tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-87734157340571529872024-02-19T05:34:05.394-05:00Carolina KindredCarolina Kindred is published by Michele Nicole Johnson, a librarian, family historian, writer and artist who lives in Georgia and has roots in the Carolinas.Unknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger45125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8773415734057152987.post-5771837921818899192023-03-31T15:51:00.003-04:002023-03-31T23:14:21.778-04:00Rev. Dr. Katie Geneva Cannon<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLPpiedYZZo4yRxLBWk8uGgccMX8PRi4X2ECP59pULKj7ST91YFjxI18a1eiFVeRfmrMtDWawBrn7hvFA3-klbDdggK6TU9JgqEvJu1x7Y-AlDQ0Z-wWAvu8R7LaqOo-hcM12b-hV96hp6Ftn0iSNq_E-cCCER8wgMFbGPCMgt61qWe5Wl5snVY9zJ0w/s1830/Katie_Geneva_Cannon.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1650" data-original-width="1830" height="361" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLPpiedYZZo4yRxLBWk8uGgccMX8PRi4X2ECP59pULKj7ST91YFjxI18a1eiFVeRfmrMtDWawBrn7hvFA3-klbDdggK6TU9JgqEvJu1x7Y-AlDQ0Z-wWAvu8R7LaqOo-hcM12b-hV96hp6Ftn0iSNq_E-cCCER8wgMFbGPCMgt61qWe5Wl5snVY9zJ0w/w400-h361/Katie_Geneva_Cannon.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Courtesy of the <a href="https://digital.history.pcusa.org/islandora/object/islandora%3Akgc">Katie Geneva Cannon Papers</a>, Presbyterian Historical Society, Philadelphia PA</td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p>On this last day of Women’s History Month, I honor my cousin and kindred spirit, the Rev. Dr. Katie Geneva Cannon, shown in a collage featuring a photo
of her from the 1970s and one of her works of art from 2000. </p><p>Cousin Katie was the first African American woman
to be ordained in the United Presbyterian Church (U.S.A.), the first African
American woman to earn a Ph.D. at Union Theological Seminary, a renowned
scholar, and a founder of the Center for Womanist Leadership. Her legacy includes many more honors and thought-provoking lectures, books, and articles. </p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I never met Cousin Katie in person, but we corresponded, exchanging
articles and sharing our deep admiration for our ancestor, Mary Nance Lytle, a
strong-willed courageous woman who reclaimed her children who had been sold
away during slavery. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Cousin Katie was born in Kannapolis, N.C., in 1950, and passed away in 2018. I regret I never got the chance to spend time with her and
tell her how much I admired her.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: x-small;">The collage above is copyrighted and is used here with
permission from the Presbyterian
Historical Society in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania.</span></p>Michele Nicolehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12893919839488438784noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8773415734057152987.post-2940358718465158632023-03-08T10:14:00.003-05:002023-03-08T10:14:29.972-05:00Southern Tones and Southernaires<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjRAI6Y-6f_RvIoEEMojfqsx8AbxXwRJ7kJWWBNNt-j4yL9gocdF-GQI902O8RVF7p8QCdcrrBxMhc_veRcN-C5qBPlE7TACX2IwKDrTccQIMEfAtimMSCfRTHPd1UGQ55XVgOLaWagUkuWC3HExSsS4HXgkADbpcuzsSarnDuxUtpvteX44UmnvkPhxA" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="662" data-original-width="698" height="379" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjRAI6Y-6f_RvIoEEMojfqsx8AbxXwRJ7kJWWBNNt-j4yL9gocdF-GQI902O8RVF7p8QCdcrrBxMhc_veRcN-C5qBPlE7TACX2IwKDrTccQIMEfAtimMSCfRTHPd1UGQ55XVgOLaWagUkuWC3HExSsS4HXgkADbpcuzsSarnDuxUtpvteX44UmnvkPhxA=w400-h379" width="400" /></a></div><br />Second from left is Cousin James "Tunesy" Fletcher (1935-2012). He was a member of the Southern Tones of Philadelphia. Back in his hometown of Lancaster, S.C., he performed with the local group, Gospel Southernaires, along with his brothers, John Fletcher and Roosevelt Fletcher, who was the lead singer.<p></p>Michele Nicolehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12893919839488438784noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8773415734057152987.post-41117577600268109422023-01-08T12:06:00.003-05:002023-01-23T11:38:40.409-05:00George Lewis Russell, Sr.<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSn82KDCZ5W4Mg2x9Nz0xVUdVgmQv3LRFyWXX7Z4Blb_BNFNwlZy4UeMPjxw0bgH7QIIIKiJhCgUh7vzyRqB6daonpDMcTPVKUpnFfwXNrL3FcMGL65Qu9lbyPA4UDDtPOolyDuIDkDJ3iyIKgllsaX3V8ui8ofHwlpKSlllveQ6jTf6a9wK0JkiFKIg/s720/GeorgeRussell_Tribute.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="720" height="411" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSn82KDCZ5W4Mg2x9Nz0xVUdVgmQv3LRFyWXX7Z4Blb_BNFNwlZy4UeMPjxw0bgH7QIIIKiJhCgUh7vzyRqB6daonpDMcTPVKUpnFfwXNrL3FcMGL65Qu9lbyPA4UDDtPOolyDuIDkDJ3iyIKgllsaX3V8ui8ofHwlpKSlllveQ6jTf6a9wK0JkiFKIg/w411-h411/GeorgeRussell_Tribute.jpg" width="411" /></a></div><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"><p><span>George
Lewis Russell Sr., first cousin, two times removed, was the first black Assistant
Chief Clerk for the U.S. House of Representatives and served in that role for more
than 17 years. </span><span> </span></p></span><p></p>
<p style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="color: #222222;">He was
the son of Joseph Samuel Russell (1886-1969) and Hattie McCauley (1887-1972). He
was born in 1924 in Concord, Cabarrus County, N.C., and graduated from Logan
High School in Concord and North Carolina A&T State University in Greensboro. He
served in the U.S. Navy during World War II.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="background: white;"><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="color: #222222;">Cousin George died of a heart attack in 1991. Several members of Congress paid tribute to him, including Rep. Kweisi Mfume, (D-Md.), and Rep.
Andrew Jacobs, Jr., (D-Ind.). This image from the <a href="https://www.congress.gov/"><b><i>Congressional Record</i></b></a> is a tribute by Rep. Mervyn M.
Dymally, (D-Calif.), on Oct. 10, 1991, in the U.S. House of Representatives. It
reads:<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="background: white;"><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="color: #222222;">“Mr. Speaker, I rise to pay tribute to a man that many
considered to be a Capitol Hill institution. For 17 years George Lewis Russell,
Sr., graced these hallowed halls, with a dignity and sense of dedication that
made him a friend to all that were fortunate enough to be touched by him.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="background: white;"><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="color: #222222;">“In his position as the Assistant Chief Clerk to Reporters, the
man we affectionately referred to as George literally had a front-row seat as
we conducted the Nation’s business. Yes, Mr. Speaker, when my friends on the
other side of the aisle were in the well giving speeches, that moment was
shared by George who sat directly behind whoever was speaking. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="background: white;"><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="color: #222222;">“Mr. Speaker, aside from his duties here in the House of
Representatives, George was a dedicated family man, active in his community,
his church, and the affairs of his college, North Carolina A&T State
University.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="background: white;"><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="color: #222222;">“Mr. Speaker, George Russell always went the extra mile to help
individuals seeking employment and was always encouraging to members and staff.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="background: white;"><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="color: #222222;">“Unfortunately, there will not be any statues or buildings here
on the Hill named after George Russell. However, we can all rest assured that
this noble man will never be forgotten on Capitol Hill or in his community.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="color: #222222;"><br /></span></p><p style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="color: #222222;"> </span></p>
<p style="background: white; font-stretch: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="color: #222222;">Sources: <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="background: white; font-stretch: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; min-height: 29px;"><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="color: #222222;"> </span></p>
<p style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="color: #222222;">Tribute
by Rep. Kweisi Mfume, (D-Md.), <i>Congressional
Record</i>, Oct. 8, 1991, p25753.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="color: #222222;"> </span></p>
<p style="background: white; font-stretch: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="color: #222222;">Tribute by Rep. Andrew Jacobs,
Jr.,<i> </i>(D-Ind.), <i>Congressional Record</i>, Oct. 9, 1991, p26001.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="color: #222222;"> </span></p>
<p style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="color: #222222;">Tribute
by Rep. Mervyn M. Dymally, (D-Calif.), <i>Congressional
Record</i>, Extensions of Remarks, Oct. 10, 1991, p26199.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="background: white; font-stretch: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; min-height: 29px;"><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="color: #222222;"> </span></p>
<p style="background: white; font-stretch: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="color: #222222;">Obituaries, <i>The Baltimore Sun</i>, Oct. 8, 1991, p38.<o:p style="font-size: 17.5pt;"></o:p></span></p>Michele Nicolehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12893919839488438784noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8773415734057152987.post-47081128253255436122022-12-22T12:31:00.012-05:002023-03-13T10:32:50.202-04:00Lytle School Legacies<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><br /></b></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/north-carolina-state-archives/51479650760/in/photostream/"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="1280" height="178" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDObnzk308VTswTID4-Y6gGN81sK5l4NkooxJj71jWE4UEsGMOO6gYwhmIFXzq3fIYGQFOmzV3Z_KF7_zo4oP8HsfxlJHj5qyMCAstvV7xCUyKfHItIpXReqvOqnBndNnlR5p_bHJrHVXO88l6dvk4iE_4jb_NXrBc3P7Sh07GUbxMch6QCYI91kyl/w317-h178/LytleGroveSchool.jpg" width="317" /></a></span></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/north-carolina-state-archives/51479650760/in/photostream/">The new Lytle's Grove Rosenwald School, 1927 </a></td></tr></tbody></table>I used to love tagging along with my mother on her field trips through the Carolinas to cemeteries and other sites related to our family history. One day we took a ride out to "the country" and made a few stops. We went to<a href="https://www.cmstory.org/exhibits/cemeteries-mecklenburg-county-cemeteries/columbus-chapel-ame-zion-church-and-cemetery"><b> Columbus Chapel AME Zion</b></a> in Davidson, N.C., to see if we could find the grave of my third-great-grandmother, Mary Nance Lytle. We didn't find it, and I doubt a headstone exists. Nevertheless, we paid our respects because we knew our ancestor <div>was there somewhere.<p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><a href="http://landmarkscommission.org/wp-content/uploads/2016/10/Torrence-Lytle-SR.pdf"><img alt="Torrence-Lytle School" border="0" data-original-height="1044" data-original-width="1760" height="188" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBx3QaTsXxwM411hQjwv9X72NeV7m_jlpKGMQdWbU2caVMlCbTHC_BWCxzgEIHqQG2fu9ZV8cEU8tGlAU6xsHcaSz024PZhNuKFUNr3vmPrhhssDRnixOPT9ViYF5b06tnHs8rlLm7E2IXnM_leUv5yydBijl-to-Um_44SWE2LdoD3FBxH7Eem3oN/w315-h188/torrenceLytleSchool_huntersvilleNC2.jpg" width="315" /></a></span></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://landmarkscommission.org/wp-content/uploads/2016/10/Torrence-Lytle-SR.pdf">Torrence-Lytle High School</a></td></tr></tbody></table>Another stop was <b><a href="http://landmarkscommission.org/wp-content/uploads/2016/10/Torrence-Lytle-SR.pdf">Torrence-Lytle High School</a></b> in Huntersville. The school was originally called <a href="http://landmarkscommission.org/wp-content/uploads/2016/10/Torrence-Lytle-SR.pdf"><b>Huntersville Colored School</b></a> when it was founded in 1937, but the name was changed to Torrence-Lytle High School in 1953 to honor Mary Nancy Lytle's son, John Frank Lytle, and his long-time associate and friend, Isaac Dale L. "Ike" Torrence. Both men played instrumental roles in creating the school.<p></p><p>In the letter below, dated September 24, 1935, <b><a href="https://www.ncpedia.org/biography/newbold-nathan-carter">Nathan Carter Newbold</a></b>, director of North Carolina's Division of Negro Education, is replying to a letter from John Frank Lytle. The letter is addressed to J.L. Lytle, in care of I.D.L. Torrence. The topic is the need for high schools and transportation in northern Mecklenburg County, to accommodate more than 200 black children who are prepared to advance but have nowhere nearby to go to school. