Feeds:
Posts
Comments

Mary McLeod Bethune Council House National Historic Site, Washington, DC

In 1936, nearly 80% of Black voters cast their ballots for Franklin Delano Roosevelt. This represented a massive shift in the electorate: in 1932, Herbert Hoover won the majority, but four years later (thanks to Roosevelt’s popular social programs), they voted Democrat in a major way. Partly as a reward, and partly as an acknowledgement that even his programs weren’t addressing Black poverty as well as they could, he created the Federal Council on Negro Affairs, also known as the Black Cabinet, with Mary McLeod Bethune at the helm.

Born in 1875 in Mayesville, South Carolina, Mary Jane McLeod was one of seventeen(!) children of former slaves Sam and Patsy McLeod. She had a very typical childhood for second-generation ex-slaves: recipient of derogatory remarks from former slaveowners; witness of White mob violence against Blacks on thinly fabricated charges; and observant of the reality that Black communities had less material wealth and opportunity than their White counterparts. Always interested in educating herself, she attended seminary from the ages of 13 to 19, initially intending to become a Presyterian missionary in Africa, but eventually fated to serve her own countrymen. Mary McLeod — later Mary McLeod Bethune when she married Albertus Bethune — taught Black children for several years, eventually starting her own school, the Educational and Industrial Training School for Negro Girls, in Daytona Beach in 1904. She charged 50 cents for tuition, and raised more money selling sweet potato pie and ice cream to local workers. She eventually bought land from an adjacent dump, upon which she built Faith Hall, and over two years, enrollment increased from five to 250 girls.

Mary McLeod Bethune with a group of students in 1943
By Gordon Parks – image is available from the United States Library of Congress’s Prints and Photographs division

She learned from Booker T. Washington the importance of gaining support from White benefactors. In the process, she came to know several, like James Gamble (of Procter & Gamble), Ransom Olds (of Oldsmobile fame), and John D. Rockefeller. By far, however, her relationship with Eleanor Roosevelt was most beneficial. By 1923, with the help of these and other supporters, she merged the school with another Black institution to form what was eventually named Bethune-Cookman College (still in operation as the private Bethune-Cookman University).

As if running a college wasn’t enough, she tackled inequities in health care. Daytona Beach did not contain a single hospital that would take Black patients, regardless of the situation. After a close call with one student’s appendicitis, she was determined to build a hospital herself. She raised money to build a cabin near her school, opening the McLeod Hospital. It started with two beds, and eventually twenty. Black and White doctors worked there, along with student nurses from the school. Many Black lives were saved in the twenty years it operated, including the year of the 1918 flu epidemic. She also worked to open up library access, and was appointed as the only Black member of Daytona Beach’s housing board, successfully pushing for public housing. There was hardly an issue in racist Daytona that she didn’t personally work to resolve.

She didn’t stop there, of course. She joined the Equal Suffrage League, pushing for voting equality. Once the 19th Amendment gave women the right to vote, she worked to gain improved access for Black women voters. She raised money to pay poll taxes, tutoring for literacy tests, and mass voter registration drives. Despite threats from the KKK, she served as president of the National Association of Colored Women’s Clubs; the organization eventually set up their headquarters on 1318 Vermont Ave in Washington, DC. Republican presidents Calvin Coolidge and Herbert Hoover appointed her to positions regarding child health and welfare.

Bethune and Roosevelt (National Park Service photo)

I could go on and on about all her projects and appointments, but her biggest was quite likely being the Director of Negro Affairs for the National Youth Administration under Roosevelt’s WPA, she therefore became the first Black woman to lead a federal agency. She then became the nominal head of Roosevelt’s Black Cabinet, recruiting many of the members herself. This agency, formally called the Federal Council of Negro Affairs, was an advisory board to Roosevelt during the Depression. She also, of course, advocated for civil rights across the entire country; her words after the Brown v. Board of Education ruling (making school segregation illegal), still resound today:

There can be no divided democracy, no class government, no half-free county, under the constitution. Therefore, there can be no discrimination, no segregation, no separation of some citizens from the rights which belong to all. … We are on our way. But these are frontiers that we must conquer. … We must gain full equality in education … in the franchise … in economic opportunity, and full equality in the abundance of life.

