I first met Marie Davenport in 2011 when she walked into the H.C. Porter Gallery in Vicksburg, where I was working as the gallery director. It was one of those days where I was trying to juggle my work life with my life as a new mom. My son, Grady, was only four months old at the time, and I had him right there with me at the gallery, which doubled as a nursery back then.
From that first meeting, there was something special about Marie. She was visiting her home state of Mississippi from Germany, and she had an aura of quiet strength and an undeniable warmth. She told me she grew up in Claiborne County, not far from Vicksburg. She began emailing me not long after that visit, sharing stories about her life and experiences with the hope that I might one day write about her. Her emails were like threads weaving a tapestry of her history, each message offering a glimpse into her world. She had a way of making me feel like her stories were gifts, meant to be cherished and shared.
Marie once told me I reminded her of her childhood friend, Deanna, from her days growing up in Mississippi. Deanna was white, but Marie said they were told they could no longer play together because of their race. Marie had tried to find Deanna during her visit to Mississippi, but their paths never crossed again. There was a longing in the way she spoke about Deanna, a quiet hope to reconnect a thread of her past. In a way, I think our connection felt like a small piece of that story coming full circle.
For years, our email thread continued. I was freelancing for Vicksburg Impressions, a quarterly magazine published by The Vicksburg Post, and planned to feature Marie and her fascinating life in a future issue. When the magazine stopped publishing, it was Marie’s story that inspired me to start my own magazine, The ‘Sip. Her belief in my voice and her encouragement to share stories that need to be told gave me the nudge I needed to take that leap. I somehow found the courage—and the funds—to travel to Washington, D.C., with my friend and photographer, Melanie, to interview and photograph Marie for the very first issue.
When we arrived in D.C., Marie and her husband, Rudi, met us at the airport. It felt like meeting family as she greeted us with a small paper sign that read, “Marie.” She showed us D.C. through her eyes. We visited the Martin Luther King Jr. Memorial, where Melanie captured photos of Marie standing in front of the stone statue of Dr. King, his resolute expression mirrored in her own. It was February 2014, a little more than 50 years after Marie marched on Washington with Dr. King. . On that cool, sunny day, Marie proudly cradled a golden medal from the March on Washington that read, “We Shall Overcome.”
We met Marie at the National Portrait Gallery the next day, where I interviewed her. She wore a vibrant pink blazer, her style as bold as her spirit. We sat among the lush greenery, the bright yellow flowers surrounding her a reflection of the light she brought into every room. She spoke about marching in 1963, about the courage it took to stand up for equality, and about how that day had shaped her life’s work. She sported a sash that read “1963 – 2013 March on Washington,” and I remember thinking how remarkable it was to be sitting with a living piece of history.
Marie’s curiosity and enthusiasm as we explored museums, monuments and grabbed a bite at the famous Ben’s Chili Bowl, were contagious. She made sure every moment mattered, that every story had weight. Looking back, I realize how transformative that visit was—not just for the story I was writing but for me as a storyteller.
As I look through our old email exchanges, I’m struck by how special our relationship truly was. Marie had a way of grounding me, of making me believe that my words could make a difference. She once wrote, “I am so happy you want to tell my story.” Her words were always a comforting reminder of the bond we had formed. Her simple, heartfelt messages still resonate with me, reminding me why I do what I do.
Marie’s emails always came with the subject line ‘me Marie,’ a sweet reminder of her humble nature. I miss seeing those words pop up in my inbox. Her last email, sent on September 25, 2020, during the early days of the COVID-19 pandemic, was no different. She shared that she was performing with a theater group virtually and even included a video of the performance. Her final words to me were, “I think of you often. You will always have a special place in my heart ❤.”
It was March 2021 when I learned that Marie died in December 2020. The news came as a surprise, and I immediately thought of the lasting impression her unexpected friendship made on me and my journey. Her spirit remains a guiding force in my life. In many ways, Marie Davenport was the beginning of this new phase of my journey. Our connection was more than just writer and subject—it was a story of friendship, of coming full circle, of finding inspiration where I least expected it. And for that, I will always be grateful.
Read the full story on Marie that ran in the first issue of The ‘Sip.
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