Wednesday, September 28, 2011

Boone Hall Plantation: Gullah Story About the Adam's Apple


Boone Hall Plantation in Mount Pleasant (boonehallplantation.com) has a walking tour of its slave cabin lane featuring different stories told in each of eight cabins – from the praise house churches, to the variety of jobs done by slaves, to the changed roles after emancipation, to the more recent struggle for civil rights. Boone Hall also puts on a live Gullah Theater presentation, celebrating the unique culture created by the slaves and their descendants along the sea islands.

Read more: The State

Boone Hall Plantation: Gullah Story About the Adam's Apple

Low Country Chapel Of Ease at St. Helena, South Carolina

During the Colonial period, chapels of ease were constructed by rice and cotton planters as houses of worship because their plantations were located so far from the churches in Beaufort. This tabby walled church was constructed between 1742 and 1747 for the planters of St. Helena Island. A forest fire destroyed most of it in 1886.

All that remain today are its tabby ruins and an adjacent cemetery. Tabby is a mixture of shell (an aggregate), lime (often made from burnt shells which serve as a cement), and water. It is put up in forms and allowed to harden. During the eighteenth and early nineteenth century, lowcountry planters used tabby to build not only their own dwellings, but also slave houses, dairies, barns, fences, and even some grave monuments. Tabby was used not because it was easy or particularly convenient, but because brick was in such short supply. Tabby tended to hold up very well, as long as its outer stucco "skin" was kept in good shape and as long as the building was "tied" together by internal timbers.

Chapel Of Ease at St. Helena, South Carolina

A quiet sea island in Beaufort County, St. Helena Island is perhaps best known for its historic connection to Gullah culture and language, still evident on the island today. The island is nestled between downtown Beaufort and the resort communities of Harbor Island and Fripp Island, so it enjoys the benefits of both rural and suburban life. The population of St. Helena (pronounced HEL-uh-nuh) hovers around 10,000. St. Helena is home to the Penn Center, a National Historic Landmark located on the site of one of the nation's first schools for freed slaves, which opened in 1862.

Chapel Of Ease's adjacent cemetery

Beaufort (pronounced "BU-fort") is the seat of Beaufort County, where Jean Ribault and his fellow Huguenots established Charlesfort in 1562. In French, "beau" means beautiful, handsome, lovely, or fine ... and after even the shortest of visits, you'll know both the city and county are aptly named. (Ironically, both are actually named for an Englishman, Henry Somerset, the Second Duke of Beaufort, who pronounced his name "BOW-fert," as in bow and arrow and Beaufort, North Carolina.)

Chapel of Ease



The US Civil War's "Port Royal Experiment"

"Port Royal Experiment"

The Port Royal Experiment, also called the Sea Island Experiment, was an early humanitarian effort to prepare the former slaves of the South Carolina Sea Islands for inclusion as free citizens in American public life. The Port Royal Experiment was made possible by the U.S. Navy’s conquest of the Sea Islands of Beaufort District after the naval victory at the Battle of Port Royal on November 7, 1861. The islands remained in Union hands until the end of the war. The conquest was so swift that Beaufort District planters abandoned most of their property and hurriedly evacuated inland.

Cotton

Most importantly, nearly ten thousand slaves were abandoned on island plantations. Still not legally considered free, the abandoned slaves were declared “contraband of war” and placed under the jurisdiction of the U.S. Department of the Treasury. Treasury Secretary Salmon P. Chase sent his friend Edward L. Pierce of Boston to Port Royal to recommend measures to the federal government for dealing with the Sea Island “contrabands.” Reverend Mansfield French was dispatched to Port Royal at the same time as agent of the New York–based American Missionary Association to ascertain what help was needed for the Sea Island blacks. Both men arrived at Port Royal in January 1862.


The combination of federal efforts to assist and employ the Sea Island blacks and the efforts of several philanthropic and missionary organizations to prepare the “contrabands” for emancipation led to the Port Royal Experiment. While the federal government concentrated on employing the “contrabands” to harvest and process the valuable Sea Island cotton, philanthropic organizations and religious missionaries assumed the task of providing education, which the Sea Island blacks eagerly sought.

Penn School

Both the government and private charities provided food, clothing, and medical assistance. In February 1862 Pierce returned to Boston and helped organize the Educational Commission and to seek volunteers for this “experiment” in the Sea Islands. At the same time, the National Freedmen’s Relief Association in New York was collecting donations and enlisting volunteers to assist as well.

