Valentine’s Day 1890s

I promised a Valentine’s Day post and I’m delivering on that promise, even if it’s a day late. In my defense, yesterday started at 5:30 AM when I began to roll, cut, sprinkle sugar and bake 236 heart-shaped sugar cookies which I dropped off for family and friends in addition to appointments and getting my business newsletter out. I headed to bed a little after 2:30 AM today so my own Valentine’s Day was a long one, but not nearly as long as the search for clarity in one mystery of what I call the Great Harry Stilson Adventure.

Several years ago, I found my great-grandfather’s journal. Harry Stilson was a complex man: streetcar driver, photographer, student of hypnosis and codes. Much of his journal was written in strange symbols that I had no idea how to decipher! He even taught the symbols to his son, Leon, who corresponded with his father in code. I reached out to the Smithsonian and a National Guard historian for help, No response. Then Richard Nolde offered to tackle the mystery. To my delight, he broke the code! Entries from latter years included a description of a risqué photo of a woman seated on the streetcar with her dress exposing her KNEES (shocking) but most of his earlier notations were related to Harry Stilson’s courtship of Mary Perry. Among the diary entries were these: “Miss Perry said she did not care to go home tonight when I asked her.” Sunday: “Spent the evening with Miss Perry. Oh so agreeably!” November 2nd Wednesday: “I asked her to wait till night and let me take her home.” Thursday 3: “Mary and I had quite a love scene in old house. I love her dearly but she only gives me what any girl may, her respect as a friend. I will win her love if possible.” Tuesday: “Wrote letters to Miss Perry.” November 18th 1892: “The gentle maiden thought she could give me no assurance of love did give me a kiss volantaraly and without asking. She gave her permission to correspond and said when it[‘]s possible for us to meet she would not be backward in letting me know.” “Mary came in with Johnnie after the meeting was well underway. I did not have to look around to see who it was. My heart beat hard enough.” November 23rd 1892: “Received a letter from Mary appointing tomorrow evening as a time for me to call on her at her home.”

“I asked George for a horse and took Miss Perry for a ride. Went through town and she got some parafine and glucose to make taffy with. The long way home short enough.” That particular entry struck me because Miss Perry (later Mrs. Stilson) supported her family at age 14 by selling candy. She sold taffy and popcorn to river boats on Michigan’s Grand River while the family lived in a tent. Harry was hurt by her reluctance to be courted but I doubt he understood the responsibility Mary bore.  By age 19, she had been teaching school for more than five years. Marriage just wasn’t a priority. Poor Harry. One entry announced: “Received a letter from Mary which gave me oh so much pleasure. Making everything look so much brighter.” Harry took comfort in that progress and eventually won Mary over.

Reading my great-grandfather’s private thoughts during his courtship of my great-grandmother is touching and a little unsettling. It’s a rare peek into life in the late 1800s with descriptions of activities as well as romantic adventures and I wouldn’t have those glimpses if not for Richard’s decoding talents.

Life was more prosaic in the late 1800s with romance given little significance. Even during the early 1900s, weddings usually lacked lavish gowns, flowers, and parties. My maternal grandparents got married in my grandmother’s living room at 7:00 AM with a few family and friends walking to the house in the early morning light. They held the ceremony early in order to catch a train for a very short honeymoon.  Just making a living was all-consuming and romantic gestures rare so Harry’s revelations about yearning for the petite Mary Perry were uncommon as were written proclamations of devotion in the form of a valentine.

 Valentines were a novelty when Harry was courting Mary and early cards were lovely. Mary Stilson saved many of hers and I display them every year because they are so charming but I learned on NPR that there were also Victorian valentines called “vinegar Valentines” and they were mean. (https://www.wbur.org/news/2024/02/13/vinegar-valentines) They were sent anonymously (for good reason) to businesses or individuals, mostly women. The suffragette cause was a common theme: “A vote from me you will not get, I don’t want a preaching suffragette” but looks, temperament , and intelligence were all subjects for ridicule. Actually, those vinegar valentines could have been written in 2024. They’re that nasty. I prefer the valentines my great-grandmother saved, many from her students, and I think you will, too. Mary Perry Stilson’s students offered their teacher declarations of love that she stored in a tin and kept all her life. That trait continued through generations and I have valentines ranging from 1904, through the 1940s, to 1962, til now. Many are homemade, with ratty yellowed lace and misspelled messages of love and all are cherished.  No vinegar valentines for us…

Richmond’s working black folks, early 1900s

Richmond In Sight is a treasure during Black History Month. My great-grandfather, Harry Stilson, was a Richmond streetcar motorman (driver) whose usual route was Jackson Ward, built by African Americans and Jewish immigrants, and his camera rode by him every day. His collection of 5,000 images and movies inspired me to create Richmond In Sight, a non-profit, to preserve and share Harry’s images and oral histories from the people of Jackson Ward and other Richmond neighborhoods. In my last post, I mentioned how crucial Richmond’s black workers were to the development of our infrastructure. This truck is parked in front of Shockett’s Store on Leigh near Allen. That block no longer exists but the cement pipes were destined for sewer or water lines somewhere in the city and could well still be in service.

