Photography by Kevin A. Roberts
The YWCA of Metro St. Louis focuses on “eliminating racism and empowering women”—which means crisis intervention after sexual assault, homes and safe shelter for women who’ve been through hell, discussion groups focused on racial justice, sexuality education for people with developmental disabilities, work with toddlers and teens... Its CEO is Adrian Bracy, whose life started in Miami’s Liberty City (“It’s like North St. Louis”) in a confusing shuffle between households. Yet she sailed over one hurdle after another—and after 18 years safeguarding the financial assets of the NFL, she dedicated herself to improving the lives of as many girls as she can reach.
Your earliest memories are living with your great-aunt. Did you know your parents? They lived just a few blocks away, and I remember my father bringing my five brothers and sisters to the house and wondering why, if there were six of us, I was by myself. And I remember going with them to visit my mother in the mental hospital. This was the early ’60s, and it was really scary.
How did you feel when you saw her? I’m sure there must have been love, but I don’t think I knew what to make of it all. I don’t ever remember crying when we left. I had a house; I had a bed; I was safe, and I was going back to that safe place. I remember, when I was 8, a cousin telling me that I was dumb and I was going to be just like my mom—and I thought, “What is wrong with my mom?”
A year later, your great-aunt’s son married, and things changed again? That’s when my life turned around. His wife started taking me to their home every weekend. She was classy; she was smart and funny. I thought, Oh my God, this is the perfect mother! She taught me to sew, and I joined the church and made friends there, and about a year later, she said, “Would you like to live with us?”
I’m guessing you said yes? I remember the judge saying, “Adrian, do you understand what you are doing?” and I said yes. But then he said, “You now have the opportunity to change your name,” and I looked at my father, and all of a sudden I got sad and said, “No, I’ll keep my name.”
What did change? Immediately my grades got better. I started having confidence in myself. No more slaps with the teacher’s ruler. I remember my [adoptive] mom telling me, “You’re smart. You can do and be anything you want to be—but you have to study.” By sixth grade, I was an A student, and from then on I may have had two C’s ever. Finally she sat me down and said, “It’s OK to get a C from time to time. You’re putting too much pressure on yourself.”
The turnaround sounds like a fairy tale. But then we had a little problem, a little blip. My fairy tale came to an end. My father’s mother wasn’t happy with the arrangement, and I wound up living with her and my father. He let me stay at the same school, though, and I’d already met my posse: six young ladies. They just had success all over them, and I realized that’s the group I need to be with. So when I moved back to Liberty City, I already had them in my corner.
How’d you manage? I didn’t have the luxury I had living with my mom, so I had to work. These girls were kind of well-to-do, and I wanted to look the part. Fake it till you make it! So I did odd jobs in the church; I babysat, ironed, folded clothes, and when I turned 16, I worked at Burger King. I was making my own money, I looked nice, I felt good. I was even able to give my grandmother $25 a week.
What made you choose a historically black university? I toured a university in Florida, and a guy on the second level screamed down, “[N-word] go home!” I had an aunt in Baltimore, so I decided to go to Morgan State University. My high school counselor said, “Adrian, I get it, but have you thought about Towson State University? You will be more marketable.” I went to Morgan State.
And became the first in your family to graduate. My [biological] father had been diagnosed with ALS my sophomore year, and his doctor said he had a year to live. But he made it all the way to my graduation. He couldn’t walk, he couldn’t talk, but he wanted to be there. The next week, he passed away.
So instead of going back to Miami, you took a job at The Baltimore Sun. I was told that if I didn’t work for a Big Eight accounting firm, the chances of being a CFO were slim to none, but I didn’t want to do public accounting—and being a woman and black at one of those firms? Oh, gosh. So I decided to take my chances.
