Robbie Board

Born

• Nov. 29, 1905

Died

• June 21, 2006

Survived by

• daughters Jackie Bolden and Jeane Marsh, grandchildren, great-grandchild, great-great grandchildren

Highlights of her life

• As a girl, Board was a student of legendary Roanoke educator Lucy Addison.
• In her last decades, Board was membership chair for the Roanoke NAACP.

She was a student of legendary Roanoke educator Lucy Addison's. A classmate of civil rights lawyer Oliver Hill.

For decades she worked with the likes of the Rev. Carl Tinsley and Evangeline Jeffrey as membership chairwoman of the Roanoke branch of the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People.

Robbie Board was a slightly built tower of strength -- a woman who worked and raised three children alone after her husband died. She was passionate about justice, say those who knew her, and she always spoke her mind.

Board died June 21, 2006, at age 100. Hers is not a name heard often when people speak of the history of civil rights and desegregation in Roanoke. Yet Board, some say, was an unsung hero of that time and beyond.

"She was a great believer in equal rights for everybody," recalled her daughter, Jeane Hale Marsh of Roanoke.

"She was a great person, and because she came this way, we're a better family and this is a better community," her other daughter, Jackie Bolden said.

Old friends

Robbie Board lived a colorful and eventful life. As a young woman, she worked as a housekeeper at the house of a young John Payne, who would become the Roanoke Valley's most famous movie star. (Payne was a staple in mid-century movie musicals, but is best remembered as co-star of "Miracle on 34th Street," along with Maureen O'Hara and a very young Natalie Wood. Payne was the lawyer who defended Santa Claus.)

Board was in her 20s at the time, with three children of her own. (Her first husband, William Hale, had died very young with pneumonia, Jackie Bolden said. Robbie Board was married a second time, to Lynwood Board, when the children were already grown.) Board recalled in interviews that Payne was always clowning around in his kitchen and asking her to critique his singing. "He should have been a comedian," Board told The Roanoke Times at age 94.

Sometimes Payne took her to the movies. "With his hat turned up, Mr. Payne was the sportiest man in town," Board told the Roanoker magazine in 1992. Board also said she once cooked country ham and fried potatoes at the Payne house for singer Nelson Eddy.

As a little girl, Board attended Harrison School with Hill, who would become a lawyer and celebrated champion of civil rights. In 1995, Board and Hill both attended a reception for Hill at the former Harrison School, now the Harrison Museum of African American Culture. Hill, who was 87 at the time, wondered aloud about the whereabouts of his childhood friend, according to news accounts.

"Somebody said, 'She's here!' and I threw my hand up," said Board, describing the occasion afterward. She also recalled going to a birthday party for Hill when she was 5. "He was the arguing-est little boy," she said with affection. "I told somebody, 'He's going to be a lawyer one of these days.' "

A law classmate and friend of the late Supreme Court Justice Thurgood Marshall, Hill was trial attorney in the Virginia portion of the landmark Brown v. Board of Education case ordering desegregation of the nation's schools.

Those who know her said Board was just as committed to the cause of equal rights, in her lower-profile way.

"She fought for it," Marsh said. "Anytime anybody wanted any help, family or otherwise, she was there. Anytime something involved Roanoke and the black race, she was there."

Big Mama's little girl

Board was born to Roanokers Robert and Virginia Woodliff on Nov. 29, 1905. She had five younger brothers, all of whom she outlived.

Board recalled her early life to Roanoke Times reporter Beth Macy in 2005. Her memories of legendary black educator Lucy Addison, principal at Harrison School, were a record of two strong wills that sometimes collided:

"She and I didn't get along too good," said Board, who graduated from Harrison School in 1923. "She was very stern. She didn't put up with no foolishness. She'd clap her bony hands and call us to order."

Board recalled getting mad at the local Red Cross on one occasion -- the reason is not recorded -- and persuading classmates not to contribute any money to their fundraising drive. She also organized a protest involving black crepe arm bands. Lucy Addison was not amused.

"She said, 'Robbie Woodliff, I know you did that.' And I didn't say yes or no."

As a child, Board lived in Gainsboro. Her father worked for the railroad until 1923, when he fell ill while returning from West Virginia.

"He came back to Roanoke and died," Board told Roanoke Times columnist Joe Kennedy in 1999.

Robert Woodliff left behind six children and a pool hall on Henry Street, which helped the family pull through. He also left behind his wife, Board's mother, Virginia Woodliff -- a large, striking light-skinned woman who left her mark on Robbie.

Marsh believes her mother got her passion for justice from her own mother, known to the family as "Big Mama." "Big Mama" had been known to ride in the front seat of a city bus and walk in the front door of downtown stores long before it was permissible to do so in Jim Crow Roanoke, Marsh said.

Robbie Board "was a pistol," Marsh said of her mother, "but Big Mama was the pistol that led the pistol. She knew every judge downtown. They knew her and respected her and called her 'Mrs. Woodliff.' "

In adulthood, Board worked at the Hotel Roanoke as an assistant housekeeper, and later at the Ponce de Leon Hotel (now headquarters for Total Action Against Poverty in downtown Roanoke) as an elevator operator.

In later life, she worked for decades as the membership chairwoman for the NAACP. Jeffrey, a longtime NAACP president, recalled a petite woman with "beautiful gray hair. And always dressed impeccably."

Board was the voice of the organization in one important way: When no one was there to answer the NAACP office phone, it rolled over to Board's number, Jeffrey said. Thus, Board's voice was the one that many callers heard.

Her friendly way of handling those callers was one of her lasting contributions to the NAACP. "We received lots of life memberships, just from her talking to people about what was going on," Jeffrey said. "She knew how to relate to people. She was fun. A kindly, gentle spirit. When you talked to her, you wanted to aspire to be her."

Another former NAACP president, Tinsley, recalled Board as one of an inner group of NAACP foot soldiers -- all women -- who could be counted on to get things done. Board, he said, was an outstanding citizen and a strong woman, with a sharp sense of humor.

"She was just one of those people behind the scenes. Whenever she was needed, that's where she was," Tinsley said. "She and I developed kind of a special relationship. It was a joy to know her."

In her last years, Tinsley said, Board continued to work for the NAACP, but when and how she chose. "We gently let her do whatever she felt like doing."

Even though Board reached the century mark, she always seemed much younger, Jeffrey noted, and her mind stayed sharp. She was still signing people up with the NAACP as she approached 100.

Jeffrey saw Board just a few months before she died. "To me, she was the same. She was ageless."

Marsh recalled an organized woman who, until the day she died, kept "beautiful paperwork" and did crossword puzzles -- in ink.

Staff writer Beth Macy contributed to this report.