I’m no expert on water lines or road work but Harry wrote that the photograph below was Belmont Avenue and I’m guessing they are installing water or sewer pipes.

This picture, also Belmont Avenue, is cool but, again, I’m not sure what they’re doing. Sidewalk installation? But why the ladder on the porch roof unless it’s not related to the road work? Ideas, anyone?

Cobblestone work in the block of 1700 Leigh Street shows two one-level homes in the background and they are still there. I wouldn’t have identified the location (or known the houses were still standing) if not for my friend Barky Haggins. Mr. Barky’s knowledge of the area tipped me off to where another dozen photos were taken. Harry Stilson took a lot of photographs in that block so it must have been a streetcar stop.

I love this image of what looks like a cement mixer. I keep going down the rabbit hole trying to locate E L Thompson Co. I really need a Hill Directory (Richmond phone book from back then) but I haven’t found any for sale. Next door is a pool parlor and while I found a billiards hall on a Sanborn Fire Insurance map in the 300 block of Broad (looks like the number 352 on the building), the street numbers don’t match so I give up. It’s not worth a trip to the Library of Virginia. I really need a Hill Directory!

The Export Leaf Tobacco Building at Lombardy and Leigh was built in 1919 and Harry recorded the construction site below. Hartshorn College, the first black woman’s school in the United States to confer baccalaureate degrees, was also at that intersection and Harry photographed his streetcar and a horse-drawn wagon there with a Hartshorn dorm in the background. Perhaps a reader can identify the machinery being transported by wagon.

You’ve seen both of these folks (below) before but they are among my favorites. They are hard-working residents of Richmond, most likely in Jackson Ward. Harry used the first picture as a post card and labeled it “fresh fish & oysters, Richard Willis, Richmond, VA.” I’ve tried to find someone related to Richard Willis and the Richard Willis, “laborer,” listed in a 1920 Census record is probably the right one but Willis is a common name. I lost him after that Census.

Harry’s journal mentions several cooks (“head cook”, etc.) and I’ve always called this woman “cook with an attitude.” It seems to fit.

My book, On the West Clay Line: Jackson Ward, Carver, & Newtowne, shares images and oral histories of so many Richmond families. If you are interested in that book or others, or just want to see more of Harry Stilson’s view from his Richmond streetcar, go to www.richmondinsight.com. Do you live in or near Richmond? I offer programs at no charge for groups. If you’re part of a church or synagogue, community center, school, civic group, or whatever, get in touch and we’ll arrange a presentation where you can see more of Harry Stilson’s Richmond. And check back for more Richmond Views posts. I think I’ll stick a Valentine one in the middle of Black History Month before going back to Richmond’s African-American residents that Harry Stilson documented along his streetcar route. As much as I love Jackson Ward and the folks Harry knew there, it’s only fitting that his family’s Valentines are shared in Black History Month. 

MLK & equality through Harry’s lens

This blog has been silent for almost a year. Its focus is Harris Stilson, my great-grandfather, a Richmond streetcar operator and amateur photographer in the early 1900s. People flagged down his streetcar and asked him to take their photo. He developed the film at night and delivered pictures on his route the next day, images that I inherited, some 5,000 of them, which I share in books and programs. I usually don’t write about myself but if you have followed this blog and Richmond In Sight, maybe you deserve an explanation.

For the last two years, my sister and I shared caregiving of our mother. My sister is a hospice nurse working nights and, as a real estate broker, I could manage business while spending most of the week at my Mom’s so we made it work. Her increasing lack of mobility frustrated Mom so when she said “I’ve been thinking,” my sister and I knew we were in trouble. It meant Mama had a project… which meant that WE had work to do. Her last ‘projects’ consisted of me writing a book on the women in our family, I Come from Strong Women, and a children’s book based on a true event and illustrated by her great-grandchildren so I’ve been busy. Access to the Stilson collection was limited while I was with my mother so the blog was neglected. I hope to do better in the future.

Mom died Labor Day weekend (appropriately) and since then, I’ve felt her nudging me back to Richmond In Sight work so here we are, at Martin Luther King Day, with me evaluating racial equality in Harry Stilson’s time and now. Has there been progress?

After World War I, black soldiers returned home expecting a different America, without segregation or restrictions in employment and housing. Instead, even the monument to those killed in war on the Boulevard (now Arthur Ashe Boulevard) demonstrated segregation, as seen in Harry’s photograph, and Jim Crow continued. Today’s military is integrated but discrimination persists. Progress… but still a ways to go.

African Americans have always contributed significantly to Richmond’s economy and infrastructure, despite being underpaid. Harry’s photographs of folks at work offer a sometimes startling glimpse into the tools and trades of the early 1900s. Carrying bricks or laundry on your head? My great-grandfather captured both, with the laundress photo hand-tinted. Harry documented laundry deliveries by goat carts, one photo with Harry’s shadow visible, and I love the the wagon below. Laundry work usually fell to black women and even Maggie Walker’s mother took in wash to support her family. It was an occupation for people of color and primarily women of color, a double excuse for low pay.   

