Lewis and India rented a house at 112 Kansas Avenue, at the corner of Carolina Avenue, in the Fort Pickering section on the city’s southern edge. In those days, this was a suburban and mostly black part of town. The house was a roomy, long and narrow, two-story frame structure with a yard on two sides and a stable in the back, in the middle of what might be called today a mixed residential and industrial zone. It was a busy, noisy, smelly, and gritty place. A wood yard was directly across the street, and the Milburn Gin and Machine Company, which occupied an entire city block and included various manufacturing shops and storage areas, was diagonally across. The depot for the Kansas City, Memphis and Birmingham Railroad lay one block to the west. Tracks from one of its branches passed right in front of the Thomases’ house and forked several doors away; another set of three tracks ran directly behind the stable in their backyard. The screech of steel wheels and the howls of steam whistles as trains went back and forth on all sides, the billows of acrid black coal smoke, and the dust that settled everywhere must have been a shock at first for country youngsters like Frederick and Ophelia, who were used to the lush green vistas, placid bayous, and sweet-smelling breezes of Coahoma County.
But the city offered tantalizing opportunities that were not available back home. Lewis needed to find work and was able to get a job as a flagman with the KCM&B Railroad. Because the house that he and India rented was too big for just their family, they decided to use part of it as a boardinghouse for India to run. She not only was a good cook but may already have had experience with lodgers in a boardinghouse in Clarksdale.
Frederick got a job as a delivery boy for Joseph A. Weir, a white merchant who owned a well-known market on Beale Street that advertised “Fine Meats, Oysters, Fish, and Game.” This is the first urban job that Frederick had about which there is any information, and it is intriguing to note how it foreshadows his occupations in future years and in distant locations, which always involved some form of service and sophisticated cuisine.
Frederick also tried to continue his formal education in Memphis. He enrolled “for a short time” in Howe Institute, a school for black youth. Established in 1888 as the Baptist Bible and Normal Institute, it was renamed the following year in honor of Peter Howe, its white founder and chief benefactor. When Frederick was a student at Howe, the principal was most likely Joseph Eastbrook, a Congregational minister and lifelong educator originally from Michigan, and one of the teachers was Eastbrook’s wife, Ida Ann, who had been born in New York. Contacts with tolerant and enlightened white people like these from the North were probably Frederick’s first, and would have given him an entirely new sense of how whites could treat blacks. Howe Institute tried to meet a patchwork quilt of different educational needs. It provided everything from religious instruction to academic subjects to vocational training in such skills as sewing and nursing for girls and carpentry for boys. A local newspaper pointed out that a “specialty” of the Howe Institute was “furnishing trained houseboys for the people of Memphis—sending into this service as many as 100 a year.” Because Frederick would work for many years as a servant, although at a considerably more sophisticated level than a newspaper reporter in Memphis could have imagined, it is possible that he received some training in the relevant skills and deportment while at Howe. His careful, calligraphic handwriting later in life suggests the influence of formal schooling as well.
Frederick’s stay at Howe and in Memphis would prove short, unfortunately. Two new tragedies were waiting that would strike his family unexpectedly and would finally destroy everything his parents had achieved.
Among the boarders at Lewis and India’s house was a black married couple, Frank Shelton and his wife. According to Memphis newspapers from October 1890, which strove to outdo themselves in describing Shelton in the most lurid terms, he was a “trifling” and “worthless negro” with an “evil disposition,” “a reputation for brutality,” and “brutal instincts.” Even his wife was quoted as describing him as “very cruel, stubborn and desperate.” Shelton was about thirty years old; had a smooth, dark brown complexion, a big nose, and a thick chest; was five feet ten inches tall; and carried a scar on the back of his head, which his wife said he had gotten in a fight with his employer at a sawmill in Alabama. He was a brakeman on a railroad and had come to Memphis about five months earlier.
