Voices of Black South Carolina: Legend & Legacy

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INTRODUCTION

This book is not intended as a formal history of blacks in South Carolina; rather, it is a collection of stories written by the author about this subject.

Over the last decade as a historian I conducted a number of research projects. Often, I found fascinating stories about black South Carolinians as I searched through research materials, and I would save these stories for future use. This book is that future use. Additionally, I was a columnist for an African American weekly newspaper known as the Charleston Coastal Times from 1994 until the paper was discontinued in 1998. On weeks where there was little of note to write about, I would compose columns about interesting local people and incidents of the past or present. Three of those articles begin this book.

As was the case with True Stories of Black South Carolina, this book concentrates on the lesser-known episodes of this genre that, in some cases, are known to South Carolina historians but are not widely recognized among the general public. It is hoped that this book will help to make these stories available and accessible to the general reader.

PASSING IT ON

I recently had an unexpected surprise. I was on my way to a local butcher to get some meat when I ran into Barney Blakeney, the local columnist known for his articles in the Charleston Chronicle and the Columbia Black Times.

We had a pretty good conversation. I told him how much I have enjoyed reading his Black to Black and As I See It columns since I was a teenager, and he replied that he also thought highly of my work and was proud to have been an influence on me. After we exchanged numbers and agreed to meet again, he said, Dame, I’m going to tell you like my coach, Joseph ‘Pop’ Moore, told me when I was at C.A. Brown High School—‘Pass it on, brother. That’s what it’s all about.’

These words came again to my mind a week later.

I am one of the instructors in the Avery Scholars Program, which is an after-school program at the Avery Research Center of African American History here in Charleston that teaches fifth graders about their history, culture and good citizenship. Last week, we took the children on a field trip to meet the legendary blacksmith Mr. Philip Simmons.

Mr. Simmons, who is best known for his classic artwork that graces many gates in Charleston, was born in 1912 on nearby Daniel Island, where he was raised mostly by his grandparents. His biographer John Vlach, in his book Charleston Blacksmith—The Work of Philip Simmons, noted that because the schools for black children in that area opened irregularly for a few months a year, Simmons was sent about 1920 to live with his parents in Charleston, where he could receive a more stable education. However, he attended the city’s Buist Elementary School only for a few years until his father died in the early 1920s.

The gate at Buist Academy by Philip Simmons. Simmons attended elementary school here in 1921. Courtesy of the author.

Fortunately, in 1925, at the age of thirteen, he passed the blacksmith shop of Peter Simmons (no relation) and was enthralled by the sight of the older man beating the red hot iron and the sparks flying. He began by helping the elder Mr. Simmons, who was born into slavery in 1855, clean up his shop, and this led to an apprenticeship. Peter Simmons had learned the blacksmithing trade from his father, a slave named Guy Simmons, who may have, in turn, learned it from African ancestors, as this trade was practiced in some countries along Africa’s West Coast. Peter Simmons told his young mentee that his father would sometimes hit him with a hammer for making mistakes with this work, although Peter never did this to Philip.

As an adult, Philip went on to own his own shop and became so well known for his skill in making fancy designs for gates that he received honors from President Ronald Reagan, the South Carolina Hall of Fame and the Smithsonian Institution in Washington, D.C. But the most amazing thing about Mr. Simmons is the fact that, as of this writing, he continues to practice his craft at his advanced age, as well as his humility in the face of his fame.

As with many of his age, Mr. Simmons is a treasure chest of wisdom. While showing the children his awards and the picture of himself with President Reagan, he pointed to an engraving that displayed a motto that he loves to quote. It was a cartoon of a man praying below the inscription, It’s good to pray, but when you finish—you’ve got to get up off your knees and hustle!

I thought back to my first encounter with Mr. Simmons. Not long ago, I was assigned by the Charleston Coastal Times to cover a party with some celebrities in a mansion along South of Broad (a wealthy neighborhood in Charleston). I was bored and annoyed with the stiffness and pretentiousness of this affair until I noticed something interesting. There sat Mr. Philip Simmons in a tuxedo as the wealthy movers and shakers of Charleston surrounded him to imbibe from his wisdom.

Tell me, Mr. Simmons, one of the prosperous partygoers implored, what is the secret of your success?

The grand old man humbly sat back in his chair, stroked his whiskers and smiled. Well you know, he said, I always believed in taking care of the customer. Keep them satisfied, and they’ll keep coming back for your business.

I watched with pride as I considered that through much of this man’s lifetime he would have never been allowed into a mansion along South of Broad unless he was there to serve the guests. Yet at that moment, because of the fame Mr. Simmons had earned from his skills, he commanded the respect of all who came into his presence. As the African American spiritual goes, The work he has done has spoken for him.