The adopted son of the Kingan’s Abattoir manager (in white coat) contacted me when the photo below ran in the newspaper. He spoke proudly of that career. Richmond slaughterhouses depended on the labor of black men. My oral history sources assure me that abattoir work was “good work” but they always mention the stench, mud, and exhausting labor that accompanied those prized jobs. I don’t know what that coveted pay was back then but the median income of black families in 2021 was 35% less than whites, down from a discrepancy of 24% in 2019. The black-white income disparity has increased steadily since 1970, evidence of a stunning failure to rectify financial inequality in the United States.

Those workers and other black Richmonders were determined that their children receive an education, critical to enhancing one’s life. Irma Dillard related her mother’s story about Mr. Stilson. I was astonished that a streetcar man who died in 1934 was so notable that stories were passed through families about him and his kindness.  Harry watched out for these Armstrong students, often subjects of his photographs, but they were from more-affluent families. Goldbug Wilson’s father was a wealthy businessman and Irma Rainey’s daughter, Irma Dillard, became an attorney. Below are pictured Irma Rainey (with glasses), Goldbug Wilson, Robinette Anderson and others. Someone described Clay Avenue to me as “Strivers’ Avenue” because its residents were “striving” to improve their lives.

Daughters went to Hartshorn, the first black women’s college in America to give a baccalaureate degree, at Lombardy and Leigh, where Maggie Walker Governor School is now, and sons attended Virginia Union, or “Union” as much of Jackson Ward calls it even today. Hartshorn teacher Miss Julia Elwin was mentioned in Harry’s journal several times while Union was distinguished among schools as first to hire black teachers. Virginia Union is one of five Historic Black Colleges (HBCs) in the Commonwealth but the national ratio of white to black students isn’t good. In 2022, undergraduate enrollment of black students was 10.6% of total enrollment. Financial disparity between black and white households affects all facets of life, including educational opportunities, now just as it did in 1920.

Restaurants and other venues were restricted by Jim Crow law. Harry labeled this Shockoe Bottom business as “Japanese Restaurant” but it was more likely Chinese. Regardless, this photo has been used by a Richmond school teacher to illustrate segregation to her class. I’m thankful that those students, like my own grandchildren, find the concept difficult to grasp. As far as my granddaughters are concerned, friends are friends. Because of them, I still cling to hope for our future.   

I’m proud that my great-grandfather was also friends with persons of color, that his journal mentions visiting black friends at home, that he promoted integration in a 1909 speech he gave to a women’s literary group, suggesting that schools and churches combine students so that they would become “familiar” and therefore learn to respect each other. I found that handwritten speech and share a bit of it below. Harry’s attitude was rare in the early 1900s but over a century later, we need more than speeches. We need acts, laws, a change of heart. We need a dream. One that doesn’t materialize, then fade, never completely fulfilled, and we need it now.

Spanish Influenza & Richmond

Risking repetition of a 2016 post, I decided to write again about the 1918 Influenza and past health crises as the world finds hope in vaccines. Discussing vaccines recently with my granddaughters, they informed me that they wanted “the one that’s only one shot.”  I told them about getting my polio vaccination in the form of a sugar cube and they immediately decided that was how they wanted their COVID-19 vaccination. Who knows? They’re starting tests on kids and COVID vaccines now so sugar cubes or another less-dreaded inoculation than shots could be possible in the future.

Diphtheria was a dreaded disease that vaccinations virtually eliminated. I found this booklet entitled “Train Ticket to No-Diphtheria-Town on the Health Road” filled out with my aunt’s name. In 1913, the Schick skin test was developed but only came to the United States in 1923. It offered a simple mass immunization and I suppose the “Train Ticket” was designed to inspire participation in the immunization programs. Maybe we should advertise vaccinations as train tickets. A lot of people are behaving like spoiled kids about vaccines so a campaign on their level might work.  

My great-grandfather, Harry Stilson, documented what was called the Spanish Influenza in his journal. Usually he simply called it the influenza and rightfully so. As with our current pandemic, the name Spanish Influenza was politically motivated. The world was at war. No one knew where the virus originated but to prevent panic, warring countries restricted news of illnesses and death. Neutral Spain, however, was more transparent and became the target of misinformation that Spain was the epicenter with more cases than other countries. This was not true. Fifty million died of the 1918 Influenza worldwide, more than died in WWI battles.

Returning soldiers spread the illness but sometimes our soldiers arrived home to find that loved ones had died from influenza while they fought in France. Such was the case of Ralph Goode. His son Clyde recalled:  “He didn’t know it…he was on the ship coming back and found out when he got home. “ Among the soldiers who died of influenza in France was Richmonder Otis P. Robinson of Jackson Ward. He wrote his sister Carrie Harris: “Dear Sister, pray for me or pray to God in Heaven is better than anything else I know. May God bless you and be with you til we meet again.” Circumstances like these echo the isolation of COVID patients today, dying without loved ones near.