By contrast, all the newspapers described Lewis in very positive terms. He was a “very reputable colored citizen,” an “industrious,” “intelligent,” and “conscientious” man who was never known to participate in the fights and barroom brawls that often spilled out onto the streets of Fort Pickering. He and his wife were able to rent their house through their “industry and economy” and lived “comfortably” on their earnings. In 1890, Lewis was in his mid-fifties and India in her late forties. Expressing the norms of the time, the newspapers described her as “aged” and him as an “inoffensive old negro.”
On Friday, October 24, for some unknown reason Frank Shelton refused to pay his rent and had an argument with Lewis, who told the Sheltons that they would have to leave their room. They were gone only overnight, however, and after they made amends Lewis allowed them to return. The calm did not last. The following evening, Shelton got into an argument with his wife and assaulted her brutally. He knocked her down, dragged her out of the house, and stamped her face with his feet. According to one account, Shelton also beat her with a spade so badly that her face and head were “horribly disfigured and bruised.” Lewis saw the attack from a distance and hurried over, pleading with Shelton to stop. When he realized that this was not doing any good, he went to call a policeman. Shelton saw what Lewis was doing and, fearing arrest, stopped his assault. But before running away, he yelled a chilling threat to Lewis: “I will get even with you for this, if it takes me ten years! You are my meat!”
The next morning, Sunday, October 26, at about nine o’clock, Shelton’s wife went to the police herself and asked them to arrest her husband for the beating he had given her. An Officer Richardson was dispatched to deal with the matter. He approached the Thomases’ boardinghouse, planning to watch it from a distance in the hope of catching Shelton if he should return. Eventually, Richardson caught sight of him and rushed forward, shouting to him that he was under arrest. When Shelton started to run, Richardson drew his revolver and fired, but the shot went wide. Shelton turned a corner and disappeared.
The following night, Monday, October 27, Lewis went to bed as usual. Around 3 a.m., Shelton got into the Thomases’ house, crept up the stairs to Lewis and India’s room on the second floor, and entered it quietly. He was carrying a sharp-bladed ax and must have paused by the side of the double bed until he could make out his target in the dim light. Lewis was asleep, faceup, lying next to India. Shelton raised the ax, took aim, and brought it down hard on Lewis’s face. The sound of the heavy blow roused India. She propped herself up on her elbows and glimpsed her husband struggling to rise with his arm outstretched; then the steel flashed and another heavy blow descended upon Lewis. India screamed in terror. Shelton dropped the ax, dashed out of the room, and ran down the stairs.
India’s screams roused the household. Frederick, Ophelia, Shelton’s wife, and the other tenants rushed into the room. After several moments of panic, someone got a light, which illuminated a horrific scene. Lewis was writhing in agony on the bed, blood pouring in streams from a gaping wound that extended from his left temple to his mouth. The first blow had cut through his cheekbone and fractured his skull. The second blow had caught his arm above the elbow when he raised it in a futile attempt to protect himself and had cut through the muscle and bone, almost severing it. Lewis struggled to rise several times as blood poured onto the bed and pooled on the floor near the ax that Shelton had dropped. It took several more frantic moments before someone had gathered sufficient wits to telephone for a doctor and the police. The blow to Lewis’s face had nearly killed him. The doctor who arrived could do nothing to help because of the depth of the wound an
d the amount of blood that Lewis had lost. Somehow, Lewis lingered for six more hours, unconscious, until he finally died at 9 a.m.
Two justices arrived to carry out an autopsy and conduct an investigation. Testimony by all the witnesses pointed conclusively to Shelton. The Memphis police department quickly spread the news that he was the prime suspect. A day later, he was spotted sneaking onto a train heading for Holly Springs, a town in Mississippi some thirty miles southeast of Memphis. When he tried to escape the guards who were waiting for him, they killed him in a fusillade of shots. On the following day, in a display of professional zeal that was also strikingly insensitive to India’s trauma, the Memphis police sent her down on the afternoon train to identify her husband’s murderer. There was no doubt, and the case was closed.