Laura Towne's abolitionists ideas brought her to St. Helena, a island near South Carolina. It was in St. Helena where her and Ellen Murray started Penn School. Laura devoted 40 years of her life at Penn School and spent the rest of her life on the island. Laura Towne became known for being one of the first people to set up a school to educate free slaves.

In March 1862 the steamer Atlantic brought the first contingent of these Boston and New York volunteers and philanthropists to Port Royal. Dubbed “Gideonites” by contemptuous Union soldiers, the volunteers were a mixed group of missionaries intent on teaching, organizing, evangelizing, or doing whatever good they could at Port Royal. Although diverse in their makeup, they were united by their fervent opposition to slavery and determination to help guide the liberated slaves of the Sea Islands. In April 1862 a second contingent of “Gideonites” arrived from Philadelphia, sponsored by that city’s Port Royal Relief Committee. Prominent among this contingent was Laura Towne, who would found the Penn School on St. Helena Island. These groups were the vanguard of scores of missionaries who came to the Sea Islands of Beaufort District during the Civil War.

April 15, 1862: The Port Royal Relief Committee of Philadelphia sent funds in the care of Miss Laura Matilda Towne. The Penn School was founded on St. Helena Island, the oldest missionary school of the Port Royal Experiment.

The partnership between the federal government and various philanthropic agencies to carry out humanitarian enterprises among the Sea Island blacks continued throughout the war. Notable among their achievements was the establishment of private freedmen’s schools that continued a century and a half after the Port Royal Experiment ended. The Mather School on Port Royal Island survived until the 1960s, and the Penn School on St. Helena Island continued into the twenty-first century as the Penn Community Center.

Penn School Class of 1952
On January 1, 1863, Lincoln’s Emancipation Proclamation went into effect for the “contrabands” of the Sea Islands. Thereafter they were “freedmen” and entitled to many rights and responsibilities as citizens. This was the pinnacle of the Port Royal Experiment and a day of jubilation for Sea Island blacks.

Mater School Founded 1867, South Carolina

Following emancipation, another effort of the Port Royal Experiment was the redistribution of abandoned plantation lands to the former slaves. Under the authority of the U.S. Direct Tax Act of 1862, most of the Sea Island plantations in Beaufort District were seized for nonpayment of taxes. Leaders of the Port Royal Experiment lobbied the federal government to distribute this land in small parcels to the freedmen. Of the 101,930 acres seized, approximately one-third was purchased on favorable terms by the freedmen. Much of Beaufort County retained the character of small black landholding into the twenty-first century.

Penn Center

On March 3, 1865, the federal government established the Bureau of Refugees, Freedmen and Abandoned Lands within the War Department to deal with the humanitarian problems across the South at the close of the Civil War. Better known as the Freedmen’s Bureau, it was responsible for food, clothing, and medical relief as well as educational services for the freedmen. The first Freedmen’s Bureau office in South Carolina was opened in Beaufort in 1865, and many volunteers of the Port Royal Experiment became leaders of the agency.

General Rufus Saxton, the military governor of the Sea Islands and a major supporter of the Port Royal Experiment, was the Freedman’s Bureau director for South Carolina, Georgia, and Florida. The Freedman’s Bureau was the first humanitarian, or “welfare,” agency established by the U.S. government. The Freedman’s Bureau was officially disbanded in 1872, but the lingering influence of the Port Royal Experiment survived in Beaufort County’s unique landownership patterns and educational institutions.

Tuesday, September 27, 2011

“Millions to a Negro Girl - Sarah Rector, 10-Year Old, Has Income of $300 A Day From Oil,”

"Sarah Rector," by Stacey Patton, “Oil Made Pickaninny Rich – Oklahoma Girl With $15,000 A Month gets Many Proposals – Four White Men in Germany Want to Marry the Negro Child That They Might Share Her Fortune.” This headline, which appeared in The Kansas City Star on January 15, 1914, was just the first of many newspaper and magazine headlines during the next decade about Sarah Rector, the richest black child known to the world in that era.

“Oil Well Produces Neat Income – Negro Girl’s $112,000 A Year.”

In September, 1913, The Kansas City Star reported: “Millions to a Negro Girl - Sarah Rector, 10-Year Old, Has Income of $300 A Day From Oil,” and The Savannah Tribune ran: “Oil Well Produces Neat Income – Negro Girl’s $112,000 A Year.”

