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.

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

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.

 

 

Harry Stilson’s 1918 Influenza

I am my brother’s keeper. That has never been more true. We each hold the health, even the life, of everyone we encounter, in our hands. Literally. We can be oblivious and figure, hey, I feel fine, and proceed to touch a grandparent or friend recovering from chemo treatments, and then wonder later how that person got infected, hopefully, not at that person’s memorial service. OR we can be cognizant of social distancing by performing a heroic act of restraint because it is hard to not touch, to not hug, to not be the outgoing, friendly people most of us are. This is our new normal and, while we can’t choose who will contract the coronavirus, we can choose our response to this health threat so I, like scientists, am looking back to the Spanish Influenza of 1918 for insight into how the world handled a similar pandemic. Unlike most of you, I have a pretty good source of information: my great-grandfather’s journal. Harry Stilson was a Richmond streetcar motorman (driver) whose camera never left his side and I inherited the collection of nearly 5,000 photos, movies, and negatives that survived but I also have letters and his journal of 1918-1919. Along with research I did while writing From Richmond to France, his writing offers a pretty good idea of how Richmond coped with a baffling illness without benefit of advanced medical technology. They did, however, have a new tool of incredible value and documentation collected during the Spanish Influenza has been saving lives ever since. That tool was radiology. X-rays were new back then, discovered in 1895 by William Conrad Roentgen, and the use of X-rays was just developing. Conflicting arguments surrounded its value and experts questioned whether distinctive lung changes were from tuberculosis or the rapidly-spreading virus taking lives across the world. Sadly, the Spanish Influenza provided an excellent opportunity for x-rays to resolve that question, to prove their worth, and become the standard diagnostic tool radiology is today. Incidentally, x-rays are a critical part of this new emergency. CNN profiled an infectious disease doctor studying x-rays of coronavirus patients. Her team discovered a radical difference in the appearance of “normal” pneumonia and corona pneumonia. The new virus produces easily-distinguished “round” spots, a difference visible even to viewers like me. While x-rays aren’t economically or logistically feasible instead of testing, they are an emergency alternative in the absence of tests.

The panic, uncertainly, and even anger that the coronavirus has created in us all isn’t a new experience. Even “fake news” claims aren’t a recent phenomenon as you can see in this early 1900s newspaper article I found in the family “archives.”

No, I don’t believe this five-year-old had a baby but I do believe what I learned about the Spanish Flu. It killed over 50 million around the world. More died from the flu than were killed in battle and it affected life in Richmond just like the virus today. Because no one knew how it was transmitted, rumors flew, no pun intended. The virus was actually of avian origin. I’m not sure if that was known back then but children jumped rope to this: “I had a little bird. His name was Enzo. I opened the window and IN-FLU-ENZA!” Little was known about how it spread so cities experimented with various practices with uneven results. Where isolation, quarantine and limited crowd gatherings were enforced, the number of cases and deaths were considerably lower. 2020, take note.

Another similarity between 1918 and 2020 is the urgent problem of food insecurity.  In my book, From Richmond to France, I related Dolores Miller’s story about her family’s experience in Richmond during the influenza.  Dolores Miller: “This happened during the flu epidemic in 1918. I guess a lot of people had nothing material-wise and perhaps a lot of families that lived in the city were going hungry. Joseph W. Bliley tried to take care of many of the poor families in Richmond. The way it was told to me, every week children were allowed to go down to 4th & Marshall and they were given eggs and bread according to the size of their families. The flu had hit the city of Richmond and people were dying like flies and the funeral homes couldn’t keep up with burying people. My mother and her sisters were sent to Bliley’s to get eggs and bread. They were standing in line and the halls were lined with bodies that they had not been able to get to during the epidemic. One of the bodies close to them released gas and scared them badly. They always told me that this body sat up just like it was alive. That’s one of the stories handed down in the family.”

I don’t know about bodies sitting up but food was scarce, money tight, just like today. Schools provide breakfast and lunch to students who wouldn’t be fed otherwise and we can’t ignore those kids. Charities and schools are scrambling to feed these vulnerable children and others during school closings. Cosings are difficult for families to maneuver but they’re essential. Dolores Miller never knew that her Elam relatives and the Stilsons were neighbors but, because of my Richmond In Sight work, she does now. Harry mentioned that Annie Elam was sick with the Spanish Influenza but she recovered. Just like most of the infected will today. Unlike Annie, Dolores’ grandmother did not recover. This virus business was serious in 1918 and it is in 2020.

