John Gee Black Historical Center

Everyone has a story to tell. Every person living or dead has something valuable to share. It’s those stories that make up the fabric of who we are as people and as a culture. That’s what history is about.

History class teaches us to learn names and dates but memorizing facts isn’t what makes history meaningful. It’s the stories of the people, both the extraordinary and the ordinary, that make our history rich.

Perhaps that’s why I was so taken with the John Gee Black Historical Center in Gallipolis. It’s located in the John Gee African Methodist Episcopal Chapel near downtown.

The church and its builder have entire stories of their own which I will share another day. For today’s purpose, what you need to know is that this lovely old church was transformed into a history center.

Let’s start with some questions.

Have you ever heard of Ohio’s Black Laws? Did you know that blacks once had to register to live in Ohio? Did you know that schools, movie theaters and swimming pools in Ohio were segregated just the same as those in the south? Have you ever heard of blue vein laws?

Have you ever considered the terror that an escaped slave felt when they stood on the shores of the Kanawha River and fled to Ohio in search of freedom? Where did they go? Who helped them?

These are just a few of the things you will learn about when you visit.

I really didn’t know what to expect when I walked through those doors. What I found were two lovely ladies who welcomed me like an old friend.

The walls are lined with glass cases, photos and artifacts. The ladies accompanied me, telling me about John Gee who was considered a respectable black man, a great carpenter and a community minded citizen. What most people didn’t know is that he spent his free time and his own resources aiding folks on the run.

They shared stories about artifacts and gave an overview of what it was like to be a black person in Ohio in the nineteenth century. Ohio was a free state but it wasn’t a welcoming state. In fact, our government made it difficult and expensive for a black person to become established. So they were ok to pass through as long as they didn’t think about staying which is why so many chose Canada as their fresh start destination.

The Center has all kinds of interesting things including an exhibit about the Tuskegee Airmen. This includes the uniform of Major Henry A. Norman, a local gentleman who was a Tuskegee pilot.

See an exhibit on how quilts were used as a means of communication, aiding escaped slaves along their journey to freedom. Learn about education during segregation and about the local Lincoln Colored School.

They have a handwritten letter that verified the freedom of a former slave. This document had clearly been folded and carried, the very lifeline necessary to maintain his freedom.

They also have copies of classified ads from the Gallipolis newspaper in the early nineteenth century. These ads describe escaped slaves much the same as you would describe a lost dog or cat.

As my guides talked, I marveled at the wealth of information before me and at the tone of the conversation. In a world where dividing people because of their politics or race is common, the conversations are often overpowered by emotion rather than fact. I feel overwhelmed by people who spit out their opinions without knowing enough facts to even have an opinion. I am discouraged by people who shrug off the problems in this country today because it happened a long time ago and it wasn’t their fault.

My guides told me stories. Their stories were about the black experience in America and specifically in Ohio over a period of many years. These stories are so different than my own and they are a far cry from what kids learn in history class.

We teach history like it was a long time ago but, the truth is, the Civil War and slavery are not so far removed from us today. They live on through stories and prejudices handed down by our grandparents who heard them from their grandparents. Segregation was a reality for many folks living today as was the Civil Rights movement.

Remnants of these events echo through our country today and we still live with their consequences – both good and bad.

No one made me feel guilty for being white. They made me feel welcome. They were eager to have an audience willing to learn. I was glad to learn about people whose stories have been lost to time or blatantly ignored by textbooks. The history taught here is all our histories.

Other volunteers arrived for a shift change before I left so I got to meet more people. One gentleman recalled a teacher he had in the fifties who referred to black students as “descendants of ex slaves.”

I was incredulous that this is the terminology a teacher would choose. He said she was an older woman at the time. It’s hard to tell what other terrible things she thought and what stories had been handed down to her from parents and grandparents who remembered how things were before the war.

Friends, I learned so much that I can’t begin to share it all here. It’s this kind of learning that excites me and that I think makes us all better citizens of the world. It’s when we consider someone else’s perspective that we truly begin to understand our own.

At one point, I knelt down to study pictures of children in segregated schools and my mind inexplicably wandered back to Virginia where I toured a plantation home in 2020.