A poignant illustration of this is illustrated in the set of burial at sea photographs Harry developed for a naval officer he met in Norfolk while on vacation. I researched A.V. Boykins who died of pneumonia which could have been caused by influenza. The timing and circumstances match.

Influenza dominated life in Richmond and I shared stories of that in my book, From Richmond to France. Times were hard and Dolores Miller reported that Bliley’s Funeral Home gave bread and eggs to families struggling to feed their children. One day her Elam relatives went for provisions. They described halls lined with bodies in an overwhelmed funeral home. As the children walked between corpses, they swore “one of the bodies sat up just like it was alive.” That was the story passed down through the family, at least. One fact is certainly true. Burying the dead was a massive job.

Dolores’ family was mentioned in Harry’s journal often because the Elams rented a house that he owned next door. He captured them in photographs and wrote that an Elam daughter had survived the influenza. Others didn’t make it.  Harry noted: “Fri 10/25/18 Spanish Influenza the end of Willie McCloud last night.” I assumed (wrongly) that this was a Richmond man Harry knew. Instead, William McCloud was a black cook who died in Norfolk of “Pneumonic type Spanish Influenza” and was buried in the “col cemetery” in Norfolk so he must have been a relative or friend of one of Harry’s African-American acquaintances. Harry’s streetcar route in Jackson Ward offered him a glimpse into black lives rarely experienced by a middle-aged white man in the early 1900s. I often go down a rabbit hole following a name in Harry’s papers. Tracking names in Harry Stilson’s journals and on photographs sometimes leads to unusual discoveries, like the fact that my friend Dolores’ family lived next door to my family, but many, like this example of Willie McCloud, end with more questions than answers. How did Harry know Willie?

One example of how prevalent the flu was and how it seeped into all facets of life is this little verse my father repeated to me: “I had a little bird, his name was Enza. I opened the window and IN-FLU-ENZA!” No one knew how the virus spread but assumed it was air-borne so this ditty may have been a warning. Masks were worn and, back then, it wasn’t a political statement but comprehension that your life (and others’) could depend on the protection of a mask.

A vaccine didn’t end the 1918 Influenza. We’ve learned from that historic pandemic how to prevent viral spread if we just use common sense and we’re so much more fortunate today. We have vaccines and knowledge. Harry Stilson never mentioned how he responded to the threat posed by his work as a streetcar motorman. He suffered respiratory illnesses so the fact that he survived despite constant interactions with the public indicates that he took precautions. We can do the same. Like Richmonders in 1918-1919, wear a mask. Keep socially distant. We’re far better off than they were: we can get a vaccine. Do it. Let’s be at least as responsible as Richmonders a century ago.

Norma’s Diphtheria Train vaccination record

Jackson Ward’s schools in Harry’s time

As promised, this post describes what we call K-12 schools, although that loosely defines Richmond education in Harry Stilson’s time. Much of the following is from my book, On the West Clay Line: Jackson Ward, Carver and Newtowne West, which combines my great-grandfather’s photography with stories collected from people who grew up in those neighborhoods. Jackson Ward was built by African Americans and Jewish immigrants and offers a historically rich culture. If you’re curious, my books are available on the Richmond in Sight website, www.richmondinsight.com.

Family on Moore Street, First Union Church in background, Hartshorn Memorial College in far distance behind children

Most of Jackson Ward’s earlier African-American residents were uneducated. Free or slave, literacy was a rare gift in the 1800s and education a strong priority among the parents of black children. Education was so precious that sacrifices were made willingly so that teachers and facilities were available for future generations. There was no public education in Richmond before the early 1900s for either race. It was common practice to hold classes in private residences with casual arrangements of ages and schedules. Not good enough, said parents in Jackson Ward, so fundraising and political arm-twisting began at various levels.

” Miss Rubin Lee Moore” was written on this photo, Mrs. Hilda Warden identified her as a “childhood friend” who lived on Clay

Their efforts resulted in the construction of Booker T. Washington School at 21 East Leigh Street, the oldest public school building in Richmond. It was established as a black high school in the 1890’s. Armstrong High School, designed by Charles Russell (119 W. Leigh) was the only Richmond high school built specifically for African Americans until the late 1930’s and currently houses the Richmond Public Schools Adult Career Development Center.

In my last post, I introduced you to Irma Dillard, whose mother told her about Mr. Stilson and how he watched out for her friends, high school kids at Armstrong High School. Recalling her mother’s stories, Irma Dillard explained, “Originally there was a one room Newtowne School on Moore Street. And it was one room, a public school. She went to Moore School. It was not Carver. Moore School is the very old building back of Carver, literally abandoned now. I don’t know if it’s still standing.” It was, last time I drove down to look for it.

