A History of African-Descended People in Houston's Fifth Ward
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genealogy Article The Nickel: A History of African-Descended People in Houston’s Fifth Ward Denise Frazier New Orleans Center for the Gulf South, Tulane University, New Orleans, LA 70118, USA; [email protected] Received: 16 December 2018; Accepted: 19 February 2020; Published: 24 March 2020 Abstract: This paper will chronicle the unique stories that have come to exemplify the larger experience of Fifth Ward as a historically African American district in a rapidly changing city, Houston. Fifth Ward is a district submerged in the Southern memory of a sprawling port city. Its 19th century inception comprised of residents from Eastern Europe, Russia, and other religious groups who were fleeing persecution. Another way to describe Fifth Ward is much closer to the Fifth Ward that I knew as a child—an African American Fifth Ward and, more personally, my grandparents’ neighborhood. The growing prosperity of an early 20th century oil-booming Houston had soon turned the neighborhood into an economic haven, attracting African Americans from rural Louisiana and east Texas. Within the past two decades, Latino communities have populated the area, transforming the previously majority African American ward. Through a qualitative familial research review of historic documents, this paper contains a cultural and economic analysis that will illustrate the unique legacies and challenges of its past and present residents. I will center my personal genealogical roots to connect with larger patterns of change over time for African Americans in this distinct cultural ward. Keywords: Fifth Ward; migration; economics; culture; gulf south; memory there is a phantom language in my mouth. a tongue beneath my tongue. will i ever remember what i sound like. will i ever come home “african american i” from salt by nayyirah waheed * A good tree cannot bear bad fruit, and a bad tree cannot bear good fruit. Matthew 7:18 (Waheed 2013) 1. Access “I’m not sending you any instructions on how to make gumbo.” I knew I should not have asked my aunt, Sandra Harris, to give me her seafood gumbo recipe via text message, or even over the phone. Growing up in Houston, Texas, I had been the first grandchild in my family and for years, I was used to getting my way on certain things. When my parents took me to visit my grandparents in the Fifth Ward, “just a stone’s throw from Downtown Houston,” my aunts spoiled me with unbridled affection and appreciation for who I was. See Figure1a. Flashbacks of my most vivid childhood memories in Fifth Ward include the roar of Houston interstate highways, the freshly cut lawns, blight, smells of Friday afternoon barbecuing and music, drug addicted men and women walking the streets, elders on porches enjoying the cool air of the afternoon after a hot summer morning, the sizzling fry of catfish on Genealogy 2020, 4, 33; doi:10.3390/genealogy4010033 www.mdpi.com/journal/genealogy Genealogy 2020, 4, x FOR PEER REVIEW 2 of 22 1. Access “I’m not sending you any instructions on how to make gumbo.” I knew I should not have asked my aunt, Sandra Harris, to give me her seafood gumbo recipe via text message, or even over the phone. Growing up in Houston, Texas, I had been the first grandchild in my family and for years, I was used to getting my way on certain things. When my parents took me to visit my grandparents in the Fifth Ward, “just a stone’s throw from Downtown Houston,” my aunts spoiled me with unbridled affection and appreciation for who I was. See Figure 1a. Flashbacks of my most vivid childhood memories in Fifth Ward include the roar of Houston interstate highways, the freshly cut lawns, blight, smellsGenealogy of Friday2020, afternoon4, 33 barbecuing and music, drug addicted men and women walking the streets,2 of 22 elders on porches enjoying the cool air of the afternoon after a hot summer morning, the sizzling fry of catfish on Friday evenings, and the gumbo on Christmas afternoon. I was a connoisseur of my aunt’sFriday gumbo evenings, and knew and theall the gumbo delectable on Christmas ingredients: afternoon. crab legs I was and a connoisseur torsos, chicken, of my spicy aunt’s sausage, gumbo and shrimp,knew and all okra. the delectable I tried to ingredients:learn this familial crab legscultural and heritage torsos, chicken, the easy spicy way. sausage,The easy shrimp, way was and not okra. goingI tried to work. to learn this familial cultural heritage the easy way. The easy way was not going to work. A yearA year later, later, I discovered I discovered an exquisite an exquisite colorful colorful quilt quilt that