She dared to achieve

It’s an improbable path from the dusty cotton fields of Mississippi to the glorious commencement of Princeton University.

And it’s improbable for a person who could neither read nor write to propel another person to the Ivy League.

There is such a path.

There is such a person.

It’s part of the amazing and inspirational life story of Minnie Bell Thompson. Her adult life was spent in Youngstown after being born into a family of poor black sharecroppers in the fields of Mississippi.

She lived till 2010 — long enough to monitor the progress of great-granddaughter Maraiya Hakeem at “the good school” — which is all Minnie knew of Princeton.

When Maraiya would come home on college break, Minnie would simply ask: “You still getting good grades at that good school?”

Minnie had expectations of her family.

They would pursue, and they can achieve.

She didn’t just say it. It’s all Minnie knew how to do.

In fact, it was on a drive home from the 2012 Prince- ton commencement — awash in the glow of the family’s “Ivy League” achievement — that Maraiya and her grandmother Rosie Taylor, who is Minnie’s daughter, conceived an idea. They would honor their matriarch — without whom Princeton never exists for them — by creating a foundation in her honor — the Minnie B. Thompson Foundation to raise scholarship funds.

Rosie and her husband, John, paid the first scholarships out of their pocket in 2013 — five kids receiving $500 each. In 2014, they awarded a Canfield resident $500.

Those first small steps were rewarded last Saturday night when their inaugural black-tie and evening gown gala rolled out. It was complete with a red carpet walk just like Hollywood. More than 250 people filled The Georgetown. The proceeds will fund 2015 recipients, and they are taking applications through their website and Facebook page.

“Maybe we can help someone — even if only to buy books for one semester, or day care for the kids. Just something so they can help to improve their lives,” said Rosie. “We want it to help anyone in the Valley. We next want to expand it to Ohio. We then want it for the country.”

It’s a big vision; a big bite.

But you only have to know where Minnie came from to believe in them.

She is in the middle of 16 Swanson siblings born amid the fields of Mississippi in a South that was still brutal for African-Americans even though slavery ended 50 years or so before her birth in 1913. The family sharecropped a living from a cotton field owned by a white farmer.

The 16th child was 3 months old when Minnie’s mom died of pneumonia. Her father had a dispute with some white men. Angry, he reported their moonshine business to the law. He fled town before they could kill him.

“They would have likely killed the whole family; back then, you just never knew,” said Rosie. The 16 kids would be divided among other family members, and all Minnie would have of her father was a crinkly old photo she kept.

She married Charlie Thompson and moved to New Orleans. As Charlie embarked on a military career, Minnie worked in a cafe owned by relatives.

She always kept that photo. She would show it to anybody she bumped into, hoping that somebody someday would recognize her father.

One day, someone did. As Minnie would tell the story for years, a woman told her:

“Way up north, there’s this town called Youngstown, Ohio. Minnie — there is a man who looks like this.”

The lady at the cafe said the guy who looks like this is called “Swanson,” and he hangs out at a cafe on Scott Street.

It was 1938. Minnie was 25, and her husband was off in England on military duty. She wrote him a letter, said Rosie, saying “I’m headed to a place called Youngstown, Ohio, to find my father.”

All she owned fit into two suitcases, and off she went on a train.

She arrived in Youngstown and went to Scott Street and found the cafe.

She told the folks there that she was looking for a man named “Swanson.”

They said he lived up the street. So Minnie went door to door.

At the seventh door, there stared back at Minnie the face in the crinkly photo. The family story as told thousands of times by Minnie goes:

“Do you know who I am?” Minnie asked the man at the door.

“I know you’re one of my daughters, but I don’t know which one,” Swanson told her.

And with that, their life began anew. Swanson siblings moved up from Mississippi — 20 in all, and today they are Swansons, Thompsons, Perrys, Rolands, Robinson, Pulliums and more.

Charlie made it back from the service — receiving Minnie’s Youngstown letter long after she arrived. They had Rosie and Charlie Jr.

And Minnie was just getting started.

Her profession was cleaning, and she worked at Park Vista and in private homes and served her beloved Tabernacle Baptist Church the same way.

But don’t measure her by her vocation.

“She was never ashamed of her work,” said great-granddaughter Shaiyla Hakeem.

“She would always say ‘There’s nothing wrong with a hard day’s work.’ I don’t know if I would have been able to do it. She was never ashamed about where she came from or her education, or anything.”

And she would talk to anyone.

Rosie recalls an elevator ride at the old Dollar Bank.

“We got on the first floor, and by the third floor, she had talked to everyone in there. She was a force to be reckoned with. She felt because she was not able, she had to overcome and overcompensate in every way possible.”

That force led her to lead posts at Tabernacle Baptist Church, Covington School, McGuffey Center, North Side Block Watch and Freedom Inc.

As she could not read or write, Rosie was Minnie’s shadow, always at her side writing and reading. Rosie even read the church songs so Minnie could sing in choir.

With only a third-grade education, Minnie stressed education across her whole family.

Rosie once got a B, and got halfway home and froze in tears. Someone ran home to Minnie and said Rosie was crying, and no one knew why.

“When my mom got there and asked what’s wrong, I told her she said I should never come home with less than an A. And I cried, ‘Momma, I wanna come home.’”

By 2010, Minnie had outlived them all. Her last sister died in 2007. Husband Charlie died in 1982.

Her beloved dad, who left her at age 6 and whom she found on her own 20 years later with just a crinkly photo as a guide, lived until 1952 surrounded by the family he had to abandon, and under the care of Minnie.

In 2012, a most-improbable family trail continued as Maraiya walked across the Princeton stage — the “good school.”

And Minnie was there, too, even in death. In the crowd for Maraiya were 10 relatives — each of them glad to be watching her.

And each of them wearing a piece of jewelry that once was Minnie’s.

Todd Franko is editor of The Vindicator. He likes emails about stories and our newspaper. Email him at tfranko@vindy.com. He blogs, too, on Vindy.com. Tweet him, too, at @tfranko.