← Harold's Old Time Radio
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The rest of the story December 1994 Rosiola McCarty gazed down had her hands. They had kept her from starving for seven decades, and now their work was done. It was crippling arthritis that had stolen them from her. So now what? The 86 year old woman glanced at her threadbare Bible lying open on the kitchen table. God would know what to do, she said to herself. And as that hope occurred to her, a flood of memories washed up from the distant past and over her weary mind. Osceola McCarty grew up poor in Hattiesburg, Mississippi. She would never marry, never know the joy of children, never own or even drive a car. Osceola was in the sixth grade when her aunt became seriously ill, so sick that the little girl had to leave school to care for her. It was almost a year before she could return, but by then all of her classmates had gone on to the seventh grade. School would be too lonely now, she decided. So she told her family, I just want to go home. Good heavens, girl, what will you do to earn your keep? Well, she had done more than her share of washing and ironing while looking after Auntie. Perhaps Osceola might take in other folks wash for a living. It wouldn't pay much, maybe 50 cents a bundle, but surely it would be enough to get by. That day Osceola McCarty began washing and ironing for her neighbors right there in the tiny wood frame house where she grew up. And years passed, her family gone, she kept on washing and ironing, saving money as best she could. When shoes did not fit her right, she'd cut the toes out of the shoes, and when the binding in her thumb worn bible gave way, she fixed it with tape. Even when window air conditioners became affordable, she relied on an ancient electric fan to stir the leaden atmosphere through Mississippi's dog days. More years and more still, same house, doing the same work, until it became clear that her working days were done. But there was something left to do before she died, something she had thought about for quite a while. Now she would take the money she had put aside over the years, one crumpled dollar bill at a time, and she would see to it that some other little boy or girl growing up poor got started on a better kind of life. So Most everything Osceola McCarthy had saved, she then gave to the University of Southern Mississippi, specifically to finance scholarships for black students. And in turn, under a special trust agreement, her own modest financial needs would be met for the rest of her life. There was not much left. But wait a minute. What does this you say about scholarships, Paul Harvey, about trust agreements? Well, that's right. The true and perhaps best legacy of Osceola McCarty is the exemplary life she lived. Proof that most folks reach for more than could ever make them happy. Proof that working and saving and prospering thereby is not an impossible dream. For recent years, you may have heard of a washerwoman's gift. A scholarship fund presented to the University of Southern Mississippi in the amount of $150,000. Oh, no. You heard right. And now you know the rest of the story.