Celebrating the life, love, and legacy of
US Congresswoman Eddie Bernice Johnson

Rep. Eddie Bernice Johnson (D-Texas) poses for a portrait in Washington on Jan. 3, 2019. Just over 100 years ago, the first woman was sworn into Congress. Now a record 131 women are serving in the Legislature. (Elizabeth D. Herman/The New York Times)

Hello, out there! It has been a couple of years since I have been active on social media, with the exception of LinkedIn, so I write not knowing if anyone will see this, rather understanding that somehow any and all who need to do so will. I share my words as a clarion acknowledgment of a life well lived by one of the most beautiful friends I have ever been blessed with, U.S. Congresswoman Eddie Bernice Johnson.  

Many will forever see EBJ as a powerful politician, a fierce trailblazer and bridge-builder, a lover of all people, a staunch advocate for equality and equity for women, minorities, and the LGBTQ+ community, an eloquent diplomat and stateswoman, and more. I see her simply as someone who taught me how to be a better leader who could lead quietly, yet powerfully, and be an even better son to my mother, Hazel Nowlin.
 
Though EBJ and I first met when I was in my twenties, and I am now 43, I would learn that my friend was always willing to stand up for what was right, whether it was popular or not at the time, or whether anyone witnessed the grueling hours she put in behind the scenes. EBJ had a heart of gold, the intelligence and drive to get things done and to reach across the aisle time after time, and an indefatigable work ethic—yet she did not care much for attention. She stood on principle and had that special loving heart of inclusiveness, and everyone, and I mean everyone, always knew she was prepared.

You see, I was lucky enough to be alongside EBJ for a bit back in my twenties and thirties when I lived in Dallas. I looked up to her so very much, and I learned a great deal from her. She and I shared a natural connection from the first time we met at a reception in Oak Cliff. Over the years, we got to know each other well, and as two Sagittariuses, we would laugh and share a similar sense of humor. We talked about so many things, including hopes for a gentler and more inclusive world. A keen student, I learned from her the art of diplomacy, and why she enjoyed the honor of the salutation, “gentlewoman from Texas.” I learned how to be more of a gentleman from watching her glide in some of the toughest situations, including when she was heckled for doing what was right but was not always popular at certain times, like standing up for gay rights, increasing NASA and STEM funding, fighting for the Affordable Care Act which has benefited millions of Americans across political lines, securing funding for housing for people dying of AIDS, working on extremely complicated transportation and infrastructure plans, and much more. During the Great Recession, I would witness Republicans, Democrats, and Independents salute her for taking crucial stands that meant they could keep their businesses open and survive another day. Further, EBJ never shied away from speaking out and destigmatizing mental health across all communities. As a mental health and suicide prevention advocate myself, I could not be prouder of her relentless effort to create the bipartisan National Suicide Designation Act which enacted America’s 988 hotline to save lives. Political party affiliation mattered much less to her than doing the right thing and helping her country to succeed.

Less than two decades ago, we were indeed a different America. Politics were still rough and tumble, but things were a bit different; I was just ambitious and loyal, but never clairvoyant enough to know how extreme our nation’s political landscape would eventually become. EBJ always found a way to at a minimum take the time to listen to others’ perspectives, to forgive, and to love unconditionally—and then to move on and keep on marching, in spite of what she had experienced as a black woman, registered nurse, and Chief Psychiatric Nurse in a nation that was unprepared for her laser-focus on equality. But, she was ready! And she taught me and so many others how to always be prepared. True, EBJ would stand up, march, and be on the go so much, that her aging spine and knees would eventually be the only things that would slow her down over the years—for her heart was always of gold, and she could never find a way to hate anyone, regardless of differences and disagreements.
 
