Category: June 2022

The Second Independence Day

Produced by Brady Gallagher

Photographs by Tim Sayer

In June of 1865, two-and-a-half years after President Abraham Lincoln issued the Emancipation Proclamation, more than 2,000 soldiers of the 13th U.S. Army Corps arrived in Galveston, Texas. Led by Maj. Gen. Gordon Granger, the troops marched through Galveston reading General Order No. 3 at numerous locations, including their headquarters, the courthouse, and at what is now the Reedy Chapel-AME Church. The order informed all Texans that, in accordance with a Proclamation from the Executive of the United States, all slaves were free.

One year later, on June 19, 1866, the formerly enslaved people of Galveston celebrated a year of freedom with the Juneteenth holiday, a name derived by blending the words “June” and “nineteenth.” Also known as Freedom Day, Juneteenth is believed to be the oldest African American holiday, and currently 49 of the 50 U.S. states and the District of Columbia — in addition to the federal government — recognize Juneteenth as either a holiday or ceremonial holiday and a day of observance.

Juneteenth celebrations include picnics, rodeos, barbecues, parades, and readings of the works of Black authors like Ralph Ellison, whose posthumously published second novel is titled Juneteenth. Mitch Capel will host his second Juneteenth celebration this year at Cardinal Park. The Diversity, Equity and Inclusion Committee at Sandhills Community College will also host its second Juneteenth celebration this year.

Kim Wade

Educator and Community Activist

I can only imagine the mixture of overwhelming emotions felt on June 19, 1865, when slaves in Galveston, Texas, heard U.S. Maj. Gen. Gordon Granger read the Executive Order of the United States, that all slaves are free.

When reflecting on that day, once the slaves felt safe to react, I imagine them running, jumping, dancing and shouting with joy. I’m certain many fell to their knees and praised God for answering their prayers. I can feel their tears of relief and understand their fear and uncertainty — including the PTSD effects so many acquired after experiencing years of inconceivable abuse and separation from family.

To me, Juneteenth marks that moment in history when the dynamic for many slaves began to shift, for the first time in their lives, to being acknowledged as a human. We became more than humanlike plantation cattle. It is one of the original landmarks of unlimited possibilities for the formerly enslaved.

Juneteenth is Independence Day for African Americans because it marks a documented date when the last group of slaves across the nation finally got the news.

My family and I celebrate Juneteenth by attending festivals or hosting cookouts and now family reunions. I remember learning about President Abraham Lincoln freeing the slaves, but this portion of history was not something I was taught in school. Like many baby boomers, we learned most of our Black history through the grapevine of relatives, Black media and historians in our community.

One of the many personal stories about some of my ancestors becoming free slaves, documented in UNC-Chapel Hill historical archives, includes family members here in Moore County owning so much land they donated some of it to build what was known as a formal school for Negroes. That property is presently mapped as part of Hoke County. They were industrious enough to use the pine trees on their property to operate a lucrative turpentine business. Some of the same family’s offspring migrated to predominately Black Rosewood, Florida, where a racial massacre took place in 1923. These are the types of stories we share to honor the resourcefulness of our ancestors.

Every African American across this county and country has so much history about their ancestors we haven’t even begun to scratch the surface. Juneteenth, declared a federal holiday, will help document and create a platform for many of those treasured conversations for generations to come. It will not only include the story about slaves in Galveston, it will lead to many personal stories of the enslaved and their descendants throughout America.

Juneteenth is a time for all Americans to gather and celebrate African American history and culture. Together we get to reflect how far America has come and how much further we plan to go, despite the obstacles in our path. For those of us who embrace different cultures and love learning about everyone’s uniqueness and our different journeys, it’s an exciting time to be alive.

 

Danny Hayes

House of Fish Owner and Chef

Juneteenth wasn’t taught or celebrated in the school system where I was educated. I wasn’t aware of Juneteenth, the meaning of that day, or what actually occurred until about 15 years ago, setting me off on a quest for knowledge and understanding. Now that I know something about this incredible holiday, I choose to celebrate with food. The seafood dishes I will serve on the Saturday before Juneteenth will be inspired by what my ancestors would have had. It’s an acknowledgement that I stand on the shoulders of people who paid the price for me to live my dream.

The poem “Still I Rise” by Maya Angelou speaks to how I feel about Juneteenth, especially two lines in the final stanza:

Bringing the gift my ancestors gave,

I am the dream and the hope of the slave.

