I was an older returning student when I was awarded the first Future Faculty Fellowship to come back to school here at Temple University for an MFA in Playwriting. I was in my 30’s and although I didn’t have the language to describe it at the time, I was experiencing imposter syndrome—not really knowing if I belonged. I’m thankful someone told me about JoAnne Epps around this time.

An older, returning student, much older than most of my cohorts in my department and in the Future Faculty Fellows program at the time, I was on my second marriage, mother of two, it was over ten years since I had been in undergraduate school—and even then, I was a first-time college graduate from an HBCU. As soon as I hit Temple University’s campus, I looked for people who looked like me. 

My best friend, Lois Moses, was in law school at the time and she raved about JoAnne Epps— to the point that I wanted to get to know her too. Every time JoAnne was asked to speak somewhere on campus, I was in the audience and every opportunity I got, I would go up to her at the end of each program and introduce (and then reintroduce and reintroduce) myself to her. 

Working my way through the Master’s and PHD program in Anthropology and through various positions here at Temple—adjunct, Assistant Professor, bumped down to Instructional Faculty, TT, tenured to Professor—every time there was a call for an internal candidate for an administrative position, I would write her name in and email my recommendation. To give her a heads up, I would always email her and say: “My name is Kimmika Williams-Witherspoon and I just wanted to let you know that I recommended you for….(fill in the blank).” Invariably, she would always write back a day or two later and tell me “thank you” but that she was really very happy in the law school.

One winter evening, my young son and I passed her walking down Broad Street while we were trying to make it to a dance rehearsal. “Hi Dean Epps,” I said, “I don’t know if you remember me. My name is Kimmika Williams-Witherspoon and I teach in the Theater department.” She smiled, looked at me sideways, shook my hand and said: “I know who you are.” I congratulated her on whatever latest honor or award that I had read that she had recently received and we talked for a moment in the cold. She talked to my son about school and then we said our goodbyes.

From that point on, Dean Epps, Provost Epps and then, later, President Epps never walked into a room where I was, without noticing me, and then acknowledging me. For so many of us marginalized faculty—particularly those of us, African-American and female, (under-represented in our disciplines and in the academy) she always made people feel seen, heard and acknowledged. With JoAnne Epps in the room, you genuinely felt like you belonged.

When my youngest daughter was interested in Law School, I called and asked if she’d meet with her? She did. When that daughter didn’t get into Temple Law, but into others—she advised her.

When the eldest daughter got stuck in St. Croix after Hurricane Maria—no electricity, untold damage to the island, no planes in or out, and her then current boyfriend, who was insulin-dependent—while everyone else was only talking about Puerto Rico, she called me that Sunday morning to let me know that she had spoken to the head of the Red Cross and to tell me what to tell my daughter to do as soon as I heard from her and that insulin would be on the first emergency plane to evacuate Americans.

In my years serving on Faculty Senate, we got to know one another very well. Once on the Executive Committee, we were constantly meeting. Sometimes, she would call me late in the evening to inquire if I would be willing to serve on some new committee, or that I had been recommended for one task force or another, to advise me if she thought I was about to make a mis-step and, even once or twice, even to pull my coat-tail, when she thought I might be pushing the envelope too much. Whenever we would hang up from a phone call, I would always say, (as I do with all my Temple Sister/Friends) “Love You.” That would always catch her off guard. I don’t think she always knew what to make of me.

After a performance or a play of mine that she had seen, she would always write such lovely notes. She was always scrawling a few lines, to make even a form letter feel personal. 

We were friends—not the hee-hee, kee-kee kind that sip tea in one another’s homes; but a friend, never-the-less. President Epps was a role model, a mentor, a leader and, in the end, (fortunately or unfortunately) I was one of the people with her when she succumbed on stage—September 19, 2023. 

As Mistress of Ceremony for the Memorial honoring Charles L. Blockson that day—another great mentor who had weeks before made transition, I do wonder if there was more I could have done that day.  I will probably always, forever, carry a little guilt that I didn’t turn around from the podium to notice that something was wrong—faster. If it be true, that sometimes seconds count, I will always wonder what if….

Yet, I am comforted, as it is, in knowing that I am pretty sure JoAnne knew just how much I admired and loved her. My last words to her before the police officer, Brother Enoch, carried her off the stage was: “In the name of Jesus…Father touch her.” If I had one more thing to add, one more opportunity, one more millisecond to say something more before she left this realm it would simply be, rest in power and in peace, JoAnne. I will never forget…and, Thank You!