Leola Green-Haynes

Leola Green-Haynes

August 12, 1929 - July 5, 2020

Leola Green-Haynes, renowned educator and community activist, passed away on Sunday, July 5, 2020, at ProMedica Flower Hospital. Born on August 12, 1929, Leola was the last surviving member of a family of four (4) children, and preceded in death by her father, Oliver Woodard; her mother, Idelle Woodard; sisters, Myrtis (Marvin) Parker, Dora (Leon) Jones and brother, Frank Woodard. As the Matriarch of the Corbitt Family, which includes the Russell, Stovall, Boyd, Galloway, Pearson, and Woodard families, Leola migrated with her family to the Toledo area in the 1930s from Bruce, Mississippi, when she was just five.

She was married to her first husband, Leemon Scott Green, from November 18, 1950, until his death in March of 1988. They had three daughters, Sharon Diane, Pamela Lynn, and Paula Sue. In 1990, Leola married Oscar Haynes. His three daughters and two sons helped create a combined family of eight (8) children, seventeen (17) grandchildren, and eleven (11) great-grandchildren.

Leola was a devoted educator having taught kindergarten and sixth grade at the former Stickney Elementary School and later at Riverside Elementary School, and she was featured in Who's Who Among America's Teachers before retiring from Toledo Public Schools in 1997.

After leaving the classroom, her role in education propelled her into the unique and exemplary position to serve her community as President, Chairwoman, Director or Member of over twenty-five (25) boards and charitable organizations. Such esteemed organizations include EOPA, Advocates for Basic Legal Equality (ABLE), Legal Aid of Western Ohio, African-American Legacy Project, Toledo Sister Cities, The Toledo Zoo, the Toledo Symphony League and The Toledo Museum of Art and its Committee for Cultural Diversity.

She also served diligently as an annual ambassador of the American Cancer Society, and maintained active memberships in the Toledo Council of Black Nurses, Phi Delta Kappa International Sorority of Educators, and the National Association of Negro Business and Professional Women's Clubs (NANBPWC) Toledo Club, where she previously served as Chairwoman of the Debutante Cotillion, and worked with the Debs-in-Waiting well into her 80s.

Through her civic endeavors, she regularly organized and activated state and local politicians and community members for common causes, and was honored by the University of Toledo Alumni Association for Civic Achievement in 2012. Later, she would receive Delta Sigma Theta's Mother of the Year Award, the Indiana Avenue Missionary Baptist Church Appreciation Award, and the prestigious National Sojourner Truth Service Award from the National Association of Negro Business and Professional Women's Clubs.

As a life member of The Indiana Avenue Missionary Baptist Church, she was the Director of Junior Church, a position that she proudly served for decades, and later served on the Christian Education Board and the Mother's Board. In later years, she created programs for seniors through the Area Office on Aging, served in the Neighborhood Block Watch, and was a long-time board member of UMADOP, the drug and alcohol prevention agency in Toledo.

She is survived by husband, Oscar Haynes; children, Sharon Diane (Jimmy) Gaines, Pamela Lynn (Carlton) Jones, and Paula Sue (Phillip) Hamilton, Lester (Vera) Haynes, Ingrid Haynes, Daryn Haynes, Gwendalyn (Michael Lawler) Haynes-Burel, and Karren Haynes; fifteen (15) grandchildren, Jimmy (Tekesha) Gaines, Jr. of Columbus, Ohio, Andre (Lauren) Gaines of Los Angeles, California, Britny and Collin Jones of Toledo, Taryn (Marcus) O'Neal of Chicago, Illinois, Leslie (Jerome Poole) Bailey of Southfield, Michigan, Venice (Aji) Haynes-Green, Daryn Haynes, Jr. of Irving, Texas, Maria (Brian Frey, Sr.) Haynes, Karah (Lewis) Carney, Omari Burel, Kafele Burel, Jelani Burel, Kayla Haynes, Kahlil Haynes; eleven (11) great-grandchildren, Jaedyn, Julian, Josiah and Wesley Gaines, Joy and Zoe Green, Lilly Bailey, Ivy, Brian, Jr. and Neo Frey, and Legacy Burel-Smallwood; and a host of cousins, relatives and friends.

Funeral services will be held at C. Brown Funeral Home in a private ceremony for family only. Please send flowers to C. Brown Funeral Home or make memorial contributions to the organization of your choice in the name of Leola Green-Haynes. A foundation is being established in her memory for contributions at a later date.


