[Congressional Record Volume 141, Number 133 (Wednesday, August 9, 1995)]
[Senate]
[Pages S12077-S12079]
From the Congressional Record Online through the Government Publishing Office [www.gpo.gov]


                             OSEOLA McCARTY

  Mr. COCHRAN. Mr. President, the Hattiesburg American newspaper in my 
State carried two articles earlier this week about a remarkable woman 
and her generous gift to students in financial need at the University 
of Southern Mississippi.
  Ms. Oseola McCarty, who was born on March 7, 1908, in Mississippi, 
and saved the money she earned from washing and ironing clothes for 
others for over 60 years, has decided that the bulk of her estate, 
$150,000, should be given to the University for scholarship assistance 
to African-American students.
  The story was aired on NBC Nightly News by Tom Brokaw.
  The President of the University, Dr. Aubrey K. Lucas, said, ``I don't 
know that I have ever been as touched by a gift to the University as I 
am by this one.''
  Ms. McCarty said, ``I just want the scholarship to go to some child 
who needs it, to whoever is not able to help their children.''
  Mr. President, as we struggle here to rewrite the welfare laws, we 
can learn, with humility, and deep respect for Ms. Oseola McCarty, that 
our country would benefit greatly from her example of hard work, 
frugality, and concern for the needs of others.
  I ask unanimous consent that the two articles from the Hattiesburg 
American be printed in the Record.
  There being no objection, the articles were ordered to be printed in 
the Record, as follows:
            Local Woman Makes Extraordinary Donation to USM

                           (By Sharon Wertz)

       Oseola McCarty's lined, brown hands, now gnarled with 
     arthritis, bear mute testimony to a lifetime spent washing 
     and ironing other people's clothes.
       Less evident is how this quiet, 87-year-old woman came to 
     donate $150,000 to the University of Southern Mississippi.
       ``I want to help somebody's child go to college,'' McCarty 
     said ``I just want it to go to someone who will appreciate it 
     and learn. I'm old and I'm got going to live always.''
       McCarty's gift establishes an endowed Oseola McCarty 
     Scholarship, with ``priority consideration given to those 
     deserving African-American students enrolling at the 
     University of Southern Mississippi who clearly demonstrate a 
     financial need.''
       ``This is just extraordinary,'' said USM President Aubrey 
     Lucas. ``I don't know that I have ever been as touched by a 
     gift to the university as I am by this one. Miss McCarty has 
     shown great unselfishness and sensitivity in making possible 
     for others the education she never had.''
       Bill Pace, executive director of the USM Foundation, which 
     will administer McCarty's gift, said ``This is by far the 
     largest gift ever given to USM by an African American. We are 
     overwhelmed and humbled by what she has done.''
       McCarty's gift has astounded even those who believe they 
     know her well. The customers who have brought their washing 
     and ironing to her modest frame home for more than 75 years 
     read like the social register of Hattiesburg. She has done 
     laundry for three generations of some families. In the 
     beginning, she said, she charged $1.50 to $2 a bundle but, 
     with inflation, the price rose.
       ``When I started making $10 a bundle--I don't remember 
     when--sometimes after the war--I commenced to save money,'' 
     she recalled. ``I put it in savings. I never would take any 
     of it out. I just put it in. It just accumulated.''
       Actually, she started saving much earlier. McCarty, seated 
     in her small, neat living room--the linoleum floor gleaming, 
     a spotless pink bedspread pinned carefully over the sofa--
     related her story quietly and matter-of-factly.
       Born in Wayne County on March 7, 1908, she was raised by 
     her mother, Lucy, who moved to Hattiesburg when Oseola was 
     very very young. Her mother, she recalls, worked hard to 
     support her young daughter.
       ``She cooked for Mr. J.S. Garraway, who was Forrest County 
     Circuit Clerk, and--she would go to the schoolhouse and sell 
     candy to make money. She would leave me alone. I was scared, 
     but she didn't have no choice. I said then that when I could, 
     I would save money so I could take care of my grandmother.''
       Young Oseola went to school at Eureka Elementary School. 
     Even as a young child, she worked, though, and her savings 
     habit started early.
       ``I would go to school and come home and iron. I'd put 
     money away and save it. When I got enough, I went to First 
     Mississippi National Bank and put it in. The teller told me 
     it would be best to put it in a savings account. I didn't 
     know. I just kept on saving.''
       When Oseola was in the sixth grade, her childless aunt had 
     to go the hospital, and McCarty said, ``I had to go and wait 
     on her. When she came out of the hospital, she couldn't walk, 
     and she needed me.''
       McCarty never returned to school. ``All my classmates had 
     gone off and left me,'' she said, ``so I didn't go back. I 
     just washed and ironed.''
       Over the years, she put money into several local banks. 
     While banks merged and changed names and management, 
     McCarty's savings grew.
       Her grandmother died in 1944, her mother dies in 1964, her 
     aunt died in 1967, ``and I've been havin' it by myself since 
     then,'' she said. Her mother and her aunt each left her some 
     money, which she added to her savings. In 1947 her uncle gave 
     her the house in which she still lives.
       Bank personnel, realizing that McCarty was accumulating 
     sizable savings, advised her to put her money into CD's, 
     conservative mutual funds and other accounts where it would 
     work for her.
       Meanwhile, McCarty washed and ironed and lived frugally. 
     She never had a car and still walks everywhere she goes. She 
     shows a visitor the shopping cart she pushes to Big Star, 
     more than a mile away, to get groceries. For the visitor's 
     benefit, she turns on the window air conditioner bank 
     personnel only recently persuaded her to get.
       Nancy Odman and Ellen Vinzant of Trustmark Bank have worked 
     with McCarty for several years, not only helping her manage 
     her money but helping look after her personally. It was they 
     who helped her get the air conditioner. They also were 
     concerned about what the future held for her.
       ``We both talked with her about her funds and what would 
     happen to her if something happened,'' said Odam. ``She knew 
     she needed someone to take care of her.''
       McCarty, who never married, said, ``After my aunt died, I 
     began to think, I didn't have nobody. I began to think about 
     what to do 