Sarah Rector “bewildered little ten year-old girl”

In 1914 and 1915, the Salt Lake Telegram, The Oregonian and American Magazine profiled the “bewildered little ten year-old girl” and told of how she inherited her “big income” but still wore tattered dresses and slept each night in a big armchair beside her six siblings in a two-room prairie house in Muskogee, Oklahoma. By the early 1920s, many newspapers covered the court battles involving white men seeking to become Rector’s guardian to gain control over her estate.
She was one of a group of Creek freedman children who were given land allotments by the U.S. government as part of the Treaty of 1866.

Sarah Rector was born in 1902, near Taft in Indian Territory, the northeastern part of present-day Oklahoma. Though she was “colored,” she was not an African-American child and had no concept of what it meant to be an American citizen. Rector was a descendant of slaves who had been owned by Creek Indians before the Civil War.

Former Creek Slave

In 1866, the Creek Nation signed a treaty with the United States government promising to emancipate their 16,000 slaves and incorporate them into their nation as citizens entitled to “equal interest in the soil and national funds.” Two decades later, the federally imposed Dawes Allotment Act of 1887 sparked the beginning of the “total assimilation” of the Indians of the so-called Five Civilized Tribes by forcing them to live on individually-owned lots of land instead of communally as they had done for centuries.

There was a great deal of resistance to this plan by the Creeks and other tribes, who viewed it as yet another tactic by the U.S. government to destroy the tribe’s political sovereignty and way of life. But as a result of the Dawes Allotment Act, nearly 600 black children, or Creek Freedmen minors as they were called, inherited 160 acres of land, unlike their African-American counterparts who were granted citizenship after slavery but never got that promised “forty acres and a mule.”


To the surprise of U.S. government officials, a few old and young allottees like Sarah Rector found that their land came with crude oil and other minerals underneath the soil.

When she was born, Rector was given a rough, hilly allotment, considered worthless agriculturally, in Glenpool, 60 miles from where she and her family lived. Her father had petitioned the Muskogee County Court to sell the land, but he was denied because of certain restrictions placed on the land, for which he was required to continue paying taxes.


In 1913, when she was ten years old, large pools of oil were discovered on Rector’s land. One year later, her land produced so much oil that she had already yielded $300,000; her fortune was increasing at a rate of $10,000 per month. Her mother had died years earlier from tuberculosis. In 1914, her father died in prison, leaving her orphaned.

Even before her father’s death, Rector was appointed a guardian who was responsible for managing Rector’s money and providing for her education and care. The law at the time required full-blooded Indians, black adults and children who were citizens of Indian Territory with significant property and money, to be assigned “well-respected” white guardians who often cheated them out of their lands. There are stories of swindlers, oil tycoons and other unscrupulous types who kidnapped and murdered the children and adults to get their land.

Creek Indian Girls

Unlike other hapless waifs who fell victim to fraud, losing their land and wealth while growing up in a western frontier fraught with violence, fraud and racism, Rector was one of a few black children able to ward off greedy guardians and retain her wealth as an adult.

Rector graduated high school, attended Tuskegee University, and then moved to Kansas City at age 19. She purchased a mansion on Twelfth Street, entertaining Duke Ellington, Count Basie, Joe Louis and Jack Johnson at lavish parties. Not much is known of her later life other than stories of how she splurged on jewelry, fine clothes, and cars.

Tullekessee Manual Labor School, April 1891

Much of Rector’s adult life is still needs to be developed, as is the case for the study of the history of black childhood in America. Rector is significant because hers is a vital yet untold story about the complexities or race, childhood, and citizenship on the American frontier in the early 20th century. (source: http://kelvinrector.com/sarahrector.html)

Monday, September 26, 2011

The State of South Carolina's Disdain Of The Value of Education

The State, South Carolina Homepage article "Nine ways the Civil War changed and continues to affect S.C.,"Sep. 25, 2011: 6. Disdain of the value of education

Before the Civil War, education in South Carolina was seen primarily as a private or religious affair. What value was there in educating a white farmhand or a black slave, which was, in fact, forbidden by law? On the eve of the war, only half the state’s white children had gone to school.
The state Constitution of 1868, written by African-Americans and Republicans during Reconstruction, established the right to a free public education for all for the first time. But, in impoverished post-war South Carolina, schools were poorly funded.

The post-war shift in the state’s limited wealth – from agricultural rural areas to industrial cities – accentuated the disparity between poor, inferior rural schools and better urban ones. South Carolina’s embrace of education also was slow and grudging. The state did not establish high schools until 1907, compulsory education until 1919 and a 12th grade until World War II, a move made after the military complained it had to reject too many S.C. draftees as uneducated or sickly.
South Carolina education lottery

In 1948, the state had 1,680 school districts. Funding ranged wildly from rural to urban schools, and black to white schools.

