Letters to Beatrice Piper

January 2020

Dear Reader,

Throughout my life, I’ve been guided by a light, a presence, an intense feeling, if you will, to do things. This journal I am writing now is a result of that intensity.

Currently, I am in Skaneateles, NY where I escape the pressures of Atlanta and take pause to think and to do. I have been coming here for the last few years in January for a couple of reasons. The first reason is logistical. A wonderful couple, who I met the first year I visited this quaint village, travels to Florida each January to visit family and soak in the warm weather. They knew that I liked the cold and snow of upstate NY winter weather, and they asked me if I’d like to stay in their home for the month of January. This way I would, not only get my fix of cold and snow, but also keep an eye on pipes that might freeze or un-welcomed guests who might want to visit. I was so grateful for this invitation, and I accepted it with little hesitation. 

Sophie and Cath, the couple with the house in the village, met my parents the previous summer when I took them up to see this enchanting village I’d found. Mom couldn’t stop gushing with complements about the beautiful way they had decorated their lovely home. And Sophie and Cath sat with warm smiles listening and thanking her as they savored mom’s southern accent. Occasionally, Sophie would look over at Cath with “ah-ha” mischievous grin, and Cath would return with an unspoken, “I know, I know” smile; their nonverbal exchange was an acknowledgement of the accent that Cath once had. 

Cath is from North Carolina close to the Smokey Mountains of east Tennessee where mom and dad are from. And that particular area has a very distinct accent and quite a unique style of speaking. The accent isn’t like the deep southern (almost British sounding) accent with open vowels and silent r’s, as in, 

 “Fatha, would you be an dia and stat the ca?” 

The accent from the Smokey Mountain area is more like the “hillbilly” dialect that comedian Jeff Foxworthy uses in his “You might be a redneck if…” routines. 

“You live oveR yondeR in that theRe holleR?” 

You could say it’s more “MeRcan,” than American. I know because I , too, had the same accent growing up.  It’s the accent I worked so hard to get rid of during college so I wouldn’t be type-cast as “only southern” roles when auditioning for parts in plays. 

It was fine that other people spoke that way. Cath’s accent was almost unnoticeable. And the parts that were noticeable were endearing. The way my parents spoke was endearing. But when someone told me that I  spoke with that accent, visibly, I  remained calm.  But internally, I  simmered with anger and disappointment with myself. 

I  broke Sophie and Cath’s nonverbal exchange, with a question, 

 “Sophie, do I  have an accent?” 

And I  braced myself for her reply. Sophie thought for a moment and quickly shock her head.

“No, not at all. You have more of a global accent: not quite midwestern, not west coastal. It’s more global; a bit of everywhere.” 

I  could have hugged her neck right there. And I  probably would have if she had been closer. 

 “Thank you, Sophie!” I  replied with a gratuitous smile. 

 “Why do you ask? Don’t you like the accent? I  find it adorable.” 

I  explained how I  struggled to get rid of it because of acting.  And I  shared with them how during my study-abroad program in London, my accent really stood out.  As more and more people pointed out how much they loved it, I  grew more and more to loathe the fact that I  had it. 

Returning to the States, I  had hoped that my time abroad would have eliminated any trace of my accent.  But, no such luck. The same accent relentlessly followed me to graduate school, and by that time, I had had enough of it. 

The contempt I had for the accent was obvious to everyone in my linguistics class. I  was on a rant about it in class one evening, and Dr. Midkiff, my linguistics professor, listened quietly as I pontificated. As I  wound down and wrapped up my opening arguments and verdict on the topic, Dr. Midkiff began to smile.  As he contemplated something, his smile grew bigger. Finally, with a look that revealed he was quite pleased with himself,  he clapped his hands and declared to the entire room, 

“Ron, I  have the best idea!” He exclaimed. 

Expectantly, I looked at him and smiled, myself, as he paused. Pondering a bit more, he chuckled to himself. The whole class was curious now. 

 “This will be the theme of your thesis!” He proclaimed. 

And everyone in the room erupted with varying responses of agreement with Dr. Midkiff, which only inflated his already-visible sense of pride that he’d come up with the grand idea. I, on the other hand, deserved an Oscar for the award-winning way I  maintained my composure and disguised my shock. Once the class settled down, I  replied,

“I   agree, Dr. Midkiff.  That is a great idea!” I said with a calm voice. 

And I held my smile tightly so I  didn’t reveal what I  was really thinking. 

Sophie and Cath laughed, and Cath asked if anyone needed refills. Mom and dad said no and thanked them for such a lovely time. We said our farewells and headed back to the bed and breakfast where we were staying by the lake.

