Born a year after the 1963 hate crime that claimed the lives of four little girls, Lisa McNair’s letters to the sister she never got to know trace a quest to understand, belong, and above all, forgive.
The 2025 Women’s Conference at First Baptist Church, Lauderdale, held Saturday, June 28, offered a blend of fellowship, emotion and reflection, centered on the theme of forgiveness. Lisa McNair served as keynote speaker. Her life is forever linked to one of the most horrific tragedies in American history — the Sept. 15, 1963, bombing of the 16th Street Baptist Church in Birmingham, Alabama, which killed her older sister.
Having known McNair through family ties, conference chair Kathy Cowan introduced her with deep admiration.
“I would sit back and study Lisa,” Cowan said. “Wondering how someone who went through so much could carry no hate. I saw the evidence of true forgiveness in Lisa.”
Denise McNair, Lisa’s sister, was one of four Black girls killed when Klu Klux Klan members planted at least 15 dynamite sticks under the steps leading to the church basement. The explosion occurred while the girls were preparing for Sunday School — a blast that tore a seven-foot-wide hole in the wall and created a five-foot-deep crater.
Lisa was born nearly one year later, into a family forever changed by the racially motivated attack. She never knew her sister in life, and because the tragedy was so painful, it was rarely discussed by those who lived through it. Through years of quiet discovery and personal reflection, she has come to know who her sister was in a way that transcends memory.
Now a writer and speaker, McNair is the author of “Dear Denise: Letters to the Sister I Never Knew,” a memoir told through a series of heartfelt letters. The book’s poignant cover features a striking photograph of Denise holding a white Chatty Cathy, a popular doll in the 1960s. It was their father’s favorite image of his late daughter. “It was never a concern at the time that the doll was white,” McNair said. “There were no dolls that looked like us. Denise just loved the doll.”
That comment reflects a broader thread in McNair’s story — the tension of identity, belonging and the journey toward self-acceptance. “There was a period of time when I felt I didn’t fit in anywhere,” she said. “Growing up, I usually didn’t bring up who my sister was, not right away. But if I left the room, someone else would.”
She described how people’s attitudes shifted once they learned of her connection to the bombing. “The book is really for people looking for how to fit in,” she said. “I can’t tell you how many young people come up to me after my talks and say, ‘That’s my story, too. Can you tell me how to navigate it?’ If nobody else reads the book, it’s for them.”
During her talk, McNair used photographs and stories to guide the audience through personal memories, historical insight and an unflinching exploration of trauma. One haunting image she shared was of a bloodstained piece of concrete removed from Denise’s head — an object their mother kept for decades before donating it to the Birmingham Civil Rights Institute.
“I never understood why she kept it,” McNair said. “But now, with efforts to erase history, I do. It’s a tangible reminder that hate kills.”
She spoke candidly about the emotional burden of being a living link to one of the darkest moments in U.S. history. “Sometimes Black people say, ‘I don’t want to explain myself to white people,’” she said. “But I grew up an unwilling participant in a life-changing, culture-changing event. It’s not my job. I don’t get paid to do this. But sometimes, you’re the only one who will.”
McNair recalled a moment when the white wife of her pastor asked her to guide her and her children through the Birmingham Civil Rights Institute. She agreed. “At the end of the tour,” McNair said, “she broke down in a gut cry and admitted, ‘I’m a racist, too. My father has said some of those things.’”
McNair said she hugged the woman and thanked her for her honesty. Then she told her, “Now you have a mandate to go and tell others what you learned today — bring your whole family so they can learn too, because so many people just don’t know.”
She said even members of her predominantly white church, many in their 60s and 70s, have confided in her that they never learned about the bombing or its significance.
In “Dear Denise” McNair also touches on the lingering mental health toll of the tragedy. “The bombing happened on a Sunday, and people went back to work on Monday,” she said. “There was no counseling. No one talked about it.”
She shared the story of Lynn, Denise’s best friend, who would have been with her that day but stayed home with her sick brother. “Lynn emotionally died after losing her best friend,” McNair said. “She never came to terms with it and was clever in how she avoided talking about it.”
McNair said Lynn never followed through on a promise to speak with filmmaker Spike Lee for “4 Little Girls,” his Oscar-nominated documentary about the bombing. According to McNair, Lynn struggled for decades with unresolved grief and died on the same date the bombing had occurred.
Despite living with the weight of the tragedy, McNair told the audience it is forgiveness that has given her parents and her younger sister, Kim, peace. She said her father reminds her that, “We have to have the courage to forgive,” echoing the words of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. “We have to remember our basic humanity.”
Throughout her remarks, McNair wove together hard truths, small joys and deep human contradictions as she reflected on her journey to find belonging in a racially complex world.
“Dear Denise: Letters to the Sister I Never Knew,” published by the University of Alabama Press, is available at local bookstores and online.