That story never made this blog because I was so taken aback that I couldn’t bring myself to write it.

That plantation was built and run by slaves. It wouldn’t have existed without them. Somehow, our tour guide managed to show us around almost the entire home without mentioning the slave experience. It wasn’t until we reached the kitchen that he told us about the slave woman who raised a dozen or more children while cooking for the family and everyone who lived here.

The guide spoke for a few minutes about what it was like to run such a kitchen. Then he clapped his hands together and exclaimed “but no one came here to talk about slavery” before ushering us out the door.

I was too appalled at the time to even know what to say because I did visit that plantation to hear about slavery. Why else would you go to a plantation? Of all places, that historic site has an opportunity to start a productive dialog about things that are challenging to discuss in normal daily life.

These conversations can be uncomfortable but the folks at the John Gee Black Historical Center illustrate just how meaningful it can be when we have them.

As a personal favor to me, walk through those doors and listen. Look around. Learn. Make friends. The world would be a better place if we could normalize learning from one another.

I adored these people and this place and hope to go back another day. I had so many questions that I didn’t get around to asking or couldn’t quite verbalize at the time. Plus, I heard and saw more than I could absorb in a day.

Another time.

Meanwhile, you can find them on Facebook and visit their website. Rest assured, I’ll write more about this place. They are typically open on Friday and Saturday but check their Facebook page to make sure they are open the day you plan to go. Admission is free but I encourage you to drop a few bucks in their donation box.

Hillsboro Marching Mothers

About a year ago I stumbled into a story about the Hillsboro Marching Mothers that I struggled to believe happened here in Ohio.

This is what took me to Highland House in Hillsboro on Saturday. They have a nice exhibit about the topic in their Humanities Room. The centerpiece of this room is a short documentary that beautifully shows the human side of the events involving the Marching Mothers.

Here’s what happened.

In the mid-1950s many establishments in Hillsboro were segregated. For example, restaurants only allowed blacks to order takeout rather than sit at the counter or a table inside. While the high school was integrated, the elementary schools were not. In fact, black youngsters were forced to attend the Lincoln School, a building constructed not long after the Civil War.

The Lincoln School was subpar in every sense of the word. While it had been updated over the years to add indoor plumbing and electricity, the building was hazardous. They lacked basic tools like maps, globes and science equipment. The textbooks were outdated and many were missing pages. Multiple classes were taught in a single classroom.

These students didn’t stand a chance of learning as much as their white counterparts in the other two schools in town because they simply lacked the tools and resources to do so.

On May 17, 1954 (67 years ago this week), the US Supreme Court handed down their landmark ruling that established segregation in schools unconstitutional. Most school children learn about the case today and you may remember it as Brown versus the Board of Education.

This decision fell on deaf ears in many segregated school districts including this one. Instead, the school board flat out ignored the ruling.

That summer, Highland County Engineer Phillip Partridge took a remarkable, if not misguided step, to force the school board’s hand and to end segregation.

He set the Lincoln School on fire.

A few things happened as a result. First, Mr Partridge confessed to his crime as he feared the blame would fall on the folks of the black community. Second, he went to prison for his crime.

The school board’s answer was to fix up the building and send the children back to the 85 year old repaired school.

This set into motion a social movement the likes of which most American towns haven’t seen.

A group of mothers, disgusted by what they saw at their childrens’ school, said enough is enough. In 1954, they removed their children from the school and worked with Quaker teachers from nearby Wilmington College to offer their children a better education.

However, before engaging in school work every day, the mothers and about fifty children marched to the elementary school where they were turned away by the principal. Every. Day.

Over time, the NAACP got involved and a lawsuit was filed. The school board tried their hand at gerrymandering, redistricting in the most ludicrous way imaginable. A cross was burned in someone’s front yard. Some mothers had to drop out of the marches because their employers threatened their jobs.

And every day this group of determined mothers and their youngsters marched through the streets of town, likely terrified for their own safety.

The Hillsboro Board of Education finally relented, agreeing to integrate the elementary schools because the State Board of Education threatened to pull all their funding.

It just goes to show that many only do the right thing only when there’s money on the line. The fall of 1957 finally brought integration to these schools.

