One Drop

by Bliss Broyard

  The Y chromosome is passed from father to son; therefore my brother’s would lead me back to the region of origin for our very distant paternal great-grandfather. But I already knew from my genealogical research that the trail would almost certainly end in Europe. As with the vast majority of black Americans with European ancestry, the mixed-race pairings in our family tree occurred between white men and black women. I decided instead to test my father’s mitochondrial DNA (which is inherited by both men and women from their mothers) to trace the geographic origins of my grandmother’s maternal family tree.

  Because men don’t pass along their mitochondrial DNA to their children, I had to obtain a sample from my father’s sister Shirley. She volunteered a swab of her cheek cells to send to African Ancestry, a company launched by a Howard University geneticist named Dr. Rick Kittles, which promised to connect her maternal lineage to a specific tribe in Africa. While at it, I collected another sample from her to send to DNAPrint Genomics, a company based in Florida that performed the ancestral admixture test.

  Ignoring the Y-chromosome and mitochondrial DNA, DNAPrint analyzed the rest of the genome for variations called single nucleotide polymorphisms (SNPs) that could be sorted into the four basic population groups. Ideally these Ancestry Information Markers were present in all members of one group and absent in all members of the other groups. Again the markers don’t typically appear on portions of our DNA that control specific traits, so the company wasn’t considering genes for hair texture, skin color, or any of the other physical characteristics associated with race. At the same time, however, the degree of admixture does seem to affect physical appearance. According to DNAPrint, a person begins to exhibit recognizable traits of a population group at 30 percent ancestry.

  Given that my father could pass for white, I expected him to fall somewhere below 30 percent African ancestry. By comparing Shirley’s results to those for my mother, my brother, and me, the scientist at DNAPrint, Matt Thomas, was going to try to infer my father’s ratio. It was strange to think that in a matter of weeks, I could have an answer to the question that I’d been grappling with for more than a dozen years.

  News stories about DNA ancestry testing often include someone who didn’t receive the results they were expecting. Richard Gabriel, the CEO of DNAPrint, told me that the mostly frequently disappointed group was people who expected to find Native American roots; about half the time, the results come back negative. The company had even coined the term American Indian Princess Syndrome to describe these customers’ determination to prove this branch of their family tree. Their motivation might extend beyond an attachment to their family lore: with Indian gaming revenues reaching almost $20 billion annually, tribal membership can mean access to lucrative payouts. In 2006 the New York Times reported a story about an increasing number of individuals who hoped to leverage trace amounts of minority ancestry, discovered through DNA testing, to bolster their chances of obtaining college financial aid or new employment as a minority applicant. DNAPrint has found that about 5 percent of customers who self-identify as white show up with some African ancestry. More frequently people who think of themselves as black turn up with European and Native American roots.

  In 2003 ABC’s Nightline program featured a story about a Los Angeles high school principal who had recently obtained his “ancestral admixture” from DNAPrint. Like some of my Broyard cousins, the man’s family were Creoles from Louisiana who had moved to California in the 1950s to escape Jim Crow segregation. He was very light-skinned, but he always thought of himself as black and raised his children to be proud of their black heritage. According to DNAPrint, however, he was 57 percent Indo-European, 39 percent Native American, 4 percent East Asian, and not black at all. The news program’s requisite qualifications about margins of error and the estimated nature of the percentages notwithstanding, the principal told Nightline that the results had “rocked my world.” He even questioned his seventy-six-year-old mother about whether he was adopted. He said that he would mark off “Native American” on future census forms “because no one will doubt that I’m a native of this country or that my story is uniquely an American one.”

  I worried that I wouldn’t show up with any African ancestry either. And in the first result I received from DNAPrint, I didn’t. But then again neither did my aunt Shirley. I was 90 percent Indo-European and 10 percent Native American, and she was 94 percent Indo-European and 6 percent Native American. “But how can I not have any African?” asked Shirley. It didn’t make sense, especially since we’d also received the results of her mitochondrial DNA analysis. According to African Ancestry, her and my father’s maternal lineage traced back to the Hausa tribe, who could be found in present-day Nigeria.