[[Page S12078]]
     with what little I had. I wanted to leave some to some cousins and my 
     church. But I had been thinking for a long time . . . since I 
     was in school . . . I didn't know how to fix it, but I wanted 
     to give it to the college (USM). They used to not let colored 
     people go out there, but now they do, and I think they should 
     have it.''
       Odom and Vinzant referred McCarty to Paul Laughlin, 
     Trustmark's assistant vice president and trust officer.
       ``In one of our earliest meetings, I talked about what we 
     could do for her,'' Laughlin said. ``We talked about 
     providing for her if she's not able. Then we turned naturally 
     to what happens to her estate after she dies.
       ``She said she wanted to leave the bulk of her money to 
     USM, and she didn't want (anybody) to come in and change her 
     mind. I called Jimmy Frank McKenzie, her attorney--she's done 
     laundry for him for years--and he talked to her. He made sure 
     it was her idea. Then I met with her to let her decide how to 
     divide her money up.''
       Mr. Paul laid out dimes on the table to explain how to 
     divide it up,'' McCarty said.
       Laughlin said, ``I got 10 dimes (to represent percentages). 
     I wrote on pieces of paper the parties she wanted to leave 
     her money to and put them on the table. Then I asked how she 
     wanted her money to be split up. She put one dime on her 
     church and one each for several relatives. Then she said she 
     wanted the rest--six dimes--to go to the college. She was 
     quite definite about wanting to give 60 percent to USM. To my 
     knowledge, she has never been out there, but she seems to 
     have the best of the students in mind. The decision was 
     entirely hers.''
       ``I just want the scholarship to go to some child who needs 
     it, to whoever is not able to help their children,'' McCarty 
     said. ``I too old to get an education, but they can.''
       McCarty signed an irrevocable trust agreement stating her 
     wishes for her estate and giving the bank the responsibility 
     for managing her funds.
       ``Mr. Paul gives me a check, and I can go get money anytime 
     I need it. My lawyer gave them permission to take care of me 
     if something happens to me.''
       Laughlin said the bank normally keeps such transactions in 
     strictest confidence, but because of the uniqueness of 
     McCarty's story, he asked for her permission to make it 
     public.
       ``Well, I guess that would be all right,'' she said with 
     her typical calm acceptance.
       ``She seems wonderfully at peace with where she is and who 
     she is,'' Laughlin said.
       McCarty's arthritis in her hands forced her to retire from 
     washing and ironing in December 1994, at the age of 86. Now 
     she spends her days cleaning house, and she still walks 
     everywhere she goes. But she said, ``If I ever get able to, I 
     want to go back to work.''
       She is taking others' excitement over her gift with the 
     same quiet grace that she has taken all the bad and good that 
     have come into her life.
       ``I can't do everything,'' she said, ``but I can do 
     something to help. And what I can do I will do. I wish I 
     could do more.''
               Heatfelt Gift to Students Motivates Public

