To the rest of the neighborhood, she is Miss Vi. To the hungry patrons walking down Northwestern Avenue with empty pockets, she was a community savior. But to me, Margaret Elvira Hamilton is simply ‘Grandma.’
As we pause this month to recognize Grandparents Day, I find myself reflecting on the nearly 100 years of history, resilience and unyielding love that define the matriarch of our family.
Born in 1929 in Campbellsville, Kentucky, located in Taylor County, my grandmother entered a world that demanded immediate grit. She was born to Dutch and Mamie Rice, one of 12 children. Her father, my great-grandfather, Dutch, was a sharecropper. We are only a few generations removed from the harrowing realities of slavery and sharecropping in the American South, but for my grandmother, that heavy history was never a deterrent; it was the foundation of an unmatched work ethic.
She was a twin, though her brother, Elmer, tragically passed away shortly after birth. She persevered through the eras, eventually attending Durham High School, a historic institution for Black students in Kentucky. Years later, she made her way north to Indianapolis, met my grandfather, Thomas “Tommy” Hamilton, and began writing her own chapter of history.
My grandmother was a working woman who did not waste any time securing her own independence. She eventually opened Vi’s Black Pot, a beloved soul food restaurant located on 25th Street and Northwestern Avenue — now Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. Street. Sitting just a few storefronts down from another historic Black-owned institution, Ronald Jones’ BBQ Heaven, she operated her restaurant for more than 30 years in the historically Black neighborhood.
She fed absolutely everyone. If someone came in short on cash or with no money at all, she rarely turned them away. That is a trait she has carried her entire life. To this day, I still run into people across the city who remember Miss Vi and the Black Pot. They tell me stories of how she helped them when they were down to their absolute last dime, making sure they received a hot meal and a moment of dignity.
Her accomplishments still chase me.
When I dug into the archives of the Indianapolis Recorder and found old advertisements for her restaurant, it brought tears of joy to my eyes. It was a profound, full-circle realization of the path she paved for our family.
But her legacy is not just in the food she served; it is in the character she built within her grandchildren.
I have always been known as a hot-head. When I was younger, I would casually throw around the word “hate” when I was frustrated with someone. She would immediately stop me.
“You don’t hate anybody. Ever.”
She would tell me. “You can dislike them, but you don’t have hate in your heart to give anyone.”
That single piece of wisdom reshaped how I navigate the world. She demanded integrity and insisted that I put my best foot forward, teaching me always to leave a place better than I found it.
If I were to leave the Recorder today, I know she would be incredibly proud of how I have honored that rule.
She is a woman of immense strength and steadfast composure. In fact, I have only seen her break down once: at Donnell, my older brother’s funeral in 2023. Outside of that unimaginable heartbreak, she has remained our resolute protector, never letting anyone see a weakness.
And for the record, I have never heard her utter a single curse word in my life — a specific trait that, admittedly, she did not pass down to me.
Today, she is in her 90s, mostly mobile, and retains all of her sharp senses and faculties. It is a true blessing, likely the result of a lifetime of abstaining from drinking or smoking, and her long-standing devotion as a member of Mt. Olive Baptist Church.
When I look back, the memories she made with my sister Breonna and me stand out above everything else. I remember her taking us up to the canal to feed the ducks with leftover, day-old bread. I remember the days she would take us to the Broad Ripple Park pool and sit with us for hours. I remember when she would teach my sister and me how to make money with things like a yard sale, a lemonade stand, shoveling snow, and so many other things. She never wasted food, and she always helped others — even the animals.
That simple routine perfectly encapsulates her entire ethos: You do right by people, by animals and by the world, even if they do not do right by you. You love everybody. You trust in God, and everything will be all right.
Thank you, Granny. I am, and will always be, Grandma’s boy.
Contact multimedia & senior sports reporter Noral Parham at 317-762-7846. Follow him on X @3Noral. For more, visit indianapolisrecorder.com.
Noral Parham is the multi-media reporter for the Indianapolis Recorder, one of the oldest Black publications in the country. Prior to joining the Recorder, Parham served as the community advocate of the MLK Center in Indianapolis and senior copywriter for an e-commerce and marketing firm in Denver.