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://digital.ncdcr.gov/digital/collection/p16062coll13/id/77464/rec/1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1056" data-original-width="1877" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghn0XX37_WMUV_PgD4ZLywULcqbFQDxGynq3XIa7QKLvUjpbGAroVhoosuKyP-aRGWNCu69QBD4Nfsj9wl9aa67dY2AWvjAxxmv_gQvfIR138qs7QwibZvvm2gBPE52MlF5u3v2D-x8qR-mwfIAzCmP-fTbhoSxLOc5jMxjrvmIYx3CjM2IWYZFFVq/w640-h360/LytleGroveLetter.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><b><a href="https://digital.ncdcr.gov/digital/collection/p16062coll13/id/1304/rec/2">Lytle's Grove School</a></b>, according to family history, was founded by John Frank Lytle and Lois "Lula" Alexander Lytle, my second-great-grandmother who was a teacher. It was located at NC-73 and Poplar Tent Road in Mecklenburg County near the Cabarrus County line.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">In his February <a href="https://digital.ncdcr.gov/digital/collection/p16062coll13/id/15941/rec/3"><b>1914 report on rural schools for negroes</b></a>, Newbold referenced a visit to Lytle Grove School. He wrote: "This is a single-room school, but two new rooms have just been added, one for an additional teacher, and the other for a kitchen. This is furnished with stove and utensils, and has a convenient pantry, etc. A large number of patrons greeted us here, and the meeting was held in the church nearby. Talks were made by the visitors, and some demonstration work was done by the teachers."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Newbold was describing the original school building (below) which was later replaced by a new school constructed nearby with Rosenwald funds (see top photo).</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/north-carolina-state-archives/51479446819/in/photostream/"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="1280" height="232" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXp4ThvjCzSTGyWS-XLEcsQa9TeGMt2PNfkKpBt6UZujQmp-cSET3OAVYRPzyBCQacQo5LrNmAwIyMldfVjNJvInYWzROVCZQs8PBxGxqbPzKvlDexK7mw7Gpqzvow7RtOPLFhZdebhJHTV5yuLxAldeEYCjH32-zjLhmlgdjgplWeSdGjIYAx_AYa/w412-h232/OldLytleSchool.jpg" width="412" /></a></span></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/north-carolina-state-archives/51479446819/in/photostream/">Old Lytle's Grove School, 1927</a></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Sources: </div><p>Charlotte-Mecklenburg Historic Landmarks Commission. (n.d.). <i>Survey and research report for the Torrence-Lytle School</i>. http://landmarkscommission.org/wp-content/uploads/2016/10/Torrence-Lytle-SR.pdf</p><p>Chris Folk Papers. (n.d.). <i>A history note: Torrence-Lytle School. </i>University of North Carolina at Charlotte. https://atkinsapps.charlotte.edu/node/17069</p><p><i>Corine Cannon Oral History, 2019</i>. Pearl Digital Collections. Presbyterian Historical Society. https://digital.history.pcusa.org/islandora/object/islandora%3A150680</p><p>Griffith, Nancy. (2021). Rosenwald Schools: Special Davidson history column for Black History Month. <i>News of Davidson</i>. https://newsofdavidson.org/2021/02/18/34004/rosenwald-schools-special-davidson-history-column-for-black-history-month/</p><p>New Lytle's Grove School. State Archives of North Carolina. Department of Public Instruction: School Planning Section, School Photographs File, Box 5. https://www.flickr.com/photos/north-carolina-state-archives/51479650760/in/photostream/</p><p>North Carolina Digital Collections. (n.d.). Correspondence: Rosenwald Fund, Box 4, Folder E, 1927-1928. https://digital.ncdcr.gov/digital/collection/p16062coll13/id/1304/rec/2</p><p>North Carolina Digital Collections. (n.d.). <i>General correspondence of the director, last name J to L, September 1935-August 1936.</i> https://digital.ncdcr.gov/digital/collection/p16062coll13/id/77464/rec/1</p><p>North Carolina Digital Collections. (n.d.). <i>Report of N.C. Newbold, State Supervisor rural schools for Negroes for North Carolina, For the Month of February 1914. </i>https://digital.ncdcr.gov/digital/collection/p16062coll13/id/15941/rec/3</p><p>Old Lytle's Grove School. State Archives of North Carolina. Department of Public Instruction: School Planning Section, School Photographs File, Box 5. https://www.flickr.com/photos/north-carolina-state-archives/51479446819/in/photostream/</p></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8773415734057152987.post-57378756365780188232022-11-30T10:04:00.001-05:002022-11-30T10:04:23.036-05:00The Sweet Potato<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTvr1dfe5zKgYblze5_f7MZWQuZkyc5U0sfccuhB7AK6j463LqGGwYNITexqXF483xI4pud95gfL577_5Cg5gS0FBpIJ4JkfczavPAS-UL93rSMJSOssOKlz2Ytw6cZDEPNJNUVOxkDsU_TkyR7o8Nv1hO1fFJmzoWfwmHVWRu6iVsM-i7DG3z3RPi/s960/sweetpotato.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="960" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTvr1dfe5zKgYblze5_f7MZWQuZkyc5U0sfccuhB7AK6j463LqGGwYNITexqXF483xI4pud95gfL577_5Cg5gS0FBpIJ4JkfczavPAS-UL93rSMJSOssOKlz2Ytw6cZDEPNJNUVOxkDsU_TkyR7o8Nv1hO1fFJmzoWfwmHVWRu6iVsM-i7DG3z3RPi/s320/sweetpotato.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /> <p></p><p>I've always considered myself a child of summer, but fall has a special place in my heart. Where I live, the days are still relatively warm well into November and even December, but the nights are just chilly enough for a fire in the yard. </p><p>My husband makes the best fires, the kind of fires that make you slowly inch your chair back at first, only to scoot back up as the fire settles down to a steady simmer. A good fire brings out good stories, the true stories as well as the lies, the ones that have been somewhat embellished over time. The flames loosen the tongue and release tucked-away memories of people long gone, and the passed-down tales that they told around yard fires long extinguished. </p><p>One night on Sapelo Island, while sitting around a fire listening to lies, Cousin Tracy reached into the ashes beneath the smoldering wood and dug out a small sweet potato he had been baking. He carefully brushed it off, broke it in half, and handed a piece to me. While I normally smother my sweet potatoes in butter, cinnamon, and sugar or honey, I took a bite from the bare hot orange clump and died right there on the spot and went to heaven.</p><p>To this day, I still think about that sweet potato and how it made me feel. In each bite, I could taste the generations and savor the history and tradition, and feel the love of ancestors whose names I will never know. </p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8773415734057152987.post-30648840314826012842022-04-18T22:22:00.011-04:002022-04-18T23:00:51.010-04:00Family in black and white<p><b style="color: #222222; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;"><span face="arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: large;">By Elizabeth June Torrence</span></b></p><div class="post-body entry-content" id="post-body-3288727540785012699" itemprop="description articleBody" style="color: #444444; line-height: 1.4; position: relative; width: 632px;"><div dir="ltr" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;" trbidi="on"><i><br /></i></div><div dir="ltr" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;" trbidi="on"><i>Note: Guest blogger, <b>Elizabeth June Torrence</b>, is my cousin. It is a long, twisted, tangle of a story that we are working to piece together. We are both members of the <b><a href="https://www.carolinakindred.com/2019/05/collaborative-genealogy.html">Torrence Cousins</a></b> research group, descendants of enslavers and the enslaved who have committed to digging up the past and setting the record straight. Here, Elizabeth shares her discoveries about her father as well as her discoveries about her family's Carolina roots and how we are related. Family is complicated. -- MNJ</i></div><div dir="ltr" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15.4px;" trbidi="on"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-large;"><b><br /></b></span></div><div dir="ltr" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15.4px;" trbidi="on"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-large;"><b>T</b></span><span face="Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;">oday I found my father in the <b><a href="https://www.archives.gov/research/census/1950">1950 Federal Census</a></b>.</span></div><div dir="ltr" trbidi="on">
<p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">It shouldn’t be a big deal -- he wasn’t lost,
in fact, I knew exactly where he was supposed to be.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Four years ago I probably wouldn’t have cared
that on April 1, 2022, the 1950 census would be released. I wouldn’t have known
that the indexing process will take months and probably won’t be truly
searchable until next year. I wouldn't have appreciated seeing the facts
published for posterity.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span>Four years ago I got my DNA tested by <a href="https://www.ancestry.com/"><b>Ancestry</b></a>
and for curiosity's sake, I uploaded the data to </span><b><a href="https://www.gedmatch.com/">GEDmatch</a></b><span>. I didn’t know if
anything life-changing would come from my results, but I was intrigued by the
possibilities.</span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">In the summer of 2018, I was contacted through
email by Michele. She had found me through one of the search functions on
GEDmatch, “People who Match One or Both Kits.” I matched both her and her
friend. She told me she had roots in Charlotte, N.C., and her great-great-grandfather had founded a school that became known as the <b><a href="http://landmarkscommission.org/wp-content/uploads/2016/10/Torrence-Lytle-SR.pdf">Torrence-Lytle School</a></b>.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I had a tree on Ancestry that I shared with
Michele. Most, if not all the information about the Torrences I had copied from
a tree my brother Richie had built before his death in 2004. She recognized my
ancestor Alexander Torrence as the same man who was in Judy Hughes’ tree, whom
she had met through Facebook, and she asked if I minded including Judy in our
conversation. We grew as a group from there and I now had a purpose for
researching my Torrence family of my own.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I knew my father was born in Charlotte, but in
my head, he was from Virginia. Looking back now I realize that I didn’t really
have a clue where he was from. I have his high school yearbooks from Tennessee
and one from his year of college in Kentucky. He met my mother in her hometown
of Fort Payne, Alabama, and I grew up in Atlanta, Georgia, where I have some
vague memories of him talking about streets and places he knew as a kid.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">My father died when I was 11 years old and
for most of my childhood struggled with alcoholism. Since I was just a kid
I was never told much, but I caught pieces of things here and there. One of the
very few pictures I have of my dad as a child I was told was taken at the
children’s home, and on the back are the names of the other children in what I
know now is my Aunt June’s handwriting.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj1gAveuayEtCrG5dLr9nljdI_6lkHHWy-NBZxis-OJMsblL7DY0hVbGe8Faq7Ga2ZAWVkb-SIHPdg6p1pOq4rea7eI0CiSnjcudwGWYjKiV3GAZTQoWULe5i1gqueTqH3G1ot8Rb-ufjqmw9NE6BDQurzjTPUt2k1ev3HQKstEXDaWc8xWPRBCTX9p" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img alt="" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="1088" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj1gAveuayEtCrG5dLr9nljdI_6lkHHWy-NBZxis-OJMsblL7DY0hVbGe8Faq7Ga2ZAWVkb-SIHPdg6p1pOq4rea7eI0CiSnjcudwGWYjKiV3GAZTQoWULe5i1gqueTqH3G1ot8Rb-ufjqmw9NE6BDQurzjTPUt2k1ev3HQKstEXDaWc8xWPRBCTX9p=w640-h424" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /><span><br /></span></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">That’s my dad on the far right, and my Aunt
June is the tall girl on the left.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">See, in 1950, my dad and his older sister were
living in the Southern Christian Children’s Home at 1101 Cleburne Avenue in
Atlanta. The <b><a href="https://www.cartercenter.org/">Jimmy Carter Center</a></b> is now located on that property. That’s how,
even without an index, I could find my father in the census.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiS5TE6QdbSXohoTbUZH0v-14llJ_6_qwO38zBrx8nHlSxrnde_NWjSWyFuxI4ZDm3U8xbdIPhEku8ihVK9l2c9SpW6gdH8vg-HtaWU1fdHpcnBR_SzaxCet2Oa1w1gKIrs8xr2zyKTRq1wAoIt-Wj-p6e07R-eDxf_KaLJy-kWagjd0qegifu8myo3" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img alt="" data-original-height="96" data-original-width="1088" height="56" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiS5TE6QdbSXohoTbUZH0v-14llJ_6_qwO38zBrx8nHlSxrnde_NWjSWyFuxI4ZDm3U8xbdIPhEku8ihVK9l2c9SpW6gdH8vg-HtaWU1fdHpcnBR_SzaxCet2Oa1w1gKIrs8xr2zyKTRq1wAoIt-Wj-p6e07R-eDxf_KaLJy-kWagjd0qegifu8myo3=w640-h56" width="640" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span lang="EN" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span lang="EN" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span lang="EN" style="font-size: medium;">When I opened this image I burst into tears.