Irma Rainey (later Dillard), Robinette Anderson, Goldbug Wilson and other Armstrong students

It appears that Harry Stilson was close to a lot of the kids in Jackson Ward. On the back of one photo he wrote “A colored friend behind school” and the location has been tentatively identified as Moore Street School. Behind the curtsying girl is an outhouse. Gender-separated toilet facilities weren’t an issue back then. Everyone used the same outhouse.

“A colored friend behind school”

Irma Dillard’s mother’s friend, Wesley Carter, lived in the 1400 block of Moore Street so he also attended Moore Street School. “…and then Carver, then Armstrong High School.” Wesley Carter was an alumnus of an unusual school program in Richmond, “open air” or “fresh air” classes. Ella Flowers described open air members as “those who were thin and they thought they had tuberculosis.” Others mentioned respiratory illnesses or malnutrition but those students sat in classrooms with the windows open year round because it was believed to be beneficial to their health. Children wore coats as they shivered at their desks. Wesley Carter complained, “Let me tell you something about Moore Street School. They didn’t call it rheumatic fever back then but I had some fever and I stayed in a wheelchaiar all summer because I was very weak so they put me in what you call open air class. With windows wide open. Cold!”

We might want to reconsider those fresh air classes. Wesley Carter died at nearly 105 and other Jackson Ward “open air kids” whose oral histories I collected lived into their late 90s.

There were other schools besides Moore Street School. Ellalee Flowers’ sister, Laverne Fountain, recalled: “I started at Navy Hill. Then Booker T. I thought I was going from there to Armstrong but they’d built (Maggie) Walker the year before…I had to walk from 8^th Street up to Walker but I got home in a hurry because those Newtowne kids chased us home every day. We didn’t have backpacks, we had our books like this (demonstrating holding books) “…but there was a classmate whose father was a minister so he had a car. We had to walk up to where Armstrong was and if they were still there, we could all pile in just like piling into a phone booth.”

Ruby Walker named her schools: “Elba, Moore, Armstrong. Elba was 1000 W. Marshall Street, across from the T&E Laundry.” In those days, Armstrong was in the building where Benjamin Graves School is now, across the street from the Armory, now the Black History Museum. According to my oral history sources, students walked over to the Armory for gym.

Many of those students from Armstrong and Maggie Walker, like Wesley Carter, later attended Virginia Union or Virginia State University. They fulfilled the dreams of the parents who sacrificed to build schools and provide teachers so that their children could be educated. Think of how parents long for schools to be opened as we endure the Pandemic. That’s the kind of desire that spurred African American parents of Jackson Ward to donate precious funds and efforts to create environments where their children could learn. That’s the kind of determination that we celebrate during Black History Month and always.

MLK Day after Jan. 6

I’m not sure what to write on this holiday celebrating Dr. Martin Luther King. My heart is broken after the events of January 6^th and, while optimism is a core characteristic of mine, I’m having a hard time feeling hopeful. I’ve shared posts about how my family has volunteered in political activities for both parties and shown memorabilia from past campaigns and elections and parts of Harry Stilson’s speech of 1907, titled “Pride of Tint” where he advocated integration of schools, churches and other aspects of life as the path to what he called “familiarity” between races and faiths which he believed would inspire respect and would lead to a better America. In light of the attack on the Capitol, it seems that we are far from the respect that my great-grandfather dreamed of.

My eyes land on one of the thousands of Stilson items I inherited: a small jewelry box of the Capitol, a souvenir from decades, perhaps even a century ago.  Someone in my family cherished it and rightfully so. That symbol of democracy is sacred and it was desecrated by domestic terrorists, demanding death to our vice president, lawmakers, police officers, incited to violence by the very person who should embody our ideals. Images of that mob of thousands was a striking reminder of past events that brought multitudes to those streets, among them the March on Washington where Dr. King delivered his “I Have a Dream” speech and the first Obama inauguration. The first was a peaceful protest, the second a celebration of history being made. Inaugerations are normally exciting. The streets of Washington should be preparing to celebrate the endurance of our “American experiment,” the peaceful transition of one administration to another. It’s a declaration that America has voted and that vote is honored. Until January 6^th. The contrast is stunning and heartbreaking.

I was almost twelve when I listened to Dr. King’s vision for equality on the radio but I was in D.C., on the street, along with my mom and sister when Barak Obama called for a “new era of responsibility.” Thank goodness for radios because again I heard historic words on a radio. We listened to his speech on a woman’s transistor radio, crowded closely to hear. My white-haired mom and an elderly black man, a young man from Australia, the rest of us various ages and races. All focused on the promise of a more perfect union as we were reminded why we were there and what we were charged with. President Obama’s charge to the nation is even more relevant today:

“On this day, we gather because we have chosen hope over fear, unity of purpose over conflict and discord.  On this day, we come to proclaim an end to the petty grievances and false promises, the recriminations and worn-out dogmas that for far too long have strangled our politics.  We remain a young nation.  But in the words of Scripture, the time has come to set aside childish things.  The time has come to reaffirm our enduring spirit; to choose our better history; to carry forward that precious gift, that noble idea passed on from generation to generation:  the God-given promise that all are equal, all are free, and all deserve a chance to pursue their full measure of happiness.”  

