Note: The Good Stuff is an occasional series of stories in various media of the people, local and from elsewhere, who capture the attention of Flossmoor resident and Grammy winner Juan Woodbury during his travels. In this installment, he features Ruth Coles Harris, the first Black woman CPA in Virginia, who is still going strong at almost 97 years old.
Somewhere along the backroads of Virginia, I found more than a photograph. I found a story, a teacher, and a mirror to my own soul.
She was 96 years old, a former professor at an HBCU, a pioneer in accounting, and a woman who had wrestled with barriers that were meant to silence her brilliance but instead sharpened it. I came with a camera. I left with a revelation.
Her story unfolded slowly, like the careful turning of pages in a treasured book. At the age of 15 she entered college. By 19, she was traveling alone to New York City for graduate school in the 1940s. Imagine the pressure of walking into classrooms where no one looked like you. Surrounded by all men, she was one of only two women, and the only person of color. She could not stay on campus, so she lived at the YWCA in Harlem, commuting back and forth each day, carrying not just her books but the weight of safety, survival, and ambition. She spoke of the help she received from those who made sure she got home safely, and of the determination it took to press forward in a world that had no intention of making it easy for her.
At first, I stood before her with respect, as one naturally does in the presence of age and wisdom. But the more she spoke, the more her journey unfurled before me, my respect deepened into reverence.
As I photographed her, my approach shifted. No longer was I chasing light and shadow. I was chasing history, resilience, and the living embodiment of a story rarely told but always felt. Each frame became an act of gratitude. Each shutter a prayer of acknowledgment.
Her words sank into me like rivers carving stone. She spoke of adversity, and suddenly my own struggles as a creative, the late nights, the doubts, the closed doors, seemed smaller yet newly meaningful. She reminded me that to endure is not enough. One must endure with excellence, with integrity, with respect for oneself and one’s craft.
When the time came to leave, I found myself reluctant. The road was calling, but so was the rare wisdom of someone who had already walked the long miles I have only just begun. I wished for more time, to listen, to learn, to let her lessons seep into my bones.
The portraits I captured on those days are more than images. They are relics of a conversation between past and present. They are reminders that we, too, must carry resilience forward in art, in family, in community.
And so, I share them with you, not simply as photographs, but as testaments to the brilliance of a woman who reminds us all: greatness is not in the absence of struggle, but in the grace of overcoming it.