                                                  Annie Elam, 1918 flu survivor, at Main Street Station mid 1920s

WWI’s returning service men carried the virus as did civilians. Modern transportation provided greater opportunities for  spread of the pandemic and the compromised immune systems of soldiers, exhausted and malnourished, increased the severity of the virus. One of Richmond’s African-American soldiers who died of the flu while in France was Otis P. Robinson of Catherine Street, Jackson Ward and member of Sharon Baptist Church. His sister Carrie Harris filled out an Army survey and included a card from him. “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 until we meet again.” Others returned from France to learn that family members had succumbed to the flu. Clyde Goode’s grandmother, Leeolia, died while her son, Ralph Goode was on the Princess Matoaca coming home from the war. Ralph’s son, Clyde, recalled: “He didn’t know it…he was on the ship coming back and found out when he got home.” In Richmond, Harry reported deaths of streetcar men from Spanish Influenza.  His journal entry on October 25, 1918 reported “Spanish Influenza the end of Willie McCloud last night.” He also wrote “Wed 8/7/18: W. C. Wright, my conductor, became sick and getting worse. I asked to have him relieved but it was 3.30 before Outland 212, came, and I had gotten Wright into Power House to wait for Ambulance which had been called to take him home.”  The next day Harry wrote: “Told that Conductor William Clarence Wright died last night after 7 PM at the house of his sister at 1505 Garland Ave, Barton Heights.” Mr. Wright’s death certificate stated “heat stroke” as cause of death but heat stroke symptoms are high fever, sweating, difficulty breathing, all symptoms of influenza. Based on timing and symptoms, I speculate that Harry’s conductor died of the flu. Streetcar men were exposed to people daily. Think about the passing of tokens or coins, the hand offered to help a passenger onboard. Meanwhile, quarantines restricted activities and Harry’s son, Leon, stationed at Camp Lee (now Fort Lee) mentioned that he was unable to make purchases prior to shipping out to France “because of the quarantine.” Camp Lee’s hospital treated flu patients as did other army facilities as the epidemic spread.

This post is not my usual Richmond In Sight style but hopefully it’s a reminder to be vigilant in protecting ourselves, our families, our friends, and all the people we encounter as we move through this world. We just need to adapt. My “day job” is real estate broker and I’m still doing real estate. I listed and sold a property this past week and handled a few issues for clients at their properties. I got keys copied, dropped off paperwork, did all the usual real estate stuff but I did it with the least physical contact possible. This virus won’t last not forever. I pray that warmer weather WILL cause the illness to dwindle, that reduced interactions and social distancing will help us get through this. Richmond survived the Spanish Influenza of 1918. We and the rest of the world will survive COVID-19 but let’s survive it despite panic and fears, with grace and consideration for others. We shouldn’t hoard, profit from disasters, disregard the safety of others because we think we’re healthy or “that’s something other people get.”  We’re good people. Let’s call our elderly, our handicapped, our more vulnerable friends and family and offer help in a responsible way. Show them love by protecting them. Leave supplies on their doorstep (wipe or use sanitizer on whatever you touch) or keep your distance and wipe what you touch. We all are our brother’s keepers. Let’s act like it. Be safe.

 

 

 

Memorial Day, then, now

Memorial Day is perhaps more significant to families who have lost someone in service to our country. I was astonished to find that many Americans were not aware of the term “Gold Star Family” or “Gold Star Mothers” because I have always known what those terms meant. My great-uncle Leon Stilson died of wounds received in the Argonne Forest during World War I and I have letters to document the heartbreak of such a loss, including letters returned after his death, stamped Deceased. My great-grandmother, Mary Stilson, went to France on a Gold Star Pilgrimage in 1932 to see her son’s grave and I included some of her photographs and memorabilia in my last book, From Richmond to France.  I’ve shared some of these pictures in Memorial Day blogs before but it’s worth repeated and this year I have a twist to the story as you will see later.