 

Diana Turner-Forte

Teaching Artist in Dance, Reiki Master and Holistic Health Practitioner

Juneteenth represents another day to express gratitude to a higher source for being alive and having the opportunity to share my passion for creative expression. It’s a day to celebrate freedom, not just for African Americans but for all of humanity. Every milestone in history is a step forward and should be appreciated.

My journey as a classical ballet dancer occurred during a matinee performance at Mershon Auditorium in Columbus, Ohio, when I was mesmerized by a live performance of the Royal Winnipeg Ballet’s Fall River Legend. I received the kiss of destiny and was lured into the program by the craftsmanship of the dancers, the synchronicity of movement to music, and the lighting and stage sets. 

A few weeks later I was on a plane to study at the Royal Winnipeg Ballet School to be molded into a professional ballet dancer. It was in Canada, through the rigorous, disciplined daily ritual of mental and physical training, where my technique was refined and my awareness of classical lines, flexibility and physical form were honed. I was transformed into an artist and began my professional performing career with the Chicago Ballet in 1974.

In addition to Juneteenth, another 19th century milestone was the 1846 premiere of African American dancer George Washington Smith in the role of Albrecht with Mary Ann Lee in the first American production of the ballet Giselle in his hometown. Smith acquired his skills as a ballet dancer from studying with visiting European teachers in Philadelphia, a thriving arts hub at that time. 

Trailblazers are driven by faith, passion and courage. They are always looking past the horizon with an innate knowing of potential opportunities. They are compelled to continue their journeys regardless of what others say or do. Friedrich Nietzsche speaks to this idea: “And those who were seen dancing were thought to be insane by those who could not hear the music.”

Racial, economic or educational obstacles are simply provocations for visionaries to take great strides forward aligned with their higher purpose. The voices of Black, Indigenous, people of color, women, healers, poets and artists are inevitably inclusive — filled with wisdom and clarity — and yet often end up being the most maligned contributors of a civilization.

Ideally Juneteenth will evolve into a celebration of American freedom, truth-telling, and multicultural community events in which citizens become more awake, spiritually grounded, and together seek to forge paths that offer meaning and hope to future generations.

 

Fallon Brewington

Chief Executive Officer Boys and Girls Club of the Sandhills

Growing up, I never really knew what Juneteenth was and what it symbolized. I honestly got the best explanation and understanding of it from the ABC show black-ish. If you haven’t seen it, I encourage you to watch it whether you are just learning about it or have known and celebrated it for years.

What Juneteenth personifies to me is yet another momentous day that I am proud of my heritage and history as a Black woman in America. In my family, we were raised to know how the strength and perseverance of our ancestors helped shape and mold us into resilient, powerful, proud people, and to take pride in the the color of our skin and what it means to be in it. It is a sacred legacy, to do whatever it takes to ensure the generations that follow have it better than we do, just as my ancestors endured injustice to pave a better way for me.

I spend time with my children on all holidays. It’s important to have those family traditions that they can reflect on when they get older and have their own families. It’s the same for Juneteenth. We celebrate by participating in various community events in Moore County, or we may go back to where I was raised in Richmond County. This year we will Celebrate at Cardinal Park.

My parents made sure we knew we were going to do more and have more opportunities than they did. It was their mission to ensure that their children would have the ability to do and experience just about anything we wanted. I now know how much of a sacrifice that was emotionally, mentally, physically, financially and even spiritually. I can see this as a parent trying to do the same thing for my own children, as well as the youth in our community. It’s the greatest gift to experience the fruits and rewards of their labor in my life, in my children’s lives.

Ultimately, I believe that’s the essence and spirit of Juneteenth. All of us, especially Black Americans, are the fruit and rewards of our ancestors’ labor and what they endured.

 

Mitch Capel

Storyteller, Artist, Actor, Poet

Juneteenth is a day of reflection on the struggles, hardships and injustices suffered by our ancestors who were held in captivity for over 400 years. It was a day of jubilation for the descendants of the 250,000 still enslaved people who finally received the news 2 1/2 years after the Emancipation Proclamation that the dream of freedom was a reality.

The historical legacy of Juneteenth shows the value of never giving up hope in uncertain times. Now that it is a federally recognized holiday, the level of acceptance and awareness will hopefully be accelerated. The history of this country has been distorted while being taught, and it is disheartening that there is now an effort to sugar-coat even more of the truth about this nation. If we ever want to have an honest accounting of who we are in America, we can’t pick and choose what we wish to remember. There is an African proverb that says: “Not to know is bad; not to wish to know is worse.”

