Ella Mae Graham Wade: Tea Cakes, Sunday Hats & a Legacy of Laughter

Family profile adapted from the memories of daughter Ollie Wade-Lane, and granddaughters Carlis Lane, Vanessa (Gail) Coleman, Barbara Nash-Waverly (Bee) Wade, Brenda Wade, and Reta Stringfellow. 

Curated by Kathleen A. Tucker (aka Kat) Her Proud Great-Niece

Born on December 20, 1909, Ella Mae Graham-Wade was the second-born daughter of Mack and Ada Graham, and one of the twelve branches that would grow into the wide-reaching Graham-Ford family tree. She was a woman of remarkable warmth, deep faith, and quiet strength who passed down her legacy not just through words—but through sights, sounds, scents, and smiles that are still cherished today.

To those who knew her, she was Mama Wade. She was graceful and grounded, with a sweet spirit that made even the simplest things feel special. She didn’t just prepare meals—she built memories around them. Every year, she began cooking her Christmas dinner on her birthday, December 20. Her home was filled with the smell of tea cakes fresh out of the oven, banana-topped cakes, and her signature holiday drink—Ambrose, a beloved family favorite.

Her hands were always busy with love and labor—teaching her grandchildren how to can pickles, bake her famous caramel cakes, and showing off the beauty of her handmade quilts. She taught by doing, by sharing, by inviting young hands to learn what patient, enduring care looked like.

She raised her family with a sense of humor, order, and joy, and it’s her laugh that lives most vividly in many memories. She had a unique way of folding her arms across her waist, lips pressed together tightly, and then suddenly—out came a melodic, high-pitched laugh that could fill a room. It was the kind of laugh that made others laugh too, a joyful chorus that reminded everyone they were home.

Mama Wade loved her Sunday hats. They were elegant and expressive, and she wore them like crowns. Her grandchildren recall trying them on and dancing around the house, crashing into furniture and posing in the mirror. No matter how silly they looked, she’d smile with a twinkle in her eye and say, “Pretty,” before bursting into that unforgettable laughter once more.

One of the most unforgettable family traditions during summer visits was what came to be called "The Chicken Event." When her grandchildren asked for chicken, it wasn’t because they were hungry—it was to watch the masterful display of their grandmother wringing the neck of a chicken with incredible speed and precision, a common practice in that era. For her “city grandchildren,” it was both shocking and thrilling. And once the backyard show was over, she’d fry it up—knowing full well they weren’t going to eat it. With a chuckle and a shake of her head, she’d say, “I knew y’all didn’t want that chicken,” and then burst into laughter again. They always laughed with her.

She taught lessons with tenderness and her purse. One memory tells of a shared Baby Ruth candy bar on a bench outside Raffety’s grocery store. With several children watching closely, she bought just one bar for them all to share. When one of them got greedy, she made her point with a quick swat of her pocketbook. The message was clear—we share what we have.

Her love came in soft and simple ways. She gave small gifts—like twenty-dollar bills when visiting younger grandchildren, or a fountain ink pen passed down as a wedding gift. She avoided escalators, always preferring elevators, and held tightly to the little things that made her feel safe, graceful, and rooted.

Above all, she gave her family memories to last a lifetime. Colored Easter eggs dyed with Kool-Aid, hand-stitched quilts, caramel cakes, tea cakes, Baby Ruth bars, and banana-topped desserts. But more than that—she gave laughter, lessons in sharing, and the kind of presence that stays with you long after someone has passed.

She was faithful, kind, creative, and deeply loved. And even now, when her family bakes, or laughs, or pulls out a quilt, they feel her close folding her arms, smiling quietly, and maybe, just maybe, letting out that beautiful high-pitched laugh that made everything feel like home.