  The folks at DNAPrint suspected that my father and his sister’s African ancestry may indeed have been little more than “one drop.” It was certainly below the range for recognizable traits, perhaps even too negligible to be picked up. It was also possible that DNAPrint’s current test wasn’t always able to distinguish between Native American and sub-Saharan African ancestries. The accuracy of their Ancestry Information Markers depended on the purity of the people in their sample pools. Finding unmixed Native Americans presented a particular challenge, given a colonial history of the New World that not only wiped out many of the original inhabitants but also resulted in the frequent intermixing of natives with people of European and African descent. The absence of civil or sacramental records in most cases made it difficult to confirm the genealogy of Native Americans who believed themselves to be unmixed. DNAPrint decided to run our DNA samples again with a new version of the test that more than doubled the number of Ancestry Information Markers, which should significantly increase the accuracy of the results.

  This time I showed up with 13 percent sub-Saharan African ancestry, which made more sense—until I compared my results to those for my brother and my aunt Shirley. Todd—who with his blond hair, blue eyes, and pale skin looked even less black than I did—had 18 percent African ancestry, while my aunt Shirley—who, although light-skinned, looked phenotypically black—turned up with only 9 percent African ancestry (and another 9 percent Native American). The results were too ambiguous to help in calculating my father’s own admixture. It seemed that the inheritance of Ancestry Information Markers depended on the luck of the draw, which made these genealogical DNA tests feel more like a parlor game than the kind of hard science that I was hoping, against my better judgment, would unlock my family secrets once and for all.

  Even so, both my aunt and my brother planned on mentioning the particulars of their admixture during their next visit to the doctor, in case the genetic hand they’d been dealt also contained a propensity for one of the diseases prevalent among members of their “invisible” ancestries. Shirley’s cardiologist, for example, might want to take into account her majority European descent before prescribing BiDil, a heart medication that was approved by the FDA exclusively for black patients. And Todd’s internist might want to consider screening Todd for prostate cancer at the recommended age of forty-five for black men versus fifty for white men.

  The results of these genealogical DNA tests are destined to become more accurate and meaningful as the science evolves and the databases of sample pools grow larger and more diverse. The National Geographic Society is currently in the middle of a five-year, $40 million effort to collect 100,000 DNA samples from indigenous populations in order to create an atlas of humankind’s migrations across the globe. The completed genographic database, which will represent “the world’s largest collection of DNA samples,” will allow scientific communities (and genealogical DNA companies) to greatly refine the genetic markers used to pinpoint a person’s ancestral origins.

  Perhaps then I’ll be able to solve a new family mystery that arose during my DNA genealogical adventure. I had tested my mother in the process of trying to infer my father’s ancestral admixture. She grew up thinking that she was Norwegian on both her maternal and paternal si
des—a lineage that was no doubt particularly attractive to my father. But according to DNAPrint, she’s 13 percent Native American, which could mean that one of her great-grandparents was a full-bloodied Indian. “How about that!” she exclaimed when I shared her results. “And you thought you got all your diversity from your father!”

  My mother’s father’s family migrated from Norway to Minnesota in 1849, when the state was still a territory mostly populated by the Sioux and Ojibwe tribes. Although I haven’t yet unearthed any genealogical records or buried family stories to support DNAPrint’s findings, they do seem within the realm of possibility. But my mother doesn’t attribute much significance to her newfound Native American heritage; she doesn’t plan to acknowledge it on future census questionnaires nor has it affected how she thinks of herself. That her family’s Indian ancestry—because of the particulars of the mixing or the attitudes of the surrounding culture—doesn’t seem to have affected their lives whatsoever allows her to regard it as an intriguing but mostly benign revelation.

  But obviously this wasn’t the case in my father’s family. History, law, and public opinion made the fact of his black blood matter, whether it was 50 percent, 13 percent, or only one drop.