One of the saddest things about Leon’s death was how long it was before his family was informed of his death. In World War I, letters took months to be delivered and the letters returned to my great-grandmother after he died are heartbreaking. On October 2, 1918 Mary Stilson wrote “My dear boy Leon, I am so discouraged over writing you I didn’t try it last week.  I can’t understand why you don’t receive my letters.” She was referring to the fact that his field letters reported that he had not received mail “for a long time” even though she had written faithfully. That must have been so painful for a mother to read. Today our soldiers can text or email to let loved ones know they’re OK so it’s difficult to imagine not knowing anything about your son, your husband, your brother, for weeks or even months. Reading news about battles, losses of life, defeats or victories, and not knowing if the person you’re praying for and thinking of all the time was in that battle or not must have been emotionally exhausting.

This is the twist I mentioned. Last fall Jim Harton wrote that he was going on a Centennial WWI trip to France and would try to find Leon’s grave for me. He did more than find it. He sent a picture of himself standing by the grave just as my great-grandmother had done a century earlier. Fresh flowers, as had been on graves when Gold Star Mothers visited the American Cemetery in 1932, were provided by Jim’s tour guide, an unexpected and kind gesture. To me, that symbol of remembrance by not only a friend from high school but also a stranger is what Memorial Day is all about. It’s about those of us who have benefited from the ultimate sacrifices of young men and women in service to our country saying “I remember. I am grateful.” This Memorial Day, perhaps you will take a moment to stop and think about the losses that guarantee our freedom: so many lost years of living, of laughter, love, and hope that so many soldiers and sailors missed because he or she felt compelled to protect us.  Leon’s picture in uniform is on my wall, making it easier to remember him and what our family lost when he died but I know that on Memorial Day, I will also stop and think “I remember. I am grateful.”

   

 

Armstrong HS kids & Harry

In my last entry, I promised to tell you about the figure in the background of Janey Charity’s photograph.  I believe she was Irma Rainey, one of several Armstrong High School students captured in many of Harry Stilson’s photographs. Today teenagers record their lives with selfies but back then, cameras were uncommon possessions and many families never had pictures taken. However, there was Harry Stilson, streetcar motorman (driver) and amateur photographer. He always had a camera beside him on his route and was happy to oblige the teenagers he met in Jackson Ward and elsewhere. To illustrate how significant Harry was in these kids’ lives, Harry died in 1934 but I have met two people who recalled my great-grandfather from their childhood. How amazing is that?

One of those people I’ve told you about before. I was sharing pictures at the Weinstein  Center. Among the babble of twenty old men discussing images, I heard a voice say “I knew a streetcar man named Stilson. He let me drive the streetcar.” Can you imagine my shock? Morris Goldberg was a nine or ten year old kid who hung around with Harry Stilson on his streetcar route in Jackson Ward. He can recall my great-grandfather’s lunch box and what he ate, how many times he was robbed, and how Harry let him ‘drive’ the streetcar.

Another recollection of Harry Stilson was from the child of one of Harry’s kids on his route. Irma Rainey’s daughter, Irma Dillard, contacted the Richmond Times Dispatch saying that she was raised on stories of Mr. Stilson watching out for her mother and friends. Like an early “neighborhood watch,” he’d let the girls off the car at night, wait, then holler “Y’all home?” They’d answer affirmatively and he’d move on. I met Irma Dillard and shared pictures of her mother and other Armstrong High School friends that she had never seen before. The girl in glasses in the pictures above is Irma Rainey.

One set of photographs was taken on the trestle that connected Virginia Union to Jackson Ward. Goldbug Wilson is perched on a trestle railing (below). Irma Dillard identified Percy Jones as a Union student and her father’s friend from New York. He showed up in other pictures as well like the one below of Brown’s Drug Store where he posed with Goldbug.  Virginia Union buildings are behind Percy in the middle photo below.

 

Robinette Anderson and Goldbug Wilson were Irma Rainey’s girlfriends. I wouldn’t know their names had Irma Dillard not recognized her mother’s pals. Look closely at the lineup of girls below. Does the second girl from the left look like Janey Charity?

See why the work I do is addictive? One thing leads to another but there are people around who can instantly identify Harry’s subjects and provide their stories. Black History month shouldn’t be confined to one month. Do you know families who’ve been in Richmond for a long time? Ask if I can show them photographs and collect their oral histories. Those stories are priceless and every day we’re losing the people who can share them. The Armstrong kids in Harry Stilson’s photographs went on to become teachers like Irma Rainey Dillard or businessmen, and to have children who became attorneys like Irma Rainey Dillard’s daughter, Irma Dillard, community leaders, and other impressive folks who built a legacy for us all.  I want to share those stories. Can you help me?