There he is, Richard H. Torrence, Orphan, age 12. Except he’s not an orphan.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">It’s one thing to hear the stories -- it’s
another to see them in black and white. The boy listed just before my father is
also in the picture above. Some of the other children in this photo are listed
in the census as well and I wonder what their stories are. Were they truly
orphans, or were they placed there under similar circumstances to my dad and
aunt? The census doesn’t tell the full story.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span lang="EN" style="font-size: medium;">That story, like so many of ours, is a work in
progress.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Through our little group of cousins, I’ve
totally expanded my research skills. I was really a novice when we first
started exchanging emails in 2018. When I’m not working on puzzling out our
various relationships from the era of slavery in North Carolina, I’m trying to
piece together a timeline of my father’s life before he met my mother. Finding
the little clues and sharing them with my mother has generated so many memories
she has of things my father told her during their 24 years of marriage that she
had never and would probably have never shared with me. She is really my only
primary resource and so many of her random memories have been borne out through
records I’ve found online.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">It’s the combination of stories passed on and
the records we find that make the whole picture possible and I’m truly grateful
for that courageous email from Michele that started me on this quest. I told
her then that I was ready for whatever we found -- good, bad, or ugly -- and I’ve
found some of each, but I’m better off for all of it.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><i><span style="font-size: medium;">Elizabeth June Torrence, 2022</span></i></p></div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8773415734057152987.post-74377402005467787742022-04-13T11:30:00.004-04:002022-04-13T11:30:57.467-04:00I See the Moon <p> </p><div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/kyR_EJQmkqs" title="YouTube video player" width="560"></iframe></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Laura Mvula performing<i> Sing to the Moon</i> live with the Metropole Orkest <a href="https://youtu.be/kyR_EJQmkqs"><b>on YouTube</b></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Looking back on my childhood, I remember that I was always missing someone. My father, when he was in the navy and out to sea for six months at a time... He would be on the other side of the world and gone so long I worried I would forget what he looked like. Mama would read his letters to us and show us pictures and tell stories to keep our memories fresh. And my grandparents... They weren't on the other side of the world, but to a young child, North Carolina seemed that far away. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">My Grandma Polly used to sing a song -- <b><i><a href="https://youtu.be/3hZBQhlSEQA">I see the moon and the moon sees me. God bless the moon and God bless me</a></i>.</b> That song always reminded me that no matter how far away my loved ones were, we could all look up and see the same moon. That comforted me. It still does, although, most of the loved ones I'm missing now have transitioned far beyond the moon.</div>Michele Nicolehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12893919839488438784noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8773415734057152987.post-87004733469534196892022-04-13T10:56:00.004-04:002022-04-13T11:04:22.371-04:00Enslaved & Enslaver Descendants<p><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;"><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/55klJiyHIQE" title="YouTube video player" width="560"></iframe> </p><p>On April, 9, 2022, four members of the <a href="https://www.carolinakindred.com/2019/05/collaborative-genealogy.html"><b>Torrence Cousins</b></a> research group participated in the virtual program, <i><a href="https://youtu.be/55klJiyHIQE"><b>Enslaved & Enslaver: Finding Descendant Connections</b></a></i>, presented by the <b><a href="https://nsgsil.wildapricot.org/">North Suburban Genealogical Society</a></b> and <b><a href="https://www.glenviewpl.org/">Glenview Public Library</a></b> in Glenview, Ill.</p>Michele Nicolehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12893919839488438784noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8773415734057152987.post-51243894915452194142022-02-25T15:11:00.015-05:002022-02-27T00:16:52.529-05:00Ancestral Excursions<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhbwpusDaO8aFRkOb_bvZgAsq3BCrRMqqG5-YjeKMEIzMknef46Dgo9sw6ki8nBgtT4tnjSBwHqCeo87BcPYhCUM6Zhj6q9gx51jfnBNzL8iWLsaJQyzTNK5po6LnzsMKxivdzK_ThNaNFcVW_7Nf82kbiVqRruc849bh9WMT8UMrqGwF4zuK-uW_rn=s1144" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="703" data-original-width="1144" height="393" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhbwpusDaO8aFRkOb_bvZgAsq3BCrRMqqG5-YjeKMEIzMknef46Dgo9sw6ki8nBgtT4tnjSBwHqCeo87BcPYhCUM6Zhj6q9gx51jfnBNzL8iWLsaJQyzTNK5po6LnzsMKxivdzK_ThNaNFcVW_7Nf82kbiVqRruc849bh9WMT8UMrqGwF4zuK-uW_rn=w640-h393" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Old Dominion Steamship Company. Source: <a href="https://www.loc.gov/item/2004666887/">Library of Congress</a>.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I grew up thinking my maternal grandparents, and their parents had never lived anywhere else other than North Carolina. I made this false assumption simply because I never asked and they never talked about living anywhere else. So you can imagine my surprise when, well into my adulthood, my grandmother, Kate Irene Russell, shared a story about briefly living in New Mexico when her husband was stationed there in the U.S. Army. I can't remember how the topic came up, but I was amazed I had never heard of this time in her life.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiH7owCZ1ihfuTuM58td7vA9VX3-OwqCI5va-Z5O9bYtz8AskD5BiCr2JVwJ__tTL3NG4GM0Kvtef4JWDF40EdguIqhRlqPQx3RiMqq8j6qRLyvqXpyDLryLb-h_e7VsN9i0Pp0hXRTTmWu_8JP__p8ZownYEs4HwXpDUftwYt2SgEk8iPQVQvMbghd=s424" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="James Russell and his daughter Kate" border="0" data-original-height="247" data-original-width="424" height="186" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiH7owCZ1ihfuTuM58td7vA9VX3-OwqCI5va-Z5O9bYtz8AskD5BiCr2JVwJ__tTL3NG4GM0Kvtef4JWDF40EdguIqhRlqPQx3RiMqq8j6qRLyvqXpyDLryLb-h_e7VsN9i0Pp0hXRTTmWu_8JP__p8ZownYEs4HwXpDUftwYt2SgEk8iPQVQvMbghd=w320-h186" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">James Hampton Russell and his daughter, Kate</td></tr></tbody></table>My grandmother described the train ride from North Carolina with very young children, and how the black people had to sit in the crowded Jim Crow car at the front of the train, which was sooty and dirty. They had to pack their own food because Jim Crow segregation laws prevented them from eating in the dining car or in many restaurants along the way. As for New Mexico, the only thing she could remember was the heat and the dust storms. How I wish I could see her again to ask her more questions.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I was well into my 40s when I learned that her father, James Hampton "Daddy Hamp" Russell, had lived in Virginia in 1917, and was employed by the Old Dominion Steamship Company based in Newport News. The information is on his World War I draft card. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">My mother and her oldest brother had no idea, however, my uncle did say he recalled hearing that Daddy Hamp had taken etiquette classes at one of the historically black colleges either in Charlotte or in Concord, N.C. That makes sense as the classes would have provided the proper training for a crew member on an elegant steamship offering trips to New York, Richmond, Boston, Baltimore, and Philadelphia. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Again, I have so many questions. What kind of work did he do? Who were his friends?</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">The draft card was stamped June 5, 1917. He was a newlywed. Just two weeks earlier Daddy Hamp had married my great-grandmother, Margaret Lytle, on May 23, in North Carolina.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">Did she go with him? </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I may never know the answers, but I will keep researching, looking for clues, and imagining what my ancestors may have experienced on their journeys far from their Carolina homes.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhEUzrIOefKVXUthNiLY5H9KeNBXvdKhCKQi_rjYvHcMW0kkOtqDagKoti2G_4AxzsDWFc2ZnDGriLctovsxGRFfIYV9faNt2J2MnUnhACtS2dsugTVSCJi6vsL3LYbhXKhamCQ8gUN_wsxAAa-1-hD8HY9pj4ItIpVZ5t3ReJ5Y0pqJCGKjDKhDJ7a=s1200" style="display: block; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; padding: 1em 0px; text-align: center;"><img alt="" border="0" data-original-height="756" data-original-width="1200" height="405" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhEUzrIOefKVXUthNiLY5H9KeNBXvdKhCKQi_rjYvHcMW0kkOtqDagKoti2G_4AxzsDWFc2ZnDGriLctovsxGRFfIYV9faNt2J2MnUnhACtS2dsugTVSCJi6vsL3LYbhXKhamCQ8gUN_wsxAAa-1-hD8HY9pj4ItIpVZ5t3ReJ5Y0pqJCGKjDKhDJ7a=w640-h405" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">World War I draft card for James Hampton Russell (1891-1966). Registration State: Virginia; Registration County: Warwick. Source: <a href="https://www.ancestry.com/imageviewer/collections/6482/images/005153771_06087?pId=22095472">National Archives and Records Administration/Ancestry.com</a><br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table></div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/usvHCep-q6U" title="YouTube video player" width="560"></iframe></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;">Ballins Dampfer Welt. </span><i style="text-align: left;">S.S. Madison - Old Dominion Line - New York - Interior.</i><span style="text-align: left;"> [Video]. YouTube. </span><a href="https://youtu.be/usvHCep-q6U" style="text-align: left;">https://youtu.be/usvHCep-q6U</a></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><b><i><span style="color: #990000;"><br /></span></i></b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><b><i><span style="color: #990000;">Resources:</span></i></b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>Bay, M. (2021). Jim Crow journeys: An excerpt from <i>Traveling Black</i>. Southern Spaces. <a href="https://southernspaces.org/2021/jim-crow-journeys-excerpt-traveling-black/">https://southernspaces.org/2021/jim-crow-journeys-excerpt-traveling-black/</a></li><li>Howard, P. (2014). Steamships & Ocracoke. Village Craftsmen. <a href="https://www.villagecraftsmen.com/tag/old-dominion-steamship-company/">https://www.villagecraftsmen.com/tag/old-dominion-steamship-company/</a></li><li>The new Steamship Monroe of the Old Dominion Line. (1903, Apr 18). <i>The Cambridge Chronicle. </i><a href="https://cambridge.dlconsulting.com/cgi-bin/cambridge?a=d&d=Chronicle19030418-01.2.124&e=-------en-20--1--txt-txIN-------">https://cambridge.dlconsulting.com/cgi-bin/cambridge?a=d&d=Chronicle19030418-01.2.124&e=-------en-20--1--txt-txIN-------</a></li><li>A new steamship; description of the Seneca of the Old Dominion Line. (1884, Dec. 3). <i>The New York Times. </i><a href="https://www.nytimes.com/1884/12/03/archives/a-new-steamship-description-of-the-seneca-of-the-old-dominion-line.html">https://www.nytimes.com/1884/12/03/archives/a-new-steamship-description-of-the-seneca-of-the-old-dominion-line.html</a></li><li><i>Old Dominion Line: Along the historic James River. </i>(1902). Old Dominion Steamboat Company.