“Men may concede that public sentiment, and not law, is the cause of the discrimination of which we justly complain and the resultant disabilities under which we labor. If this be so, then such public sentiment needs penal correction, and should be regulated by law. Let it be decidedly understood, by appropriate enactment, that the individual rights, privileges, and immunities of the citizens, irrespective of color, to all facilities afforded by corporations, licensed establishments, common carriers, and institutions supported by the public, are sacred, under the law, and that violations of the same will entail punishment safe and certain. We will then hear no more of a public sentiment that feeds upon the remnants of the rotten dogmas of the past, and seeks a vitality in the exercise of a tyranny both cheap and unmanly.” — Florida Congressman Josiah T. Walls addressing the Civil Rights Act of 1875
“Colored Town stood as an invention of Henry Flagler. Initially white and colored workers lived together on the grounds of Flagler’s Royal Palm Hotel during its construction. But once workers completed the project, Flagler bought a separate tract of land on which his colored workers could build their own homes. Black workers bought bought 50-by-150 foot lots of uncleared land from Flagler at a cost of fifty dollars each. Flagler also donated a plot of land to every religious denomination represented among Miami’s colored people. Cobbled together, these lots would make up Colored Town, with Flagler’s railroad tracks on the eastern edge of the black district, serving as the first and longest lasting boundary between colored and white Miami.”
“… demonizing [Josiah] Walls as both a Northerner and a product of miscegenation served a doable purpose. It robbed Florida’s black people of a hero. It sustained whites in their illusion that half-breeds and Yankees caused all that trouble.”
Source:Finding Florida: The True History of the Sunshine State by T.D. Allman Grove Press, 2013 p. 262
To the north stands the Summer Beach resort, a 450-acre complex that includes homes and a Ritz Carlton Hotel, with seven condominium buildings under construction. To the south is the Amelia Island Plantation, a 1,330 acre resort and residential community that is opening a hotel and building two condominium buildings with plans for more single-family homes. Sandwiched between the cranes that hover over the multi-million projects, where home prices range from $200,000 to more than $4 million, is American Beach, a vestige of the segregationist past, a place whose unique character many of its residents want to save.
‘We’re the only remaining African American coastal community in the state,” said Annette M. Myers, president of the American Beach Property Owners Association. “The property owners feel history should be preserved.
Sources: Fernandina Beach Journal: A Black Beach Town Fights to Preserve Its History and The New York Times April 6, 1998
“I was impressed with the fact that everywhere there was a rise in the level of the Negro’s morale. The exodus of Negroes to the North was in full motion; the tremors of the war in Europe were shaking America with increasing intensity; circumstances were combining to put a higher premium on Negro muscle, Negro hands, and Negro brains than ever before; all these forces had a quickening effect that was running through the entire mass of the race.”
Happy Thanksgiving. In honor of the holiday and Florida’s rich black history, here’s an iconic Florida recipe befitting the state and season — barbecue pig feet.
Samuel “Shorty” Thompson was a cook in the U.S. Navy. He served Queen Elizabeth II and Princess Grace of Monaco. In the 1970s, he was a popular fixture at many of the picnics and tailgate party along Florida’s American Beach. For those who want to garnish their dinner tables with something special, the recipe:
12 pig feet split in half lengthwise and well washed
2 cups of vinegar
2 tbsp. of salt
1 tbsp. of pepper
1 quart of catsup
1 pint of mustard
1 tbsp. of salt
1/4 cup of red pepper flakes
2 tbsp. of chili powder
1 tbsp. of garlic powder
1/4 cup of sugar
1/4 cup of vinegar
Place pig feet in a boiling pot with enough water to cover the meat. Add the vinegar, salt and pepper and bring to a full boil. Cook at moderate temperature for 2 hours. While the meat cooks, mix ingredients for the sauce.
After the pig feet have boiled remove them from the pot. Coat each foot completely in the barbecue sauce and place each coated foot in a large roasting pan. Bake at 300 degrees for an hour, and baste frequently while baking.
Morris Marcellus Moore (left) lived a life of courage, determination and love for black Floridians. He died on November 23, 1900 at his Jacksonville home. Fortunately, the African Methodist Episcopal bishop knew how to live, inspiring and touching the lives of many he touched through his ministry.
Moore, a native Floridian from Quincy, became a preacher and rose through the ranks of the AME church to become a prominent minister. During the Reconstruction period, however, it was his involvement with his congregation that got him in trouble with Daniel A. Payne, an AME bishop who had successfully organized the church’s missionary work in the South.
Payne stressed education and high morals, but was dubious about the AME church getting too involved in the racial politics that was so prevalent in Florida and other southern states. Moore, along with several other ministers in the AME Florida conference, felt otherwise. For that, Moore was fired in 1886.
Fortunately, for Florida and the AME church, Moore didn’t settle for the setback. In 1900, he was elected bishop of Liberia and Sierra Leone. Ironically, Moore was the second black Floridian to serve as a bishop representing Sierra Leone. His predecessor was Bishop Abram Grant, who founded the AME’s Liberian Conference after serving as a county commissioner in DuVal County.
Sources: “Florida’s African Connections in the Nineteenth Century” by Canter Brown Jr. and Larry Eugene Rivers from Africa in Florida: Five Hundred Years of African Presence in the Sunshine State; edited by Amanda B. Carlson and Robin Poynor University Press of Florida 2014 p. 169; and Laborers in the Vineyard of the Lord: The Beginnings of the AME Church in Florida, 1865-1895 by Larry Eugene Rivers and Canter Brown Jr. University Press of Florida 2001 p. 146-147
Photo Credit: State Archives of Florida, Florida Memory
“No colored man can read an account of the recent lynching at Gainesville, Fla., without being ashamed of his people … Without resistance they let a white mob whom they outnumbered two to one, torture, harry and murder their women, shoot down innocent men entirely unconnected with the alleged crime, and finally cap the climax, they caught and surrendered the wretched man whose attempted arrest caused the difficulty. No people who behave with the absolute cowardice shown by these colored people can hope to have the sympathy or help of civilized folk… In the last analysis, lynching of Negroes is going to stop in the South when the cowardly mob is faced by effective guns in the hands of people to sell their souls dearly.”
— 1916 editorial in The Crisis excoriating blacks for submitting to a lynch mob
On November 18, 1905, Harry T. Moore was born in Houston, a tiny rural farming community in the Florida Panhandle. Life was hard. His father died at an early age and young Harry was sent to live with aunts for a chance at a better life.
Education would be Moore’s path to success, that and a pamphlet from the NAACP. Moore was already a respected teacher and principal in Brevard County when a cousin gave Moore some brochures from the civil rights organization. Organizing an NAACP chapter in the deep South was risky, to say the least.
Moore didn’t flinch.
“In the eight years that he had been in Brevard County, Harry T. Moore had been biding his time, building a family and teaching career, and waiting for the right moment to get involved. Waiting for this. He would begin with the issue he knew best — education — but would soon be battling on political fronts he had never foreseen.”