A Letter to My Grandmother

By Andre L. Gaines

You died on a Sunday morning, July 5, 2020, and I cannot think of a more fitting tribute than for you to leave this Earth in the same way that you entered my life: with fireworks, and celebration, and the lighting up of the skies. You were many things to many people – a mother, a wife, a grandmother, a caretaker, a friend, an educator, a leader, an inspiration – but to me, you were simply perfection.
Without you, I would not be where I am today. Next to my own mother, Sharon, and father, Jimmy, you are the single greatest influence in everything that I am, and everything that I do. My father made me a man, but you taught me tenderness. My mother gave me tenacity, but you gave me serenity. My grandfather, the first one, whose middle name I bare (Leemon) gave me enormous confidence, but you gave me grace. My grandfather, the second one, Oscar gave me resolve, but you gave me clarity. And peace. And love. And memories – too numerous to recount; too vast to ever encapsulate, but ones that I will never forget.
I remember being in elementary school at St. Jude and you and Papaw coming to my class for Grandparents’ Day. I remember a friend saying to me, “Your grandmother always looks good!” commenting on your impeccable and unyielding style of dress, which was impressionable even at an early age. I remember being so excited to “show you off” to my friends, and teachers, and faculty – not that you ever needed my help. But I also remember, your smile and you being so excited to see me, and to look over my school work, and step in with your own comments when appropriate. And I’ll never forget that day in second grade when you and Papaw not only brought me pizza for Grandparents’ Day, but the whole school, grades K-8. There was nothing you could do wrong to me. In fact, you only managed to top yourself with age.
I remember you going to the Caribbean on one of the many cruises we took as children thanks to my parent’s travel club Trade Winds. I remember hearing about how kids in Haiti ran up to you and Papaw as you walked through the streets, and you were upset because Papaw was handing out money to every little kid who had their hand out. I’ll never forget how that made me feel. I remember my grandfather lamenting that “he made this money to give it away,” and how tickled my parents were at your discourse.
Then I remember when Papaw got sick. I was in third grade. He was trying to hide it. His speech was slurred. He wrote a check at the bank and his handwriting was like scribble. He was having a stroke. I remember him being rushed to the hospital, and I remember him grunting as doctors poked him with one needle after the next. I’ll never forget your strength. I remember being in the hospital room and him fighting to survive when he was taken off of life support. The heart monitor stopped. My mom fainted, but you were there to hold all of us up; my Aunt Pam, my Aunt Paula, your two grandsons, the whole family. When you walked down the aisle at his funeral to view his body, you dropped to your knees, and my dad and Uncle George held you up. I remember saying to you at your house after the service, “I’ve never seen you do that before.” And you said to me, “That was my husband in there.” You were married for thirty-eight (38) years. It would take me almost until I was thirty myself, and fall in love with my wife Lauren, to remotely understand what it means to love someone so much that they make your knees buckle and take your breath away.
You stayed with us for a few years after that, living in our house. I know now that those were tough times, sad times, but back then, they were great. I had my grandmother, and parents, and brother, and dog, all under one roof. I got to see you every day, and as far as I was concerned, you could stay with us forever. But I knew it would not last. I knew, even then, that you had to move on, regroup, find new life, purpose and meaning.
And you did, when you found Grandad, a man who we called Uncle Oscar for a few years before feeling comfortable enough to give him that title. He had some enormous shoes to fill. It was not long that my brother and I realized, and accepted, that Grandad had no desire to fill Papaw’s shoes, he simply wanted to walk alongside them, in his own shoes, and we loved him for that. No other grandkids had experienced the pain of losing their grandfather, but none also had the luxury of having two awesome ones.
A year or so later, we found ourselves back on a cruise. I remember swimming in the ocean, yards away from the crystal shore, much further out than I had any business going, but safely on the back of my big brother Jay. Before we knew it, we were quickly approaching the base of the cruise ship, docked way down the pier. It was enormous, and scary, but when I looked up, there you and Grandad were, still on the boat, looking over the railing down below and yelling to your grandkids to “get back to shore.” I should say, you were yelling. Grandad was smiling. But to me, both were perfect.
Through it all, you were the constant force in our lives. Keeping our family together; teaching us how to love one another; be kind to one another, and respect one another. You were more than a grandmother. You were our “Gagee.”
Through it all, you were the constant force in our lives. Keeping our family together; teaching us how to love one another; be kind to one another, and respect one another. You were more than a grandmother. You were our “Gagee.”