</li><li><i>Old Dominions Steamship Company. </i>(n.d.). Library of Congress. <a href="https://www.loc.gov/item/2004666887/">https://www.loc.gov/item/2004666887/</a></li><li>Palmer, A. (2016). This segregated railway car offers a visceral reminder of the Jim Crow era. <i>Smithsonian Magazine. </i><a href="https://www.smithsonianmag.com/smithsonian-institution/segregated-railway-car-offers-visceral-reminder-jim-crow-era-180959383/">https://www.smithsonianmag.com/smithsonian-institution/segregated-railway-car-offers-visceral-reminder-jim-crow-era-180959383/</a></li><li>Segregation of railroad cars. (n.d.). <i>The History Engine</i>. University of Richmond. <a href="https://historyengine.richmond.edu/episodes/view/3273">https://historyengine.richmond.edu/episodes/view/3273</a></li><li>Strikebreakers at Norfolk. (1916, May 29). <i>The Greensboro Daily News</i>. </li><li>Strikebreakers from Hopewell go to Norfolk: Five hundred men take place of striking longshoremen. (1916, May 29). <i>The Asheville Citizen-Times</i>. </li></ul><div><br /></div><div><br /></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><a href="https://www.newspapers.com/clip/96486836/asheville-citizen-times/" style="display: block; text-decoration: none;" target="_parent"></a><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.newspapers.com/clip/96486836/asheville-citizen-times/" style="display: block; text-decoration: none;" target="_parent"></a><a href="https://www.newspapers.com/clip/96486836/asheville-citizen-times/" style="display: inline; text-decoration-line: none;" target="_parent"><img alt="" height="980" src="https://img.newspapers.com/img/img?clippingId=96486836&width=700&height=1265&ts=1607535806" style="max-width: 100%;" width="456" /></a></div><span style="color: #747474; display: block; font: 13px helvetica, sans-serif; max-width: 700px; padding: 4px 0px; text-align: center;"><strong></strong> 29 May 1916, Mon <em>Asheville Citizen-Times (Asheville, North Carolina)</em> Newspapers.com</span>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8773415734057152987.post-9946976879159806882022-02-05T16:58:00.000-05:002022-02-25T16:28:36.332-05:00Featured Funeral Program<p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://drive.google.com/file/d/16QISXTRYjTOgVO7ZNFtKkmrcq4jCoppn/view" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="816" data-original-width="528" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhkeB0LO9TMvi52oD6IGXgxA9-IvwGPNIW4X1VbzVcquH99T4VL75jtSEr_I4AUBm4y1gUH8SxB3-_IfCqNe8PZ4QigzIgq8b-MQeT2fvEwTnu5iGTKwrBHcrJOdEnfMBDKKOgS0vM8d73L036taxX4hIEGHzQYwH8bgIpw1_tWX4KR3KCFrOPyFvNk=w414-h640" width="414" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><b><a href="https://drive.google.com/file/d/16QISXTRYjTOgVO7ZNFtKkmrcq4jCoppn/view">Bernice Elizabeth Kiser Allison (1915-1987)</a></b></span></td></tr></tbody></table></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><i><b>From her <a href="http://ive.google.com/file/d/16QISXTRYjTOgVO7ZNFtKkmrcq4jCoppn/view">funeral service program</a>: </b>Mrs. Bernice Elizabeth Kiser Allison, age 71, daughter of the late Reverend Samuel Kiser and Emma Howie Kiser was born June 13, 1915, in Cabarrus County, North Carolina. She departed this life Wednesday, March 18, 1987, at Cabarrus Memorial Hospital.</i></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><i><br /></i></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><i>Mrs. Allison attended Logan High School and was a graduate of Price High School, Salisbury, North Carolina. Later, she graduated from Apex Beauty College, Baltimore, Maryland. As a cosmetologist, she was the operator of Bernice's Beauty Shop for a period of over 25 years. She was a member of the Kannapolis and Landis Beautician Club and the North Carolina State Beautician Association. She did further study at the Advanced School of Business, Chicago, Illinois, studying Secretarial Sciences. She was a retired employee of Cannon Mills. </i></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><i><br /></i></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><i>Mrs. Allison was a former member of Price Memorial AME Zion Church, Concord, North Carolina. She served as Assistant Secretary of the Young Women's Missionary Society of the Concord District. In 1937, she joined Bethel AME Zion Church. After joining Bethel, she organized the Young Women's Missionary Society and was an officer for a period of 38 years. For seven years, Mrs. Allison was the Junior Church President and served as Assistant Superintendent of the church school. </i></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><i><br /></i></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><i>During the pastorship of Reverend W.J.W. Turner, Mrs. Allison organized the Gospel Choir of which her sister, Margaret Kiser Branch, was the organist. She was the first Life Member of the Missionaries to be stoled in Bethel AME Zion Church. Mrs. Allison served as Church Secretary, Class Leader, member of the Deaconness Board, Usher Board, and in many other capacities at Bethel AME Zion Church. She organized Girl Scouting in this church and served as director for 15 years. She was the director of Girl Scouting for the Concord District and was the organizer of the Hornet's Nest Council for Service Unit No. 1 of Cabarrus County. She also served as a volunteer for Kannapolis Christian Ministries. Mrs. Allison will long be remembered for her service to mankind.</i></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><i><br /></i></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><i><a href="https://drive.google.com/file/d/1iNysvIQB84IgSEymPfmrUJJP_qJq_MUf/view">Funeral Program Index</a></i></span></div> <p></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8773415734057152987.post-29197567884232858162022-02-03T12:07:00.003-05:002022-02-25T16:30:32.146-05:00Phillis Coleman<p><span style="font-family: arial;"><span data-offset-key="5ll6j-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEik3RJry2m1qBDWejyagdEN2ur37OZegB_iu5lp6wvqC9n7mNu_9OQYJq3MaClgaGP4d5xrQdGGXj28QW3NB-pa83ZhSvkTHqWnzG0_wE5Q0IeN0lb7-9m2rt9yDwzv3KFHUzDMtoLymlL88k60fMUqi9GW5ODhnqeOCLn1919m5_el5ws9_shhFAWr" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="937" data-original-width="624" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEik3RJry2m1qBDWejyagdEN2ur37OZegB_iu5lp6wvqC9n7mNu_9OQYJq3MaClgaGP4d5xrQdGGXj28QW3NB-pa83ZhSvkTHqWnzG0_wE5Q0IeN0lb7-9m2rt9yDwzv3KFHUzDMtoLymlL88k60fMUqi9GW5ODhnqeOCLn1919m5_el5ws9_shhFAWr=w267-h400" width="267" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #444444;">Phillis (Phyllis) Coleman (1823-1908)</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: arial;"><span data-offset-key="5ll6j-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /><br /></span></span><p></p><p><span style="color: #444444; font-family: arial;"><span data-offset-key="5ll6j-0-0" style="background-color: white; white-space: pre-wrap;">This is my paternal fourth-great-grandmother, <b>Phillis (</b></span><span style="background-color: white; white-space: pre-wrap;"><b>Phyllis)</b></span><span data-offset-key="5ll6j-2-0" style="background-color: white; white-space: pre-wrap;"><b> Coleman</b>. She was born into slavery in Virginia in 1823, and she died in freedom in 1908, in Lancaster County, South Carolina. Her enslaver, and the father of some of her children, was <b>Robert Brown Cunningham</b> (1815-1885). </span></span></p><div data-block="true" data-editor="edm4p" data-offset-key="d1f1e-0-0" style="background-color: white; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="d1f1e-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="d1f1e-0-0"><span style="color: #444444; font-family: arial;"><br data-text="true" /></span></span></div></div><div data-block="true" data-editor="edm4p" data-offset-key="ak01j-0-0" style="background-color: white; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="ak01j-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="ak01j-0-0"><span style="color: #444444; font-family: arial;">Grandmother Phillis' daughter was <b>Rachel Cunningham</b> (1845-1912), my third-great-grandmother, who married <b>Charles Carr</b> (1844-?), and later, <b>Nicholas Peay</b> (1836-1907).</span></span></div></div><div data-block="true" data-editor="edm4p" data-offset-key="2p4sv-0-0" style="background-color: white; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="2p4sv-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="2p4sv-0-0"><span style="color: #444444; font-family: arial;"><br data-text="true" /></span></span></div></div><div data-block="true" data-editor="edm4p" data-offset-key="an1ha-0-0" style="background-color: white; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="an1ha-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="an1ha-0-0"><span style="color: #444444; font-family: arial;">My Peay line descends from people who were enslaved by the white Peay family, who held more than 1,000 people in bondage on several plantations in South Carolina. I've been documenting these people as best I can, when I can, digging through wills and ship manifests and other records, making lists, saying their names out loud. </span></span></div></div><div data-block="true" data-editor="edm4p" data-offset-key="2jr4r-0-0" style="background-color: white; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="2jr4r-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="2jr4r-0-0"><span style="color: #444444; font-family: arial;"><br data-text="true" /></span></span></div></div><div data-block="true" data-editor="edm4p" data-offset-key="9utlb-0-0" style="background-color: white; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="9utlb-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="9utlb-0-0"><span style="color: #444444; font-family: arial;">When I did my DNA test a few years ago, I noticed that I was matching people from Marengo County, Ala., on my Peay line. Who were these distant Peay cousins? </span></span></div><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="9utlb-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="9utlb-0-0"><span style="color: #444444; font-family: arial;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="9utlb-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="9utlb-0-0"><span style="color: #444444; font-family: arial;">The answer was in the will of <b>Austin Ford Peay</b> (1787-1841), the patriarch of the family that enslaved mine. In his will, he left his daughter, Mary, 30 slaves. Their names were <b>Patty, Jack, William, Fanny, Washington, Hilliard, Chainey, Isaac, William, Sam, Nancy, Mary, Sophia, Sukey, Patty, Francis, Polly, Venus, Lizasa Gullah, Robbin Jr., Ellen, Delia, Cudjo, Amey, Nancy, Albert, Obed, Jeff, Jim Gullah</b>, and <b>Sylvia</b>.</span></span></div></div><div data-block="true" data-editor="edm4p" data-offset-key="2v1u-0-0" style="background-color: white; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="2v1u-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="2v1u-0-0"><span style="color: #444444; font-family: arial;"><br data-text="true" /></span></span></div></div><div data-block="true" data-editor="edm4p" data-offset-key="2ko0d-0-0" style="background-color: white; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="2ko0d-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="2ko0d-0-0" style="color: #444444;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica; white-space: normal;"><b>Mary Lucilla Justina Peay</b></span><span style="font-family: arial;"> was married to <b>Charles A. Poellnitz</b>, and they ran a plantation in Marengo County, Ala., deep in the Alabama Black Belt. Her inheritance -- which included some of my family members -- was uprooted from South Carolina and moved to Alabama.</span></span></div></div><div data-block="true" data-editor="edm4p" data-offset-key="9idps-0-0" style="background-color: white; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="9idps-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="9idps-0-0"><span style="color: #444444; font-family: arial;"><br data-text="true" /></span></span></div></div><div data-block="true" data-editor="edm4p" data-offset-key="ed17-0-0" style="background-color: white; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="ed17-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="ed17-0-0"><span style="color: #444444; font-family: arial;">I often think about what the death of a "massa" often meant for my ancestors. When I read the wills, I see my ancestors listed as property, and their families being torn apart, bequeathed or sold off, or leased. I see it time and time again, and feel their sadness and anguish over and over again. </span></span></div></div><div data-block="true" data-editor="edm4p" data-offset-key="ba8hb-0-0" style="background-color: white; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="ba8hb-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="ba8hb-0-0"><span style="color: #444444; font-family: arial;"><br data-text="true" /></span></span></div></div><div data-block="true" data-editor="edm4p" data-offset-key="a3vgi-0-0" style="background-color: white; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="a3vgi-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;"><span data-offset-key="a3vgi-0-0"><span style="color: #444444; font-family: arial;">How much loss did Grandmother Phillis experience in her long lifetime? How many children did she have, and have taken away, before her life ever crossed paths with Robert Brown Cunningham?</span></span></div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8773415734057152987.post-22100412518047055882021-12-31T10:35:00.003-05:002022-02-25T16:31:13.084-05:00H. Lee Waters Film Collection<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://repository.duke.edu/dc/hleewaters/RL10075-DBCAM-0013?fbclid=IwAR2MNUijSESzr_Kvaf-IM-C2CziNIdxYPj3t-0mjrN0SfHDEWp9jGMm_0Uw" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="960" height="371" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiJHLJ-9mIGnre8wlXD_B5jehAoLkV-FDZpAlcalV9GTQHLH4vZCtNtnPLLe12Vl_RwZRByHGcHOwobmJ2-9Gsm1y7TqIgKDqinn550546Z7-UPWs8TXDWk5hWjI-PUkfGnWesqlUU2CrocDHlzrw5HAdLAHX4BHUi63lPwxlUoe_Zl-08MnvP_3D3esw=w494-h371" width="494" /></a></div><p></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: "Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;">The <b><a href="https://repository.duke.edu/dc/hleewaters">H. Lee Waters Film Collection</a></b> includes silent films documenting communities in the Carolinas and in Virginia from 1936-1942. African-American communities in Kannapolis, N.C., are included in the collection, which is in the archives of Duke University Libraries. </span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: "Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Look for Reel 3 of the Kannapolis footage, and scroll down to the time stamps below the video. At 18:06 on Reel 3, are students at George Washington Carver in Kannapolis. I get choked up watching this footage because my parents grew up in Kannapolis, and although they were born a few years after these videos were made, I know some of these people working and playing and going about their lives are my family.