Interviewer: Have you been back to Stamps, Arkansas?
Angelou: ...We got about three miles outside Stamps and I said, Stop the car. Let the car behind you pull up. Get those people in with you and I'll take their car. I suddenly was taken back to being twelve years old in a Southern, tiny town where my grandmother told me, Sistah, never be on a country road with any white boys. I was two hundred years older than black pepper, but I said, Stop the car. I did. I got out of the car. And I knew these guys—certainly Bill. Bill Moyers is a friend and brother-friend to me—we care for each other. But dragons, fears, the grotesques of childhood always must be confronted at childhood's door. Any other place is esoteric and has nothing to do with the great fear that is laid upon one as a child. ...
Maya Angelou, The Art of Fiction No. 119, 1990 interviewed by George Plimpton on the stage of the YMHA on Manhattan's Upper East Side, in Women At Work Vol. II, Interviews from the Paris Review
Angelou: ...We got about three miles outside Stamps and I said, Stop the car. Let the car behind you pull up. Get those people in with you and I'll take their car. I suddenly was taken back to being twelve years old in a Southern, tiny town where my grandmother told me, Sistah, never be on a country road with any white boys. I was two hundred years older than black pepper, but I said, Stop the car. I did. I got out of the car. And I knew these guys—certainly Bill. Bill Moyers is a friend and brother-friend to me—we care for each other. But dragons, fears, the grotesques of childhood always must be confronted at childhood's door. Any other place is esoteric and has nothing to do with the great fear that is laid upon one as a child. ...
Maya Angelou, The Art of Fiction No. 119, 1990 interviewed by George Plimpton on the stage of the YMHA on Manhattan's Upper East Side, in Women At Work Vol. II, Interviews from the Paris Review
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