One phrase strikes me as particularly profound, that the time has come to “choose our better history.” Lord knows our country’s image has suffered incredible damage by recent actions and words but we can choose our better history. We can hold those guilty of insurrection and tarnishing our sacred symbol of democracy accountable. We can say “enough.” We can come together to protect each other, to respect each other, to fufill the dream that Martin Luther King, Jr. envisioned for America. Instead of a city under siege, the streets of Washington should be teeming with people with dreams, hopes, ideas. Like the small Capitol jewelry box, the “American experiment” can be preserved and cherished for the future. Barriers can come down, streets opened to share what democracy looks like. Instead of a call for change, “This is what democracy looks like!” can be and endorsement. Celebrations on the streets of our Capital will return. We’ll choose our better history and create a more perfect union.  I know we can.

H

Harry Stilson Voted

My family has always been active politically. I found a McKinley/Hobart campaign pin in my great-grandmother’s button jar so perhaps my paternal side of the family was always Republican, unlike my mom’s side (which is MY side politically!). On the eve of this critical election, I thought I’d pull out some  political mementos from my Stilson archives but my time was limited. I was making calls for Joe Biden again today.  So…here’s a quick abbreviated glance at some political history as experienced by Harry Stilson and his descendants.

I’ve shared some of Harry’s writings regarding his opinions on racial inequality. His 1907 speech advocating integration, for one thing. He made that speech to the Ladies’ Literary Club in his hometown in Michigan on a trip back from Virginia, where he and his family had recently moved. As a middle-aged white man on his streetcar route in Jackson Ward, his journal notes about visiting black families, donating to a black man’s funeral expenses, taking pictures of African-American kids, his son’s photo with his black friend, all indicate a pretty progressive stance. He felt that familiarity would create respect and that respect for other races and religions would make a better America.  I’m an independent who mostly votes for Democrats and I tend to think of Republicans as very conservative so the items that suggest he voted Republican surprised me given his radical ideas but parties change over time. They must, because Harry’s granddaughter, a very strong feminist, was immersed in the Republican Party most of her life. As the second female bridge engineer in Virginia and a munitions designer at the Pentagon in WWII, her attention to detail and perfect handwriting lent itself to her volunteer schedule sheets below. Strikingly different from today when I go online, click on a link and the people to call and their numbers appears on my screen after the text or email confirming I’ll be making calls.

In Harry Stilson’s journal, he noted “Tues 8/6/18 took 6 pictures last one of myself voting to abolish Administrative Boards.” I have searched online for images of voting booths in Virginia back then to see if I could identify this mysterious photo. Nothing. I searched for “Administrative Board Richmond VA” and the only thing I find is articles about the 1918 Spanish Influenza and the Board actions regarding health restrictions. Boy, I hope Harry wasn’t the Trump equivalent of 1918, rejecting lockdowns and mask wearing! I posted the photo below on Facebook asking if anyone can shed light on what Harry’s in front of: voting booth? Dressing room? WHAT? Maybe you can help me out here.

Politics and world events interested Harry. He attended War bond drives, his son Leon fought and died in France, his wife was a leader in the Virginia Gold Star Mothers and sailed to France on a Gold Star Pilgrimage, and Harry documented WWI from start to finish in film, both still and movies. The family attended the 150^th celebration of Yorktown where Harry photographed President Hoover and his secret service on parade. His young grandson, my father, shook the President’s hand that day. Harry had even written to Washington while on a rampage after his wife left him, demanding that the government do something, I’m not sure what. That crazy spell only lasted a short while and then he proceeded to get on with life as a single father, streetcar motorman, and amateur photographer. After the war, his ex-wife returned to Richmond and they resumed life as if years and a divorce hadn’t occurred. Far as I can tell, they both voted until their deaths.

I have an entire storage box of political memorabilia, from posters to letters to pins. Letters to my aunt Norma Kathleen “Kit” Lynch thanking her for her volunteer efforts.  A card from Eddy Dalton when Kit was in the hospital with cancer. Pins from Ike to Reagan. Jewelry, cartoons, whatever.

Browsing through these items, it saddens me that the divisive environment politically prevents us from having differences of opinions without rancor. I didn’t agree with my father or my aunt but I respected their passion. I respected their right to disagree with me. I’ve knocked on doors over the years and, in this pandemic, I’ve bitten the bullet and made cold calls, which I won’t do for my business but I will do for the sake of our country. I don’t have much in the way of souvenirs but I’ll share my T-shirt from Hillary’s campaign and a photo I took when President Obama was in Richmond and my mom and I stood for hours barely with room to move (pre-pandemic, remember those days?), so excited to hear and see him. I guess it runs in the family. That passion for being involved, for speaking our minds, for volunteering. For VOTING. If you haven’t voted yet, go vote tomorrow.