Then, black Clarendon County parents went to court, launching what would become the 1954 U.S. Supreme Court case that ended segregation. While education bills in the 1970s and 1980s sought to address school funding inequities, those issues remain unresolved, the subject of a more-than-decade-old court case, stuck in judicial limbo.

South Carolina education lottery

The passage of a lottery in 2000 was intended to help parents pay higher education costs. However, state funding of public colleges and universities – already among the lowest in the South – has dwindled. (source: The State, South Carolina Homepage)

Boston: African Meeting House and Abiel Smith School


On a hill named Beacon, on a street named Joy, stand the African Meeting House and the Abiel Smith School. The African Meeting House (1806) is the oldest existing black church building in the country built primarily by black artisans. The Abiel Smith School (1835) was the nation's first building constructed for the sole purpose of housing a black public school. This National Trust Historic Site is owned and managed by the Museum of African American History.


The African Meeting House and Abiel Smith School is owned and operated by the Museum of African American History.

Preservation History

At the end of the 19th century, as the African American community began to migrate from Boston's West End to the surrounding neighborhoods of South End and Roxbury, the building was sold to a Jewish congregation. It served as a synagogue until it was acquired by the Museum of African American History (MAAH) in 1972. In 1987, the MAAH completed its first phase of historic restoration work on the African Meeting House. The project restored the building's interior to its documented 1854 design. A second and final phase of restoration is currently underway to continue the building's 1850s transformation while, concurrently, making the site fully handicap accessible.

Confederate Flag Removed in Palestine, Texas

The first national flag of the Confederacy is removed from the flagpole outside the Anderson County (Texas) Courthouse. (Photo by the Palestine, Texas, Herald Press)


CNHI News Service, by Tom Lindley on April 5 2011: PALESTINE, Texas — As a small crowd sang “Dixie,” the first national flag of the Confederacy was lowered from a flagpole outside a southeast Texas courthouse, ending a brewing controversy.

The Anderson County commissioners had voted, 3-2, to fly the flag during Confederate History and Heritage Month. But the flag, which also drew a group of protesters, flew for only a few days before representatives of the Sons of the Confederate Veterans lowered it.

Their action came minutes before the Palestine City Council voted unanimously to ask the commissioners to take it down.
Mayor Bob Herrington

Palestine Mayor Bob Herrington said he took an oath to defend the U.S. and Texas flags.

“It’s (the Confederacy) a government that no longer exists,” Herrington told the crowd. “...It’s hard for me to recognize a flag like the Confederate flag that is so divisive in nature.”

The issue had drawn attention from media outlets across the state to the community which is located southeast of Dallas.

Not all agreed to remove the flag. “Many members of the community, along with myself, are extremely disappointed that the Confederate flag was taken down from the courthouse this evening,” said Palestine resident Morgan Carroll, who added a protest response was being planned.

(source: By Tom Lindley at Apr 5 2011 - 10:39amDetails for this story were provided by the Palestine (Texas) Herald-Press.)

Preserving African American History in Boston

From the Boston Globe, by Brian R. Ballou, on September 23, 2007: Peeling back the layers of years from the walls of the African Meeting House on Beacon Hill and restoring it to circa 1855 has been a slow, painstaking process. Doorknobs, cast-iron posts, and even the bricks used back then need to be exactly the same, and they are not exactly easy to find these days.

"All those kinds of things that we rebuild have to be authentic," said Beverly Morgan-Welch, director of the Museum of African-American History in Boston, which cares for the meeting house, originally a church built in 1806. The bricks that will be used to rebuild the walls will be fired in a kiln the same way they were in the 1850s, she said.

The rebuilding effort at the meeting house, as well as renovations that continue at the Old State House, roughly a minute's walk away, are the focus of "Revolution in Boston," a special segment produced by the History Channel as part of their Emmy Award-winning series, "Save our History."

Yesterday evening, Morgan-Welch and about a score of others gathered at the meeting house and watched a screening of the segment.

"There are a number of people or organizations that have begun to understand the importance of what is being done, including the History Channel," Morgan-Welch said.


The African Meeting House is the nation's oldest standing church built and used by blacks. It was a gathering place for black abolitionists, for free blacks who escaped from slavery, and for Boston's intellectual elite, who forged ideas that would help end slavery.

