Photo by Emilio Cortez

Celebrating Black History Month - Everett Taylor, Director of Regional Coordination

Every February, we honor Black History—its triumphs, its trials, its architects, its dreamers. But today, I want to bring your attention to something just as vital: the Black Present—my present—here and now. 

My story begins in Memphis, Tennessee, a city where civil rights history isn’t something you read about; it’s something you breathe in. I grew up in the eye of that storm—where prejudice, revolt, resilience, and hope all collided on the same street corner. Memphis raised me with a front‑row seat to the struggle and the promise of what could be. 

My life has been a series of firsts, but none of them started with me. They started with my mother. She had me at 15 years old—still a child herself—yet she graduated early, became the first in our family to pursue higher education, and earned her LPN license. She carved a path where none existed, and I learned to walk it with purpose. 

At 15, I left Memphis for Exeter, New Hampshire, becoming the first in my family to attend boarding school—Phillips Exeter Academy, one of the most prestigious secondary schools in the country. It was there that I learned my Memphis voice wasn’t something to hide or soften. It was a lens, a compass, a truth. I couldn’t pretend to be unbothered by the world’s inequities, but I could learn to articulate them, challenge them, and invite others into understanding. 

From there, I made my way to Howard University—the first in my family to attend and graduate from a university. And not just any university: the Mecca. A place where politics, culture, history, and Black brilliance converge. I went from the gates of the Lorraine Motel, where Dr. King was taken from us, to studying ten minutes from where the world first heard his Dream. 

Howard gave me more than a degree. It gave me a community, a worldview, and—unexpectedly—my wife. I didn’t know then that her great-grandfather, Dr. Charles P. Adams, founded Grambling State University. Or that her father, a Berkeley graduate, would go on to become the chief city developer for Santa Ana. Or that her brother would become the first Black non‑Jesuit President at Loyola High School. Excellence was in her lineage just as resilience was in mine. 

 Together, we created our own legacy. Our daughter Kennedy graduated from UCLA and now works in homeless services. My second daughter, Leila, is in nursing school at LSU. My son is a freshman at Loyola. My children have inherited the desire to serve their communities, and watching that unfold in real time is one of the greatest affirmations of my life. 

My roots run deep. My grandfather, Artiek Smith, is a world‑renowned Black cowboy painter whose work hangs in the National Civil Rights Museum, the Rotunda in Washington, D.C., and the Salons Des Nations in Paris. My aunt, Myra A. Cross, became the first African American woman Midshipman in the United States Air Force. My influences are giants, and their shadows shaped my stride. 

Today, I serve my community through homeless services—as a member of Black Men Ending Homelessness and as the BIPOC representative on the San Fernando Valley Homeless Coalition. I’ve seen people from every socioeconomic background—rich to poor, Black to white, and everything in between. People are people, and basic needs are universal. That truth is why my work at LAFH feels seamless. This organization’s mission aligns perfectly with my lived experience, my values, and my belief that dignity is not conditional. LAFH is a place where service is not theoretical—it is practiced, embodied, and necessary. 

I’ve navigated spaces from the White House to the jailhouse, and the skill it takes to survive both is not something you learn in a classroom. It’s something you inherit, something you sharpen, something you carry. It’s what makes me the Black man I am today—resilient, relentless, and rooted. 

My Black Presence—my Black Present—is built on the shoulders of my Black History, shaping the Black Future my children and community will inherit. 

Thank you for allowing me to share my story. May we continue to honor not only the history behind us, but the brilliance standing among us—here and now.