thatwas wastattered tattered but butfolded folded neatly neatly in the in the bottombottom drawer drawer of the of bureau the bureau in my in parents’ my parents’ guest guest bedroom bedroom in thei inr their home. home. I asked I asked my mother, my mother, Johnnie Johnnie ParisParis Frazier, Frazier, who who made made this this and and if I ifcould I could take take it with it with me me to to New New Orleans. Orleans. “No, “No, you’ve you’ve ignored ignored it it for for soso many many years years and and just just because because you you found found it it again, again, now now you you want want it.” it.” See See Figure Figure 11b.b. (a) (b) FigureFigure 1. (a) 1. My(a) Aunt My Aunt Sandra Sandra (left) (andleft) andmy Aunt my Aunt Sissy Sissy (right (right) with) withme at me my at christening my christening at Second at Second CalvacadeCalvacade Church Church in Fifth in FifthWard, Ward, Houston Houston Texas; Texas; (b) One (b) Oneof my of grandmother’s, my grandmother’s, Annie Annie Lou Tatum’s, Lou Tatum’s, quiltsquilts at my at parents’ my parents’ home home in Houston, in Houston, Texas. Texas. OnceOnce again, again, the easy the easy way waywas wasnot going not going to work. to work. Johnnie Johnnie grew grew up in up the in small the small town town of Palestine, of Palestine, Texas,Texas, about about 150 150miles miles north north from from Houston. Houston. In the In summer, the summer, her mother her mother “carted” “carted” all of all her of daughters her daughters backback to a to240-acre a 240-acre farm farm outside outside of Stevens, of Stevens, Arkans Arkansasas to spend to spend time time with with her family. her family. Johnnie Johnnie explains explains howhow much much work work went went into intothe quilts the quilts and andhow how they they kept kept her herconnected connected to her to herroots: roots: Johnnie:Johnnie: ThroughoutThroughout the thespring spring and and summer summer months months,, my my grandmother’s grandmother’s lady lady friends friends in in the the communitycommunity saved up theirtheir scrapsscraps ofof materialsmaterials in in big big sacks sacks and and came came over over to to her her house house a few a fewtimes times a weeka week in in the the wintertime wintertime to to work work on on the the quilts. quilts. They They would would do do that that for for hours—talking, hours— talking,laughing, laughing, telling telling stories, stories, and we and would we would listen tolisten them to thinking them thinking we’d hear we’d some hear good some gossip. goodIf gossip. they thought If they we thought were listening we were too listening close they too gaveclose us they some gave chores us some to do: chores “Go make to do: some “Gobutter.” make some butter.” Denise:Denise: WasWas that thata real a realrequest, request, by the by way? the way? Johnnie:Johnnie: Oh, Oh,gosh, gosh, yeah! yeah! We had We hadto churn to churn our ourown own milk, milk, make make our ourown own butter butter when when we we wentwent to visit to visit my grandmother. my grandmother. I used I used to hate to hate it. We it. picked We picked peas, peas, we pulled we pulled corn, corn, we killed we killed chickenschickens to cook to cook the afternoon the afternoon dinner. dinner. Oh, Oh,Lord! Lord! What What we didn’t we didn’t do? do?During During the winter, the winter, they would go in and do the quilting. My grandmother had what we called a “quilt closet.” When my sisters and I were kids, whenever we got cold, we just opened up this closet and grabbed a quilt. The quilts were just stacked all the way up and sometimes we pulled at a quilt in the middle and they all tumbled out. “Oh my God!” Our grandmother took pride in folding her quilts and we knew we had to fold those quilts back up right. But when they would come out, I was like, “Oh, look at them!” The patterns of some of these quilts were just so beautiful. She gave all her grandchildren a quilt. That was her gift to us. Johnnie took this quilt with her when she moved to Houston to attend Texas Southern University. As I came to terms with my mother’s decision to withhold it from me, I realized that my decisions for Genealogy 2020, 4, 33 3 of 22 moving away from Texas for the purposes of “self-discovery” and graduate education had taken me further away from what I am now researching; my family history. In the years that I have been away, I have become an “Ex-Tex” and my family had no problem letting me know it. Still, the land, the water, geography, foodways of Houston—the warm hugs, my father’s mother’s smile at the kitchen table, her husband’s cut off finger and rough hands tightly gripping mine—have defined who I am and what I believe.