This sounds like stories I’ve heard out of the deep south. It doesn’t sound like the kind of thing that should happen in the north.

Yet, here we are telling this shameful chapter in our history. Honestly, I’m proud of the folks at the Historical Society for owning this story rather than try to sweep it under the rug. They handle it respectfully.

Talking about where we have come from can open a dialogue about where we are today and where we need to be. In these racially charged and tense times, these conversations can help us understand the complex system of racism in our country.

If you go, be sure to watch the film on this topic. It’s less than twenty minutes and it is powerful. The film interviews an elderly woman who was one of the Marching Mothers as well as her grown children who credit their mother’s bravery and persistence for helping them take their rightful place in local schools.

Cant make it to Highland House? They sell the dvd in their gift shop!!

Reflections On The Rosa Parks Bus

When planning a day at the Henry Ford Museum, there was one thing I really wanted to do. I wanted to have a few uninterrupted minutes on the Rosa Parks bus.

To make this wish a reality, I was there when they opened and then headed straight for this exhibit.

For the benefit of my international friends, Rosa Parks was a pioneer in the American Civil Rights movement. In 1955, when segregation ruled the American south, she refused to relinquish her bus seat to a white passenger in Montgomery, Alabama. The police were called and this mild mannered African American seamstress was led off to jail.

She became the face of the Montgomery Bus Boycott which lasted for over a year and forced the desegregation of the city’s buses.

The Henry Ford Museum confirmed the authenticity of the bus and outbid some major players (including the Smithsonian) to the tune of $492,000. However, after sitting outside for about thirty years, the bus required a massive restoration project that cost another $300,000. As you can tell, they really wanted to preserve this piece of history.

And honestly, they did a great job.

Sitting there, I kept thinking it could be 1955 just as easily as it was 2019. The bus is immaculate but it’s not just a museum piece. You are welcomed aboard and invited to sit a while. You can even sit in her seat.

The docent was good at his job, answering my questions and relating the story for me. He even took my picture.

However, he also gave me time to sit quietly and absorb the magnitude of this space and of the actions of one woman, who on that one day, said enough is enough. History was made with that split second decision, made under the glare of a white driver who was known for being unfriendly to his black passengers on a good day.

A hastily organized boycott crippled the city bus system and forced changes into law. She wasn’t seeking fame or money or publicity of any kind. She didn’t appreciate the attention she received but later said she was just tired of giving in.

With all that is happening in our country today and with leaders who seem to encourage the divide between races, there was something reassuring about sitting in her seat. It was a great reminder that a 42 year old seamstress could start a revolution because she was tired of giving in.

The moment felt both sacred and peaceful.

I had that bus all to myself for several minutes before anyone else arrived and I was grateful for every passing second. Still, it was gratifying to walk by later in the day to find the bus full of a diverse group of people who wanted to have the experience too.

The bus is part of a larger exhibit that covers segregation and the life of Martin Luther King, Jr. At the same time the museum bought the bus, they also acquired a scrapbook containing a number of news clippings you can read. There are some interactive features here and some truly disturbing things including a flier for a cross burning that sounds like an invitation to a Sunday school picnic rather than a hate rally.

I felt sorrow that our country hasn’t advanced more than it has and I felt gratitude for the progress we have made, even knowing there are plenty of people who would look at such hateful materials and think they’re ok.

If you find your way to the Henry Ford Museum, make time for this exhibit. Read the materials, watch the videos, listen to the songs and think about what it all means.

Sixty-five years ago sounds like a long time but it isn’t that long at all. We have plenty of people living in this country today who remember all too well not being allowed to eat in a restaurant, drink from a water fountain or use a waiting room because of the color of their skin.

After Rosa Parks stood up for her beliefs by sitting down, close to another decade passed before President Lyndon B. Johnson signed the Civil Rights Act into law changing all of that for good.

But while the law guarantees equality, racial divide is still far too great in this country. I’m as white as can be and I do not take responsibility for things that happened before me but I do think it’s my right and duty to contribute something positive to the world I live in now. I can’t change the past but I can help change the future by showing kindness and empathy and by celebrating our similarities rather than complain about the differences.

The last words today go to Rosa herself.

“I would like to be remembered as a person who wanted to be free… so other people would be also free.”