Getting back to the visit with the children, Mr. Simmons led the young visitors into the blacksmith shop, where they were fascinated by the sight of his assistants taking the glowing metal pieces out of the fire and beating them into little iron designs that were made into the children’s initials and offered to them as gifts. Words cannot describe the delight on their young faces as they received these one by one.

As the visit ended, the children asked Mr. Simmons to give each of them his autograph, and they posed for pictures with him. After he had encouraged them to take advantage of the educational opportunities that he did not have and to do right by others, one child asked him how long it had taken for him to learn to be a blacksmith. The old man smiled, looked at the child and said simply, I’m still learning. That’s what life is all about.

Philip Simmons, Charleston’s legendary blacksmith, at work. Courtesy of the Avery Research Center.

As I watched the children take such a delight in Mr. Philip Simmons and all he had to say, I smiled and thought of what Barney Blakeney had told me a week earlier: Pass it on, brother. That’s what it’s all about.

And so it is.

This article originally appeared, minus some revisions, in the Charleston Coastal Times, February 19, 1997.

ERNEST EVERETT JUST AND THE SPIRIT OF YOUTH

The Avery Research Center for African American History and Culture here in Charleston held an interesting and very well-attended ceremony on February 2, 1996, in honor of Charleston native Dr. Ernest Everett Just, a pioneer in cell research who is now featured on a stamp by the United States Postal Service.

At the beginning of this program, Judge Alex Sanders, president of the College of Charleston, said something that caught my attention. He spoke of how people who do not know of their true greatness and their history are poor in spirit. While this is true for any person or group of human beings, this is an issue with particular importance to African Americans.

Dr. Martin Luther King noted in a speech given in Detroit, Michigan, on June 23, 1963, that the

most damaging effect of segregation has been what it has done to the soul of the segregated as well as the segregator. It has given the segregator a false sense of superiority and it has left the segregated with a false sense of inferiority. And so because of the legacy of slavery and segregation, many Negroes lost faith in themselves and many felt that they were inferior.

His rival Malcolm X agreed with him on this point, noting in his Autobiography that little children before they were old enough to talk saw that their parents considered themselves inferior. While segregation and slavery are no longer with us, most black Americans would agree that the resulting inferiority complex remains and is unfortunately passed down through the generations, leading to many of the problems that we face today.

While this is a reality in the black community, stories like those of Dr. Just are also a reality, and I am pleased to report that this event was so well attended that there was no room for many (including myself) to sit down. Among the speakers of this program was Curtis Franks, curator of the Avery Center, who gave a moving history of Dr. Just that I will share with you.

Dr. Ernest Everett Just was born on Charleston’s East Side in 1883. His father died when he was four, but he was fortunate enough to have a mother, Mary Just, who was a schoolteacher and who encouraged her son’s dreams and ambition and filled him with a love of learning. She was eventually the founder of an independent black town called Maryville, which was later incorporated into the city of Charleston.

Young Ernest went on to become one of the first students at what later became known as South Carolina State University in Orangeburg. Because of his hardworking ways, he eventually went on to Dartmouth College, one of the nation’s top schools, graduated with high honors and later received his doctorate from the University of Chicago. He taught biology at Howard University in Washington, D.C., where he earned the reputation of being a scientist’s scientist. His youthful personality also made him a popular professor among the students.

Among his accomplishments in science were studies in cell structure that led to treatments for edema (commonly known as the dropsy) and nephritis (inflammation of the kidneys). In 1915, he was the first winner of the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People’s Springharn Medal in Science (the presentation ceremony for which his modesty nearly stopped him from attending), and in 1911 he was among the founders of the Omega Psi Phi fraternity, popularly known as the Q-Dogs.

Unfortunately, Dr. Just did not receive the attention he deserved due to the racism of his times, and he went to Germany in the late 1920s to teach at the Wilhelm Institute in Berlin. After the Nazis took over the country, Just fled first to Italy and then to France, where he was briefly incarcerated in a Nazi prison camp before the U.S. State Department ordered his release. However, he was stricken with cancer and died in 1941, shortly after returning to America. Dr. Frank Lily of the University of Chicago wrote about Dr. Just’s accomplishments before his death and said that it was a gross injustice that Dr. Just was not deservedly honored in his native land.

Program for the event honoring Dr. Ernest E. Just described in this article. Courtesy of the Avery Research Center.

Franks concluded his history of Just by saying that he hoped that the dedication of the U.S. Postal Service stamp would be a step in rectifying this injustice. Everyone smiled with pride as the Just family approached the podium for the unveiling of the new stamp.