</span></p>Michele Nicolehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12893919839488438784noreply@blogger.com0Kannapolis, NC, USA35.4873613 -80.62173416.3238406061681793 -115.7779841 64.650881993831831 -45.4654841tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8773415734057152987.post-16036775558529050342020-10-15T22:03:00.003-04:002022-02-25T16:31:45.419-05:00Mother Hillery<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="430" data-original-width="640" height="217" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiecdiyDb3A7yvJ-v-T2c5U3NyZmN0z0CJP9XYG7QzUdIzEdAL_fAUwwsB6C0OXKrYFBaheyeq7Gey7EHX9fSaXMdEA9GkB4j5IEakOo8AYXCGfwqDh4lBkjh8PcsaIsOvEtqXvR2ud5XQ/w320-h217/7ED17572-9628-491A-8656-A8334893EB1A.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="320" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Cherokee Roses in spring, on the road to Mother Hillery’s house.</i><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p>When I’m home by myself overnight, I lock up like Mother Catherine Hillery. She was the thoughtful elderly church mother and dear cousin on Sapelo Island who wouldn’t answer the door after sunset — no exceptions. </p><p>She’d call our house in the late afternoon and say “Come get a piece of this bread pudding before the sun go down.” </p><p>The kids would scurry down the dirt road to beat that sun because the bread pudding was always warm and delicious, and she usually would slip them some pocket change. </p><p>Sweet memories.</p><p><br /></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0Sapelo Island, Georgia, USA31.4764158 -81.24086893.1661819638211561 -116.3971189 59.786649636178851 -46.084618899999995tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8773415734057152987.post-80777702962790629282020-08-17T15:41:00.004-04:002022-02-25T16:32:46.874-05:00Elizabeth Elaine Lemon: Trailblazing Woman<p><i><span style="font-family: arial;"><b>Note:</b> This was a speech I delivered on Feb. 29, 2020, as part of <b><a href="https://www.ashantillycenter.org/ashantilly-events/90-trailblazing-african-american-women-of-coastal-georgia">Trailblazing African American Women of Coastal Georgia</a></b>, a program presented by <a href="https://www.ashantillycenter.org/"><b>The Ashantilly Center</b> </a>at St. Cyprian's Episcopal Church and Parish Hall. -- MNJ</span></i></p><p><i><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;"><br /></span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: arial;">In my former life, as a newspaper journalist, I wrote a Family
column that was published weekly with my picture. So, when Black History Month
rolled around, I was bombarded with calls to speak at churches, civic groups, and schools.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: arial;">The schools were my favorite because I actually loved the challenge of trying to hold the attention of squirming elementary
schoolchildren or engaging with middle or high school students who probably
would rather be somewhere else.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: arial;"></span></span></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPMGu8pXFHW6zFLEwCRBZKBlaVOsJKr0C-KGAhMBK88WI5AReVhjL9ayWMrUCPJrz16Axk-hpdwN0BOQjiB7rr1e_BMWUyG7ku_mBmYQ8JnVHMGV6hjtrAbKLzOtlrmijholqvp7P-JWs/s1056/EELemon.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Elizabeth Elaine Lemon" border="0" data-original-height="1056" data-original-width="816" height="256" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPMGu8pXFHW6zFLEwCRBZKBlaVOsJKr0C-KGAhMBK88WI5AReVhjL9ayWMrUCPJrz16Axk-hpdwN0BOQjiB7rr1e_BMWUyG7ku_mBmYQ8JnVHMGV6hjtrAbKLzOtlrmijholqvp7P-JWs/w198-h256/EELemon.jpg" title="Elizabeth Elaine Lemon" width="198" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;">Elizabeth Elaine Lemon</span></b><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: arial;">I would often talk about family history, genealogy, one of
my passions. And I would explain to them that we all have heroes within the
branches of our family trees.<o:p></o:p></span></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: arial;">During Black History Month we often celebrate people who
are larger than life household names – Martin Luther King Jr. and Harriet
Tubman … Malcolm X and George Washington Carver … and Frederick Douglass.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: arial;">But many of the heroes in our families and in our
communities are of the unsung variety, the ones who worked behind the scenes,
and laid the foundation for others to build upon. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Elizabeth Elaine Lemon is one of those heroes.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: arial;">She was born August 4, 1904, on Sapelo Island, Georgia, the
daughter of Thomas Lemon and Lula Walker Lemon.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Her family – her parents and brothers and sisters -- called
her “Bell.” <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Bell’s early childhood, the early 1900s, was a time of
changes on Sapelo Island. The land that was once dominated by the Spalding
family, the island’s last major plantation owners, was purchased by Howard
Coffin, a Detroit auto man. Coffin moved to the island and rebuilt the former
Spalding “Big House,” transforming its tabby skeleton into a beautiful
Mediterranean-style estate.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: arial;">The black people on Sapelo included the formerly enslaved
and their children and grandchildren. Many people on Sapelo worked for Howard
Coffin performing the same tasks they or their ancestors had performed during
slavery – cooking, cleaning, tending to the cows in the dairy or the flowers in
the greenhouse.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Bell would have undoubtedly heard stories about her grandfather,
James Lemon, who was born in 1828. He was one of several enslaved men on Sapelo
who ran away and joined the Union Army during the Civil War. He served in
Company A of the 33<sup>rd</sup> Regiment of the U.S. Colored Infantry. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: arial;">His wife, Jane Cummings Lemon, ran away, too, along with other enslaved people, when the Spalding family evacuated Sapelo Island ahead of Union troops. According to James Lemon’s
pension records, he was granted special permission to leave the war to return
to Sapelo Island to check on his wife.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Young Bell would have no doubt heard these stories and many more, and probably
would have been aware of and experienced the injustice of Jim Crow and the racism always
present in black people’s lives long after slavery ended. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: arial;">But she also would have witnessed what many little black
girls and boys saw in the early 1900s all across America … black people making
a way out of no way, creating opportunities for themselves, building communities,
working together in churches, civic organizations, fraternal organizations, working
as entrepreneurs and skilled craftsmen. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Bell would have known the value of education with the
island school playing a vital role in developing strong minds and character in
children who would grow up in a segregated world that did not value their worth.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Bell described her early education in an interview with
genealogist Mae Ruth Green in the early 1980s. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: arial;">“The children learned phonics and had to memorize poetry.
In fact,” she said, “most of the poetry I know now, I learned on Sapelo
Island.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Bell attended grades one through five on Sapelo Island, and
then continued her education at St. Athanasius Episcopal School in Brunswick. In
the summers, she said she would scrape up bus fare to go to Savannah in search
of work cleaning homes and doing other tasks for families. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: arial;">“I would not spend more than a dime of my precious earnings
for food,” she said. “A nickel glass of jelly and a five-cent loaf of bread
made very good eating while I was looking for work. A couple of slices of bread
and a glass of water made a good meal, and when the jelly was added, I had a
party!”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: arial;">In 1921, Bell – who called herself Elaine – graduated with
honors from St. Athanasius, and then made her way north to study teaching at
Atlanta University Normal School. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: arial;">“When I was going to Atlanta University my shoes wore out …
the soles went completely and the outer rim spread like a moccasin’s mouth,”
she said. “When students made fun of my feet, I held my head high and craned my
neck to peer into the distance to see what was giving them so much fun.” <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: arial;">She graduated from Atlanta University, raggedy shoes and
all, and was Salutatorian of her class.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Her early teaching career included six years (1923-1929) in
the public schools of Winston-Salem, N.C. While teaching in North Carolina, she
would go to New York City during the summers to work for a family. She made
more money in the summer in New York than she did teaching school in North
Carolina.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: arial;">“I bought clothes, shoes, hats, luggage, and silk
underwear, and sent money home to Sapelo, as much as $40 at a time,” she said. She
paid for her sister Kate’s sewing lessons and began saving to buy a new home.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: arial;">She went back to school, this time in Indiana, and in 1930 earned
a Bachelor’s degree in English and Science from Ball State Teachers College
(now known as Ball State University) in Muncie, Indiana. That same year, she
returned to Atlanta to join the faculty of a groundbreaking experiment in
education known as Atlanta University Laboratory School.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Atlanta University Laboratory School opened in September of
1930. The school combined the college preparatory programs of Spelman College,
Morehouse College and Atlanta University.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: arial;">The secondary school students took classes in Giles Hall on
the Spelman campus.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Elementary school children attended classes at Oglethorpe
School which was on the Atlanta University campus. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Elizabeth Elaine Lemon served as the Teaching Principal of
the laboratory elementary school, from 1930-1943.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: arial;">The philosophy of the progressive school included
independent study with a social-problems approach, and the belief that students
should have a role in choosing the topics to be studied and help plan class
projects. The school was governed by collaboration or a democratic process amongst
the faculty members, who met weekly, as well as the students.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: arial;">The school attracted talented faculty and gifted students who
often received state and national recognition in the areas of science and
writing.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: arial;">In an article published in <i>The New York Age</i> in 1931, Atlanta University president, John Hope,
described the purpose of the laboratory school.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: arial;">“It’s purpose is not primarily to give students in the
Department of Education practice in teaching,” he said. Rather, it is to
“provide them with an opportunity to observe good teaching <i>and</i> its
results.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: arial;">One of the most distinguished teachers was artist and
Harvard graduate Hale Woodruff, who was the chair of the Art Department<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: arial;">One of the most distinguished students – although he was
only in the seventh grade at the time -- was an overachiever named Martin
Luther King, Jr. (Young Martin, by the way, would ultimately skip ninth-grade
and finish his high school years at Booker T. Washington High School in Atlanta,
before entering Morehouse College at age 15.)<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Elaine Lemon, who was one of Martin Luther King’s teachers,
had a personal teaching style that involved getting outside and going places.