William Lloyd Garrison founded the New England Anti-Slavery Society there in 1832, and Frederick Douglass gave an antislavery speech there in 1860. For years, it served as a beacon of black accomplishment.

Renovations to the meeting house started 15 months ago, but they are on hiatus while fund-raising takes center stage. About $3 million has been raised, but another $5 million is needed to complete the reconstruction, the major work of which remains to be done. So far, most of the work has involved excavating and preparing the site for construction. Beacon Hill, with its narrow busy roads and tight alleys, is not ideal for construction. "Boston is a city on a hill, a trimount city, and we're on the rockiest, most difficult trimount," Morgan Welch said.

Blueprints were recreated and architects from John G. Waite and Associates have also been relying on photographs taken when the meeting house was transformed into a synagogue, from the early 1900s to 1972, when the museum acquired it. "It will be absolutely accurate," Morgan-Welch said. "We hired the best historic architects in the country."

The Old State House, built in 1713, accommodated the government offices of the Massachusetts Bay Colony and, when fervor to oppose the British crown was stirred, hosted speeches and stirring debates by patriots. In July 1776, the Declaration of Independence was first announced to the residents of Boston from the building's balcony. Today, the building is owned by the city and operated by the Bostonian Society, perhaps the city's top historical group.

Restoration of the African Meeting House on Beacon Hill includes new windows. Work began about 15 months ago. (ARAM BOGHOSIAN FOR THE BOSTON GLOBE)

The History Channel program takes a detailed look at the rebuilding efforts while explaining the role the two buildings had in the nation's fight for independence and equality. The show examines the work done on the northeast corner and the attic of the Old State House, said Brian Le May, Bostonian Society's executive director. "I've seen rough footage . . . and it promises to be interesting."

And it certainly won't hurt tourism in town, he added. (source: The Boston Globe)




Preserving African American History in Boston

Sunday, September 25, 2011

Sons of Mississippi, Paul Hendrickson

"This photograph was taken in late September 1962, seven years after the killing of Emmett Till. The photograph, which isn't an icon image of the sixties—but should be—was recorded a few days before an all-night riot in Mississippi in which two died and hundreds were injured. It was made by an uncommonly brave and gifted white freelance photographer from Alabama named Charles Moore, on a Thursday afternoon, in a grove of elms and oaks and fine old catalpa trees, at Oxford, Mississippi, on the campus of a place known lovingly as Ole Miss. A week later this document was published in a double-truck spread in Life magazine with this small headline down in the left-hand corner: 'Local lawmen, getting ready to block the law.' There were a lot of other pictures in the story, but this was the one that stole your eyes...

Paul Hendrickson

"...Even now, after years of looking at it, examining it, carrying it, I can't precisely say what it was about the image that so took hold of me. It had an overwhelming storytelling clarity—and simultaneous confusion. It was only much later, with the research and reporting and interviews unfolding before me, that I found a certain corroboration for all I must have been imagining the first time I came across it."

—from Sons of Mississippi by Paul Hendrickson

From the April 2003 Washington Monthly, "Rising Sons: A review of Paul Hendrickson's Sons of Mississippi," by Wen Stephenson: On Sept. 27, 1962, in Oxford, Miss., among the elms and oaks and catalpa trees on the campus of Ole Miss, a gifted young freelancer snapped a photograph for Life magazine of seven Mississippi sheriffs having too good a time. It's not an icon of the 1960s, but it should be, says Paul Hendrickson. They're standing, "these seven faces of Deep South apartheid," around the hood of a squad car, and the handsome one in the middle--head of the state sheriffs' association, cigarette between his grinning teeth--is taking a practice swing with a billy club to the amusement and grim appreciation of his colleagues. It was three days before James Meredith would become the first African American to enroll at the University of Mississippi (accompanied by more than 500 federal marshals and several thousand U.S. troops), and these sheriffs, in their white shirts and dark ties, had come from all over the state to help keep their fellow Mississippian from setting foot on the sacred campus.
Paul Hendrickson

For Hendrickson, a former Washington Post reporter who was born in California but raised partly in the Deep South, that photograph contains an essential underlying story of the Battle of Oxford and the larger civil rights struggle, a story of race and its legacy that holds the key to much of the past 40 years. In Sons of Mississippi, Hendrickson takes a rare approach to this subject, focusing on the white supremacists themselves, rather than the familiar, and safer, heroic narrative of the people who rose up to defeat them. His driving impulse is to get beneath the surface and beyond the frame of that photograph in order to see these seven Southerners, and their children and grandchildren after them, as complex individuals rather than two-dimensional caricatures. He knows that racism--even in a time and place as benighted as Mississippi in 1962--is never monolithic, and is careful to highlight the nuances of racial feeling along a spectrum that runs from virulent bigotry to complacent (and complicit) passivity. He knows that the only way to understand the inhumanity in that photograph is to make the men who populate it human.
1962 Ole Miss University campus riot.