Back in the day, the other “young’uns” and I would joke around in Dallas and in DC about how hard it was to keep up with EBJ. She had more energy than all of us. She was focused and resolute, and we kids were sometimes goofy and off-task, to say the least. We all knew a certain truth, though, which kept us grounded—EBJ was serving not out of narcissism or megalomania but rather to spread love and opportunity, to fiercely protect the least privileged of Americans, and to help other people. We took that calling for granted sometimes because we were young adults. I would hang out with some of the staffers from her office and other Members’ offices, and my buddy Chris Crowe (now deceased) and I would joke around about how many House rules we could break in a day and not get caught! I was a devoted volunteer and EBJ would give me as much responsibility as I could handle, and whether a staffer or volunteer, we all just knew we had one thing in common—we desired a more just and verdant America. We would work and we would have fun. We would high-five Capitol Police officers and they would turn an eye and let us run through the tunnels and halls and do other silly things that I won’t mention in writing, for the world was in some ways a more fun and kinder place back then in which young adults were allowed to be ambitious, yet also allowed to be kids at heart, be silly and mess up, and be corrected by adults who knew we were just joking around. Those adults were also very tough on us, and we appreciate that guidance and love to this day. Folks like Rod Givens, Murat Gokcigdem, and Esperanza Worley worked hard and showed us how to lead. I just loved watching them work and keep staff and volunteers in line—they showed me the grit it took and included me in every opportunity to work and help in any way I could. We were learning some serious ropes in that very hopeful America, years before any possible thoughts of insurrection, social media slandering, or unbridled extremism ever crossed anyone’s mind. That level of consciousness was unimaginable to most of us back then, and we all assumed that the arc of justice was slow but steady yet would most certainly never reach a breaking point like on January 6, 2021. This was America, and folks my age back then were considered the next generation to step up to the plate with optimism and duty, not fear or cynicism. We knew we were being prepared and would one day stand upon the shoulders of the likes of EBJ for a more perfect union, whether that be in political service, activism, or just being a thoughtful citizen—we were all expected to be decent and respectful to one another, across party lines. We all had a job to do, and that was to work together to make America better. More inclusive. More kind.

All that aside, let me tell you, EBJ was pretty tough. I was new to everything and a fast learner, and she showed me a mother’s love on the rare occasion when I dropped the ball, so long as I did not drop it more than once! What a lucky guy I was, for I already have a phenomenal mother, the beautiful Hazel Nowlin plus other great women in my life like EBJ. To be constantly comforted in my biological mother’s love, who had overcome so very much herself, and to experience the love of EBJ in such an unfamiliar and brutal world like politics—all while witnessing EBJ’s deep affection for D Kirk Johnson, her son, and her daughter-in-law, Sondra Dilworth Johnson, whom she doted over and loved as her own daughter, and the rest of the family—was heaven on earth!
 
Kirk and Sondra taught me how to really have fun with family and how to show up through thick and thin. When I see Kirk, I just think wow, how extraordinary it would be to have a father like him. How lucky could I get to have been loved, to share love, and to be nudged so well by such good people who always meant the best for me! To all of you, thank you for being role models and for allowing me to be a student. You rooted for me and witnessed me work to do my best in this ever-changing, complex world.
 
EBJ, it is because of you that this kid who grew up a little over three hours southwest of DC, in Lynchburg, Virginia in the foothills of the Blue Ridge Mountains, that I learned the importance of quiet service, always doing my homework in advance, and the importance of taking a stand to get in “good trouble”. Though Lynchburg taught me how to dream and fight, you taught me how to dream bigger and how to win on principle, preparation, and love. Love always wins.
 
Me with the Congresswoman at right, and my mom Hazel
Above all, EBJ, you taught me how to love and adore my mother, Hazel, even more, and how extraordinarily precious phenomenal women are who have overcome so many obstacles, yet still find a way to put others first. And through our journey together, I ultimately learned that I could serve my nation equally well, outside of politics.
 
You taught me that I, a gay, black, educated, focused man, who could be kind, inclusive, thoughtful, respectful, prepared, and hard-working, deserved a seat at the most powerful tables. With that teaching, I took my seat and use my voice today as a tool for justice in my own authentic way, spotlight or not. And after I exited politics and moved from Dallas to Austin, you went the extra mile by having a flag flown over the US Capitol to bless John’s and my home. That flag flies prominently in our entrance parlor and will forever be one of our most treasured items. Each time John and I walk past that flag, it reminds us of the work that we all must continue to do to make America the best she can be.
 
Thank you, EBJ. For you, I am a better man, a better son, a better husband, and a better servant. For you, I found my voice and learned how to serve more unapologetically, more purposefully, and best of all, lovingly and without limits.
John, my hubby, Hazel, my mother, and family send you, Kirk, Sondra, and the family, a deep bow of appreciation. I will always be so very grateful for you sharing your family with ours for so many years.
 
Thank you for fighting the good fight.
 
Thank you for standing up for justice and opportunity for all.
 