Missing the Virginia State Fair

My cousin, Anne Soffee, loves the Virginia State Fair so, in this COVID world of canceled events, she’s mourning the loss of this traditional part of fall. I realize that the last post I did was to remember the summer fun we’d normally be having but I promised her nostalgic pictures. The fair was Harry Stilson’s favorite event as well so here we go again: pretending we’re doing things we can’t do right now. The first photo was nearly a century ago to the day.

Some of my oral history sources recall sneaking through the fence at the fairgrounds on the Boulevard where the Diamond is today. Morris Goldberg never paid for streetcar rides but scavenged transfers discarded by riders and he confessed to slipping through a hole in the fence to go to the fair. He heckled a midway barker, demanding his money back if not satisfied (he didn’t have money to pay anyhow) and the irritated barker growled “Get out of here, kid.”  Harry Stilson paid for his tickets and he was often accompanied by his children, Leon, Anita, and Don. Some of the photographs were taken by Leon.

As kids, we were required to visit the animal exhibits before we could hit the rides. One state fair picture struck me as odd. Were deer that unusual?

T.W. Woods was a prominent Richmond seed company so this exhibit of “electric lights” was probably well-attended. I just like checking out the fruits and vegetables.

I’ve wondered if the rides of today’s state fairs are the same machinery as back then. We do still have the Caterpillar and the swings.

Harry and Leon’s horse racing photos were blurred but, hey, those horses were fast. Did any of these horses go on to fame?

This act is African-Americans. I’d love to think the man dancing is Bill “Bojangles” Robinson because he was a Richmonder and he did come home regularly, performing here often before he made it big but probably not. I haven’t found a way to research his schedule for October 1920.

In Harry’s movies, there is a clip of a black performing group which could be the act that my would be/could be Bojangles is with. There’s also a midway act that reminds me of a young Morris Goldberg. I’ve shared this performer before but she’s worth another look.

This horse act is Holland & Dockrill, World Famous Equestrians.

It’s hard to see but this captures the high diver as he leaves the platform. Harry also caught a saner performer diving into this barrel of water.

And because it’s our most fervent dream these days, I just had to include this picture. Maybe one day we can crowd like this at the Virginia State Fair, candy apple in hand, cotton candy sticky fingers, the sound of the midway in our ears and our hardest decision which ride to go on next.

Missing Summer

We’re missing our usual summer vacation trips and activities this year because of the pandemic so I thought I’d share a few Harry Stilson photographs from his vacations and trips. That way you can visualize the places you’re missing…oh, sorry! These pictures were taken in the early 1900s so places might look a little different but hey, it’s better than nothing. The first few aren’t really in summer but it’s Virginia Beach and they set the stage. Harry’s enjoyment of his two day vacation from streetcar work, documented by his sister, was well-deserved.

Some others of Virginia Beach include the boardwalk and another, “under the boardwalk” view. Harry liked to catch action so there’s one of a woman mid-air and what I assume is his labeling reference to the ladies in another.

 

Harry went to Cape Henry in 1920 and captured this view of lighthouse and men at work.

His daughter  convinced him to go on a short trip to Natural Bridge and Endless Caverns. Here are a couple of shots of that trip. I’m always discovering things ‘a day late and a dollar short.’ On the back of a landscape photo from the Endless Caverns trip, Harry described the return trip to Richmond late at night. He mentioned stopping at “the store at Hancock and Clay” for a few items. That store was owned by my late friend, Morris Goldberg’s family. I never thought to ask Morris if Harry knew his parents or shopped at the family store. Now I know he did, at nearly 10 PM!

 

I suspect this picture was taken by my great-grandmother’s niece because they lived out west.  Cool but stupid. Those bears are too close for comfort.

Not all summer activities we’re missing are far from home. Our current baseball season is in jeopardy because of COVID but this team at Idlewood Park can remind you of the joys of ball games. I realized that my great-uncle was on this team when I took another look at a team photo. No matter how many times I look at Harry’s pictures, I always notice something new.

Harry rented to tenants from England, a friendship that lasted well beyond the lease. I found letters from the Crawfords after they returned to Britain and Harry Stilson not only took a lot of pictures of Poppy, her husband, and son Victor, but developed film from their vacations, everywhere from Moore’s Lake to Valley Forge.

 

Again, I’m not sure if this West Virginia scene was from Harry’s trip or someone else’s but here you go. Ansted, Hawk’s Nest Rock.

Transportation is a big issue during these dangerous times. Safe to fly? Do we drive? In the ‘old days’, you just strapped your stuff onto the back of the car and hit the road. Not sure whose Wyoming-licensed car this is but it was with the Natural Bridge pictures. My point is this: we can’t go and do as usual this summer but we can get ideas from Harry Stilson. There are vistas to explore, places to go, ways to make this summer a memorable one that doesn’t include the pandemic. Be creative. Be safe. Wear masks, keep socially distanced, wash your hands, but don’t let the coronavirus steal your summer. If Harry could squeeze a few trips from his streetcar route schedule, you can find a way to have an adventure.