I would wager that you, as I did before I visited the national historic site in Washington, DC, never even heard of Mary McLeod Bethune. It feels like that’s a real travesty, yet another failure of our public school system. She deserves better.

FDR wasn’t the perfect ally of Black America: he never supported a poll tax ban, nor did he make lynching a federal offense, nor did he desegregate the military. But in the long line of civil rights baby steps, the creation of the Black Cabinet and the appointment of Bethune were important ones. As for Mary McLeod Bethune herself, she always took anything but baby steps. If she were alive today, I’m sure she’d be appalled at the nation’s current backsliding on minority rights, and I’m certain she would be doing something about it.

Let Her Works Praise Her

[I did not have a digital camera when I visited Mary McLeod Bethune Council House National Historic Site. Pictures are not mine and no ownership is claimed.]

Links:

Mary McLeod Bethune Council House National Historic Site

The Role of FDR’s Black Cabinet

Bethune-Cookman University

Google Map link

Grit, Savvy, and Determination

Maggie Walker was quite the character. 

In 1878, teenaged Maggie joined the Independent Order of St. Luke in Baltimore, a benevolent organization that tended to the sick and aged, and promoted humanitarian causes. By 1899, she was leading the organization to increased membership and financial solvency, with chapters spreading across the country, all while maintaining its core mission.

In 1903, she founded the St Luke Penny Savings Bank. The goal was to provide an institution for saving and lending for use by the underclass, served so little by traditional banks. She later served as chairman of the board for the Consolidated Bank and Trust Company, when Penny Savings merged with two other Richmond-area banks.

What’s most remarkable about Maggie Walker’s ambition and success wasn’t that she was a women in the business world in a Southern state at the dawn of the 20th Century. It’s that she was a Black woman in the business world in a Southern state at the dawn of the 20th Century. This is the Jim Crow era, and even if it was during a lull in Ku Klux Klan activity, it was still not a great time and place to be a Black man in the business world, much less a Black woman.

Maggie L Walker

Maggie Walker succeeded in the way most successful African-American businesspeople did in that era: she provided services to her own. The St Luke Penny Savings Bank served the Black community in Richmond, providing a safe place for savings, fair transactions, and financing for a variety of businesses endeavors. If the greater business community wouldn’t give them a fair shake, they would make their own fair shake. The Richmond African-American business community thrived due to their collective grit, savvy & determination.

This happened all across the country: New York City, Washington, Oakland, Tulsa, even Birmingham, Alabama. Richmond was known as “The Harlem of the South”, and the Jackson Ward area, which includes Maggie L. Walker’s home (protected by the National Park Service) and other landmarks (like the Hippodrome Theater). It’s a cool place to visit.

MLW National Historic Site

Tales of the Forgotten

I recently read A Black Women’s History of the United States by Daina Ramey Berry and Kali Nicole Gross. It recounts the struggle of Black women from the earliest days of colonialism. Isabel de Olvera came to the Americas so early, in fact, she was actually a free person. In 1600, she petitioned local officials in Mexico for affirmation of her rights. She was suspicious, and rightly so, that she would be subject to violence or captivity whilst on an expedition to New Spain. She demanded an affidavit proclaiming her status as a free person. The remaining 400 or so years has been a continuation of those demands, clearly with mixed results.

A Black Women’s History covers this entire era, from 1594, when a person described only as a “mulatto woman” made her way to present-day Kansas as part of the Francisco Leyva de Bonilla expedition (where they were all likely killed by the local Kitikiti’sh people) to Shirley Chisholm’s run for President in 1972. I shouldn’t have to say the history of Black women has been fraught with sadness, but it’s also full of grit, savvy, determination, and especially courage.