Back in Coahoma County, the news of what had happened to Lewis could hardly have displeased William Dickerson. This black man had caused him a lot of trouble over the years and his death must have seemed like a just reward or even a wish fulfilled. There is no suggestion, however, that Dickerson was somehow behind Lewis’s murder. It was merely bad luck, and the price that Lewis paid for his decency when he decided to help a woman with an abusive husband.
Shortly thereafter, Dickerson got more news that must have cheered him. In October 1890 the Mississippi supreme court issued an explanation of its previous decision. It now stated that the chancery court should never have returned the disputed land to Lewis before recalculation of the debt between him and Dickerson was completed.
But any illusions Dickerson might have had about Lewis’s death putting an end to the lawsuit were quickly dispelled. On December 24, 1890, barely two months after the murder, India petitioned the chancery court to be recognized as the executor of her deceased husband’s estate. As part of the process, she had to take an oath at the courthouse in Friars Point. Her willingness to come back to a town where she would face serious hostility from some quarters proves she was a remarkably determined woman and could not be cowed easily. On January 10, 1891, she revived the lawsuit against Dickerson in her own name and in the name of her two children, Frederick and Ophelia.
The case would continue with long interruptions and various convolutions for nearly four more years. It outlived both of the original litigants: William Dickerson died on February 18, 1894, at the relatively young age of thirty-nine; his widow, Lula, stepped into the breach to continue the fight, just as India had done. In the end, the decision the Coahoma County Chancery Court handed down on November 28, 1894, stated that India owed Lula a much-reduced amount of money. India had to auction off land to raise it, and a year later she was still remortgaging the property to raise money quickly for other reasons, possibly for Frederick.
Through all this time, India continued the case in her and the children’s names, despite the fact that her family had effectively fallen apart and its living connection with the farm in Coahoma was severed. She stayed on in Memphis for a year after the murder, although in a different house from the one she had shared with Lewis, and in 1892 she moved to Louisville, Kentucky, presumably with Ophelia, where she got a job as a cook for a prosperous white jeweler. She worked for him for several years and appears to have died in Louisville sometime in the mid-1890s. The fate of Ophelia is unknown.
Frederick had turned eighteen on November 4, 1890, a week after his father was murdered, and left Memphis shortly thereafter; his subsequent recollection of the exact year was hazy. Decades later, when he had occasion to tell his life story to various Americans he encountered abroad, he did not always hide that his parents had been slaves, as some other black Americans did, but he never mentioned his father’s murder to anyone. Perhaps the memory was too traumatic for him. The only reason he ever gave for leaving Memphis is that living near the railway junctions in Fort Pickering had “stimulated a desire” in him “to travel.”
There is no reason to doubt that this part of what he chose to reveal was true. Indeed, it is easy to imagine a young man on the verge of adulthood being drawn by the lure of the railroad—by the sight of trains arriving from famous cities across the South while others depart for the even more alluring North, their plangent whistles receding in the distance, promising change. Eighteen was the right age to become your own man, to escape the white southerner’s heavy gaze, to see something of the world, and to find a home elsewhere.
2: Travel and Transformation
During the next decade Frederick traveled widely, and for a young black man of his era every step he took was a highly unusual rejection of his past. He left the South and lived only in cities. He mastered urban skills and moved in worlds that became progressively more white. And he would eventually leave the United States.
From Memphis, Frederick traveled a short distance west and crossed the Mississippi into Arkansas. Because Arkansas had been a slave state, and its eastern portion was much like the Delta bottomlands in appearance, history, and reliance on cotton and corn, Frederick did not find it appealing and spent only two months there. He then turned north and “drifted” to St. Louis, as he put it. This was a longer trip of some three hundred miles and represented a more resolute change.