Two of those men were still alive when Hendrickson started the project; all of them are well remembered by family, friends, and colleagues. One of the deceased, the former sheriff of Pascagoula--alcoholic, viciously bigoted, and beloved of his men--has an FBI file on him big enough, yet maddeningly inconclusive enough (full of "redactions" pointing all the way to J. Edgar Hoover) to be the stuff of legend. For more than one of them, Hendrickson unearths evidence of Klan and Klan-related activities, though he's unable to prove anything, and none can be linked directly to any civil-rights crime.

The University of Mississippi, Oxford 1962.

But as Hendrickson states at the outset, his book isn't really about the men in the photograph. "Instead," he writes, "it's about what's deeply connected but is off the page, out of sight, past the borders. It's about what has come down from this photograph." And so the portraits of those men are followed by longer, more intimate profiles of some of the descendants, those he calls "the inheritors," in whose stories he finds "some modest surprises and small redemptions and blades of latter-day racial hope."

U.S. Border Control

There's Sheriff Tommy Ferrell, who succeeded his father as sheriff of Natchez (Adams County), keeps a portrait of Nathan Bedford Forrest--co-founder of the KKK--on his office wall, and has nonetheless risen to national prominence in his determination to modernize the image of Mississippi law enforcement. (And whose proud political demeanor conceals an edge of defensiveness about his father's role in the 1960s.) There's Tommy's son Ty Ferrell, a U.S. Border Patrol agent in Santa Teresa, N.M.--compassionate, painfully self-conscious, prone to tears--who seems to carry around with him the entire burden of the family's racial past. And there's John Cothran--grandson and namesake of Sheriff John Ed Cothran of infamous Greenwood (Leflore County) in the Delta--a "working stiff" whose good heart and bad temper have left him with four broken marriages, who works as a floor manager at Home Depot and a second job stocking shelves at the Kroger supermarket to pay child support for the kids he loves, and whose ambition is a double-wide trailer in an all-white development outside Senatobia. (And yet whose humanity toward, and willingness to stand up for, his black co-workers and friends give him a shot at redemption that is neither simple nor sentimental.)

Ole Miss was the scene of rioting that spilled over into the streets of Oxford, Mississippi (1962)
Hendrickson succeeds, movingly and compellingly, in these portraits of contemporary Southerners. But his feel for the deeper Southern past, and for the broader context of Southern politics, is less sophisticated and less satisfying. That is to say, Hendrickson gives us vivid pictures of who the men in that photograph were in 1962, and of what they passed on to their descendants, but he makes almost no effort to explain how they got that way--almost forgetting, it seems, that these men themselves were descendants, inheritors of the forces that shaped their South. Despite a central chapter in which he weaves a kind of historical essay on the events surrounding the Battle of Oxford and its aftermath, I found myself searching for some analysis of the social and political dynamics of race and class that run as an inescapable current through Southern history.
Ole Miss 1962

How, for example, did the poor and working-class backgrounds of these men, their lack of education, and their place within the stratified society of white Mississippi, affect their racial fear? How did white supremacism, and the populist politics of racial solidarity, offer them a kind of perverse security within that world? How did the tangled history of race and class in the Jim Crow South set the social boundaries and norms of behavior in their time and place? Hendrickson hints elusively at such questions, but fails to confront them. (source: Wen Stephenson, Washington Monthly)


click here to watch Paul Hendrickson on C-Span's Book TV

Chopsticks in the Land of Cotton: Lives of Mississippi Delta Chinese Grocers

The story of how a few Chinese immigrants found their way to the Mississippi River Delta in the late 1870s and earned their living with small family operated grocery stores in neighborhoods where mostly black cotton plantation workers lived. What was their status in the segregated black and white world of that time and place? How did this small group preserve their culture and ethnic identity? "Chopsticks in the Land of Cotton"is a social history of the lives of these pioneering families and the unique and valuable role they played in their communities for over a century.

Chopsticks in the Land of Cotton: Lives of Mississippi Delta Chinese Grocers

Chopsticks in the Land of Cotton: Lives of Mississippi Delta Chinese Grocers from John Jung on Vimeo.

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