I like folklore, like a lot. Urban legends are in a close second, but folklore really gets me.
I remember learning all these weird stories as a kid about why things were the way they were, and while they were frequently explained with cultural and logical context, it has never stopped me from thinking there might be a kernel of truth.
One lore I have heard many times is the one about the dragonflies. You’ve probably heard the Native American story that a “red bird” or cardinal is a spirit of a loved one visiting you. I had always heard that dragonflies are visitors from the other side.
Earlier this year I wrote a profile piece Wes Merritt, Gainesville’s first African American disc jockey and show host. His story really stuck with me, to the point I stopped by his grave site just the other day to say hello.
Really, I was just returning the sentiment. I’ve seen more dragonflies this summer than I have in my entire life, sometimes after I had been thinking about him for one reason of another. My story has long since been published, but I just get the feeling that I’m not done working with Mr. Merritt just yet. He’s technically my colleague, anyway, even though we worked at WDUN decades apart.
My relationship with Mr. J. Wesley Merritt has been full of symbolism. One January evening, I was lounging on my couch while looking through a list of African American Achievers on the Beulah Rucker Museum website for Black History Month local profile ideas when I saw a string of initials. Then I realized that aside from the J., those letters were our call letters! I felt a shock run through my chest, the same kind of shock I felt when I stuck a bobby pin in an electrical outlet when I was nine. I sat straight up. Sign number one. Subject found.
I allowed myself to delve into what I could find about Wes Merritt’s life and got lost. I found a lot of surface stuff but I wanted more. But I had a deadline, so the story I had was published and I continue to dig along, hoping I can reach just the right contact or find just the right something that would lead me to what I want to know. Which, I don’t know what it is exactly that I want to know, so it’s tough to know where to go from here.
The day after I published the story was J. Wesley Merritt Sr. Day in the city of Gainesville in 1993. I picked up some chocolate milk and a bouquet of sunflowers – symbols of longevity, loyalty and adoration - on my way to Alta Vista Cemetery, where I sat graveside after arranging the flowers. When I finished my milk and my seemingly one-sided conversation, I got up to say goodbye and was cut off by church bells. It was a half hour chime at 11 a.m. I laughed. Second sign. I didn’t realize til later that not only should I have not heard a half hour chime on the top of the hour, but I also couldn’t pinpoint what church the bells were coming from.
Months later I was driving home from work and suddenly started thinking of the radio pioneer again. I parked my car and tried not to feel forlorn or melancholy. As I took the dog outside in the summer heat, a big, fat dragonfly with bright blue markings greeted me. He danced around me and zoomed through my yard, happy, happy, happy. Sign number three. I think he was trying to cheer me up.
This patterned continued in the summer months if I would think about Wes. Lone dragonflies with thick bodies and quick wings would fly near my car, glide by arm or otherwise make themselves known. They never looked exactly the same.
The day after my most recent trip to the cemetery, I was walking the dog when I heard a chirp at the corner of the main two streets. The sun was setting and everything was blue and grey. I looked up and searched for my visitor.
Surprisingly, this time I saw a large, red bird.
