This is a true story about the power of Melody Maddox, the first female Sheriff of DeKalb County, and a general narrative about women who lead.
There is a young woman, we’ll call her “Ali,” who is an employee for my ex-husband. She is an artist, an actress, a dancer, and a writer. She is beautiful with dark hair and dark round eyes. She is delicate and fragile, yet strong, like Waterford crystal.
Back in January, she received a citation after a fender-bender. Because of health issues, she wasn’t able to attend her court hearing, which led to a warrant for her arrest.
On Wednesday last week, the night before Thanksgiving, Ali was pulled over in Fulton County for a non-working brake light and arrested. I was informed of this situation by my ex-husband on Thanksgiving morning.
Having implemented Justice Day at Leadership DeKalb since 2013, I knew the hard road ahead for Ali during the next 48 hours in the jail system. And I was right. The experience of being handcuffed multiple times, transported, having your belongings taken away and being in a cold holding cell is simply traumatizing.
To guide me on how I could help Ali, I called Melody Maddox — on Thanksgiving Day. Maddox not only answered my call, but she was generous enough to give me 10 minutes to guide me and to help me think. She interrupted her Thanksgiving cooking to do this. But that was all I needed.
In short, Ali was released on Thanksgiving Day — less than 24 hours after her arrest, which felt like an eternity to her. My ex-husband and his business partner went to the Fulton County Jail to pick her up and bring her home. Her mental and emotional health are not good. This experience has triggered past trauma for her.
I told my ex-husband and his business partner to bring her to my house on Friday night after Thanksgiving. They did. We had Sweet Auburn BBQ for dinner, a little white wine, flowers on the table, a dinner candle and flowers. I put a box of Kleenex next to Ali and asked her to tell me what happened to her. She did, and she shed tears. She mentioned how she was surprised the police officer who arrested her went back to the jail to check on her. I said, “Yes, police officers are also social workers, unbeknownst to many people.”
And then, I did this: I pulled up the headshot of Melody Maddox in her sheriff’s uniform. It is the iconic photo of Melody leading up to her swearing-in event on Dec. 16, and it has been shared multiple times on social media.
I showed it to Ali and said, “This is the woman who guided my hand in helping you.”
She said, “Oh, my God. Look at her. She looks so strong, like a superhero. Is she real? She can’t be real?!”
“Yes, she’s real.”
“And she talked to you on Thanksgiving Day about me?”
“Yes.”
“But why would she do that?”
“Because Melody is a good person.”
“I don’t know why, but that makes me feel so much better to know women like her exist. She looks so powerful and reassuring. Thank you for showing me her picture. I really don’t why, but it does make me feel better.”
I want you to take a moment and grasp what happened. A single photo of Maddox mentally and emotionally restored another person. Does your headshot have the power to mentally and emotionally restore another human being?
I have understood the power of optics, but on the surface. I know enough to ensure diverse panelists, committees and boards. But what happened between Ali and Maddox is something much deeper – and it has impacted my thinking on the power of images.
Ali is a total stranger to Maddox. She may never meet her. But Maddox is not a stranger to Ali. That single image of Maddox provided Ali with hope and restoration. For most of her life, Ali has experienced powerlessness and victimization. In one of the most traumatizing moments of her life, she also experienced a connection to women who lead and who care.
There are many women leading in the region, and certainly in DeKalb County. It is not enough to acknowledge how we have accomplished a diverse array of leaders, but it is more important to celebrate the true power they have on the day-to-day lives of people, such as Ali.
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This story was written by Maria Balais, a community contributor for The Atlanta Journal-Constitution.
Balais is a graduate of Agnes Scott College and is currently the executive director of Leadership DeKalb. She has worked in community relations for 25 years, and she will publish a book in the spring.
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