In addition to reading, she encouraged learning through experimentation and
dramatization.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: arial;">The Atlanta University Laboratory School had its critics. Renowned
author, sociologist, and activist W.E.B. Du Bois, who was on the faculty of
Atlanta University, viewed the program with some skepticism, primarily because
he felt the school was understaffed and underfunded. In addition, the student
population did not reflect the socioeconomic and educational diversity within
the African American community. The students at the Laboratory School were the children
of successful business owners and preachers, attorneys, doctors, and teachers.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: arial;">An article published in <i>The
Atlanta Constitution</i> in 1979 described the Laboratory School’s Oglethorpe
Elementary as the first step on the road to entry in the “black society.” The
next step was the Laboratory High School, and then Spelman or Morehouse, before
going off to graduate school.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: arial;">The story of experimentation in black high schools in the
1930s and ‘40s, and the history of the education of African Americans, is worth
a Black History Month program all by itself. Elaine Lemon was part of a progressive
movement known as the Secondary School Study or the Black High School Study. It
included the Laboratory School and 17 other high schools throughout the South,
and her participation in this experiment undoubtedly shaped her philosophy as
she continued her career in education.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: arial;">While teaching in Atlanta, Elaine Lemon continued going to
school during the summers and during leaves of absence, she would take from teaching.
She continued working other side-jobs to help pay her way through school, but
she no longer had to clean houses.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: arial;">She earned her Master’s degree in Social Science from
Columbia University in New York in 1941, where she was elected Dean’s Scholar
in the Advanced School of Education in the Teachers College. She taught
religion at the historic Riverside Church also in New York not far from
Columbia, as well as at Chautauqua Institution in New York, and Tufts College
in Boston. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: arial;">When the United States entered World War II, Elaine Lemon
switched gears and became a USO director, coordinating services for American
troops and helping to boost morale.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Following the war, she went back to Indiana and taught in
a public school. In 1953 she was named the first African-American principal of
the new $1 million Frederick Douglass School in Gary, Indiana, where she served
until she retired. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Retirement for Elaine did not mean rest. She continued
learning and teaching, with the whole world as her classroom. She traveled to
five continents as a YMCA World Ambassador in the mid-1970s and into the 1980s.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: arial;">In India, she met the prime minister, Indira Gandhi. In
Ghana, she helped to build a school for preschoolers. She visited Tanzania,
Nigeria, and Uganda, Greece, Italy, and the People’s Republic of China. She
visited countries in Europe and Central America. In 1982 she visited the Soviet
Union.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Back in Gary, Indiana, Elaine was active with the Urban
League, the YWCA, the PTA, the United Way, the Chamber of Commerce, and the
Friends of the Library. She was a member of Sigma Gamma Rho Sorority, a
lifelong member of the NAACP, and an inspirational speaker. Her speaking topics
included everything from the meaning of life to the role of women in the Space
Age.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: arial;">She was mentioned on the Society pages of <i>Jet Magazine</i> at least twice for her fundraising
work with the United Negro College Fund and for her travels abroad.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: arial;">When Elaine Lemon returned to Coastal Georgia, she made
Savannah her home. She lived in the house she had bought many years earlier.
(Yes, she did buy that house she was saving for all those years ago. It was a
home where her mother lived out the last years of her life.)<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: arial;">In Savannah, she was an active member of St. Matthews
Episcopal Church. She taught Sunday School and was a member of the St. Augustus
Guild and served on the Day Care Center Board.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Elizabeth Elaine Lemon died on New Year’s Day in 1999, in
Savannah.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: arial;">The gifted teacher had touched lives and inspired so many halfway
across the country and around the world. Her funeral program read: “Bell, our
beloved sister, aunt, cousin, and friend.” <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: arial;">She was an extraordinary woman. At the same time, she was
like so many African American men and women of her generation … the
grandchildren of enslaved people who fought to be free and control their own
destiny. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Black people who rode the wave of the Great Migration from
the South to the North and West, running from Jim Crow, searching for
opportunity, building new lives. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Elizabeth Elaine Lemon was the product of a family that
loved her, and an island community of friends, teachers and a church-family that
nurtured her and instilled in her the desire to succeed and to serve.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Looking back, when she had time to reflect on her life, she
understood the odds she overcame and the hard work she did to reach her goals. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: arial;">“Would you believe that it is just in later years that I
realized that my going to school was a heroic undertaking?” she reflected in an
interview with genealogist Mae Ruth Green.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: arial;">“I was working to send myself to school since I was in the
fifth grade. I lived with people who worked me morning, noon, and night. I ate
sparingly hoping they would notice and lighten my work … but they did not see.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;"><i><span style="line-height: 107%;">We</span></i><span style="line-height: 107%;"> see
you, Bell, and we thank you, and we honor you for your perseverance and commitment.
<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p>
</p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: arial;">She left her island home all those years ago, but she took
Sapelo with her. All the love and discipline and determination that was poured
into her, she poured into the world, and into the people whose lives she
touched.</span><span face="" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></span></p><p><br /></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8773415734057152987.post-70366043663391575522020-08-06T23:11:00.006-04:002022-04-13T11:54:31.940-04:00Robert Sengstacke Abbott<div class="separator"><p style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-xvp7tL3y1-EpMB-nSostvMTbEy5s-Rujt4igpdx0s3XLMSq8MNaWLqv5f0zYYHPXNrHKGOTiZPOws9On7KuoQUMVFls70r1GAfSxIC2BTPud2CxqEH4vRjrRqsZmihtrwX1i-JGiDww/s2048/116335316_10220101060668186_7289522800568939734_o.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-xvp7tL3y1-EpMB-nSostvMTbEy5s-Rujt4igpdx0s3XLMSq8MNaWLqv5f0zYYHPXNrHKGOTiZPOws9On7KuoQUMVFls70r1GAfSxIC2BTPud2CxqEH4vRjrRqsZmihtrwX1i-JGiDww/w480-h360/116335316_10220101060668186_7289522800568939734_o.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: arial; font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><p style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: arial; font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p>I took my 3-year-old granddaughter for a ride the other day. She got mad when I told her we weren't really going anywhere...just riding. That made no sense to her, so she fell asleep.</span></div><div class="separator"><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: arial; font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator"><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: arial; font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;">I ended up at Fort Frederica on St. Simons Island, Georgia, and stood outside my car to take this picture of the obelisk erected by </span><b style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: arial; font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><a href="https://www.georgiaencyclopedia.org/articles/arts-culture/robert-sengstacke-abbott-1868-1940">Robert Sengstacke Abbott</a></b><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: arial; font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;">, founder of </span><b style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: arial; font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i><a href="https://chicagodefender.com/">The Chicago Defender</a></i></b><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: arial; font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;"> newspaper. </span></div><div class="separator"><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: arial; font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator"><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: arial; font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Abbott was born in c.1868 on St. Simons Island, graduated from Hampton Institute, went to law school, and founded a paper that circulated throughout the country. It was a lifeline of information and a catalyst for activism and organizing for African-Americans in the Jim Crow era.</span></div><div class="separator"><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: arial; font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator"><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: arial; font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;">I look forward to the day my granddaughter stays awake long enough for me to bore her with these stories, and I hope I live long enough to see her grow to appreciate them.</span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0St Simons Island, GA 31522, USA31.1595905 -81.38855172.8493566638211547 -116.5448017 59.469824336178846 -46.232301699999994tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8773415734057152987.post-51955942226239738712020-06-10T14:46:00.002-04:002020-08-06T23:25:16.155-04:00Symbols of Oppression<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;"><img alt="A statue of Robert E. Lee is removed from Lee Circle in New Orleans in May 2017." src="https://www.adl.org/sites/default/files/styles/max_650x650/public/2017-06/Robert%20Lee%20%20Monument%20Removal.jpg?itok=xFCXEUv4" title="Robert E. Lee" /></div><div style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: small;"><i>A Robert E. Lee statue is removed from Lee Circle in New Orleans, May 2017. By Abdazizar CC-BY-SA 4.0</i></span></div><div style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;"><br /></div><div style="font-family: helvetica; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;"><br /></div><div style="font-family: helvetica; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
Facts are freely available to people who want to know them. The facts about Confederate monuments are clear. The context in which they were erected is not debatable. So knowing the facts, people who still support Confederate monuments, are willfully supporting a false version of history. </div>
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Why?</div>
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<div style="font-family: helvetica; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">I’m obsessed with history and genealogy. I can read about and talk about American history all day. The Civil War is one of my favorite topics. But my obsession is for the truth ... the good, the bad, and the ugly. I have no interest in romanticizing the past and celebrating the Confederacy.</div>
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Trust me, when I dig through the wills of my ancestors whose descendants fought for the Confederacy, there is nothing there to make me feel proud. There is nothing to celebrate.</div>
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My Confederate ancestors descend from enslavers who listed my black ancestors in the inventories of their wills along with the wagons, kitchenware, horses, pigs, and cattle. Their monetary “values” are included. They leased them to neighbors, sold them off to raise money, and did whatever they wanted to with them or <i>to</i> them.</div>
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I’ve always found it interesting that the people who say African-Americans whine about slavery and racism too much are the same people who have the firmest grip on their Confederate flags and the tightest embrace of their monuments.</div>
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People who want to celebrate the Confederacy and honor their Confederate ancestors have the right to do that on their own land and with their own dime. I have lived all of my adult life in the South, so I see Confederate flags in yards and on vehicle bumpers every time I go out. It’s a part of the Southern landscape. I actually support the right to do that even if the fact is that that flag, like Confederate monuments, represents oppression, racism, Jim Crow, and a belief in white supremacy. </div>
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<div style="font-family: helvetica; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">However, the taxpaying public —- which includes me and other people of all races and backgrounds —- shouldn’t have to pay for monuments that honor symbols of oppression.</div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8773415734057152987.post-91108882305374315152020-01-23T09:49:00.004-05:002020-01-23T10:11:02.773-05:00Trailblazing Women<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8773415734057152987.post-88185111402183391652020-01-21T09:59:00.000-05:002020-01-23T09:38:02.660-05:00I Remember<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<b><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">By Dianne Campbell Johnson</span></b></div>
