Lisa Reisman Photo
Lilla Mae Holness at 100 years old.
Over the course of a century, Lilla Mae Holness — “Miss Holness” to family, “Aunt Mae” or “Lilla Mae” to friends — has been a sister and a mother figure, a legendary strawberry shortcake baker and a staple at the monthly Pokeno games.
These friends and family came by foot and SUV to wish the New Haven native a happy 100th birthday.
Toward the end of the three-hour celebration Sunday, Candace Henderson showed up in an Amazon Prime T‑shirt. She had worked all day in the warehouse, she said, and was on her way to go bowling. Still, she wanted to stop by the house on Mountain Road in New Haven’s West Hills neighborhood for the once-in-a-century occasion.
Ni’el Faison, 9, came from Baltimore to see her great-great-grandmother. Others came from New Jersey, from Stratford and Bridgeport, and from two streets over.
Lilla Mae was born on Oct. 19, 1920. At the turn of the 20th century, her mother, Daisy Ellerbee, arrived in New Haven from Marion, Georgia. Her older sister, Della, had moved to the city first.
“When my own mother died, [Lilla Mae] watched over me like a big sister,” said Holness’ first cousin, Fannie Jackson (pictured above being escorted to her seat by Lilla Mae Holness’ son, Charles Eugene Holness).
Jackson leaned on her cane while she spoke to the socially-distant gathering of 40 family and friends. Gold and purple balloons danced in the breeze.
Jackson was an early speaker in an afternoon of tributes and reflections. The event, billed “Celebrating Lilla Mae Holness’ Gift: One Hundred Years of Graceful Living,” was hosted by Holness’ daughter-in-law, Shelley Holness.
The honoree, clad in a wedding-cake white jacket, tailored pants, and a light-blue mask, sat enthroned behind a table spilling over with flowers and gifts, a quiet smile on her face.
“I call her ‘Mother,’” said Rev. Keith Allen King, pastor of Christian Tabernacle Baptist Church in Hamden, before his opening prayer.
“She has just been a blessing to our church, an encouragement to all of us.”
“Amen to that,” said Lilla Mae’s grandson Bruce Emery.
Shelley Holness pulled a mask over the nose of a great-great-grandson and introduced the next speaker, Star Gilliams-Benson.
“My mother Laura Gilliams was Lilla Mae’s best friend for 75 years,” Gilliams-Benson began amid the aroma of grilled hot dogs and the swirl of autumn leaves.
The two raised their families while holding down full-time jobs. Laura Gilliams was the first Black public school nurse in New Haven; Lilla Mae Holness worked at Malley’s until it closed in 1982, then at Sears in Hamden.
“She and my mother attended church together. They did everything together,” Gilliams-Benson said. “Our families were intertwined.”
Then there was the monthly Pokeno Club. (Pokeno is a game similar to bingo, but with cards.)
“They would come together once a month on Friday evenings at each of their respective homes, 12 of them, and they would play Pokeno for pennies a pop,” Gilliams-Benson said. “Then a full meal would be served, soup to nuts, and it would go on until 12:30 or 1 in the morning, and each of their families would be enlisted in the serving and hosting.”
The club was “everyone coming together with love and fellowship and friendship, and as a result of that, I have this for you,” she said, presenting Lilla Mae Holness with a Pokeno card …
… with a photo of the two friends, both smiling broadly, on the reverse side.
“Oh my,” she said, as someone turned up the volume on Anthony J. Brown’s rousing “Everybody Stand Up.”
Chaila Gilliams, Laura Gilliams’ granddaughter, bopped, grooved, and pirouetted around the yard. Grandma Holness and her cohorts swiveled in their chairs.
The festivities continued with a lavish spread of collard greens, cabbage, macaroni and cheese, and fried chicken. Chaila Gilliams, owner of Bodyworkers LLC in New Haven, remembered setting the table and putting out a jar of pennies when the group met at her grandmother’s house on Read Street.
“[As a child] I didn’t really understand what Pokeno was, but I always knew they had their coins ready and their red chips. They would have such a good time. There was always a lot of laughter, and we couldn’t wait to get to the food,” Chaila Gilliams said.
Lilla Mae Holness’ goddaughter, Voleta Ferguson, recalled “Aunt Mae’s strawberry shortcake, made with real biscuits.” Ferguson’s mother, Dorothy Henderson, was one of the Pokeno Club members.
“Mm mm,” said Lilla Mae’s niece Lynn Waters, who was bringing lasagna to the table.
“Aunt Mae, you’ve been a blessing, a keepsake, all these years, and you’ve been a sweetheart and a second mom, and I thank you,” William Henderson said.
He clasped his hands in her direction. She returned the gesture.
Dorothy Henderson’s granddaughter Veronica Alston, wearing a mask that read, “IF YOU CAN READ THIS YOU’RE TOO CLOSE,” asked partygoers to put their hands together for the gospel hymn “Blessed Assurance.”
“This is my Aunt Mae’s favorite song,” she said.
As the honoree clapped along to Alston’s soulful rendition, her great-granddaughter Tierra Gardner placed a plastic cup in front of her.
“That’s a margarita for you, Grandma Holness,” Gardner said. “Cheers to a hundred years.”
A guest was asking Lilla Mae about the Pokeno Club.
“There was a whole group of us and we would stop in the middle of the game and catch up on everything,” she said, swirling her drink in the cup, her voice soft, her words precise.
“We would get to talking and then it would be 12 o’clock at night when we finished. We would have our meal, whatever the hostess planned for us, and we just had a good time. I always looked forward to it.”
At that moment, there was a squeal. A great-great-grandson was wrestling with a cousin, next to dogs barking and tablecloths flapping in the wind.
Andrea Root with Fannie Jackson (left) and Lilla Mae Holness.
“Anyhow, it’s the quality of life that matters,” Andrea Root, a great-grandson’s girlfriend, was saying as Lilla Mae Holness took a sip of her margarita. “And you still got it, Grandma Holness.”
“Birthday cake, anyone?” asked the honoree’s son Charles Eugene Holness, a retired New Haven firefighter.
“Do you want to know why I love this family?” Root said to another guest.
“Whenever they get together, they always introduce everyone to everyone. You get to learn who all your family is. That’s hard to find in a modern-day family. Add to that, we’re living through a pandemic and they still get together. Safely, I mean. Look at all these masks.”
A siren rang out in the distance.
“I bet you never lived through a pandemic, Grandma Holness,” Root called over to her. “No, you just missed the last one.”
Four generations all together.
By then, the great-grandchildren and great-great-grandchildren were lining up to give the honoree flowers. Some approached the table with a certain awe, as if Lilla Mae were a movie star or a monument.
Toward the end, great-great-grandson Nate Faison, Jr., 11, stepped up to the table. “I love you, Grandma Holness,” he said, placing a rose in the vase.
“I love you, too, child,” she said.
“I love you more.”