                           (By Ronnie Agnew)

       The way Oseola McCarty figures it, her best years are 
     behind her.
       The 86-year-old Hattiesburg woman doesn't get around like 
     she used to. The hands that once washed and ironed millions 
     of pieces of clothing are now failing her.
       The desire to get up in the morning and begin another 12-
     hour day has subsided. McCarty is slowly getting used to her 
     new life, even if it comes without the endless line of 
     customers knocking at her door. Even if it comes without the 
     work that has consumed most of her 86 years.
       She is a woman who believes that she has served her time. 
     She has worked hard, she will tell you. But she also flashes 
     a smile that says she enjoyed every minute of it.
       McCarty's recent donation of $150,000 to the University of 
     Southern Mississippi is but a small part of a fascinating 
     life, a life without frills and perks. A life painfully 
     primitive to most people--she still washes clothes by hand--
     but a satisfying life to McCarty.
       Her donation continues to both shock and motivate people.
       In fact, there is a move within the Hattiesburg area 
     business community to donate $150,000 to USM to match 
     McCarty's gift, which will provide scholarships after her 
     death.
       Bill Pace, executive director of the USM foundation, said 
     the university is putting together a plan so the public may 
     match McCarty's gift. Moneys donated by the public would be 
     put into the Osecola McCarty Scholarship fund and used for 
     scholarships now.
       The rest of the money, the $150,000 McCarty donated, would 
     be available to the university upon her death, as stated in 
     an irrevocable trust.
       USM President Ambrey Lucas calls it the most heart-
     rendering donation the school has ever received. He marveled 
     at how a woman whose sole income was washing and ironing 
     clothes could amass a small fortune and then give it all 
     away.
       It was only in December that McCarty closed her business. 
     There is crippling arthritis in her right hand now. Years of 
     ironing has nearly rendered useless the hand that literally 
     fed her. ``It's gone dead on me,'' she says.
       I would be working now if my hand hadn't started hurting. 
     Some people thought I stopped a long time ago,'' she said.
       So difficult are some tasks, that she now washes her 
     laundry in her bathtub, using a plunger to clean soiled 
     clothing.
       But because of her donation, scores of needy black students 
     will be able to go to college because of the hours she spent 
     washing and ironing other people's clothes. Not for a moment 
     does she covet the tens of thousands she earned as a 
     laundress. She doesn't know what's in her bank account--
     doesn't know, doesn't care. It's estimated her donation is 
     about 60 percent of what she has in the bank.
       ``The bank people take care of all my business,'' she says, 
     ``my bills, my groceries, everything.''
       She is a simple woman with simple values and a simple 
     lifestyle.
       She's lived in the same house for 70 years. She only 
     recently was persuaded to buy two air conditioners for her 
     small wood frame home. A 12-inch black and white TV sits 
     virtually unused in a corner of her living room. The Bible 
     that she reads daily is tattered and held together with 
     scotch tape. She doesn't have a favorite verse, she says, she 
     just opens the good book and lets the Lord have his way.
       Such simplicity comes from a woman born before World War I, 
     a woman who lived through the Great Depression, and who has 
     seen the administrations of 17 U.S. presidents. McCarty is 
     tiny--she stands about five feet tall and weighs little more 
     than 100 pounds--and until last week, she lived in relative 
     obscurity. Only regular customers of her wash-and-iron 
     business were privy to the small details that are locked up 
     inside her.
       She doesn't mind talking about details. She's just a little 
     surprised that anyone would care to know. Once they do, she 
     shares her story, little by little, in a voice as soft as a 
     whisper. It is a story about a woman who was introduced to 
     work when she was a toddler.
       It is a story about a woman who quit school three months 
     shy of finishing the sixth grade to help take care of an 
     ailing grandmother. It is the story of a woman who never 
     married because there was simply too much work to do and not 
     enough time. It is the story of a woman who has lived alone 