A bond formed during that breezy Sunday afternoon brunch. It was a bond strong enough to give them the peace of mind to extend their January invitation.  I  was really surprised when they offered me to stay. We had only met three or four times since being introduced by mutual friends. But I  was so grateful for many reasons, but mostly, for the trust they had shown me by offering it. 

Gratitude is a strange and powerful value to exercise. I use the word exercise because it a value you must practice, use, and practice again, kind of like doing exercises, to use properly and achieve the intended result. Chick-fil-a’s policy in responding to expressions of gratitude is a clear example of achieving the opposite of the intended result. If you’ve visited one of their locations, you may have noticed their employees’ constantly repeated practice of saying, “my pleasure” after each “thank you” they hear. That practice is a perfect example of how NOT practicing giving and responding to genuine expressions of gratitude can result in the creating the opposite of the intended results.  Company policy blanket phrases forced upon every employee to use, regardless of the situation or the true feelings of the employee at the time,  are a mockery of the whole expression of gratitude. They sound fake, and they are fake because not everyone uses that phrase comfortably. And for a company to force the use of specific expressions uniformly to all employees at specific times or situations, it only highlights that only one participant in this exchange is the focus of concern. Obviously, the employees having to say this feel awkward because it isn’t a genuine expression we often use. And the awkwardness  is clear to the customer who probably feels sympathy for the employees forced to say it. A policy such as this clearly identifies that neither their customers nor their employees are the focus of their concern. That focus is only on the company. 

My gratitude for the retreat  invitation went beyond Sophie and Cath; it seemed to ripple out in all directions to everyone around me-and even beyond them. This golden-ticket invitation to stay in Skaneateles for the whole month of January gave me the chance to practice on myself what I had been coaching others to do for years. So, I put into practice what I had been thinking about for years. 

To express my gratitude for this retreat opportunity, I focused on the direct and indirect recipients who would receive it. Obviously, Sophie and Cath would receive my gratitude directly, so I focused on ways I could enhance their home while I staying there. Cleaning is one of my means of therapy, so I would do deep cleaning of such things as the oven, the bamboo blinds on the back porch, etc. Also, basic maintenance or repairs I would add to my list like repairing the parts of the bamboo blinds that had malfunctioned. And I reconditioned the blinds by cleaning them and treating them with lemon oil. I left these expressions as unspoken little gifts that perhaps one day would leave them with a nice surprise.

The indirect recipients are more difficult to identify and would be impossible to try and list. But the importance of expressing my gratitude is just as, if not more, important. So to accomplish this, I focused on ways I could improve as a leader to my employees, as a friend to my core group, as a member of my family, and as a global citizen. 

What’s been on my mind for some time is writing. I’ve been a journal writer since January 1993. But the intensity (you know, the light, the presence, the intensity I mentioned before) that once inspired me to write about myself in a personal journal, has evolved into writing for others-more specifically, to others. So, during my first January stay in Skaneateles (oh yes, can you believe it? That golden ticket was extended to multiple years!), I started writing “Thank you” notes to people I wanted to show gratitude and to wish a happy new year. January turned out to be the best time to do this because the holidays were over. Sending cards had stopped in December with holiday cards, and no one was expecting a card in January.

Furthermore, I wanted to send a message of thanks on paper, written with a pen in my handwriting, and send it with a stamp of my choosing. As Thomas Moore, the contemporary not the Lord High Chancellor of England under Henry the VIII, beautifully describes in, The Re-enchantment of Everyday Life, (and I paraphrase) one simply has to view the mundane task of sending a letter with a different perspective to revive its enchantment. 

For example, you write a hand written-heartfelt message, and you enclosed it in its own protective covering. Then, you seal it with a “kiss.” Next, you adorn the envelope with a miniature work of art or painting in the form of a stamp. And finally, you drop your enclosed-sealed-adorned message in a mysterious box that magically transports it to its intended recipient. This retreat would serve as a re-assessment of my work and home life, a realignment of my goals and objectives, and a redirection of my resources to accomplish my own re-enchantment of everyday life. 

This message from Moore many years before inspired me to apply this practice to writing letters to my team members. Once I finished with my team, I decided to expand this group of recipients to every employee in our agency statewide. Once this was complete, I expanded my list of recipients to include key individuals who, through their careers, lives and/or personal character, had positively influenced my life. Once this was complete, I expanded my focus and started applying tools I used at work for clients to myself and how I live and work. 

The first tool I used was as to conduct a comprehensive assessment of my life over the previous year. This was like riding a bike for me; I had been doing it for others often. For the previous decade, my role from coordinator to manager and finally director of Organizational Development at a state agency in Georgia required me know how to do this and do it well. I was responsible for making sure my team and I knew how to do such an assessment. I was also responsible for making sure the clients and leaders of companies to whom we provided organizational development services knew how by performance management and professional development training. 

