In the Jewish tradition, when someone passes away, they say, “May their memory be a blessing.” That sentiment beautifully captures the life of Margaret Kibbee, whose quiet presence, wisdom, and spirit left a lasting imprint. She passed away in March 2026. While her life and service have been honored, I write to remember the Margaret I knew.
Margaret once told me that she came to Mississippi at 19, just after Freedom Summer, traveling from Northern California to help Black residents in Indianola, Moorhead, and Sunflower register to vote. At an age when most people are still finding their way, she stepped into a place marked by tension and danger, fully aware of the risks. She lived in several homes across Indianola, including for a time in the back of Hollins Grocery, owned then by Martha Ford (formerly Martha Hollins), in Bear’s Den, a small community near Byas and Oklahoma Streets. There she lived with Otis Brown Jr., Cephus Smith, and other civil rights veterans. She also spent time living with Rosie Mae Price (formerly Rosie Mae Jones) on Hoover Street in Indianola. In the late 1960s, she lived with Otis and Ruth Brown in Sunflower.
I met Margaret in June 1999 during the Sunflower County Civil Rights Reunion. A scheduling mix-up delayed our program at the Union Hall on Curtis Street, and my mother offered our home as a gathering place. Margaret, who was living in Greenville at the time, came with the group. Quiet and reserved, she stood out as the only white person present—but not in a way that drew attention to herself. She simply observed, listened, and settled into the room. Over time, I came to recognize her calm, watchful presence and even temperament. She did not lead with words; she led with conviction.
One day, she shared a story with me that revealed the risks she had lived with. Hollins Grocery, where she, Otis Brown Jr., and Cephus Smith stayed, also served as a kind of bank for the civil rights movement and had to be guarded nightly because it was a target. On one occasion, someone threw a Molotov cocktail near the store. It did not ignite, but the danger was clear. She told the story plainly, without drama. I remember thinking about her at nineteen and wondering whether I would have had that kind of courage—to remain.
Some years later, I asked her why she stayed in Mississippi. She told me there was still work to be done—registering Black residents, rebuilding the Freedom School in Indianola, and supporting the community center in Sunflower—and she did not want to leave that responsibility to Otis Brown Jr. and others. She could have chosen a different life elsewhere. Instead, she chose to see it through.
Margaret’s contributions did not end with the movement’s early years. She remained deeply invested in preserving its history and ensuring those stories were told accurately. We worked together on six Sunflower County Civil Rights Reunions, where I came to value her thoughtful input. For the 50th anniversary of Freedom Summer in 2014, she suggested a screening of Freedom on My Mind, followed by dinner at the B.B. King Museum—an idea that brought people together in a meaningful way. When I invited Dr. Paul Ortiz and his students from the University of Florida to conduct oral history interviews with civil rights veterans, she agreed to share her experiences. She also contributed to the Indianola, Mississippi Civil Rights History Driving Tour booklet, supported efforts to honor Fannie Lou Hamer, appeared in a documentary on the Indianola Freedom House, and served on the board of Veterans of the Mississippi Civil Rights Movement.
Even as her health declined, Margaret remained engaged. She worked with me on the successful application for a Mississippi Freedom Trail marker honoring physician and early civil rights pioneer Dr. Clinton Battle. Although she was unable to attend the unveiling in September 2025, she was deeply pleased that his legacy was recognized. Always thinking about the next generation, Margaret and I worked on a bookmark about Dr. Battle to share at the event, with support from Zellie Orr. It would be the last project we completed together, though we had already begun discussing another.
What set Margaret apart was not just what she had done, but how she carried it. She moved with humility, listening more than she spoke. But when she did speak, her words carried weight. She was thoughtful, practical, and honest, and she gave her time generously. Whether speaking to students or community members, she understood the importance of keeping those stories alive.
Some of my most meaningful memories of Margaret are the simplest ones. She joined me for Mass at St. Benedict the Moor Catholic Church on several occasions, and afterward we would have breakfast at the Huddle House and talk about the homilies. Those conversations stayed with me because she didn’t just discuss faith—she lived it in the way she treated people and approached her work.
Over our 27-year friendship, I came to think of Margaret as a dear friend. There was comfort in knowing she was there—steady, honest, and grounded. Even if she missed my call, she would return it the next day.
What I will remember most is that she chose to stay.
She built her life here not out of obligation, but out of a deep sense of responsibility—to people, community, and something larger than herself. While others chose easier paths, Margaret remained rooted, doing her work in ways both seen and unseen.
Those of us who knew her now carry that responsibility forward. I am grateful for the years we shared—for her honesty, wisdom, and friendship. Her life was defined not by recognition, but by its impact—and her memory, indeed, is a blessing. Thank you to Margaret’s family for sharing her with us all these years.