Segregation in Harry’s day

Harry Stilson, Richmond streetcar driver and photographer in the early 1900s, lived in a segregated world. What people often do not realize is that “segregated” is a relative term. In Richmond’s Jackson Ward, Jewish immigrants lived beside African-American families and some churches had mixed congregations, although seating was usually separate. Harry Stilson, however, seemed to move between black and white worlds in an uncommon way. His journal records visits to Sam and Mary Sparrow’s home at 602 Elizabeth Street (across from Maggie Walker Governor’s School) and other interactions with Richmond’s African American community. He took photographs of the Sparrow house for them to share with relatives in Philadelphia and joked with Mrs. Sparrow and her friend Mrs. Taylor about bathing attire. He and his conductor, Mr. Epperson, went to Bessie Shiflett’s home to retrieve his “picture knife” when she “returned it not.” And he took portraits for black customers as well as hundreds of photographs of Richmond’s black community at work and play. These images offer a glimpse into lives not well-documented and provide insight into Harry Stilson’s attitude on race.

                                                 Sam & Mary Sparrow & Mary Taylor

Harry showed respect to African Americans in various ways. He labeled a child’s picture “Miss Rubin Lea Moore” and his journal often listed his black customers by title even as he identified them as “colored” which I assume was to help in sorting all his work. He mentioned photographing African-American doctors but with thousands of images,  there’s no way to match a photograph with Dr. Jones and Dr. Rigler.  One common theme in Stilson’s collection is that of black and white together. Photographs like this of two boys in a carriage, one white, one black, likely in Jackson Ward. Was he making a point? I don’t know.

Probably my favorite picture of all is that of his son, Don, with a friend in the backyard on Gilbert Street. I’ve tried to identify Don’s friend by notes on envelopes of negatives but census records leave gaps. Notes mention Dippy Bennett, Bozy, Denny Robinson but this kid could be anyone. I’d love to trace that little boy because I have several photos of him playing with my great-uncle and the family cat.

I’ve shared Harry Stilson’s speech given in 1907 before but it bears repeating. He was invited to speak to the Ladies Literary Club in Michigan and I have the handwritten speech he gave, entitled “Our Tinted Population.” I also have the rejection letter Harry received when he submitted the speech as an article in 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 it so hard to implement?

Christmas, Richmond 1929 or so

My great-grandfather, streetcar man and photographer Harry Stilson, didn’t take as many Christmas pictures as you would expect. Or, if he did, they didn’t survive. I’ve shared most of these before but maybe you didn’t see them  or don’t mind seeing them again. If that’s the case, about Christmas trees…

Christmas trees were usually cedar, it seems. I have no idea who the folks below are but the piano is a player piano and the tree is circled by a white fence.

Those fences must have been popular because there’s also one around the base of the family tree on Grayland Avenue, between Cary Street & the Downtown Expressway. The children are Harry’s grandkids, Howard and Norma Lynch and neighbor, Ralph Carr. Many of the ornaments adorning those long-ago Christmas trees hang on my tree every year.

   

 

 

In those days, gifts weren’t lavish. An orange, one toy (often recycled) and that was about it. My father and his friend Ralph Carr displayed all their vehicles in this Christmas Day photo but there is no way to tell which was the new prized possession that year. I think the building may be in the ‘village’ beneath the tree above.

Bike parade! I doubt any of these were new gifts but an audience of neighbors  inspired the kids to mount up and hit the sidewalk on December 26, 1927.

We are currently trying to separate damaged negatives that are stuck together. If the attempt is successful, there may be more holiday images to share in the future. Whatever we salvage will be added to the 5,000 or so Stilson photographs we have now and I’d consider that a wonderful Christmas present.