In 1872, in Galveston, Texas, those formally held in bondage saved $1,000 to purchase a piece of land where they could celebrate Juneteenth because of laws barring people of color the use of public facilities. Ninety years later, in 1962, my father, Felton Capel Sr., purchased acreage in Pinebluff where folks could celebrate, recreate and gather because of residual effects of those same laws — renamed segregation — that were in place. The Cardinal Park has become synonymous with good wholesome fun for all communities in Moore and surrounding counties.

I have celebrated Juneteenth over the years telling historical stories around the country at festivals, museums and other venues where the day was being acknowledged. Last year we decided to celebrate Juneteenth at Cardinal Park in Pinebluff in an effort to bring about reflection and reconciliation in our communities. It was a joyously wonderful gathering of an estimated 750 people. This year we’re expecting the same, if not more.

One of my father’s, and my own, favorite stories is by the great African American poet laureate Paul Laurence Dunbar and is titled “Goin’ Back.” I love this poem because it captures the migration after emancipation and the climate 30 years later. My father loved it because he too left the South and moved to New York at an early age seeking a better life only to return soon after, realizing his best opportunity was where his roots were. Right here in Moore County.   PS

Elegance and practicality on the lake

By Deborah Salomon   •   Photographs by John Gessner

  

When Bill and Mandy Berg moved from Charlotte to Pinehurst in 2018, Mandy’s goal was to create a “happy place” — light, bright, uncluttered, cheerful. The tools were at hand: Mandy’s profession is staging houses to look their best for prospective buyers. But this job had moving parts. The décor must be elegant for entertaining yet practical, given a family with two young children, a huge dog, a cat and all the attendant paraphernalia.

Mandy pulled it off, complete with white carpet in the bedrooms, off-white upholstery in living room and den, and vanilla walls throughout.

Not that anybody would notice a few muddy footprints or sticky fingers with all eyes on the view. The Bergs’ three acres slope down to Lake Inverness at the Country Club of North Carolina (CCNC) where a brood of ducklings paddle through the water lilies and a turtle climbs onto the grassy shoreline. Herons, largemouth bass and an eagle complete the wildlife backdrop. Sunsets can be spectacular from a deck stretching the length of the house, equipped for cooking, eating, relaxing, playing.

Naturally, this happy place, built in 1982 for a furniture executive, brings the view inside through windows and tall sliding glass doors . . . everywhere. In fact, if the 1 1/2-story house with slightly Asian lines, four roof pitches covered in wood shakes and a whiff of Mid-Century Modern was seeking a name, The Abode of Sliding Doors might work.

A door not facing the lake reveals a petite tea garden walled off for privacy, and the children’s upstairs bedroom doors open onto balconies. Even the laundry room has a view. The effect is absolutely mesmerizing, rain or shine, winter or summer, with dogwood, hydrangeas and azaleas splashing color onto the exterior gray longboards.

   

Mandy knew Pinehurst from her grandparents, who lived at CCNC. Her parents came up from Florida to play golf. After deciding to leave Charlotte, Mandy and Bill narrowed their house hunt to Pinehurst village or CCNC. At the time nothing in the village quite suited. Despite the view, even this house had its drawbacks, for Mandy at least. Every floor except the tiled kitchen was covered in thick white carpet. And every wall wore wallpaper. Bill, however, experienced the wow factor and, as a recreational handyman/renovator, he identified the projects. And the floorplan allowed the family to spread out, or come together. After some budget tweaking, they moved in, hired a contractor and pitched in.

Up came most of the carpet, replaced by whitewashed oak. Off came all the wallpaper, leaving some walls in need of repair. An upstairs playroom for Emma, 8, and Harry, 10, was squeezed under the eaves. After they are grown, it’s destined to become a guest bedroom. Then Bill had an idea: Why not cover an open space near the loft with strong rope netting secured to a frame, creating something like a hammock, where the kids (or grown-ups) could bounce around or simply peer down into the den?

“I was out of town when they built the hammock,” Mandy says. “I wasn’t that happy . . . it compromises privacy.”

But it sets the house apart from every other at CCNC. And the kids love it.

Bill also constructed and installed mantels for the double-faced fireplace, built the outdoor firepit, and created a desk to fill a pass-through between the living room and den. He framed the loft and installed a new kitchen backsplash. “I’m a hands-on kinda guy,” Bill says. “I got it from my dad, who was a This Old House kinda guy.”

His next project: docks, since “The lake is my favorite part of living here.”

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The layout does retain some of its 1980s features. Back then, locating the master suite on the main floor was coming into fashion, especially for retirees. Turn left from the wide foyer with its handsome twin Chinese chests lacquered white and, beyond the TV den, the master suite opens out onto the deck, where railings have been removed to further expose the view. The living room is in use, flowing into a dining area with a spectacular white trestle table and molded Plexiglas chairs. Hanging low over the table is a chandelier more Star Wars than Phantom of the Opera.

