The incredible Jill Wakeman Goodman

Our office family had come together to support Jill when her husband died, and I was addressing a sympathy card when I realized she may have kept her maiden name. With research and a few computer clicks, the past of the curious, kind, intelligent woman I knew exploded into view. Suddenly, it made sense to me why Jill would regularly stroll down the hall to ask me about local political updates. You see, the gray-haired octogenarian I knew had been a civil rights freedom fighter in Mississippi.

Jill was already involved in civil rights activities by the time the Rev. Bob Beech visited her church in June 1966. He asked for volunteers to go to Mississippi to participate in the Delta Ministry Project. Jill “felt a tremendous need to answer his call.” She soon departed, with letters home arriving shortly thereafter.

In Hattiesburg, Mississippi, Jill canvassed and polled African American residents regarding voter registration, job discrimination and school and housing needs. Her correspondence shares the story of one woman who applied 13 times to register to vote before getting accepted. Jill’s volunteerism required very real bravery — underscored when the reverend himself had shots fired into his home. On June 25, 1966, Jill wrote: “There is a state of tension and fear 24 hours a day.”

Jill attended rallies, detailing in one letter that heat, dirt and misery competed for top billing with famous supporters there — MLK, Burt Lancaster, Sammy Davis Jr. “After the rally we decided we just couldn’t sleep on the ground, so we drove to Mt. Beulah. We pulled in about 1:30 a.m. and were met by armed (baseball bats) guards. … Seven the following morning we were again on the road. … After semi-recovery, we went over to the capitol grounds. 500 National Guardsmen complete with crash helmets, rifles, cans of tear gas, etc., and each time a car with confederate flags drove by the Guardsmen would cheer.”

These communications home were peppered with details that disturbed Jill — ubiquitous rules to hammer down racial inequity. African Americans couldn’t try on clothing in department stores or get library cards. They had specific seating in the movie theater. These efforts to marginalize African Americans, combined with more oft-reported heinous acts, prompted Jill to write, “If there’s a hell on Earth — in every respect it has to be Mississippi.”

It shouldn’t have surprised me that other San Mateo heroes, including former Mayor Claire Mack, knew Jill well. She also knew Jill’s parents and credited these “good people” for supporting Jill’s journey to Mississippi — a place Claire wouldn’t have dared to go. Last year, it was my honor to take both these ladies to lunch and listen to them talk about those years fraught with “good trouble.”

Jill Wakeman Goodman — yes, I learned she used both names — is fitting, because never have I met someone so awake in life as Jill, or so good. At 91 years of age, she decided Aug. 1 she’d squeezed all the juice out of this life. I was lucky enough to know her in her final chapter.

Jill’s previous chapters reflected a long resume of her passion for social justice right here in San Mateo County: mapping and pushing back against redlining by “testing” landlords with couples of color, advocating for the integration of San Mateo’s schools and her tireless efforts for organizations like Samaritan House and CALL, coupled with her positions on committees for social action, fair housing and fair employment practices. Jill crusaded alongside the likes of Ruth Nagler, Eleanor Curry, Erma Prothro and Mack.

Up until the final month of Jill’s life, she served others, continuing to write letters through her local church work to folks who needed comfort.

How history lives alongside us — with neighbors who’ve performed heroic deeds just because they were the right thing to do. You may not have known Jill, but she graced us in the humblest of ways and worked lifelong for real, positive change.

If you are interested in reading more about Jill’s 1966 boots-on-the-ground civil rights journey, you can find them online in the Digital Collections of the University of Southern Mississippi.

Lisa Taner is a longtime resident of San Mateo.