The world is a better place for you having been in it.
Rep. Eddie Bernice Johnson (D-Texas) poses for a portrait in Washington on Jan. 3, 2019. Just over 100 years ago, the first woman was sworn into Congress. Now a record 131 women are serving in the Legislature. (Elizabeth D. Herman/The New York Times)

Hello, out there! It has been a couple of years since I have been active on social media, with the exception of LinkedIn, so I write not knowing if anyone will see this, rather understanding that somehow any and all who need to do so will. I share my words as a clarion acknowledgment of a life well lived by one of the most beautiful friends I have ever been blessed with, U.S. Congresswoman Eddie Bernice Johnson.  

Many will forever see EBJ as a powerful politician, a fierce trailblazer and bridge-builder, a lover of all people, a staunch advocate for equality and equity for women, minorities, and the LGBTQ+ community, an eloquent diplomat and stateswoman, and more. I see her simply as someone who taught me how to be a better leader who could lead quietly, yet powerfully, and be an even better son to my mother, Hazel Nowlin.
 
Though EBJ and I first met when I was in my twenties, and I am now 43, I would learn that my friend was always willing to stand up for what was right, whether it was popular or not at the time, or whether anyone witnessed the grueling hours she put in behind the scenes. EBJ had a heart of gold, the intelligence and drive to get things done and to reach across the aisle time after time, and an indefatigable work ethic—yet she did not care much for attention. She stood on principle and had that special loving heart of inclusiveness, and everyone, and I mean everyone, always knew she was prepared.

You see, I was lucky enough to be alongside EBJ for a bit back in my twenties and thirties when I lived in Dallas. I looked up to her so very much, and I learned a great deal from her. She and I shared a natural connection from the first time we met at a reception in Oak Cliff. Over the years, we got to know each other well, and as two Sagittariuses, we would laugh and share a similar sense of humor. We talked about so many things, including hopes for a gentler and more inclusive world. A keen student, I learned from her the art of diplomacy, and why she enjoyed the honor of the salutation, “gentlewoman from Texas.” I learned how to be more of a gentleman from watching her glide in some of the toughest situations, including when she was heckled for doing what was right but was not always popular at certain times, like standing up for gay rights, increasing NASA and STEM funding, fighting for the Affordable Care Act which has benefited millions of Americans across political lines, securing funding for housing for people dying of AIDS, working on extremely complicated transportation and infrastructure plans, and much more. During the Great Recession, I would witness Republicans, Democrats, and Independents salute her for taking crucial stands that meant they could keep their businesses open and survive another day. Further, EBJ never shied away from speaking out and destigmatizing mental health across all communities. As a mental health and suicide prevention advocate myself, I could not be prouder of her relentless effort to create the bipartisan National Suicide Designation Act which enacted America’s 988 hotline to save lives. Political party affiliation mattered much less to her than doing the right thing and helping her country to succeed.

Less than two decades ago, we were indeed a different America. Politics were still rough and tumble, but things were a bit different; I was just ambitious and loyal, but never clairvoyant enough to know how extreme our nation’s political landscape would eventually become. EBJ always found a way to at a minimum take the time to listen to others’ perspectives, to forgive, and to love unconditionally—and then to move on and keep on marching, in spite of what she had experienced as a black woman, registered nurse, and Chief Psychiatric Nurse in a nation that was unprepared for her laser-focus on equality. But, she was ready! And she taught me and so many others how to always be prepared. True, EBJ would stand up, march, and be on the go so much, that her aging spine and knees would eventually be the only things that would slow her down over the years—for her heart was always of gold, and she could never find a way to hate anyone, regardless of differences and disagreements.
 