You did all right: 18 years in the NFL. How’d you break in? I loved my grandmother—she was a hoot, and she taught me so much, because she was tough. So when she got sick, I did go back to Miami, much as I hated it. I was volunteering for the National Association of Black Accountants, and the president told me, “Adrian, I had an interview with the Miami Dolphins. They’re going to call Brian for a reference.” By the time I got back to my office, I had a call from Brian saying he’d just talked to the Miami Dolphins, and he told them they should meet me. I interviewed the next day and got the job. I had to tell the guy… We haven’t spoken since. But I believe what God has for you is for you.
You came to St. Louis to work for the Rams—and also found your husband. I was going to a United Negro College Fund event to present a check on their behalf. Putting on my lipstick in the car mirror, I said out loud, “God, I know I’ve messed up many times, but I have a feeling my future husband is in there. Please help me not mess it up this time.”
And there he was—and you fell in love. But you still weren’t sure you were going to marry him? [She shrugs.] We were both 37. But when the Rams schedule came out the next fall, I said, “Hey, bye week is October 2–5. You wanna get married?” and he said, “Yeah!” So I called my mom, and she called one of her posse girls, and the two of them did everything.
What changed your mind? His mom had cancer, and I saw how tenderly he treated her.
You stayed in St. Louis for a decade, then left? I was getting itchy, wanting something different. What I really wanted was to own my own day spa. My friend said, “Do it, girl!” I said, “No, I can’t. I’m scared.” Then I found out the Arizona Cardinals’ CFO was retiring. I’m thinking, Arizona’s spa heaven. But I wasn’t happy there. I missed St. Louis so much.
What did you miss? The people. They always say it’s cliquish, and it is, but once you get your clique, you’re good. A friend came to visit—she was on the board of the YWCA—and she said, “We’ll get you back.” A year went by, and I forgot all about it. Then I got a call saying the CEO was retiring—could I send my résumé? I said, “I’m not qualified to be a CEO!” But I’d been on the boards of the YWCA and Girls Inc. Even during the NFL years, what I’d cared about the most was the lives of young girls.
You took over in 2009. Now you’re serving almost 4,000 clients a year. We always had the Women’s Resource Center, the sexual assault piece. My vision was to also have a domestic violence piece. I was told that’s always harder to start up. A colleague was working for another nonprofit, and I told her my vision. In 2015 she calls and says, “You’re not going to believe this: I retired, and I’m the interim director for Women’s Place”—a domestic violence drop-in center—“and we’re looking for a partner.” So we added Woman’s Place in 2016. The transitional housing program is now permanent supportive housing, though we still want them to leave fairly soon so they can be more self-reliant and we can free up a bed for someone else. Our racial justice program, I’m hoping to expand in a different way. Our Witnessing Whiteness program is doing good. We have a pilot program where black folks can meet, and then the two groups come together and bridge that gap and talk.
What’s next? The biggest thing for the future is a social enterprise, a for-profit arm where we can generate our own earned income and not always be reliant on funding from the government—like the Girl Scouts do with their cookies, Goodwill with their retail stores, YMCA with their gym.
You could do that spa! People have actually suggested that. Women from the transitional program could work there, and they could go and get a massage themselves. I know how it makes me feel: empowered, relaxed, confident, peaceful, clear-headed. Happy. Just for an hour, I’m stress-free.
You tweeted a quote from the Rise luncheon: “Be who you are on purpose with no apology.” How’d you learn to do that? I’m not there yet—well, I guess I’m pretty much there. What helps me is hearing powerful women say it’s OK to not know everything. One said, “When I was younger, I felt like I always had to have the answer. I had to be perfect all the time.” I’m a little bit of a control freak, so I’m working on that.
What’s behind that impulse to control? I’ve been this way for so long… I know part of it is growing up the way I did. I had to intentionally take control of my life so early, because if I didn’t, it could have gone in a totally different direction. Also, my work—I was the controller for the Miami Dolphins!
When can you let go? In a spa! Then I’m really in the here and now. I give myself permission.
What’s your toughest challenge? Raising money. I’m a giver, so asking is hard; it takes more of my energy. But when Oprah came to town, she said that when you’re passionate about something, it guides you to your purpose. I’m going to help as many girls and women as I can.
