Kathryn Morgan, the Sara Lawrence-Lightfoot Professor Emerita of History,

Despite a series of small strokes last year that prompted her to move to an assisted-living residence, Kathryn Morgan, the Sara Lawrence-Lightfoot Professor Emerita of History, moves confidently with the help of a walker and has little trouble keeping up with a conversation. Complications from diabetes have impaired her vision, making it difficult for her to read or write. But Swarthmore’s first African-American professor retains the feisty wit, black pride, and inner beauty that have made her a beloved member of the Swarthmore community for almost 40 years.

Her two-room efficiency overlooking a parking lot off Rt. 320 in Springfield, Pa., is decorated with family photos and treasured African-themed art that formerly filled her seventh floor apartment at Strath Haven Condominium in Swarthmore. “My pictures help,” Morgan says. “The only other black resident when I got here—she just died. So it’s lonely for me, you know, culturally.”

“But I’m not dead yet!” she crows several times during our interview, griping about boredom with the daily routine of meals, medicines, and “little activities” such as bingo and Scrabble. “There’s nothing to do here,” she laments, craving intellectual stimulation. She says she’s looking to move, though it seems clear that going back to her apartment is not an option.

In April, Morgan came to campus for the kickoff of the new Kathryn Morgan Spring Poetry Festival. (listen: poetry reading) She listened as students, faculty, staff, and alumni read from Envisions, her 2003 volume of poetry, which was designed and illustrated by Professor of Studio Art Syd Carpenter.

The month-long festival was organized by Allison Dorsey, associate professor of history and coordinator of Black Studies. “Kathryn Morgan is an extraordinary scholar,” Dorsey says. “Too few students and faculty are aware of the contributions she made to the field of folklore, and even fewer are aware of her work as a poet.”

Morgan’s storied struggle for academic recognition and tenure in the 1970s won her the status of a black pioneer at Swarthmore. Now, at 84, she has another battle on her hands, but it’s fundamentally the same. She still wants to be recognized for who she is, to hold onto her dignity, and to stay connected to those whose lives she has touched and who have touched hers.

What’s your idea of a perfect day?
Go to breakfast—I like breakfast! Then get in the car and go swimming over at Strath Haven. Go shopping at the Dollar Store—I like the Dollar Store! Then have some good food and stimulating conversation. You know, with friends.

You once said that oral history is the deepest kind of poetry.
Things that happen in life—like love and happiness and tragedy—are all part of history. Take a topic like hunger, for example. When I think of hunger, I think of children being hungry and how awful it must be not to have any food. I think of slavery. I once wrote a poem about this: “I looked upon a falling star. I wished it was a biscuit.” A falling star is one thing, but a biscuit is something else—something a child can eat.

In the April Bulletin, Professor of History Tim Burke wrote that “the tree of history is nourished by dreams and stories, as well as by facts.” Do you agree?
Oh yes. History is just a whole lot of stories, and the storytellers are important. I’ve just joined [the National Association of Black Storytellers], and they go around and play drums and tell the stories—not just stories about people, but stories about trees, animals, stories about everything, water, rivers, everything. The whole world is a story.

What’s your idea of objective truth, and how can truth be found in history and poetry at the same time?
I was married to two mathematicians. They were always interested in the objective truth. But everything in life is not objective—the things you love, the passion that you have for your children and your lovers and the things that give you pleasure. They may not be objective truths, but they give you emotional satisfaction. You have to have joy, but you also have to have fear. You have to be afraid of something.

At age 84, does being a collector of stories give you any special insights about time?
When I was young, getting older was important. Birthdays were important. Now, I think in terms of lifetimes, of people being born and dying. It’s okay to think about what happens when you die. You have to think about those kinds of things. But you don’t dwell on them, because hey, what’s the point? I mean, you’re not dead yet!

Are you a religious person?
I think I am. The lady down the hall who died was a really beautiful lady. We used to talk all the time, and I felt very sad because I missed her. At least she was somebody to talk to. One of the aides saw that I was, you know, feeling kind of bad. And she said, “Oh, but you must remember that she was in pain, and she’s no longer in pain. In fact, she’s in heaven dancing with God.” And I said, “Oookay.” That made me feel better.

So is dancing with God your idea of heaven?
I don’t have a picture of what God looks like or anything. But dancing with God would be wonderful.

Sounds pretty ecstatic to me.
Yeah, it does! Wouldn’t it be nice if you could have a dance with God? I like to dance. I like the rhythm of life. I like it all!

Write to Kathryn Morgan at Harlee Manor Senior Commons, 463 West Sproul Road, Springfield PA 19064.