Don’t Mess with Black History at My School

“ . . . but at last all the other nations of the earth seemed to conspire against the negro race, . . . Thus this race of human beings has been singled out, owing to the accident of color, or to their peculiar fitness for certain kinds of labor, for infamy and misfortune; . . .  a slavery confined entirely to negroes.”

(An excerpt from — The History of Slavery and The Slave Trade, Ancient and Modern

Compiled from authentic materials by W.G. Blake, Columbus, Ohio:

Published and sold exclusively by H. Miller 1860)

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During my education at Central Bucks High School, the only thing I learned about Black History was: There was a Civil War and President Abraham Lincoln freed the slaves.

Before European explorers stepped on the soil of Africa and discovered those swarthy people with tangled hair and inexplicable dialects, slavery had persisted throughout the ages of civilization. Along with gold and timber, Africans were considered Cargo with an identity less than human, a distinction which still remains four hundred years later.

Unlike immigrants or refugees, or settlers, or asylum seekers who had departed their homelands either through choice or terror, those expatriates often arrived with snippets of their heritage, be it a suitcase stuffed with precious memories, a photograph or a book or a sprout from a mature fruit tree, sometimes with nothing but the clothes on their backs, they arrived in America with Hope.

Africans arrived in America without their culture, their identity, their Freedom nor their Hope.

Growing up in Doylestown prior to the Civil Rights Movement of the 1960s, I failed to comprehend how my skin tone reached back to Africa. “Black” or “African American” or “Bi-Racial” were ethnic identities which never gained preference until after the Civil Rights Movement. Tagging along with my parents on election days, I also never comprehended how my parents’ Right to Vote in Bucks County was not available to “Negroes” in communities across the South. The racial injustice, lynching and riots across the South were also foreign to me, a twelve-year old “colored” girl living in Doylestown, Pennsylvania.

I’m certain I wasn’t alone in my ignorance about my African origin. It was absent in my consciousness until my 1999 visit to Ghana. My Motherland. Since then many other Black Americans have journeyed to the continent in search of their lineage. Just as white Americans travel to their ancestral lands across Europe, Black Americans journeyed to the Motherland and retrieved the  spiritual and cultural inheritance discarded on the beaches of West Africa when our ancestors were shoved in the belly of a slave ship. We returned to America from our Sojourn buoyed with the hunger to search for our African beginnings and fill in the empty spaces of our ancestral lineage.

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(Doreen Stratton Photo)

This past July 29, forty relatives spanning five generations of Stratton’s gathered for our third family reunion and to celebrate the unveiling of a Doylestown Historical plaque which was placed on the wall next to our front door.

It was 1887 when my Grandparents—Joseph B. and Lillie A. Stratton—settled and raised their eight children in Doylestown on Ashland Street. My Grandfather “JB” was a veteran of the Civil War, having served in the Union Navy on the USS Calypso; Grandmother Lillie, before she met and married my Grandfather, was a teacher. https://thebucksundergroundrailroad.com/2016/05/21/letter-from-the-civil-war/

My father Sid was the last of the eight children, born in 1900, just four months before Grandfather “JB” died. As the last of the eight he remained at our home where he brought his bride—my mother Dot—and eventually raised me and my five siblings. Today, it is the same home where I and my sister Judith live.

Fragments of my family’s Black History

My father saved pieces of paper that were road maps about our family’s legacy. The family archives consist of prints, maps, letters, receipts and photographs. Some of these items from the collection eventually found their way into a spindle bound, 124-page book compiled by J. Kurt Spence, Researcher at the Doylestown Historical Society. A copy is retained in the museum’s research library.

The walls and rooms of our home seep with memories of joy, tragedy, births and deaths. Whenever I shuffled through old photographs from the early 1920s, my Grandmother smiles, surrounded by friends and relatives she had welcomed in the home. Our only photo of “JB” features an imposing portrait of a proud face enhanced with a mustache and mutton chops. As the years passed, color photographs depict my parents—stewards of the next generation—embracing family and friends at barbeques on the patio, relaxing on the lawns or while gathering around the dining room table, celebrating Birthdays, Thanksgivings and Christmas.