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<i style="color: #444444; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15.4px;">Note: Our guest blogger is <b>Dianne Campbell Johnson</b>, my mother who passed away in 2011. She is in the photograph above seated on the right. The others, from left, are her brother, Harry Campbell Jr.; her mother Kate Irene Russell Campbell McCree; and standing, her sister, Geraldine Campbell Marshall. My mother began working on our family history as far back as 1970. I know this because I inherited all of her notes, and I was surprised to learn that way back then, she was digging up records and asking questions. I found this essay in her papers. - MNJ</i></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">I remember my shoes being tied by my Uncle Jim while standing on the marble shelf on the back porch on a Sunday morning while the church bells rang.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Pie school.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Rounding the corner just as Uncle Jim was throwing out his wash pan of water.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Being told the “chain gang” men would get hold of you and do bad things to you.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Saturday baths in the #2 tub beside the woodstove.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Having to eat after my step-grandmother fed my grandfather.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Charming “doodlebugs” out of their holes with branch stems.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Riding in my grandfather’s car, standing between persons in the front seat looking out the front window.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">After I got so tall, I had to ride the middle front seat on my knees facing back looking at the back seat riders. Car rides were mainly to church. Cedar Grove on Sundays and rides on Sunday evenings.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Grandfather was a father figure. He was a loving grandfather. My father died when I was 18 months old. His name was Harry Alex Campbell.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">We lived with my grandparents from my earliest memories.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">I could lie in bed and hear the trucks on Highway 29 which was miles away.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">We didn’t have an indoor toilet until I was 5 years old. The night “pot” or “chamber” was our bathroom placed in the bedroom at night and removed in the morning.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Mama cooked on a wood stove that was green and white with lids that lifted so wood and paper could be put in to make a fire to cook by.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Lights were turned on by a chain that hung from the middle of the room attached to the lightbulb holder. All electrical appliances ran from this outlet in the center of the room ceiling. Drop cords get their name from this.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Lace doilies adorned the furniture, armchairs, and backs. Embroidered pillowcases covered all pillows. Nothing was Perma press then. Grandmother boiled water and poured it into a pot outside with a fire around it and washed clothes.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Easter meant new clothes all the way to the skin. The Easter bunny left eggs, and our parents made it so real.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">There was usually ice water for supper but it was a pleasant surprise to get fresh-squeezed lemonade instead.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Special occasions meant fresh green coconut cakes and homemade icing made of egg whites. My favorite kitchenware was a grayish-blue enamel pan that my mama served oatmeal in.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">The serving table always had a linen cloth on it.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">The house was well furnished with a blue velveteen living room set with a sofa and two chairs. A tiger-skinned rug with its head still attached once spread across the room in front of the big piano. The old mantle clock would chime away the time.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">I remember the opossum tree in the Christmas parade and the dogs barking underneath. White men had a float with a tree and real possums with dogs jumping up trying to catch them. That’s the only time I got to see a possum.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">I remember my granddaddy’s chicken yard. We weren’t allowed in there. A rooster jumped on me once and had me pinned to the ground. Everyone ran out the house and my granddaddy chopped off his head.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">We made soup in a lye pot.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Mr. Dan started to appear. He later swooned Mama and they were married. Any reference to Daddy hereafter will be him because he is the only father I know.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">We threatened to run away if Mama didn’t marry him. She got our approval before marrying him because we were a package deal. Geraldine, the oldest, then Harry, then James, and me.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Schools have been a part of my life since way back. I first went to a Lutheran school (Mount Calvary), then the Baptist Church school where my nickel rolled into the crack where they baptized people under water. I was afraid to walk across the trap door.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">At the Lutheran preschool, Mr. and Mrs. Skinner were pastor and wife. They were real good to me. However, I decided I’d had enough school and wanted to stay home with my grandmother. I got a Dick Tracy baby doll just to make me go back to school. I took the doll and still stayed home, and my grandmother taught me to braid hair.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">My first day of school, I sat across from my cousin, Alice, my daddy Harry’s brother’s baby. She had the biggest bow I’d ever seen on her top braid. It was so crisp and pretty.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">We were all dressed up and our first-grade teacher was Nancy Miller. You didn’t have to go to kindergarten then, but it helped. I liked Nancy Miller so much that I told the school administrator that my first name was Nancy. I don’t even have a middle name.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">These were the days of Spot the dog, and Dick and Jane. What would we have done without them?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">These books had other people’s names in them that no one in the school knew. We later found out that we got the white school’s old books and they got new books.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">I had other school experiences besides my time of school-hopping and my preschool drop-out record.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">I went to school a lot with my sister, Geraldine who was five years older. Then it was allowed. I had a head start on the other kids because the teachers already knew me and I knew their routines.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Mrs. White was my second-grade teacher and that year was fairly uneventful. Third and fourth grade was spent with Effie Brown. The school was a little crowded, so my third-grade year was spent in the fourth-grade room along with about seven or eight other kids. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Mrs. Brown wanted to skip me to the fifth grade, but Professor Reid thought I might suffer or lose something if I did. Back then you could skip kids.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">In eighth grade, I was the “Grammar Grade Queen.” I was in spelling bees throughout, always a finalist but never winning. I was Les Amies’ first queen. Les Amies was a black women’s group. The name meant “let’s be friends.” There was a junior group with lots of social activities.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">I walked barefoot home from the eighth-grade Valentine’s ball and gave my shoes to Betty Jean Horton.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">I attended Bennett College for Scholastic Achievers in the 10th and 11th grades. Delores Morehead, Rogerlene Thompson, and Marilyn Gaither and I attended. </span></div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8773415734057152987.post-32284590872524022802019-05-21T10:56:00.002-04:002019-05-21T11:00:32.355-04:00Collaborative Genealogy<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDPqA4NgkO-ZxVrKFaOTP-jySv-TAHKpVTaXBW-zf7qirzYUiMRV5eIYT2v7WpDDDlpQL6_bo2l2J2_Nj00KjYijT2I25ec_G-JLWb-ygT_L6YolCT-qmsmH5Qy059TPDCXtzCy523OPg/s1600/NC+Library.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="996" data-original-width="1600" height="396" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDPqA4NgkO-ZxVrKFaOTP-jySv-TAHKpVTaXBW-zf7qirzYUiMRV5eIYT2v7WpDDDlpQL6_bo2l2J2_Nj00KjYijT2I25ec_G-JLWb-ygT_L6YolCT-qmsmH5Qy059TPDCXtzCy523OPg/s640/NC+Library.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">For the past year, I have been collaborating with several DNA cousins with roots in North Carolina. We are 10 descendants of slaveholders and the people they enslaved who have come together via email and social media to try to solve mysteries and find lost branches of our family trees. We call ourselves the Torrence Cousins because we all have connections to that North Carolina family.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">In April I met two of my Torrence cousins - Helen Mickens (left) and <a href="http://www.carolinakindred.com/2018/07/a-family-bible.html" target="_blank"><b>Judith Hughes</b></a> (right) - at North Carolina's <b><a href="https://statelibrary.ncdcr.gov/" target="_blank">State Library</a></b> and the <b><a href="https://archives.ncdcr.gov/" target="_blank">State Archives</a></b> in Raleigh. They were there for <b><a href="http://tarheeldiscoveries.com/" target="_blank">Tar Heel Discoveries</a></b>, a weeklong workshop for genealogists. I dropped in for a day so I could meet them in person since they both live in the Midwest. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I highly recommend the Tar Heels Discoveries workshop and plan to go back. The workshop includes a one-on-one consultation with <b><a href="http://tarheeldiscoveries.com/about/" target="_blank">professional genealogists</a></b> and tours of the library and archives, including the vault where the state charter and other rare and priceless documents are stored.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I also highly recommend collaboration. For years genealogy was a solitary hobby for me. Now I recognize how important it is to get to know other descendants of my ancestors, and the relatives who are descendants of the people who enslaved them. If you find cousins who are open to this idea, embrace them, and get to work -- together. It has been a life-changing experience for me, and has enriched my understanding of the lives of my ancestors.</span></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8773415734057152987.post-37171573860411821612019-01-24T11:00:00.000-05:002019-01-24T11:00:39.128-05:00Miss Pauline<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Pauline Cunningham was my Grandma Madie's best friend. When Miss Pauline and my grandmother were little girls growing up in Lancaster, S.C., my grandmother said they would hide under the front porch and listen to grown folks' conversations. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Miss Pauline spent most of her adult life in Washington, D.C., where my military father was stationed for three years. I attended middle school and a year of high school there. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">During those years, we visited Miss Pauline several times. I remember her home was full of antiques, and</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;"> my little sister and I loved looking at her old Jet and Ebony magazines stashed under her coffee table. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">While living in D.C., we visited three or four other families that had roots in Lancaster County, S.C. All of these people were <i>our</i> people, although at the time I didn't understand why they all lived there.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Since then, I've learned through genealogy research and DNA matches that Washington, D.C., was one of the northern destination cities for many Lancaster, S.C., families during the Great Migration of African-Americans from the early 1900s through the early 1970s. Buffalo, N.Y., was another destination, and Cleveland, Ohio, and there were other places.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Growing up, I always considered the Carolinas as home, but by following the paths of my ancestors' involuntary movement through slavery and their voluntary migrations through freedom, I've come to realize that I have to look beyond the Carolinas to find my roots.</span><br />
<br />Michele Nicolehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12893919839488438784noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8773415734057152987.post-33264829255705431592018-09-07T10:52:00.001-04:002018-09-07T11:15:00.544-04:00Archaeology Expedition<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">I</span>n early August I participated in <a href="https://www.montpelier.org/archaeology" target="_blank"><b>Excavate: Archaeology Expedition</b></a>, a weeklong immersive archaeology program at <a href="https://www.montpelier.org/" target="_blank"><b>Montpelier</b></a> in Orange County, Virginia, the home of James Madison, fourth president of the United States.<br />
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During the archaeology expedition, I worked side-by-side with professional archaeologists in the field and in the lab, where artifacts are cleaned, analyzed, preserved, and cataloged.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Artifacts found at Montpelier during my trip in early August.</td></tr>
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I have always loved studying American history, and archaeology lets you touch history. I was moved by the reality that many of the artifacts we found -- nails, glass, pieces of pottery -- were probably last touched by enslaved people.<br />
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One morning, we went to <a href="https://home.monticello.org/" target="_blank"><b>Monticello</b></a>, home of Thomas Jefferson, third president of the United States. Both Madison and Jefferson are "Founding Fathers." They penned the documents that define what it means to be an American in a democracy. Yet, both men enslaved hundreds of black people.<br />
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As we worked in the heat of the day a stone's throw from the domestic slave quarters, more than one person commented that they could not imagine being forced to work under such miserable conditions. We could take breaks whenever we wanted, or we could quit for the day if the work became too hard.<br />
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And we could go home to our families.<br />
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I was impressed with how the tours and exhibits at both Montpelier and Monticello explored these contradictions and blended the narratives of the lives of the Madison and Jefferson families and the families they enslaved.<br />
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It is one story.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: left;">Top photo: My husband and my nephew at the site. Above: The site is under the white tents to the right of the mansion. We were searching for the locations of trees that were once in a grove at that location. The trees will be replanted as part of the effort to recreate a particular era of the plantation. All photos by Michele N. Johnson.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi462LDxuv0pM0n5UdVeDvpqtgx_SiBXfvNDL6NVdRk6_dUucZjiHANVHgmZEhYBkcagul0ib-5c1LYHTFHpvcdIlUOkAa4XCpCd9f7EjseEdApGlqh-5xTIIexwpvEGsFLm3Ek8689ygM/s1600/domestic+quarters.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi462LDxuv0pM0n5UdVeDvpqtgx_SiBXfvNDL6NVdRk6_dUucZjiHANVHgmZEhYBkcagul0ib-5c1LYHTFHpvcdIlUOkAa4XCpCd9f7EjseEdApGlqh-5xTIIexwpvEGsFLm3Ek8689ygM/s640/domestic+quarters.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: left;">The domestic slave quarters in the South Yard. </td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfoMsAB8V5HDts7ZSCta-ja0xFEkmdwdgXCNGmQ9moFzoAotRixEpA92CT-_AOsjZ5iyrDJQUw3ho8QUiq2hZHkKtt04uhyphenhyphen3p3Rge9jAFiT61AFzVBe68tapz6BK3xG37hw1tPxkDdvo4/s1600/Arlington+House.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="960" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfoMsAB8V5HDts7ZSCta-ja0xFEkmdwdgXCNGmQ9moFzoAotRixEpA92CT-_AOsjZ5iyrDJQUw3ho8QUiq2hZHkKtt04uhyphenhyphen3p3Rge9jAFiT61AFzVBe68tapz6BK3xG37hw1tPxkDdvo4/s640/Arlington+House.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