Turn right from the foyer and find the kitchen — a surprise in an age of glamorous food preparation centers. No Sub-Zero, no farm sink, no island, no Viking or Wolf blast-furnace ranges. Instead, there are classic pine cupboards and a dinette glassed in on three sides. Except for new countertops and some minor adjustments, the L-shaped kitchen was left intact, at least for now. Mandy has plans. Beyond the kitchen is a modern butler’s pantry with laundry equipment, wine fridge, another sliding door and storage cabinets. This mixture of new and recently done (in white and sandy beige) adds to the retro charm.

        

Mandy’s signature hue, however, is blue — more bright navy than Carolina pastel. Bill also favors blue. Navy against white is everywhere, splashed on rugs, sewn onto pillows, woven into dinette chairs, dominating a collection of ginger jars. The dining room sideboard is lacquered a shiny dark royal, as is a writing desk in the master bedroom. Even the art, some commissioned, other pieces collected, explores shades of blue.

Ah . . . the art. That makes Mandy happiest. “It speaks to me,” she says. She planned white walls and retained some white carpet so the art would “pop.” Several paintings come from local artists, including Kristin Groner. Abstracts are both framed and flush-mounted. Mandy has an eye for placement — an art in itself. In the dining room a single painting, spotlighted by a recessed fixture, adds drama to the simplest meal. Just as dramatic is an old, stained, full-sized North Carolina state flag that Bill found on eBay and mounted over Harry’s bed, while Emma’s room requires a bean bag chair and sparkly princess-pink accents.

Each child’s room has its own small bathroom, beyond a blessing for teenagers.

“We’ve done a lot with a little, here . . . built a lot of value,” Bill observes.

        

Contemporary architecture and furnishings are rarely classified “romantic.”

The exception might be The Abode of Sliding Doors, sitting at the end of a narrow lane canopied by branches of tall trees, thick with new leaves. The sun shining through turns the canopy into a cathedral. Beyond, the grass slopes toward the lake, where two Adirondack chairs await sunset viewers.

But does the conglomerate create a happy house?

“The color, design and art make me happy,” Mandy says. “This is a joyful place.” PS

When blocks of ice were the size of Volkswagens

By Tom Bryant   •   Illustration by Gary Palmer

“Actually, pine trees were the reason peach orchards, as we knew them in the 1930s, ’40s, and ’50s, went away.”

It was 1997 and we were sitting in a semi-circle in the living room of Clyde Auman’s home listening to him reminisce about the old days of peach farming. The “we” was the latest crop of the Moore County Leadership Institute, a group of about 15 diverse residents of the county. Sponsored by the Chamber of Commerce, our group met once a month to tour a place important to the success of our county. It could be a historical location like the Bryant House, or something as integral to our economy as its peach farmers. Mr. Auman was, without a doubt, the patriarch of peach farming. His orchards were famous throughout the state.

“Yes, sir,” Mr. Auman continued, “before the loblolly and longleaf pines got so tall, the frosty winds of early spring would blow right on through the orchards not harming the peaches. But then the tall pines stopped the circulating winds and allowed frost to settle, and that killed not only the current crop, but later even the trees.

“Right now, on our farm, we do just about as much with pine straw as we do with peaches.” He chuckled. “Can’t make it on one end, we try it on the other. We have a few peach farmers, here and yonder, but nothing like the heyday when the region was known throughout the country.”

Mr. Auman was in his 80s when he spoke with us and, as we left his house to get on the bus and head back to Southern Pines, I hung back from the group.

“You might remember my father,” I said to him as we stood at the back door of his home.

“Who is your father?” he asked.

“Monroe Bryant. He was superintendent of the ice plant in Aberdeen.”

“I do remember him. A good man. I hope he’s doing all right. I’m sure he’s retired by now.”

“Unfortunately, Dad passed away at an early age.”

The folks had boarded the bus and were waiting on me.

“He thought a lot of you and your peaches.”

“I’m sorry to hear about your dad. He and his ice plant played a tremendous part in our peach industry. We need to get together. Come back out sometime and let’s visit.”

When I got back on the bus I sat behind the driver. On our way out to the main road, he looked over his shoulder at me. “You got along well with Mr. Auman,” he said. “Must have some history there.”

“Yeah, he knew my father back in the day when peaches were king.”

“Your dad in the peach business?”