The worst part of it all, though, is the history of Black women is also full of forgetfulness, or, more accurately, inconsideration. Frankly, nobody cared, and nobody documented. Sure, figures like Rosa Parks and Harriet Tubman get their due, but beyond that, how many famous African-American women can you name (outside of entertainment figures like Oprah Winfrey or Billy Holiday)? Fortunately, A Black Women’s History is here to introduce us to many.

This is not just a collection of stories, however. The authors also describe the chain of oppression formed from the links of womanhood. Imagine a world where your own personal freedom defined the freedom of your children, where your own progeny could not have their escape because you were guaranteed to not have yours. Yet that’s what the colonial — and later national — policy of partus sequitur ventrem (‘that which is born follows the womb’) meant. Imagine being a mother and learning you’re pregnant under such a system.

If you have a fondness for American history, I suggest you add A Black Women’s History to your reading list. Otherwise, you’re missing a part of the story.

[I visited Maggie L Walker NHS before I had a digital camera. Pictures here are courtesy of the National Park Service.]

Links:

Maggie L. Walker National Historic Site

9 Historic Black Neighborhoods That Celebrate Black Excellence

The Story of the Chitlin’ Circuit’s Great Performers

A Black Women’s History of the United States (Amazon)

Community College English 101

The Longfellow House in Cambridge is a beautiful, historic house. Built in 1759 in the Georgian style, it was originally occupied by Jamaican plantation owner John Vassall. A staunch loyalist, Vassall saw the writing on the wall and fled to England, just in time for George Washington to use it as headquarters during the early years of the Revolution. After the war, the house was purchased by Washington’s apothecary general, Andrew Craigie. His financial acumen was less than stellar, forcing his widow Elizabeth to take in boarders in 1819, including the soon-to-be-renowned poet Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. Later, Longfellow received the home as a wedding gift, and it stayed in the family or their trust until the entire building, its furnishings, and the grounds were donated to the National Park Service.

National Park Service photo

That’s all nice, but when I hear “Longfellow House”, I am reminded of my goofy college days.

My family was never particularly well-off. I was a sharp student, but we didn’t have the means to send me to college. So I took what I earned from part-time jobs and went to community college.

Springfield Tech was a good school with a solid electronics program. I already knew Ohm’s Law, Coulomb’s Law, and a variety of formulas and principles, so I had a bit of a head start. I loved those classes, the labs, mathematics, even physics (although it was taught by a professor I’m certain died three years prior).

Then came the dreaded mandatories. First day of first semester, when I had barely any understanding of what to expect, began English 101. I have long forgotten the name of the professor, but I’ll never forget his entrance. Tweed jacket and vest. Dignified salt & pepper beard. And a beret. Yes, a goddamned beret.

I don’t remember all of Professor Beret’s lessons, the one that sticks in my mind is our foray into Robert Frost. I’m talking about that old standby, which most kids learn in high school, “Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening”. The discussion came down to the old, self-wankery standby: “what does this poem mean to you?”

Me, being a bit overeager to discuss such heady topics in the presence of adults, instead of with a class full of hormonal teenagers, piped up with “well, a guy is evaluating his life choices. Shall he return to the life he knows, in comfort, or should he take another path, to see if he can become something special.”

“Um, no,” said Prof. Beret. “It’s about suicide.”

What? Well, apparently, if you decide to take that lesser-traveled path, you want to die by freezing to death …

Holy leaping Christ, what the fuck?

Anyway, that lesson tarnished me on poetry forever. I realized that not only do I not easily pick up on symbolism, but people who put poetry up on philosophical pedestals are fucking crazy.

Brittanica.com

In preparation for this essay, I read many poems from Longfellow: The Complete Poetical Works. Most of his works are direct homages to nature and the art of living. There’s not a lot of deep symbolism, just well-structured odes, definitely tame by today’s standards. There’s no doubt he was big for his time, but now it’s all quaint recollections of seeing a shooting star and such.

