Rev. Dr. Amos C. Brown Remembers Mrs. Robinson: A Teacher’s Legacy & the Power of STEM
By Rev. Dr. Amos C. Brown
Mrs. Annie Robinson, my dear teacher, left an indelible impression on me. I had the honor of delivering her eulogy in Las Vegas, where she had relocated from Mississippi to be with her daughter, Petsye—whom she even brought as a child to our classrooms.
When I think of Ms. Robinson, I am reminded of the words of Proverbs 31, which speaks of a virtuous woman—a woman of wisdom, strength, and integrity. Ms. Robinson embodied those virtues. She was a woman of wisdom, and when she spoke, it was with authority, love, and discipline.
I will never forget the spring when she told us, “This year, we are not going to New Orleans like the students before you—to see the French Quarter, Lake Pontchartrain, or even the Cathedral of St. Louis. No, I am taking you on a journey through the Southeast so that you will truly understand your academic legacy as a people.”
She took us to Atlanta, where we saw the historic Black colleges of the Atlanta University Center. She took us to Bellingrath Gardens in Mobile, Alabama, where we learned about nature and the environment. Yes, long before today’s conversations about environmental justice, Ms. Robinson was teaching us about it in the 1950s. She wanted us to know about science—not just in textbooks, but by experiencing it firsthand.
We traveled through the Smoky Mountains of the Carolinas and on to Chattanooga, Tennessee, where we descended into the caves of Ruby Falls. Ms. Robinson wasn’t just teaching us about geology, horticulture, and environmental science—she was instilling in us the tools to fight against injustice.
I will never forget 1958. I was driven to Cleveland, Ohio, to attend the 49th Annual NAACP Convention, where we witnessed the Little Rock Nine—students who had been spat upon and harassed simply for wanting to attend an integrated school. Ms. Robinson had prepared us for that moment. She had taught us that Black teachers were not paid equal wages as white teachers and that we had to fight for justice.
It was because of Ms. Robinson’s influence that I became a full-fledged agitator, as labeled by the Mississippi State Sovereignty Commission, the infamous group that spied on civil rights workers—including a 15, 16, 17-year-old Amos Brown. My name is in a ten-page file, and that file summarizes me as a troublemaker—an agitator. And I am proud to have agitated for justice.
In 1958, at that very convention in Cleveland, I was featured in a newspaper article speaking out against the unjust treatment of Black educators. Ms. Robinson was one of those educators—an educator who loved us into learning. She did not just disseminate facts and data; she instilled in us a spirit of justice, a passion for equality, and a commitment to excellence.
Because of her, I did more than just study science—I learned how to speak, how to articulate, how to enunciate. I learned that we must be culturally enriched, which is why I played bass tuba in the marching band and studied the violin at Jackson State College. She believed in a well-rounded education.
When I stood in Las Vegas to deliver her eulogy, I reflected on the wisdom, guidance, and love that she poured into us. She was a virtuous woman who, as Proverbs 31 says, "excels them all."
Now, in 2025, I will mark 70 years in the civil rights struggle. The number 70—or seven in Hebrew—means completeness, fulfillment. It represents a life dedicated to good service, to agitation for the higher things of life, and to a purpose greater than oneself. Ms. Robinson gave me that foundation.
So today, I say thank you—thank you, Petsye, for sharing your mother with us. Thank you for sitting among us in her classroom, learning by her side. She taught us to be enlightened, empathetic, and excellent in all we do.
And I will never forget the wisdom she passed on to us, in that simple phrase she often repeated:
"If a task is once begun, never leave it till it’s done. Be the labor great or small, do it well—or not at all."
Thank you, Ms. Robinson. Thank you.