“In a way. Without the ice plant my dad ran, the peaches would have had a hard time getting to the markets up north and out west.”

By now two or three of our group had tuned in to our conversation. One asked the natural question. “What’s an ice plant? I’ve seen those ice boxes beside the road but surely that’s not it.”

I tried to give a short history of an industry that’s as extinct as the dodo bird.

“Think about a giant cooler,” I said, “one about the size of a football field and about eight or 10 stories high full of blocks of ice, each weighing between 350 and 400 pounds. That ice was used to cool down railroad cars carrying fruit from our region, like peaches, or vegetables from down in Florida, all heading north or west.”

“And that giant cooler is no longer there?” one of the ladies asked.

“Yep, just like the old iceboxes before electric refrigerators. That’s kinda what happened to the ice plant when refrigerated rail cars came along. It was the tallest building in the county until it burned down in the late ’60s.”

I thought about that conversation the other day when I rode by the dirt lane that used to lead to the ice plant. I was on the way back from Burney’s Hardware and decided to take a walk down the railroad tracks to see if I could find the former site of the plant.

I parked out of the way next to a vacant lot, locked the car and headed south. It was only about a half mile walk and I made it in no time. Tall longleaf pines were growing where the major ice storage room used to be, and the hole in the sand that was the engine room was thick in weeds and briars about head high. I stayed on the tracks and did a cursory inspection of the remains of the place that played such a major part in my early years.

The recollection of those days came back clearly. My dad was the head honcho of all the doings around the massive plant, and I remembered my own participation in what has turned into a dead industry.

City Products Inc., the corporate head of ice plants from Miami, Florida, to Aberdeen, North Carolina, had massive ice factories in Florida, including Miami, Belle Glade, Lakeland, Sanford and Jacksonville. There was also a plant in Florence, South Carolina. The Aberdeen location was the last stop on the way north and west. The locations of the ice plants were built close to major railroad switching yards, at just the right distances, to service the needs for massive freight requirements of railroads hauling perishable fruit and vegetables across the country.

As a young fellow, I naturally hung out with Dad as much as I could, and he often let me accompany him as he made the rounds of the peach packing houses in Moore County and the surrounding area. For me, it was fun — I got to eat all the peaches I wanted. Then, as I grew older, it provided much-needed college funds. I worked a couple of summers at the location in Aberdeen and later spent a summer at the plant in Lakeland, where Dad became manager after the Aberdeen plant was closed.

Often when summer employment came up among friends, I’d try to explain my job pulling ice. The ice was made in attached cans that would hold enough water to make a block that weighed 400 pounds, sort of like the ice in an ice tray. The cans were submerged in a refrigerated brine tank about half an acre in size. The metal cans were attached, 10 to a group. My job was to hoist the ice out of the tank, using a crane, and walk the cans down to a 10-foot dip tank, full of water, which would free the frozen cubes from the cans. Then, still using the crane, I’d lower the cans, now with loose ice blocks, to a swivel tray that would allow the ice to become free and slide on a conveyor into the storage room. I didn’t know what boredom really meant until I began pulling ice all day. But, hey, the job paid minimum wage — a dollar an hour — and that went a long way to provide spending money for college.

It’s remarkable how well the entire network of plants from Florida to North Carolina meshed to refrigerate rail cars traveling with highly perishable vegetables and fruits.

The plant was built in 1928 and the business was huge during the height of the Great Depression, when there was no shortage of laborers. Each plant location had bunkhouses, kitchens and dining halls to house traveling workers who would move as needed from one location to another following the rail cars north.

Platforms running parallel to the railroad tracks enabled workmen to ice 50 railcars at a time using just the right formula of ice and rock salt to cool the fruit or vegetables to the correct temperature and get them to their destination fresh and unspoiled.

Not long ago someone asked me what I remembered most about the ice plant. I guess it would have to be the immensity, the sheer monumental size of the major storage room, the huge electric motors that pulled the compressors that cooled and refrigerated the brine tanks and ice storage rooms, and in its heyday, the number of people it took to make it all work — and how few it took to close it all down.

Most of all, I remember my father. The endless hours he committed to making sure everything was done just right, never, ever doing things to just get by. He led by example, and I’m a better man for the experience of working with him.

Now the ice plant is just a hole in the sand where tall pines grow. The memories are all that’s still eight stories high. Most folks don’t even know it existed.

But it was here and what it did made a difference. In the process it even taught one kid about the world of real labor, sweat, the value of a dollar, and responsibility. A pretty cool job. PS

Tom Bryant is a Southern Pines resident, a lifelong outdoorsman and, in his youth, a reliable summer employee.