My team and I worked hard to make sure that we provided the best service we possibly could statewide. And, like anyone in organizational development knows, we also had to make sure we were practicing what we were preaching. We, as a team, made a commitment to the agency leadership that, on day one of my taking over the leadership of our department, we would not only “talk the talk” of organizational development best practices, but we would also “walk the walk.” 

Now, you may say this is a lot of hullaballoos over an antiquated process that we now can do in seconds via text or email. But I challenge you to try view this process in this new light. I read The Re-enchantment of Everyday Life back in the 90s, and it changed the way I honor and respect the act of showing gratitude via letter or card. This is a gesture of love and gratitude that inspires the receiver. It fills them with a warmth that shines on their face. And it instills in them a memory of you to embrace their mind. This magical missive builds an energy of healing light that encapsulates both the rider and receiver in a bond of gratitude. And in today’s language, no shit, man. Try it!

This small gesture of writing January cards of thanks grew from just a few people to many more, some even global. I’ve written to my staff and colleagues, my contractors, dear friends, people I’ve recently shared time with over the past holidays and also to family.

For the third year in a row, I’ve purchased my cards for showing my gratitude at a village local shop called Pomodoro. This year I found cards covered in effervescent peacock feathers. I just resonated with awe when I saw the cards, and that energy only grew stronger as I wrote each card to special people. So, I returned a second time to purchase more today to take home with me. That is when the shopkeeper introduced me to this matching journal also covered in effervescent peacock feathers. Although not my typical journal size, I didn’t hesitate to buy it.

This evening, as I rounded the back staircase into the kitchen, I was suddenly struck with the urge to write more cards to people whom I don’t know personally, but who have inspired me with their work. That’s when I saw this journal, sitting on the white marble kitchen island. I stopped, placed both hands on the corners, and began to cry. Then, I looked up and wiped my tears away. My inspiration was clear. “Fill this journal with letters of gratitude to those whom a card can no longer reach.”

Like the small thank-you cards of the same design that I’ve sent. May this journal be my card of gratitude to those who have gone, but continue to inspire me and shape my life. And so, it is. And so, it is.

February 15, 2025

11:11 AM

Dear Beatrice Piper, 

I’m your grandson…your only grandson, actually, and I write to you with some hesitation. Usually, I write in this journal to people I have known, but who have passed on. But we didn’t know each another as you passed eight years before I was born. Though we didn’t know each other, I’ve heard so much about you. And even though I’ve heard so much about you, I know only what others tell me. And though I don’t know you at all, what I have heard about you, makes me feel that you, of all people, are…were well aware of how destructive what others say can be. 

Does that even make sense? Am I making a fool of myself for even doing this? The other letters I’ve written here are to people I knew well. So, I can write to them because I know how they’d react. And that lets me write naturally and with ease. But I didn’t know you, and I don’t know how you’d react. So, I struggle. 

Can I show you an example? Maybe that would make this easier. And maybe by reading other letters, you’ll know me a bit better. Well, here goes. 

The first letter in my journal to those who have passed on is to Gladys Ruth McMahan, my maternal grandmother. From what I gather, you knew her well. She and my Papaw McMahan, her husband, were good friends with your parents, Vesta and Dadi Burchell. I have pictures of them going on picnics together. But of course, you already know all this. So, let’s get back to my letter to Mammaw. That’s what I called her and still do today. Perhaps, through this, we can decide on what I can call you? Beatrice Piper just sounds too cold and disrespectful to me. But, I will wait until we can decide that together. 

April 11, 2021

Dear Mammaw,

You are the first one I write to here because you have always been my source of knowledge and inspiration. You always showed me love and concern unconditionally when I was down or sick. You were there for me with just the right medicine to get me through. I will never forget all the things you did for me, and more importantly, I will always turn to you for help. Even in death, you are there for me. Thank you!

This past year has been exceptionally hard for everyone with the global pandemic. But, Mammaw, it has been especially hard for me. You know because you have been there for me when no one else was. You and Papaw, and even Papaw Hartsell have arrived just in time to remind me that I am never alone. 

I have to share with you the shock of my life that I will cherish until it is over.  As you know,  I write letters. And writing this letter about another letter could get confusing so I will keep this brief. Last year, I expanded my recipients to anyone who has positively influenced my life significantly. This list included such recipients as Queen Elizabeth II, Hillary Rodam Clinton, and Henry Louis Gates, Jr. Receiving a reply to any of these letters was not expected. So you can imagine my surprise and utter shock when several weeks later, I received a response. This response brought me to tears that started in the mail room of my condo and lasted all the way up 34 floors in the elevator to my condo. Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II her self, the longest reigning monarch in history, responded! The Queen, herself, wrote a personal letter of gratitude thanking me for my kind letter. She even personalized it by pointing out specific parts of my letter like my studying there in the early 90s. That was one bright light that evaporated some of the darkness I’ve face since just after sending her letter. I am very grateful for that. 