  Acknowledgments

  Having the chance to express my gratitude has been a frequent and sustaining daydream during the seven years that I spent researching and writing One Drop. While the list of those who have helped me—from small kindnesses to crucial conversations—has grown too long to recall, let alone recount, there are a number of people and institutions without whom I could not have seen my way to the finish.

  From the start, there has been the miraculous Jennifer Rudolph Walsh of the William Morris Agency, who conjured for me the time and freedom I needed to write the book that I wanted to write. I am also grateful to the Louisiana Endowment for the Humanities, the Ludwig Vogelstein Foundation, and the New York Foundation for the Arts for their financial support, to the MacDowell and Yaddo artist colonies for providing the opportunity for prolonged concentration, and to Donna Brodie and the members of the Writers Room in New York City for their fellowship.

  I could not have completed my family history without the help of my newfound cousins. I am grateful to Sheila Prevost for reaching out that Christmas Eve so many years ago, for sharing the amazing research she had already completed, and for introducing me to her grandmother Rose and the rest of her family. Barbara Trevigne, Bernie Cousins, and Gloria Golden also all shared their information about the Broyard and Cousin genealogies. Thank you.

  My fellow researchers have provided welcome companionship and crucial assistance during what can be a long and lonely process. I am particularly indebted to Catherine Donnow, founder of the online discussion group New Orleans Gens de Couleur Researchers and my fellow members of the Creole Heritage, Education, and Research Society (CHERS). I am also grateful to Ingrid Stanley and Pat Schexnayder, founders of the Louisiana Creole Research Association, Inc. (LA Creole), whose tireless efforts to preserve the Creole culture in the aftermath of Katrina’s devastation are an inspiration. I’m honored to donate a portion of the proceeds of this book to their cause.

  In New Orleans, Richard and Kristina Ford introduced me to many people who were helpful to my project; chief among them was Curtis Wilke, who kindly offered me a place to stay time and again over the years. I am also grateful to Keith Weldon Medley for steering me through the labyrinth of New Orleans archives and to Beverly and Brandi Kilbourne for making me feel at home in my ancestral city.

  At the New Orleans Public Library, Gregory Osborne, Wayne Everard, and Irene Wainwright expertly directed me through the Louisiana Division’s archival material. Sally K. Reeves, Ann Wakefield, and Eleanor Burke made available the New Orleans Notarial Archives collection of historical acts. Dr. Charles Nolan allowed me access to the Archdiocese of New Orleans sacramental records. In St. Tammany Parish, Tom Aicklen, coordinator of the Lacombe Heritage Center, and Peter M. Cousin Jr. helped to fill in the blanks about the Cousin family. I am grateful to the following scholars of Louisiana history and the free people of color of New Orleans for their guidance: Rebecca Scott, Caryn Cosse Bell, and Diana Williams, and especially Mary White and Mary Gehman, for their careful readings of my manuscript. Thanks also to Dawn Logsdon for her helpful feedback and to Lawrence Powell for his editorial suggestions and the inspiring example of his masterly blend of narrative and scholarship.

  During its long gestation, One Drop benefited greatly from the intelligence and generosity of many readers: Edward Ball, Catherine Dana, Ruth Davis, Roya Hakakian, A. M. Homes, Dana Johnson, Candy Shweder, Nina Siegal, Martha Southgate, Denyse Thomasos, Lynne Tillman, and Evelyn Toynton. I am particularly grateful to James Hanahan, Charles Graeber, and Michael Vincent Miller for their thoughtful comments on the completed manuscript and to Laurie Abraham for her invaluable contribution in making the book the best that it could be. My thanks also to Vincent Livelli, whose vivid memories enrich these pages, to the ladies at The Moth—Lea Thau, Catherine Burns, Jenifer Hixson, and especially Joey Xanders—who asked to hear the story in the first place, and to Tessa Blake, Amy Brill, Nell Casey, Elizabeth Condon, Sarah Haberman, Virginia Heffernan, Coleman Hough, Giulia Melucci, and Danzy Senna, whose friendship and enthusiasm have buoyed me over the years.

