A Community Remembers Yvonne Johnson, ‘The Conscience of the City’

Days after her friend and longtime colleague Yvonne Johnson died last week at age 82, Mayor Nancy Vaughan remembered the gentle touch of her hand. She would often feel it beneath the dais, where Johnson sat next to her as mayor pro tempore.

“There were plenty of times where she would reach over and she would just take my hand and say, ‘That’s enough,’ if I was commenting on something,” Vaughan said. “And then later she would tell me why that was enough and how it could be perceived by the person I was speaking to. I appreciated that. I think she kept me out of trouble a lot.” Friends and colleagues remembered Johnson as a guiding and moderating force and voice of reason, calling her “the conscience of the city.”

“She did a great job mentoring me without me even realizing it,” Vaughan said.

Johnson first came to office in 1993, just a few years before Vaughan. But she had been shaped by the city, its institutions, and her work in the community in a way friends and close colleagues said made her ideal for leadership.

“In many ways, Yvonne Johnson was Greensboro,” said Melvin “Skip” Alston, chair of the Guilford County Board of Commissioners. “She loved the city and the city loved her.”

Forged By Adversity

Johnson grew up in a deeply segregated Greensboro and the memories of it were with her all her life. She saw that the city could be better, more just, a equitable place for everyone, Alston said—and she did something about it.

Johnson graduated from historically Black Dudley High School and both of Greensboro’s historically Black colleges and universities—doing her undergraduate work at Bennett College and getting her master’s at N.C. A&T. While a student, she took part in the famous sit-in movement that helped desegregate both the lunch counter at the Woolworth’s downtown and the Carolina Theatre. She later marched on Washington with Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. and was present at his “I Have a Dream” speech.

The movement inspired her to serve in her own community. In 1982 she founded One Step Further, a non-profit court alternative to help troubled youth. Her skills as a mediator helped her build bridges across racial, class, and political lines, Alston said. She went on to serve on the board of Malachi House and was the first chair of the board of directors of the Women’s Resource Center.

“She was always, always for her community,” Alston said. “And more important, she was for everyone in the community. That’s why she kept being elected mayor pro tempore—because everyone loved her.”

Alston and Johnson came into elected politics within a year of each other and broke political barriers. She became the first Black mayor of Greensboro while Alston became the first Black chair of the Guilford County Board of Commissioners.

Johnson’s wide appeal was evident from her success as an at-large member of the council, Alston said—a position voted on not just by a single district in the city that might be heavily Black or lean Democratic, but everyone in Greensboro. Johnson held an at-large seat from 1993 to 2007, when she became the city’s first Black mayor.

She served just one term in that position, unseated in 2009 as part of a conservative wave in reaction to the election of President Barack Obama. But she returned to council two years later, again running at-large.

Johnson was disappointed by her defeat, Vaughan said, but never bitter. She returned because she still felt drawn to public service, Vaughan said—but also to support her friend Robbie Perkins during his own tenure as mayor.

Building Bridges, Not Walls

Perkins, currently mounting another mayoral campaign, served with Johnson 16 of his 18 years on council. Despite their differences—he a white Republican from northwest Greensboro, she a Black Democrat from east Greensboro—the two grew close. They remained friends long after he left council and he is on the board of her non-profit today.

The two shared an interest in improving housing in Greensboro and, in his words, could see beyond knee-jerk reactions to how certain projects might benefit the whole city.

“[The Greensboro Aquatic Center] is a good example,” Perkins said. “There was a lot of pushback on that. There were people saying, ‘This is just for the west side of Greensboro and the east isn’t going to get anything out of it.”

Johnson knew better, Perkins said. Her husband Walter had been a swim instructor. She knew first-hand how it might help teach children to swim and give students all over the city a place to compete.

“And look how it’s turned out,” Perkins said. “We’ve got a learn-to-swim program that’s basically changed the face of folks that can swim across the city and across the country, because people come here to study our learn-to-swim program.”

The same was true of the Tanger Center for the Performing Arts, Perkins said. While some dismissed it as an entertainment venue for rich people, Johnson saw how it could be an economic driver for the city and its downtown, and expose people to culture they’d never had the chance to experience in Greensboro.

“She understood when something could be for the whole community,” Perkins said. “She went from one side of town to the other and people loved her. I really call her the conscience of the community. She was certainly the conscience of the council.”

Setting an Example

Current council members agree.

Marikay Abuzuaiter and Sharon Hightower both said they were inspired by Johnson’s example—and by the even-tempered way in which she navigated the often choppy waters of Greensboro politics.

“You never heard her raise her voice, never saw her get caught up in the arguments,” Abuzuaiter said. “I think I only ever had one serious disagreement with her on council and she just said, ‘Okay, baby — I understand.’ Then later when we got onto the elevator together she looked at me and said, ‘Now, I want you to go home and pray on this.’ That hit me!”

Hightower said she always admired Johnson’s serenity and gravitas.

“You know, I sometimes get into it with people,” Hightower said. “People know that about me. But you couldn’t really get into it with Yvonne. You can’t argue with someone who calls you honey, who calls you baby, who makes you feel so seen and respected, who makes you feel good.”

Alston, long known as a bare-knuckle political fighter, said Johnson helped him moderate his more aggressive tendencies as well.

“She would just take you aside and help you see that even if you maybe weren’t getting everything you wanted in some discussion, some debate, you keep talking and you keep building relationships,” Alston said. “Then next time you come to the table, maybe you get more. She could take herself out of it and really see what was good for the community. That’s a true public servant.”

Johnson could have run for State House or Senate, even for Congress, Vaughan said. She had that level of charisma and political skill.

“But I don’t think that’s something she ever considered,” Vaughan said. “She was committed to Greensboro. This was her home. This was where her heart was and this is where she wanted to serve.”

‘She Was Beloved’

This Friday Johnson’s family will hold a visitation at the Perry J. Brown Funeral Home, at 909 East Market Street in Greensboro, from 5 p.m. to 7 p.m.

The next morning at 11 a.m. she will be taken by horse-drawn carriage to the campus of Bennett College, where her Celebration of Life service will be live-streamed.

“I think that’s what they have to do,” Perkins said. “There wouldn’t be anywhere in Greensboro big enough for all the people who are going to want to pay their respects to her one last time.”

Alston agreed.

“When you look at her life and all the things she accomplished, not for herself but her community, you can see why there’s been such an outpouring of love for her,” Alston said. “She was the first African American mayor of Greensboro, a city that she helped to build and shape and make better. But she was more than that. She was beloved.”