Lillie A. Stratton (Stratton Family Archives)

Driving to the next Central Bucks School Board meeting, Lillie crowded my thoughts; as if whispering in my ear, reminding me the value of Teachers. I am in awe of Lillie, a widow who nurtured eight children into self-assured adults. Interestingly, our family includes Teachers among my father’s siblings; and that calling To Teach continues into the 4th generation.

In the early 1900s only a few one-room school houses were scattered in communities surrounding the Doylestown Borough School, the school where my uncles and aunts, who after graduation excelled beyond “ . . . peculiar fitness . . . “. It was the school which graduated a Doctor, a Dentist, a Cleric, a Teacher and a Musician, Blacks whose History would be Erased if the Central Bucks School Board follows the oppressive epidemic sweeping across America.

The Central Bucks School Board is dominated by 6 members whose recent policies have restricted preventative health, denied gender rights, banned books and suppressed freedom of speech. I fear their next agenda is to remove Black History from our District’s curriculum.

My Black History as well as the histories of every Black resident in the Central Bucks School District matters. It is not a curriculum for removal from My Central Bucks High School.

Letter from the Civil War

JB's stone

Memorial Day is here again.

Our family’s research includes ancestors who proudly wore military uniforms throughout our Nation’s history. In addition to cousins, uncles and siblings, we discovered a paternal Great Uncle who served in the Merchant Marines. There also was our Maternal Grandfather who served in the Navy during the Spanish American War, and his father who served with the U.S. Army in Texas during the Indian Wars. And finally–Joseph B. Stratton, our paternal Grandfather who served in the Civil War.

We family members always refer to my Grandfather by initials “JB”. Every year after the annual Memorial Day Ceremony inside Doylestown Cemetery I visit my Grandfather’s marker in the Veterans’ section where he rests. In 1864 – 1865, JB served in the Union Navy. I always make it my mission to stop at his marker, tap twice on the top and whisper my greeting: “Hi JB”. My father was less than 3 months old when JB died but when he spoke of my grandfather it planted a seed that ultimately encouraged us to search deep into our ancestral heritage.

JB was a Landsman on the USS Calypso, a vessel that roamed the southern east coast where their mission was to blockade supplies from reaching the Confederate army. Although JB’s marker denotes service on the USS Daylight, that was a brief final assignment before he ended his Naval service.

We’re gifted with an original letter written by JB to his sister on April 16, 1864 after the USS Calypso “… came near being lost while coming around Cape Hatteras the worst place on the coast of America …” . Neatly written line by line with few misspellings and near perfect grammar, his letter records a moment in our Nation’s Civil War history that includes his thoughts on being a Black Man fighting for ” … Father Abraham”. My sister Judith presents a lecture of our family’s genealogy that includes JB’s life as we’ve so far learned. Each time she reads the letter at these presentations, the attendees are carried 152 years into the past where one man’s words leap with a fragment from America’s Civil War Naval History:

Should Providence spare me I will settle down and let my bruised arms hang up as monuments of this holy Struggle for Freedom. … God blefs (sic) old Abe and Mrs. United States and the union …”

We’ve since learned through our research that JB also wrote letters dictated to him from his USS Calyso shipmates. Judith’s diligent goal is to discover other Americans who are descendants of relatives that served on the USS Calypso and may possess letters that match JB’s expressive style.

Some years ago VFW Post 175 of Doylestown received funds to replace the weathered JB Marker in Stratton gardenmarkers of local  men who died after serving in the Civil War. When we learned about this in an article from the paper we said, “Let’s get JB’s marker.” JB’s  marker was loaded onto Judith’s car and it now rests under the mature blue Spruce tree in our garden.

Joseph B. Stratton died on July 7, 1900 at age 68. His marker was the first local Civil War veteran to be laid in Doylestown Cemetery. My father Grayson Savoy, born May 21, 1900 was the last of JB’s eight children, all of whom went on to successful lives and careers.

Memorial Day. A time for reflection.