Back in the day, the other “young’uns” and I would joke around in Dallas and in DC about how hard it was to keep up with EBJ. She had more energy than all of us. She was focused and resolute, and we kids were sometimes goofy and off-task, to say the least. We all knew a certain truth, though, which kept us grounded—EBJ was serving not out of narcissism or megalomania but rather to spread love and opportunity, to fiercely protect the least privileged of Americans, and to help other people. We took that calling for granted sometimes because we were young adults. I would hang out with some of the staffers from her office and other Members’ offices, and my buddy Chris Crowe (now deceased) and I would joke around about how many House rules we could break in a day and not get caught! I was a devoted volunteer and EBJ would give me as much responsibility as I could handle, and whether a staffer or volunteer, we all just knew we had one thing in common—we desired a more just and verdant America. We would work and we would have fun. We would high-five Capitol Police officers and they would turn an eye and let us run through the tunnels and halls and do other silly things that I won’t mention in writing, for the world was in some ways a more fun and kinder place back then in which young adults were allowed to be ambitious, yet also allowed to be kids at heart, be silly and mess up, and be corrected by adults who knew we were just joking around. Those adults were also very tough on us, and we appreciate that guidance and love to this day. Folks like Rod Givens, Murat Gokcigdem, and Esperanza Worley worked hard and showed us how to lead. I just loved watching them work and keep staff and volunteers in line—they showed me the grit it took and included me in every opportunity to work and help in any way I could. We were learning some serious ropes in that very hopeful America, years before any possible thoughts of insurrection, social media slandering, or unbridled extremism ever crossed anyone’s mind. That level of consciousness was unimaginable to most of us back then, and we all assumed that the arc of justice was slow but steady yet would most certainly never reach a breaking point like on January 6, 2021. This was America, and folks my age back then were considered the next generation to step up to the plate with optimism and duty, not fear or cynicism. We knew we were being prepared and would one day stand upon the shoulders of the likes of EBJ for a more perfect union, whether that be in political service, activism, or just being a thoughtful citizen—we were all expected to be decent and respectful to one another, across party lines. We all had a job to do, and that was to work together to make America better. More inclusive. More kind.

All that aside, let me tell you, EBJ was pretty tough. I was new to everything and a fast learner, and she showed me a mother’s love on the rare occasion when I dropped the ball, so long as I did not drop it more than once! What a lucky guy I was, for I already have a phenomenal mother, the beautiful Hazel Nowlin plus other great women in my life like EBJ. To be constantly comforted in my biological mother’s love, who had overcome so very much herself, and to experience the love of EBJ in such an unfamiliar and brutal world like politics—all while witnessing EBJ’s deep affection for D Kirk Johnson, her son, and her daughter-in-law, Sondra Dilworth Johnson, whom she doted over and loved as her own daughter, and the rest of the family—was heaven on earth!
 
Kirk and Sondra taught me how to really have fun with family and how to show up through thick and thin. When I see Kirk, I just think wow, how extraordinary it would be to have a father like him. How lucky could I get to have been loved, to share love, and to be nudged so well by such good people who always meant the best for me! To all of you, thank you for being role models and for allowing me to be a student. You rooted for me and witnessed me work to do my best in this ever-changing, complex world.
 
EBJ, it is because of you that this kid who grew up a little over three hours southwest of DC, in Lynchburg, Virginia in the foothills of the Blue Ridge Mountains, that I learned the importance of quiet service, always doing my homework in advance, and the importance of taking a stand to get in “good trouble”. Though Lynchburg taught me how to dream and fight, you taught me how to dream bigger and how to win on principle, preparation, and love. Love always wins.
 
Me with the Congresswoman at right, and my mom Hazel
Above all, EBJ, you taught me how to love and adore my mother, Hazel, even more, and how extraordinarily precious phenomenal women are who have overcome so many obstacles, yet still find a way to put others first. And through our journey together, I ultimately learned that I could serve my nation equally well, outside of politics.
 
You taught me that I, a gay, black, educated, focused man, who could be kind, inclusive, thoughtful, respectful, prepared, and hard-working, deserved a seat at the most powerful tables. With that teaching, I took my seat and use my voice today as a tool for justice in my own authentic way, spotlight or not. And after I exited politics and moved from Dallas to Austin, you went the extra mile by having a flag flown over the US Capitol to bless John’s and my home. That flag flies prominently in our entrance parlor and will forever be one of our most treasured items. Each time John and I walk past that flag, it reminds us of the work that we all must continue to do to make America the best she can be.
 
Thank you, EBJ. For you, I am a better man, a better son, a better husband, and a better servant. For you, I found my voice and learned how to serve more unapologetically, more purposefully, and best of all, lovingly and without limits.
John, my hubby, Hazel, my mother, and family send you, Kirk, Sondra, and the family, a deep bow of appreciation. I will always be so very grateful for you sharing your family with ours for so many years.
 
Thank you for fighting the good fight.
 
Thank you for standing up for justice and opportunity for all.
 
The world is a better place for you having been in it.

Well done, thy good and faithful servant, well done!