 

 

Confederate statues & Harry Stilson

In a pandemic where people are supposed to stay home, a lot of things have happened, haven’t they? I hesitated to write this entry because my intention is always to bring us together, to illustrate common interests and characteristics we share and it’s hard to ignore the divisiveness of current America. Where I stand politically isn’t hard to identify if you follow my blog or read my books. I try to listen to other points of view but sometimes there’s just one right perspective. George Floyd’s death can’t be “interpreted” as other than what it was: murder. I protested George Floyd’s murder on the streets of Richmond but I refused to chant certain statements. All police are not (insert profanity) and I won’t say “(profanity) the police” because law enforcement includes good and bad officers.  I support the right to feel and voice those feelings but it made me uncomfortable to hear that, especially with children protesting among us. Likewise, I can relate to  both sides of the issue of Richmond’s Confederate statues. I grew up seeing them and accepting them as part of our scenery which is why I can understand how hurtful they are to people of color. Have you ever been shocked to have someone tell you that one of your actions or words you said in innocence has hurt someone you care about? I think that’s how a lot of white America feels these days. I’ve been fortunate because I have African-American friends who will tell me honestly when I’ve misspoken or when someone else has. Many white people don’t have that benefit and I’m sure I’ve still said and done things that have been insulting or uncomfortable for others. I can never know what it’s like to be black in America. I’m a white 68-year-old woman. I’ve also felt a little ambivalence about the statues because my experience is a little unusual. I have photographs my great-grandfather took of those monuments a century ago because they were news, because he was present and they were part of the documentation of Harry Stilson’s world. Here’s what I mean…

I wondered why Harry took this photograph of the Stonewall Jackson statue dedication until Bob Krick, Chimborazo Museum historian, explained. Seems that when the dignitary who was unveiling the statue pulled the rope, it got tangled and the ceremony was delayed while someone climbed up and untangled ropes. Ironically, when the statue was being removed last week, there was another issue (involving horse hoofs and a kind of sawzall)  which caused a delay. And then there’s this…

This is the Robert E. Lee statue with a French general, I believe Marshall Ferdinand Foch, laying a wreath on his visit to Richmond after World War I. It’s worth noting that Robert E. Lee opposed the idea of a statue to him. It’s also significant that other events occurred at the monument in addition to the French general’s visit. It was the starting point for a women’s march that I participated in a few years ago as well as background in other parades. About those other parades…

This is what Harry labeled “Confederate Parade” on Monument Avenue. He photographed every parade he witnessed, in Richmond, Michigan, Yorktown. This parade was also included in his movies but not because of Harry’s Confederate pride. He was born in Michigan. To him, it was simply a parade. WWI  soldiers, cadets, and a band (Elks, I think) were in the parade, too. Richmond loved parades and never missed an opportunity to hold one. Even a “Confederate Parade,” promoting attitudes and times that our African-American residents could not forget because they were so  painful.

Confederate statues need to come down because they negatively impact many of our citizens but history isn’t eliminated by their removal. My Virginia history school books never mentioned many facts about black history (one reason I bought Black history cards for my grandkids) but that doesn’t erase those events from our past. I’ve always been in favor of adding context to the monuments. I was thrilled when Arthur Ashe’s statue was placed on Monument Avenue and have bragged on him often, reminding people that as a telephone installer, I worked on his aunt’s phone and she shared stories of him practicing on nearby Northside tennis courts. Our history includes both good and bad and should all be preserved. We can’t learn from the past if we are unaware of it.

Confederate statues were erected to promote white supremacy in the days of Jim Crow but there were other voices in the early 1900s offering other perspectives. One voice was that of Harry Stilson, documented in a 1907 speech he gave to a Michigan women’s literary club while visiting his home state. I’ve shared this before but it bears repeating. I’ve even printed it and carried it on protest signs over the years. I have Harry Stilson’s handwritten speech, entitled “Our Tinted Population.” I also have the rejection letter Harry received when he submitted the speech to a New York magazine in which he was told “We have no use for anything like this.” Well, we do have need of these words, now more than ever.

“We are black, brown, red, yellow and white. We are Catholic, Protestant, Mormon, Jew, spiritualist, atheist, or whatnot. If they be of different types, at variance in color, religion or nationality, or all three, I am constrained to believe, being optimistic, it is so much better for the world. I believe that the true test is one of character or moral worth, and that the best education is the one that develops that character without regard to color of skin or condition of society. I also think that the best way to remove that “pride of tint” is by honorable familiarity with the adverse color, religion or nationality. In no place can this honorable familiarity be better brought about than in our common schools and public churches. I would abolish all private schools…(so) that they should become more familiar with and less suspicious of those of different tint, and thus become better citizens of this great nation, having more respect for each other.”

The word “integration” may not have been in our vocabulary in 1907 but that’s what Harry Stilson was advocating. We assure ourselves that our nation is integrated now but, if that were truly the case, the racism of today wouldn’t be possible. It’s such a simple concept: become more familiar with people of other races and religions and you will have more respect for each other. Why is that so hard to implement?