Boy could you cook! My mom called you a “culinary goddess.” Thanksgiving belonged to you. No one else could touch it. I never understood how you managed to cook an entire meal, for our gigantic family, and still show up dressed and refreshed like you had not been up until 3AM mixing, and baking and tasting to perfection. Your dressing was the stuff of legend, and no one knew how to make it but you. I think I even remember my dad’s brothers and sisters, Uncle Billie, and Aunts Denise and Mary suggesting you sell it. When I flew home for the holidays, it was all I wanted, and those were the days I could eat pounds of the stuff and still manage to maintain a skinny frame. It was perfect.
You were perfect! I remember when I decided to defer medical school and go make movies instead, and you said to me, in that most affectionate way that you do, “Why do you want to tell lies to people…in the dark?” I remember smiling because you could say anything and everything to me and it would make me do just that – smile. Thank you for the gift of sarcasm, the ability to laugh at myself, to ask myself the type of questions that you would ask me, and make myself better. Thank you for teaching me to “top myself.” To do better on the next try, and to “hurry up and fail” so that I could clear the way for success. These are things that I will never forget, and that I will pass on to my kids. I already have.
I remember your pride when I graduated from NYU with a Masters in Fine Arts. My friends had heard about you and were dying to meet you, and I was dying to yet again, “show you off.” Grandad was there. My parents were there. Aunt Paula and Taryn came. My niece Jaedyn came, and later my brother Jay and his wife Kesha came to a New Year’s party in NYC that year. After graduation, when we celebrated, I’ll never forget you grabbing my arm, and saying, “I am so proud of you,” followed by, “Now hurry up and make some movies so I can see something before I leave here, okay?” Of course, I smiled and said, “Okay.”
I often tell my friends, and even our family sometimes, that I pride myself on the fact that I have never had a single disagreement with my Gagee, or my Grandad. Papaw neither, but when he was alive, I had the distinction of being the “baby” of the family, with an older brother and rambunctious older cousins, Jason, Lamont and Ken, who all got into enough trouble for ten versions of me. Never having a disagreement with you was easy – far too easy.
You taught me how to pray, how to fast, how to listen, how to learn. How to be open-minded, and smart, and purposeful, and wise beyond my years. How to represent our family, how to have self-respect, how to encourage others, how to lead. And yes, how to dress. You taught me how to cut my food, how to slice a steak one bite at a time, how to pass both the salt and the pepper when someone just asked you for the salt. My parents taught me this stuff too, but you often beat them to it, and in some cases, re-taught it to me, just in case.
I remember you at my wedding, yet another opportunity to “show you off,” and a line of friends, high-powered people, doctors, entertainment lawyers, young politicians, waiting in line to greet you as you sat at your table. My Grandad was there too, always neat, classy, jovial and pensive at the same time, while you worked the room with your grace and charm. “This is my Gagee,” I would say. The reaction was always, “Oh, so this is Gagee?” I could never say enough about you, and now my friends got to meet you. It was magical.I had my whole family there, even my Uncles George and Phillip, and Aunts Ingrid and Gwendy, and my little cousins Britny, Colin, Omari, Kafele and Jelani, all to see me cry as my wife walked down the aisle. The same would happen years later when you met my son, Julian.
I remember you at my wedding, yet another opportunity to “show you off,” and a line of friends, high-powered people, doctors, entertainment lawyers, young politicians, waiting in line to greet you as you sat at your table. My Grandad was there too, always neat, classy, jovial and pensive at the same time, while you worked the room with your grace and charm. “This is my Gagee,” I would say. The reaction was always, “Oh, so this is Gagee?” I could never say enough about you, and now my friends got to meet you. It was magical.I had my whole family there, even my Uncles George and Phillip, and Aunts Ingrid and Gwendy, and my little cousins Britny, Colin, Omari, Kafele and Jelani, all to see me cry as my wife walked down the aisle. The same would happen years later when you met my son, Julian.
I will never get to do that again with you. I will never get to tell you how much I love you, and how much you meant to me. I will never again be able to smile at you or laugh at your sarcasm or jokes, or be in awe of everything that you do. But to me, you will always be magical. Miraculous. Incredible. A force of grace, and style, and class.
My dad says you became like a “second mother” to him when his mom died forty-four years ago. My brother Jay regularly recalls you telling us “if you do right by people, you will receive your blessings.” And my mom says about her and her sisters that “the Lord sent us the greatest mother ever, to provide us with love, guidance and develop us into strong women.”
My dad says you became like a “second mother” to him when his mom died forty-four years ago. My brother Jay regularly recalls you telling us “if you do right by people, you will receive your blessings.” And my mom says about her and her sisters that “the Lord sent us the greatest mother ever, to provide us with love, guidance and develop us into strong women.”

Love, your grandson,

Andre

Andre L. Gaines is a film and television producer whose credits include Children of the Corn, Bill Nye Science Guy, Spike Lee’s Da Sweet Blood of Jesus, and The Lady and the Dale coming to HBO. He is a native of Toledo, Ohio and lives in Los Angeles, CA with his wife, Lauren, two sons, Julian and Wesley, and his parents, Sharon D. Green-Gaines and Jimmy L. Gaines, Sr.