I’ll leave you with one of my favorites:

The Burial of the Minnisink

On sunny slope and beechen swell,
The shadowed light of evening fell;
And, where the maple’s leaf was brown,
With soft and silent lapse came down,
The glory, that the wood receives,
At sunset, in its golden leaves. 

Far upward in the mellow light
Rose the blue hills.  One cloud of white,
Around a far uplifted cone,
In the warm blush of evening shone;
An image of the silver lakes,
By which the Indian’s soul awakes. 

But soon a funeral hymn was heard
Where the soft breath of evening stirred
The tall, gray forest; and a band
Of stern in heart, and strong in hand,
Came winding down beside the wave,
To lay the red chief in his grave. 

They sang, that by his native bowers
He stood, in the last moon of flowers,
And thirty snows had not yet shed
Their glory on the warrior’s head;
But, as the summer fruit decays,
So died he in those naked days. 

A dark cloak of the roebuck’s skin
Covered the warrior, and within
Its heavy folds the weapons, made
For the hard toils of war, were laid;
The cuirass, woven of plaited reeds,
And the broad belt of shells and beads. 

Before, a dark-haired virgin train
Chanted the death dirge of the slain;
Behind, the long procession came
Of hoary men and chiefs of fame,
With heavy hearts, and eyes of grief,
Leading the war-horse of their chief. 

Stripped of his proud and martial dress,
Uncurbed, unreined, and riderless,
With darting eye, and nostril spread,
And heavy and impatient tread,
He came; and oft that eye so proud
Asked for his rider in the crowd. 

They buried the dark chief; they freed
Beside the grave his battle steed;
And swift an arrow cleaved its way
To his stern heart!  One piercing neigh
Arose, and, on the dead man’s plain,
The rider grasps his steed again. 

=======================

Despite my difficulties with a certain English 101 professor, I did get a great education at that school.

Links:

Longfellow House National Historic Site

George Washington’s Revolutionary War Itinerary

Searchable database of Longfellow poems

Map to the Longfellow house

Terror on the Backroads!

It was late spring in the mid-90’s. The world had not yet discovered the convenience of smartphones, nor had the general public made avail of navigation by GPS. There I was, in the woodlands of east-central Alabama, in a shoddy minivan (thanks Avis), Rand-McNally road atlas open on the passenger seat.

Totally lost.

I planned out the rest of that trip very well. I was going to Horseshoe Bend, I was going to Tuskegee, I was going to Chattanooga and Chickamauga and Plains, Georgia and Andersonville and the Ebeneezer Baptist Church. All were wonderful, informative, educational, and even moving. But for some, dumb reason, I phoned in the plan for Little River Canyon, and fell flat on my face.

Well, I didn’t literally fall on my face. What I literally did was drive around various backroads, trying to find the canyon. There was nary a sign to be seen, I just keep flitting around various windy roads, taking random left turns like a blithering jackass. Then, the storms rolled in.

First there were flashes of light, followed by the rumble of distant thunder. Then the sky turned black as night. The wind picked up, the rain fell, then went sideways, and then the flash of the lightning and the crash of the thunder occurred nearly simultaneously. I was in the eye of the maelstrom, in a shitty rented minivan, surrounded by 100’ tall loblolly pines. I was waiting for that one tree to give up its ghost, forcing me to give up mine.

In about 15 minutes, the storm passed and the sky cleared. Heart pounding, I pressed on, and there, on my right, revealed by the sunlight, was the Little River Canyon. It was cool and all, and incredibly photogenic in that moment, but all I wanted to do was go back to my hotel and have a drink.

I haven’t made too many boneheaded mistakes in my visits to over 200 National Park sites, but my short visit to Little River Canyon was one of the dumbest.


I didn’t own a digital camera when I visited the canyon. The photo is from the National Park Service website: https://www.nps.gov/liri/index.htm