The world has had to quarantine for over a year now and wear masks when out and about to avoid the virus. Thank God for virtual meetings and internet access for without those, I would’ve never survived. I haven’t seen family in almost a year and a half, and that has been hard. Fortunately, I have been able to keep working from home, but as you know, that too has come with some seemingly insurmountable challenges. 

What’s really shocked me through it all is how alone I’ve felt. You taught me to work hard, to take care of the family, to study hard and to do the best I can do in all things. And, Mammaw, I’ve done that. I know you’re proud of me. But one thing I didn’t learn or may have missed is when does all that hard work pay off? 

I come to you now because I know that at the end of your career, you were betrayed and made to feel very much alone by your friends, colleagues, employees, and even family.

I was too young to understand all that went on during that time, but please know that I knew you were wronged-and I wish I could have been older to help in some way. 

Dear Pappaw McMahan, 

You were always there to take me for a ride, to teach me to drive and to go for ice cream at just the right moments. You put up with my antics as a kid that must have driven you crazy at times. But please know that through those games, I came to love and cherish you more than you know. Your hands continue to this day to be a reminder each time I look at my own of those precious walks, those adventurous drives, and all that ice cream! Thank you!

The loneliness you must’ve felt all of your life growing up without parents and a stable home. Never learning to read and having to rely on Mammaw and Mom for even the simplest things. Papaw, I hope you know you were and still are the one I consider to be a father to me. And I won’t forget all the times you continue to visit and be with me even after you passed. Know that I’m fully aware of those times, and I’m eternally grateful. 

Dear Pappaw Hartsell, 

I think of you almost daily as I navigate these lonely times in my work and in my home life. Your passion for learning, your silent observation, and your accomplishments, even when it seemed you were very much alone, continue to guide me and keep me motivated in times when I am very much alone. Thank you!

Mom and Dad have been absolute jewels during this tumultuous year. They have openly listened and been my source of strength when the rest of the family left me devastated and in silence. Thank you for them and for the lessons you taught them – those lessons certainly were evident in how they supported me this year. 

The rest of the family, except Christy and the other Hartsells, puzzles me. Christy struggles now and needs your help. She won’t reach out to the family for help so none of us know what to do nor how to help her. Please find a way to reach her so she can be a good mom to Christopher. Y’all would be so proud of him. 

My heart is broken over my relationship with Ronda. We’ve done what we can do to repair the broken communication, but the wounds of how she and her family views me will never fully heal. I suppose that’s just a part of growing up and learning how to be an adult sibling. But I’m struggling with just how deep these wounds are. 

Same with work. You know my heart. And what y’all taught me still guides me today: work hard and always do the right thing. But like the deep wounds from the friction in the family, there are threatening wounds just as deep from the way I’ve been ostracized at work. How did you handle your being treated this way? Even after all of this, I still want to do the right thing by all and try to repair these relationships. But I need your help. And all three of you carry a piece to help me complete this puzzle. I need you more now than I’ve ever needed anyone. 

Thank you all for being my rock, my source of inspiration, my mentors for life. Without you, I would cease to exist. I love you with all my heart. 

Yours forever,

Little Ronny

February 15, 2025

6:00 PM

Dear Mrs. Piper,

I didn’t realize I had written to Pappaw McMahan and Pappaw Hartsell in the same letter.  I’m sorry I didn’t give you a heads up on that.  It must be hard for you to read something so heartfelt to my grandparents-of which you are very much a part, but never got to participate in. And it must be even harder to read that letter to Papaw Hartsell, your first husband. 

I want you to know, I come to you with no judgement.  And being one who has been judged, and wrongfully so, I come to you with an open heart to learn about you.  And I want to learn from you as you are as you will always be my grandmother. This is our time to learn about one another, warts and all. 

I don’t know anything at all about what y’all are able to know about those of us who are still here, alive and all. So, I come to you with everything I am so as not to hide anything. I assume you know everything already. So I hope you will see that my opening up to you with everything is my way of giving unconditional honesty. And I  do this with the hopes that you, too, will show me unconditional love. That is all I ask. 

And one last thing before we get started. I want you to know, I’m so very sorry it’s taken me so long to write to you. My apology is genuine.  But I give it knowing that these things happen in due time.  And now is our time.  Thank you!  Thank you so much…

More to come, Mammaw Piper.  May I  call you that?  I  do hope so.

Yours forever, 

Little Ronny