Meet the 94-year-old who helped push a $165M school into existence

A picture of the Donald M. Payne School of Technology School hangs on the wall on in Rev. Mamie Lee’s room at an East Orange nursing home.

A plaque honoring Lee is there, too. She was a one-time fiery community activist who never put up with lip service from public officials as a West Ward district leader in Newark.

Both mementos are lasting reminders of what Lee has meant to her neighborhood, and of her persistence surrounding plans for the state-of-the-art vocational facility that is pictured on her wall.

“May the work that I have done speak for me,” Lee said. “‘And, did I help somebody along the way?”

That’s too many to count, Rev. Lee.

Essex County Executive Joseph DiVincenzo Jr. gave the plaque and picture to his 94-year-old friend last month during ribbon cutting ceremonies. She was on stage with him when he said the school’s community cafeteria would bear her name, with an engraved picture of Lee on a plaque.

It was a fitting tribute for this strong-willed servant. Known to hold officials accountable, Lee never minced words when her Newark neighborhood suffered through blight following the closure of the old United Hospital in the mid 1990s. In its footprint now is the school that Lee talked about constantly, knowing it would help 1,100 students carve out meaningful futures with vocational skills.

She hounded DiVincenzo about that school, called him just about every day once the county received 90 percent in state funding for the $165 million project.

“She kept us on our toes,” he said. “She wanted to keep the pressure on. She was holding our feet to the fire to make sure it happened.”

Lee would calmly greet folks, praising the Lord in one breath, then wasted no time getting down to business, demanding that the school and neighborhood issues get addressed.

“I never met anybody like her,” said Stanley Patterson, a West Ward district leader, who worked with Lee many years.

Lee summoned police captains, code enforcement officers, sanitation, and the fire department to meetings she organized through her organization – Block Association Network and District (BAND).

“She made sure the agencies did their job,” Patterson said.

Lee peppered them with questions, the same way she stayed on DiVincenzo about the school whenever he stopped by her home on Ninth Avenue.

She was the face of the block, “the clergy of the street,” which was her church that she fought to preserve, DiVincenzo said.

If the streets weren’t cleaned, she wanted to know why. Same thing for inoperable street lights. Drugs? The police department had to have an answer about what was being done.

It was nothing for Lee to approach drug dealers by herself, telling them to change their ways.

“I walked out there and told them that they can do better,” Lee said.

Some listened. Some didn’t.

Lee’s advocacy was the same in New York, where she lived most of her life before coming to Newark in 1991.

“The drug dealers got so mad at her,” said Yvette Lee, her daughter who lives in Florida. “She will walk up to you in a minute and tell you, ‘in the name of Jesus you will not sell these drugs on my street.”’

Lee stayed true to her convictions, a spiritual calling to fight for and serve her community.

“It’s a gift that God gave me,” she said.

Ordained at age 28, Lee said she preached at different churches in New York. And, her faith was just as fervent musically. She’s a classically trained singer, who sang in the choir at Metropolitan Baptist Church in New York.

From her wheelchair at the nursing home in East Orange, she went back in time, remembering a song she learned from her instructor in New York. Lee sang something in Italian, then switched to a Negro spiritual, her voice booming, “Go Down Moses.”

All she needed was a keyboard to play. Lee improvised instead, running her fingers across her knees, scatting a musical scale, recalling how she learned to play on a piano growing up in Spring Hope, North Carolina.

When Lee came to Newark, she was in her mid 60s, but that didn’t stop her activism.

“She made her presence known,” her daughter said.

She became a district leader, encouraged people to vote and recruited residents to join BAND. The neighborhood group she started held block parties for children, gave out turkeys, coats and clothes to families in need. BAND continues today with her friend, Carolyn Bambara, leading the way.

Shannon Stevens, a resident, is there, too.

“She (Rev. Lee) gave me a foundation of how to handle things,” Stevens said. “It was sad to see her leave. She cared for everyone.”

The community trusted Lee. She was always in the middle of something, but never much troubled by any of it.

“This too shall pass,” Lee said.

“Pray about it and go on and do what God put you here on earth to do,” she continued.

She stopped in the middle of the interview. “You’re trying to get me to preach,” she said.

No, Rev. Lee. I’m just listening to an elder with wisdom, who knows that nothing lasts forever.

There is an exception, however, in your case.

It happens to be your legacy. Future generations of students will be able to read about you on when they see your plaque on their school wall.

Barry Carter may be reached at bcarter@njadvancemedia.com. Follow him on Twitter @BarryCarterSL. Find NJ.com on Facebook.