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.

“The Sins Committed In The Name of Progress”

Another CH construction picMy February 9 post, Preservation Zero. Progress One featured Addison Hutton, the architect who designed the 19th Century Bucks County Court House. On February 17, Grafitti on East Court Street promised to write about the protesters who painted THE SINS COMMITTED IN THE NAME OF PROGRESS on the construction fence surrounding the demolition site of the old Court House. With a large can of black paint and some brushes, three teenagers plastered the message on the entire length of the fence along E. Court Street, from Broad Street down to the intersection where the streets of Main, Shewell and Court finger away in different directions.

The image above appeared in my February 17 post.

Somewhere there is a photograph that was taken within days after “THE SINS …” graffiti was discovered on the fence. It possibly was published in The Doylestown Intelligencer (now called The Intelligencer), according to a persistent researcher at the Doylestown Historical Society who found a third or fourth generation image in the Spruance Library’s microfiche collection.The photographer must have snapped the picture from the second or third floor of the old Doylestown Boro School which was located catty-corner at Broad & Court Streets. The words are invisible in that image. After inquiries to other historians, former and current publications, and a post on the ‘Growing Up In Doylestown’ facebook page, I came up empty in my search for that photograph.

Over 50 years ago the buildings across the street on East Court Street that face the Court House were homes to Doylestown families. If you walked on the pavement after 10 on any given evening it was typical to find no lights at all shining from the windows of those homes. And as you walked not one human being would cross your path. Now the homes are attorney offices. On this particular July 1958 night, three teenagers decided to make a statement about the loss of the nearly century old County Court House that was being demolished to make way for a more “modern” building.

I spoke to two of the three artists: Ed Greiner and Anne McHugh. Anne who lives in New Jersey apologized for not trusting her memory about this incident that happened 57 years ago. She did however get me in touch with Ed who now makes his home in Maine. The three of them were able to accomplish their task on a dark July night in 1958. Their only fear had been  the prospect of getting caught by their “arch enemy” – Doylestown Police Officer George Silk. Officer Silk often stopped young people who were walking around town after dark; so this midnight excursion was a bold move by the three of them. Not anywhere close to being “juvenile delinquents”, if caught the prank might have been considered Destruction of property or Vandalism.

They hurriedly slapped the words “THE SINS COMMITTED IN THE NAME OF PROGRESS” across the fence along E. Court Street. In a letter to this blog, Ed confessed, “I did drop an ‘M’ or else a ‘T’ from committed, but I was never a strong speller. I made up the statement (maybe). We probably may have had a getaway car and driver.” Ed gets his activism from his mother, Martha Darlington, best described by Ed as a “preservationist”. He recalled how she was a faithful attendee at the County Commissioners’ meetings where she expressed her opposition of losing this iconic structure to the wrecking ball. Each time she spoke during public comments, Ed said “… she was steamrolled”. His mother was one of those Doylestown citizens who pitched in around town when something needed to be done. “Once”, Ed told me, “She gathered some people to go into the woods surrounding Font Hill to clear away underbrush. “She even recruited a Boy Scout troop to help.”

Ed also recalled how back in the day the expanse of lawn surrounding the Court House was a venue for band concerts. At that time there was only one memorial on the lawn, a World War I fountain with two soldiers–one cradling a wounded soldier. After the new court house was built the fountain was relocated to the corner of North Main and Broad Streets. The lawn is now a place with memorials to five wars and a sixth to fireman killed in the line of duty.

Within days after its appearance, local residents would stand in front of the fence, arms crossed in front of them as they silently stared at the message. Before a week had gone by the message was covered over with dark green paint. I smiled every time I walked past the fence because looking closely, the three protestors’ message was still visible. It was a half-ass attempt to suppress a statement that in the 21st Century could be painted on demolition fences  surrounding old treasured buildings or land speculators bulldozing farmland.

Elizabeth Biddle Yarnall, the niece of Addison Hutton, described her uncle in her biography of him as a “Nonconforming Quaker”. Addison would be pleased that almost a hundred years later, three teenagers admired his vision enough to pay homage to him with a classic graffiti statement.