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We stayed in the historic Arlington House, which was used as a hospital during the Civil War. </div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8773415734057152987.post-19526797105849995092018-07-26T09:24:00.002-04:002018-07-26T09:37:19.441-04:00Slave Narrative: Rosa Starke<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://www.loc.gov/resource/mesn.144/?sp=151" target="_blank"><img alt="Book cover art for Slave Narratives: South Carolina" border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="406" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSNlk_y0WkxzHd7bl_BwsZHwmq60b16ao98Ec-tUqs9m8j7aaKb6XVxb3_rIVb4Osh0W639qqcl6qPAZfF7gAj5xuNlwnAycxWzlNSmb7MqcXaaSsIu6HijeYapEDHBVw0jpQTEOnvsPc/s320/611Bso%252BZWFL._SX404_BO1%252C204%252C203%252C200_.jpg" title="Slave Narratives: South Carolina" width="259" /></a><span id="goog_282417771"></span><a href="https://www.blogger.com/"></a><span id="goog_282417772"></span></div>
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Rosa Starke was enslaved by the Peay family in South Carolina. She told her story as part of the <a href="https://www.loc.gov/resource/mesn.144/?sp=151" target="_blank"><b>Federal Writers' Project: Slave Narrative Project</b></a> when she was 83 years old. </div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8773415734057152987.post-32887275407850126992018-07-08T14:02:00.001-04:002020-01-21T10:03:18.853-05:00A Family Bible<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<b style="color: #222222; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 14.6667px;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">By Judith Hughes</span></b><br />
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<i>Note: Guest blogger, <b>Judith Hughes, </b>did not grow up in the South, but her roots run deep in Colonial Virginia, and the Carolinas. In this essay from 2013, she writes about a visit to North Carolina, and what she discovered in an old family Bible. Judith and I are DNA cousins. We believe our connection is through the Withers and Torrence families of Mecklenburg County, N.C. According to oral history in my family, William Banks Withers (1819-1889), was the father of my second great-grandfather, John Frank Lytle (1854-1939). Judith and I have been collaborating with other DNA cousins to document how we are all related. - MNJ</i><br />
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I spent enough time in the South during my childhood to witness and abhor the injustice of the Jim Crow laws. One incident is as clear to me today as the day it happened.<br />
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As a small child, I was waiting with my grandmother for a Trailways bus to arrive. I do not remember who we were meeting. I do remember not understanding why my grandmother was so upset when I went to get a sip of water at a fountain. She then pointed to a sign that I was too young to read and explained that the fountain I wanted to use was the “colored drinking fountain.” I do remember the way it made me feel, and it is something I have never forgotten. I did not comprehend the need for it when I was a child. It is something I will never understand.<br />
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Coming to grips with the fact that your ancestors were slaveholders is an unpleasant fact for many whose ancestors lived in the Old South. I always knew my father’s maternal roots extended into the Colonial South. As the first generation “raised off” as they say where my father grew up, I am in reality a 10th generation Tar Heel. As such, I knew that at some time I would uncover my family’s participation in what the South called "our peculiar institution." However, I did not expect to encounter it in the manner and place where it first happened.<br />
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During a visit to <a href="https://www.ci.davidson.nc.us/" target="_blank"><b>Davidson, N.C.</b></a>, my cousin Anne and I stopped at the local hardware store bearing the name of our great-great grandfather. After introducing ourselves to the owners, we learned that they were also descended from the family. The owner’s father was the brother of our great grandmother. After conversing with them a short time, we asked if they had any family stories or memorabilia that they could share with us.<br />
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Imagine our surprise when they told us to go on up to the cemetery and they would meet us there with some things we might find interesting.<br />
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We did as he instructed and were busy taking photographs of family tombstones when they appeared and told us to take our time exploring what they brought, and we could drop the box off at the store as we left town. We sat on the grass beside the grave of our great-great grandmother and opened the box.<br />
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Thus, began a genealogical adventure that continues for me today. For inside that box among other things was a family Bible.<br />
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The Bible had a publication date of 1858. On the blank page facing the inside cover were pasted three yellowed newspaper obituaries, a handwritten notice and a large square where at some time another a notice had been pasted. It was not located anywhere within the Bible or the box.<br />
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The first notice was for James Johnston, Esq., who died at the age of 59 years in February 1860. Like the others, this notice did not contain a year in the text of the printed notice. However, the year was noted in pencil beside it and another of the notices. James Johnston was my third great-grandfather.<br />
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The next notice was for the infant sons of Margaret Malvina Johnston and her husband Samuel Meacham Withers. The boys died within days of each other. There was no date beside this notice, but from other sources, we knew they died in May of 1860, a mere three months after their grandfather’s death.<br />
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The third notice was for my great-great-grandfather. It read, “In <a href="https://www.visitsalisburync.com/" target="_blank"><b>Salisbury</b></a>, on the 27th of July, Samuel M. Withers of Mecklenburg County. He died in the service of his country.”<br />
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The year 1864 was written in pencil beside the notice. At the time of his death, S.M. Withers served in <a href="https://finding-aids.lib.unc.edu/00480/" target="_blank"><b>Col. Peter Mallett</b></a>’s Company and was in Salisbury, N.C., enrolling men to serve in the Confederacy.<br />
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The last of the death notices was for Margaret Johnston Withers’ brother James Johnston. His handwritten information was dated 1870.<br />
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On the inside back cover was a newspaper clipping from Mecklenburg Lodge 176 on the death of Patrick H. Johnston in 1858. Patrick was the son of James Johnston and was another brother to my great-great-grandmother.<br />
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Inside the Bible were a bride’s cake recipe and a typed memorial tribute to Rosa Withers, another of Margaret and Samuel’s children. She died at the age of 20 in 1875.<br />
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Then, we turned to the center Family Record pages and instead of family records, we found a list of slaves. Many of the names corresponded with the names of slaves left to Margaret by her father James in his 1860 will filed in Mecklenburg County, N.C. The carefully written list contained ages and birthdates where known.<br />
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What makes this list so special is what was added later in the margin.<br />
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There, written in pencil beside the name of each child born after 1855 was the name of the child’s mother. The entries were made at different times and by different hands. I knew how extraordinary the Bible list was that sunny North Carolina day, but I didn’t know how to share it with those who would want this knowledge.<br />
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With the advent of the internet, I now have the ability to gather additional information to compare with Slave Schedules, copies of the wills I have gathered and other pertinent information. Through wills I discovered how pervasive my family’s link to slavery was.<br />
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There are generations of family who passed ownership of their slave(s) to their children. I have discovered slaves who were set free according to the will and some who in fact were not.<br />
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In some cases, generations of slave families passed from one generation of slaveholders to the next. In most wills the slaves were listed by name, which I have come to learn was often not the case.<br />
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With this story and the eventual publication of corresponding ongoing research, I hope that someday those whose ancestors’ journey joined with my ancestors in a most horrific way will find the key they need to unlock their history.<br />
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Judith J. Hughes, 2013<br />
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8773415734057152987.post-6736588720347930982018-06-08T11:45:00.001-04:002018-06-08T11:45:13.187-04:00Making a List<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Every summer I assign myself a project that will enrich my life as a writer and librarian. One summer I read/reread all of <b><a href="https://www.tonimorrisonsociety.org/" target="_blank">Toni Morrison</a></b>’s books. Another summer I read nothing but <b><a href="http://octaviabutler.org/" target="_blank">Octavia Butler</a></b>. This summer I’ve been doing something different ... compiling a list of all of the enslaved people mentioned in the wills of the Peay family of South Carolina. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">I’ve read that the family owned 1,000 people on <a href="https://south-carolina-plantations.com/fairfield/melrose.html" target="_blank"><b>multiple plantations</b></a>. Reading the wills is helping me understand the family that controlled every aspect of my ancestors’ lives, including, for example, how some ended up in Alabama. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">I had been wondering why I had so many DNA matches in Alabama. It turns out one of Austin Ford Peay’s daughters, Mary Lucilla Justina Peay Poellnitz, moved to <b><a href="http://marengocountyal.com/" target="_blank">Marengo County, Ala.</a></b>, with her husband, and took her inheritance — 30 slaves — with her. Those enslaved people are all mentioned by name in her father’s will.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">At some point, it occurred to me that this list I’m creating has probably been done already, but I’ve decided to keep going. Typing these names is therapeutic and informative because I know many of these human beings listed amongst mules and tools and wagons and tablecloths and silverware and other ordinary things ... are my people.</span></div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8773415734057152987.post-68283780159162367852018-04-30T15:37:00.002-04:002022-09-19T17:33:25.192-04:00Rosenwald Schools<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://images-na.ssl-images-amazon.com/images/I/81WJvRMwE6L.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Image result for rosenwald book" border="0" height="320" src="https://images-na.ssl-images-amazon.com/images/I/81WJvRMwE6L.jpg" title="" width="212" /></a>One of the joys of doing genealogy is learning how our families fit into the larger picture of American and even World History and sharing the knowledge of this context with other family members.<br />
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This past weekend while visiting my father, he mentioned that he had recently learned that his church, <a href="https://www.google.com/maps/uv?hl=en&pb=!1s0x885408c6441fbdd3:0xcf8fe28be4a6d65d!2m22!2m2!1i80!2i80!3m1!2i20!16m16!1b1!2m2!1m1!1e1!2m2!1m1!1e3!2m2!1m1!1e5!2m2!1m1!1e4!2m2!1m1!1e6!3m1!7e115!4s/maps/place/bethel%2Bame%2Bzion%2Bkannapolis/@35.4733577,-80.6072374,3a,75y,27.32h,90t/data%3D*213m4*211e1*213m2*211sv1tmde652mNNBi4wOIyErQ*212e0*214m2*213m1*211s0x885408c6441fbdd3:0xcf8fe28be4a6d65d!5sbethel+ame+zion+kannapolis+-+Google+Search&imagekey=!1e2!2sv1tmde652mNNBi4wOIyErQ&sa=X&ved=2ahUKEwihyNHQ3eLaAhUCoVMKHQCGB7sQpx8wCnoECAAQZg" target="_blank"><b>Bethel AME Zion</b></a> in Kannapolis, N.C., was once the site of a <a href="https://savingplaces.org/places/rosenwald-schools#.WudsRoPwaUk" target="_blank"><b>Rosenwald School</b></a>. The Rosenwald Initiative was a collaborative project founded by <b><a href="https://www.tuskegee.edu/discover-tu/tu-presidents/booker-t-washington" target="_blank">Booker T. Washington</a></b> of <b><a href="https://www.tuskegee.edu/" target="_blank">Tuskegee </a></b><b><a href="https://www.tuskegee.edu/" target="_blank">Institute</a></b>, and philanthropist <b><a href="http://www.philanthropyroundtable.org/almanac/hall_of_fame/julius_rosenwald" target="_blank">Julius Rosenwald</a>, </b>president of Sears, Roebuck and Co. Their partnership resulted in the construction of more than 5,000 new state-of-the-art schools for black children in the South in the early 1900s.<br />
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Ironically, part of my family is from North Carolina, which had more <a href="https://www.npr.org/2012/03/11/148066822/-schoolhouse-the-story-of-rosenwald-schools-in-the-segregated-south" target="_blank"><b>Rosenwald Schools</b></a> than any other state, but I didn't learn about this story until I moved to Sapelo Island in 2005. Sapelo had two schools, and the one at St. Luke Baptist Church is still standing.</div>
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I showed Daddy the website for the <a href="http://rosenwald.fisk.edu/" target="_blank"><b>Rosenwald Database</b></a> at Fisk University, and he was able to see a photograph of the schoolhouse for the very first time. He also learned that his <a href="http://rosenwald.fisk.edu/?module=search.details&set_v=aWQ9MjQxMQ==&school_county=Cabarrus&school_state=NC&button=Search&o=0" target="_blank"><b>high school</b></a> was the site of a Rosenwald School, as well as several sites in our ancestral home, Lancaster County, S.C., including <a href="http://www.nationalregister.sc.gov/lancaster/S10817729007/index.htm" target="_blank"><b>Mount Carmel AME Zion Church</b></a>. There were also schools in Mecklenburg County, N.C., and others in nearby Cabarrus County, where our ancestors lived.<br />
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Our ancestors no doubt helped build these schools and attended these schools, making our family part of the Rosenwald legacy, a fascinating chapter in the history of educating black children in America.<br />
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Also see:</i></b></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><a href="https://digital.ncdcr.gov/digital/collection/p16062coll13/id/3366/">Correspondence: Rosenwald Fund, Box 4, Folder D, 1917-1928 (N.C. Digital Collections)</a></li><li><a href="https://atkinsapps.charlotte.edu/node/17069">A History Note: Torrence-Lytle School (UNC Charlotte)</a></li><li><a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/24231108@N08/51479446819">Lytle's Grove School (three images)</a><a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/24231108@N08/51479446819"> named after John Frank Lytle</a></li><li><a href="https://newsofdavidson.org/2021/02/18/34004/rosenwald-schools-special-davidson-history-column-for-black-history-month/">News of Davidson by Nancy Griffith</a></li></ul></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br /></div>
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