 

 

From Richmond to France, WWI

This blog is a companion to my Richmond In Sight work. We created that non-profit to preserve, restore, and share the nearly 5,000 surviving images that my great-grandfather, Harry Stilson, took of Richmond and elsewhere in the early 1900s. The sharing part is accomplished by presentations, books, and our online presence so my fourth book continues that effort. Previous ones focused on neighborhoods, with On the West Clay Line (Jackson Ward, Carver, Newtowne, & Navy Hill) and Up & Down Church Hill concentrating on Church Hill and Shockoe but the new book is different. One reader called and said “It grabbed me and pulled me into those boys’ lives. I felt like Leon Stilson was right beside me.” From Richmond to France contains story and images of young men who went to war but it’s not a military history. It’s told in the words of my great-uncle Leon, other soldiers and sailors, and their relatives. It’s more about adjusting to Camp Lee, now Fort Lee, coping with homesickness, straw mattresses, and learning to survive in battle than it is about battles.   

2017 is the 100^th anniversary of America’s entrance into World War I. Many of us know little about that time or that war but it was more than a turning point for our country. Before then, America’s military numbered about 135,000…total. We weren’t considered a force to contend with, military or otherwise.  The Great War changed that. We expanded to millions of soldiers and became a world leader. Our presence in France changed the world’s perception of the U.S. but there were other significant effects of America going to war overseas.

Wealthy Americans took world tours and traveled to Europe but the majority of ‘soldier boys’ that fought in France had never left the country before. Many had never left their city borders. The impact on their lives can’t be overestimated. They experienced the horrors of war but they were also exposed to other cultures, languages, and architecture that existed centuries before our nation was born. The song “How You Gonna Keep Them Down on the Farm (after they’ve seen Paree)” was popular for a reason. It echoed the sentiments of parents throughout rural America. Their sons came home looking at life through a different lens.

American soldiers’ interaction with Europe influenced our nation’s health as well. Returning soldiers and others carried the Spanish Influenza home with them. According to the National Archives, more people died of the flu than were killed in the war. One example of the scope and randomness of that pandemic comes from Clyde Goode whose father served in an engineering company . Ralph Goode survived the war, then returned home to discover that his mother died of the flu while he was en route from France. The epidemic was so prevalent that references to influenza even appeared in my great-grandfather’s journal. Harry described deaths of fellow streetcar men and the survival of a neighbor from the influenza during the war. Death was as near as next door or as distant as an ocean away.

Despite reluctance by veterans to describe battle conditions, details did emerge. Horrific battles with unbelievable carnage left survivors damaged in various ways. Men came home without limbs and with nightmares. One man told me his uncle came home with a wooden hand. Lives changed for those men and for the families who waited for their return.

This isn’t a depressing book of war woes, though. The stories are funny and a glimpse into the innocence of our world in 1917. Leon was introduced to gambling and dancing, to “smokers.” He wrote “This company had a smoker last Tuesday night. I don’t think the word applies very well. We had 5 or 6 wrestling matches and 4 or 5 boxing matches. After that was over and in between, bouts of plenty of music, a piano, banjo, violin, and singing. Then we went downstairs to the mess hall to eat all the ice cream and cake we wanted. Then the cigars and cigarettes were passed out and the men given permission to smoke in the mess hall which is against the rules at all other times. The lights were put out at eleven o’clock and everybody went to bed.”

He explains passes:  “I did not ask to go this week as we have no uniforms as yet and my clothes are dirty. “ He also writes about what happens when young men are away from home and get that pass: “A private took a corporal home with him to Richmond last Saturday and the corporal went out of a house where they had went to visit and took the private’s automobile which he did not know how to drive and proceeded to go crazy on Broad Street and ended up by smashing the car up against a tobacco factory. Now he is in jail with a $50.00 fine unpaid.”

From Richmond to France is also about Armistice, the aftermath of war, and the healing that came later. When a Gold Star Family made news last summer, many Americans were unfamiliar with the term but it was familiar to everyone in the Great War and afterwards. A unique piece of history included Gold Star Mother Pilgrimages. Congress authorized a program in which mothers and widows traveled to France to see their loved ones’ graves so Paris in 1932 is also part of my book.

If you read this blog, you’ll appreciate the books based on Harry Stilson’s images and oral histories of Richmonders. I tell people that they aren’t my books. I just assemble them. They’re the stories and the images of our city’s past and they direct our future by lessons within the pages. This story’s time has come.  Contact me directly or go to www.richmondinsight.com to purchase From Richmond to France. Support our efforts to share Harry’s images and be “grabbed” at the same time. I promise that it is a story you won’t soon forget.