     since 1967 when her aunt died.
       It is also a story of a person who believes life should be 
     lived at its most basic level. The air conditioning, or 
     ``fan'' as she calls it, is only turned on when a visitor is 
     present. The shoes she wears around the house have been cut 
     out to give her toes more breathing room. The 12-inch black 
     and white TV that she seldom watches only picks up one 
     channel.
       But McCarty isn't looking for sympathy. In her view, she 
     lives a full and prosperous life. Never mind that she could 
     purchase a new car and home without even a hint of a 
     financial strain. She never learned to drive so what good 
     would a new car do any way, she reasons. She wouldn't dream 
     of leaving the home she has lived in since she was a young 
     girl.
       She wants the money she has earned to educate children, 
     ``so that they won't have to work as hard as I did. I just 
     worked and worked and worked and worked. That's all I ever 
     knew.
       Each week, McCarty would take her earnings from her laundry 
     business to what is now Trustmark Bank. During the early 
     years, she would charge customers $2 a bundle. But in later 
     years, the bill was $10 and up. Every penny went to the bank. 
     That's where it went and that's where it still sits.
       The teller asked me about 3 years ago, ``Miss McCarty, 
     anybody ever talk to you about investing?'' I told her I 
     didn't know how to do it. I didn't understand it. I don't 
     understand it now.''
       Paul Laughlin, an assistant vice president and trust 
     officer at Trustmark Bank, has been one of several bank 
     representatives to advise Miss McCarty. He fondly recalls his 
     conversation with her when she decided to let the bank set up 
     a trust account.
       ``I said, `Miss McCarty, where do you want the money to go 
     after you pass on?' She said, `Well, I want most of it to go 
     to the college.' Since we have two and I wanted to be 
     absolutely sure, I asked her which college. She said, 
     `Mississippi Southern.'''
       ``All her life she put her money away,'' Laughlin said. 
     ``It's now such a large amount, she really doesn't appreciate 
     how much money that is.''
       Since her money is being invested, McCarty can now talk a 
     little about maturing CD accounts. She has no idea that she 
     has enough saved to buy her way out of the low-income 
     neighborhood where she resides. The power of money alludes 
     her. In her mind, cab fares are still too expensive and the 
     bus just doesn't run often enough.
       But she does know that the amount of money she saved ``just 
     popped up'' and she wants it to help somebody. ``I just don't 
     know how it happened,'' she says, shaking her head. ``I was 
     trying to save for my old days when I wouldn't have to work 
     so hard.''
       She made her money from loyal customers--lawyers, doctors, 
     teachers, police and military personnel. It was the only 
     business she knew. Her mother, grandmother and aunt all were 
     a part of it. But after each of their deaths, more of the 
     work fell to her. She comes from a farming family from 
     Shubata, Miss., a small town outside of Meridian.
       Her family left the farm and moved to Hattiesburg when they 
     grew tired of farming. It was then that the laundry business 
     was born. McCarty says no one really taught her how 

[[Page S12079]]
     to work. But being an only child around ``grown folk all the time'' 
     forced her to grow up fast.
       ``I didn't have no brothers or no sisters. Whatever I saw 
     the grown people do, I tried to do myself. You don't know 
     what you can do until you try,'' she said.
       Now all she wants is to give young black students a chance; 
     a chance she says she didn't have. She has no ties to USM. 
     She has never visited the campus, only passed by it on 
     occasion. But her demeanor turns serious when she thinks 
     about what her donation might do.
       ``Our race goes to that school,'' she says. ``Used to be 
     that we couldn't. I want to do the children some good. It 
     won't do me no good because I'm old.''
       USM's Lucas knows the many students that McCarty's gift 
     will reach. But he said he is as touched by the person as he 
     is by her gift.
       ``She lives a simple life,'' he said. ``Her enjoyment comes 
     from being independent, saving her resources and not wasting 
     them. She enjoys the simple things in life, going to church, 
     talking to friends. She feels very fulfilled.''
     

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