In 1890, St. Louis was the fourth-largest city in the country, with a population approaching five hundred thousand, and had begun the quintessential American form of urban growth—upward, via steel-framed, multistory buildings. Its industrial and commercial bustle, its surprisingly white crowds in which not even one person in ten was black, and its air filled with snatches of spoken German, Czech, and Italian must have appealed to Frederick. After spending just a few months there he headed even farther north to a city that epitomized the young, powerful, polyglot, brash United States.
By 1890, Chicago had captured the world’s imagination as the embodiment of the “American miracle.” In just two generations, a frontier settlement established in 1833 had grown into the second-largest city in the country, with a population of 1.1 million; it was overshadowed only by New York’s 1.5 million, and was the fifth-largest city in the world. Rather than being stunted by a devastating fire in 1871, Chicago’s growth accelerated in the last decades of the nineteenth century as the city rebuilt itself into a modern metropolis and became a center of industry, commerce, and transportation. Chicago, with the world’s first skyscrapers, became an icon not only of American technological prowess and economic might, but of modern industrialized civilization in general.
Emigrants from the Old World eager to reinvent themselves flooded into Chicago. They included Germans, Irish, Scandinavians, Poles, Lithuanians, Czechs, Italians, and Jews from several Eastern European countries. In 1890, an astounding 78 percent of the population had been born abroad or had foreign parents. An observer remarked that there were regions in the city where you could pass an entire day without hearing a word of English. It is bitterly ironic that American blacks, who were still concentrated largely in the South and who lived under conditions that were no better, and often worse, than those suffered by landless peasants in Ireland or impoverished laborers in Germany, did not have the same opportunities for change that many white foreigners were given. In fact, there were very few blacks in Chicago at this time; of the total population, they made up only 1.3 percent—about 15,000 people—with men somewhat outnumbering women. Even if many of the foreign emigrants in Chicago barely scraped out a livelihood and lived in filthy slums, they were at least given a chance to come to a place where they might be able to improve their lot. By contrast, Frederick’s arrival was part of a feeble trickle of native-born southern blacks who had started coming to Chicago in the years after the Civil War. The “Great Migration,” when hundreds of thousands would start streaming north in search of economic opportunity and to escape the intolerable conditions at home, would not occur until decades later, during and after World War I.
At first, Frederick got a job similar to the one he had in Memphis—except that this time he worked as a “boy” for a flower and fruit seller rather than for a butcher. Michael F. Gallagher wa
s the owner of what was probably the most successful floral business in Chicago during the late 1880s and early 1890s, with a main store in the fashionable city center. On the eve of the Columbian Exposition of 1893, Gallagher opened a second store in an even more visible location on the city’s main lakefront thoroughfare and announced his newly achieved prominence by advertising his business as “Florists to the World’s Fair.”
Everything about Frederick’s first job in Chicago prefigures his future life and career. By working for Gallagher, he had entered what can be called an elegant service industry, one that existed for the benefit of people with money and social standing. No matter how lowly or demanding Frederick’s own labors might have been, he was nevertheless involved in providing adornments to those who could afford to pay for such luxuries. The kinds of customers he most likely saw and interacted with at Gallagher’s would also have presented him with models of gentility, and forms of posturing, that he would need to learn to understand and to satisfy.
Although Frederick had moved five hundred miles north of Memphis and a world away from the South, at the end of the nineteenth century blacks in Chicago were still hardly free to do or to become anything they wanted. After working for Gallagher for “8 or 9 months,” as he recalled, Frederick launched into a profession that would be his mainstay for the next twenty years as well as his springboard to wealth: he became a waiter. By setting out on this career path, Frederick also assumed one of the few roles that was available to him because of the racist labor patterns in the city.
One-third of the entire black population were employed in domestic and personal service, a category that included workers in Chicago’s myriad restaurants and hotels, in private homes, and on trains as Pullman porters. When Frederick entered the profession around 1892 there were some 1,500 black men working as waiters everywhere in the city, from chains of inexpensive restaurants to elegant hotels.
The Black Russian Page 5