Everybody seems to have a Keisha Lance Bottoms story these days. As I watch the celebrations surrounding her historic election as the nation’s first Black woman governor, I find myself remembering mine. It began on a glorious summer afternoon on Martha’s Vineyard.
My beloved husband, Stephen, and I were sitting in the gazebo on the front lawn of our Victorian home on Nashawena Park in Oak Bluffs. We had our glasses of wine, smooth jazz was playing in the background and we were thanking God for the privilege of being in such a beautiful place.
Nashawena Park is one of those quintessential Vineyard streets, lined with old Victorian homes, mature trees, flowering gardens and the ocean just a stone’s throw away. Visitors often drive slowly along, admiring the scenery.
On this particular afternoon, Steve noticed a car moving especially slowly. Eventually, it stopped near our house. My husband, one of the kindest and most gracious people I’ve ever known, never met a stranger he couldn’t turn into a friend. Naturally, he walked over to ask whether he could help. The occupants were Keisha Lance Bottoms, her husband Derek and their children.
They weren’t lost. They were exploring the neighborhood, interested in purchasing a vacation property on the Vineyard. Within minutes, Steve had worked his magic. The car was parked, the family had joined us in the gazebo, and I was gathering cold drinks and glasses for our unexpected guests. What followed was one of those delightful, unplanned conversations that stay with you for years. Somewhere along the way, Keisha and I began talking about public service.
I shared my experience of being elected to the Sharon School committee decades earlier, when women of color in elected office in Massachusetts were still a rarity. My campaign had brought together an extraordinary collection of people: Jews and Gentiles, young and old, people of different political persuasions and backgrounds. On election night, several remarked that they never imagined finding themselves in the same room, much less working toward the same goal.
And then the results came in.
We hadn’t simply won, we’d won by a landslide! The house practically shook with excitement. But what I remembered most wasn’t the victory margin, it was the humility of being entrusted with an opportunity to serve my community and help make our schools better.
Keisha listened with interest. At the time, she was serving on the Atlanta city council, and our conversation turned to her future. I remember asking her directly: “Keisha, have you ever thought about running for mayor?”
She acknowledged, somewhat demurely, that she had.
Derek quickly chimed in. Yes, he said, he’d been encouraging her to do exactly that.
Well, that was all I needed to hear!
“Keisha,” I said, “what do you have to lose? Go for it!”
I wasn’t dispensing profound political wisdom. I was simply sharing the encouragement born of my own experience, many years earlier, when I took a chance and discovered what could happen when people believed in me — and when I dared to believe in myself.
But another part of that visit has stayed with me, perhaps even more vividly. Steve had been struggling with a carpentry-related task around our house. I no longer remember exactly what needed doing, only that he needed another pair of hands. When Derek learned about it, he immediately offered to help. He said he’d return with one of their sons.
And you know what? He did.
A day or so later, Derek and his son returned and helped my husband. Imagine that, a family vacationing on Martha’s Vineyard encounters two strangers sitting in their gazebo, stops for a conversation, and then returns to help with a household chore.
No fanfare. No special treatment. Just ordinary human kindness. That told me something important about this family. Years later, Keisha ran for mayor of Atlanta. And won.
I smiled when I heard the news, remembering our summer afternoon and that little conversation about taking chances. Now, in November 2026, she has made history again, becoming the first Black woman elected governor in our nation’s history. What an extraordinary achievement, and what a powerful example for young women, especially young women of color, who may now see possibilities for themselves that once seemed impossibly distant.
I don’t pretend my few words of encouragement had anything to do with Keisha’s remarkable journey. She possessed the talent, determination, courage and family support to make that journey herself. But I do believe encouragement matters. Sometimes we never know what a kind word, a question, or a simple “Go for it!” might mean to another person.
Today, as I watch the celebrations of Keisha’s victory, I find myself smiling through a few tears because there’s one person I wish were sitting beside me to enjoy this moment. My Steve. He would have been absolutely delighted. I can almost see his wonderful smile as he remembered the afternoon when a slowly moving car brought a future governor and her family into our lives.
I wish we could raise our glasses together once more, with smooth jazz playing and the summer breeze drifting across our lawn. But I take comfort in believing that somewhere in his special place in heaven, Steve is smiling down on Keisha, too.
And perhaps he’s saying what we said all those years ago: “Go for it, Keisha!”
Only this time, I imagine he’d add: “And look how far you’ve come.”
Jane C. Edmonds lives in Oak Bluffs.