  To illustrate One Drop, family members Mark Broyard, Beverly Broyard, Joyce Howard, Dionne Butler, Tony Broyard, and Jeanne Dominick shared with me their precious family photos, and Charlie Griffin of Griffin Editions carefully reproduced them. Computer genius Mark Winkler retrieved lost files, supplied new equipment, and literally kept me in business, all for the price of a few home-cooked meals.

  At Little, Brown, I am grateful to Michael Pietsch for wanting the project, to Reagan Arthur for guiding it so patiently to completion, to Oliver Haslegrave for attending cheerfully to the endless details required to turn my tower of pages into a bound thing, and to Mario Pulice and Allison Warner of the art department for their help in making that bound thing beautiful. The exacting Peggy Leith Anderson made sure my words made good grammatical sense and Marlena Bittner helped to usher them out into the world. Thank you also to the fabulous Melodie McDaniel, for shooting an author’s photograph in which I can truly recognize myself, and to the artist Lorna Simpson, who graciously took the time, during an eventful period in her professional life, to offer suggestions on the jacket design.

  There are a handful of cherished friends who I suspect are as happy as I am that this book is finally done. My heartfelt thanks to Andrew Arkin for his fatherly presence, to Nina Collins for her wisdom and advice, to Laurie Girion for her big-sisterly ways, to Chinita Hard for her constancy and care, to Susan Epstein for showing me how to proceed again and again, to Lucinda Rosenfeld for her encouragement and commiseration, and to Joshua Wolf Shenk for inspiring me by his own example. I am also grateful to Mickey and Raye Israel for their support and affection.

  I have no doubt that this story could have been told many different ways, and I’m honored that so many relatives entrusted me with their recollections so that I might offer this version. Thank you for welcoming me into your homes and for treating me as if I had always been one of the family. I am particularly grateful to my aunt Shirley Broyard Williams for her willingness to revisit a painful subject in exhaustive detail; to my brother, Todd Broyard, for remembering what I’d forgotten; and to my mother, Sandy Broyard, for demonstrating her love and faith countless times over. Finally, thanks to Nico Israel for his patience, for the precision of his insights, and especially for making with me a beautiful life to enjoy when I was finished: our daughter, Esme.

  Notes on Sources

  Wherever quotes from primary sources appear, the sources have been indicated in the text, unless their inclusion would intrude too awkwardly on the narrative, in which case they can be found in the notes below. Sources of quotes from my father’s work have not been listed in every instance.

  For the historical accounts of New Orleans, Louisia
na, and Brooklyn, I am indebted to the scholarship of many historians and academics. The secondary sources upon which I relied most heavily are listed in shortened form by chapter in the notes section. Full references of works cited can be found in the bibliography.

  The hundreds of genealogical sources I consulted have not been cited, except in cases where their mention is relevant. To complete my family history, I drew on records found in New Orleans at the Louisiana Division of the New Orleans Public Library, the New Orleans Notarial Archives, the New Orleans Archdiocesan Archives, the Historic New Orleans Collection, the Louisiana and Special Collections Department of the Earl K. Long Library at the University of New Orleans, the Xavier University Archives and Special Collections, the Amistad Research Center at Tulane University, and the Jackson Barracks Military Library; in Baton Rouge at the Louisiana State Archives and the Louisiana State University Libraries Special Collections in Hill Memorial Library; in Covington, Louisiana, at the conveyance office and the Historic Archives Department of the St. Tammany Parish Clerk of Court; in Washington, DC, at the National Archives’ Compiled Service Records for the War of 1812 and the Civil War; and in Brooklyn, New York, at the Brooklyn Collection of the Brooklyn Public Library.

  PART ONE

  Chapter 1

  My father’s writings about the experience of being ill have been collected into Intoxicated by My Illness. That volume also contains his review of Ernest Becker’s Denial of Death, which initially appeared in the New York Times in 1974.

  I am grateful to the writer Leslie Garis for sharing with me notes she made during a visit to my father at the Dana-Farber Cancer Hospital.

  Chapter 3

  The chairwoman of the Southport Historical Committee, Margaret Zeller, provided information about the building guidelines in the historic village of Southport.