to find a job to
support herself and her child, she left Lori with her mother in Granite
Quarry, North Carolina. An opportunity for employment presented itself
in the town of High Point, where the director of the public library
hired her as an uncertified reference librarian. With her $99
paychecks, which she received every two weeks, she had barely enough
money to make ends meet. But it was at the library where Torrence was
to discover that her talent for storytelling could be put to
professional-and even lucrative-use.
Dubbed
"The Story Lady"
It all started one winter day in 1972 when the children's librarian
called in sick and the library director begged Torrence to put aside
her other tasks and read a few of Richard Chase's Grandfather Tales to
the rambunctious crowd of three-and four-year-olds that had gathered
for story time. Torrence reluctantly agreed and was virtually thrown
into what was to become her new role, as a teller of tales. With her
irresistible manner and engaging expressions and gestures, she soon had
the youngsters transfixed. In fact, the children were so taken with
Torrence that she was named the library's regularly featured
storyteller, with a reputation that was quick to grow. Soon
larger-than-ever audiences filled the library's children's department,
eager to hear tales from the one they called "The Story Lady."
Torrence's gift for tale telling was a boon not only for the library
but also for Torrence herself, who discovered that demand for her
services could relieve her from the burden of poverty. Off-hours,
parents sought her out to entertain at their children's birthday
parties. "When I found storytelling and realized that I could make that
extra money, and pay my bills, and feed and clothe my child-I went
after that job with a passion," she told Mary Whited in an interview
for Storytelling Magazinein January 1999. "Storytelling meant that I
didn't have to go on welfare or food stamps. In the beginning, I worked
for anything. If someone had $5 to pay, I'd go. If they had $500 to
pay, I'd go. If they had $2 to pay or even a box of canned food
… I'd go."
When invitations poured in from people who wanted The Story Lady to
work her magic at events in local and neighboring communities, it came
time for Torrence to choose between her job at the library and a
freelance profession that seemed promising, yet risky. She chose the
latter, seizing every opportunity to build her career, which led once
again to a life on the road. After an article about her appeared in the
Charlotte Observer, word of The Story Lady spread to the National
Storytelling Association, which invited her to attend a convention in
Memphis. There, Torrence booked 50 engagements in one day, setting the
fast pace of her career. Appearances at festivals and schools, as well
as performances on radio and television, kept her moving from state to
state, and eventually from country to country. Audiences welcomed her
in Canada, England, and Mexico, and record companies released
recordings of her storytelling.
After these dynamic days of her early fame, which grew steadily
throughout the 1970s, 1980s, and 1990s, Torrence found the time to
translate her highly visual, performance-based artistry to the page. In
1992, she wrote Bluestory, a play about blues music, legends, and
poetry (she performed in the staged version, which opened to good
reviews in London). In 1994, she published The Importance of Pot
Liquor, a book that showcases the stories told to her by her
grandparents. In 1998, she came out with Jackie Tales: The Magic of
Creating Stories and the Art of Telling Them, which features 16 tales
of all kinds, with storytelling tips and closeup photographs of
Torrence that show how facial expressions and other tricks can make a
story come alive.
But Torrence's stories do more than just entertain. Her "Br'er Rabbit"
tales-and other African-American "animal tales" passed down to her from
descendants of slaves-are rich with history and illuminating evocations
of a lost age. They also document the antique dialect of the slaves, a
mixture of African mother tongues and white English learned on southern
plantations ("Br'er," for example, means "brother" or "mister"). On one
level the tales serve as moral parables, in which wisdom is prized and
greed is penalized, and on another they're instruments of insurrection,
rife with seemingly nonsensical code words and phrases that signaled
secret places where slaves would meet to escape north via the
Underground Railroad. "Now people are realizing that the heritage of
Br'er Rabbit is more than little kiddie stories," Torrence told Seattle
Times reporter Mary Elizabeth Cronin in May 1998. "[T]hese stories were
important to the making of history."
Supported
by the Storytelling Community
Torrence could keep up the hectic pace of her career for only so long
before it began to take a toll on her health. A case of arthritis
worsened in 1993, leaving her dependent on a wheelchair. Nevertheless,
she kept going, scheduling six or eight appearances each month. But
over the next five years, a series of disparate health problems
escalated. In June 1998, she was hospitalized for Pickwickian Syndrome,
a relatively rare, serious condition involving congestive heart
failure, high blood pressure, diabetes, respiratory and pulmonary
complications, weight control problems, and distressed or nonfunctional
muscles and bones. Her condition left her immobile, and she had to
learn once again how to walk and feed herself. A therapeutic regimen,
which included oxygen treatment, physical therapy, and weight
reduction, put her on the road to recovery. After losing 150 pounds and
making strides in her rehabilitation, she was able to leave the
hospital in October.
While she was hospitalized her medical bills piled up, depleting her
health insurance coverage as well as her personal funds. She sank deep
into debt-until the storytelling community rallied on her behalf,
establishing the Jackie Torrence Medical Fund and raising thousands of
dollars from supporters. At the 1998 National Storytelling Festival,
where Torrence had been scheduled to perform, the storytellers who
appeared in her stead donated their stipends to the fund. Other
participants and attendees made contributions as well, yielding more
than $5,700 at the festival alone. Though a gifted speaker, Torrence
struggled to find the words to express her deep-felt gratitude in the
pages of Storytelling Magazine: "I haven't worked since June, so I
haven't made a cent. But my bills have been paid. I'm not eloquent
enough to find the words to thank people for what they've done for me."
To Torrence's fans, however, her eloquence remains undisputed.
Preserved on audio and video tape as well as in print, her vast
repertoire of stories-which runs the gamut from hair-raising scary to
knee-slapping silly-continues to delight audiences. She has taken her
responsibility as a storyteller seriously, choosing her heroes and
villains very carefully (in Torrence's world, stepmothers, who are far
more plentiful in these days of broken families, no longer come across
as evil). And her influence is far-reaching: Both Disney and Steven
Speilberg's Dream Works team have approached her for advice on telling
stories better, while corporations like IBM and AT & T have
learned
from her how to sharpen their communications skills.
Although Torrence has benefited greatly from the support of others,
particularly in recent times, she does not forget the years of struggle
in which she relied solely upon herself. These are the realities that
so many classic fairy tales neglect to impart-which is why you'll be
hard-pressed to find a story like "Snow White" among Torrence's cache
of tales. Relating a childhood anecdote in which an aunt told her,
"Snow White, baby, you ain't never gonna be," Torrence explained to the
Seattle Times: "It wasn't meant that because I'm black I'm never going
to be white. It meant … whatever I get, there isn't going to
be
a prince getting it for me. I've got to make my own way."
-Biography
content from Answers.com (click to view)
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