The Prince of Jockeys

by Pellom McDaniels III

  In promoting achievement as the credo for gaining full citizenship, African American leaders sought to inculcate a feeling of racial destiny that inspired a healthy enthusiasm for self-reliance, education, and political activism. Most important, this sense of racial destiny was supported by the independence that developed when black individuals created businesses and participated in fraternal organizations and churches, all of which allowed black Lexingtonians to establish and maintain a strong, progressive sense of community at the beginning of Reconstruction.91 Within the context of racial destiny and the ideology of respectability, black churches and their leaders promoted education for children and work as a noble endeavor for adult males, policing their members to deter any unsavory activities that might damage the race or diminish the progress made. In extolling the benefits of temperance, frugality, and hard work, the black leaders of Lexington kept an eye toward the future, even though a majority of former slaves lived in the present and had little understanding of what racial destiny entailed. Who could blame them for their lack of enthusiasm for self-reliance, education, and political awareness when they still had nothing to show for their newly acquired freedom? What is more, this sense of racial destiny was supported by members of the aspiring class, those who emerged from the embers of slavery with at least some power, based on their proximity to the elite.92

  As a subscriber to the ideology of respectability, America Murphy found work as a laundress for several white families in Lexington. Recognizing that the fast-paced urban environment was not conducive to her son's full acceptance of the values that she and the more progressive members of her community considered necessary for his future development as a man, America made choices to protect her son's future. In the shadows of the 1869 solar eclipse, America was no doubt awed by the spectacle of the moment, and perhaps she found a renewed sense of purpose. Indeed, from the silence and the darkness, a new day was dawning for America and Isaac. He was her reason for living, and eventually, he would become her greatest achievement.

  5

  The New Order of Things

  1870–1874

  On the day after New Year's 1870, three to four feet of snow blanketed central Kentucky—the heaviest snowfall in the state's history. Whiteness enveloped the countryside, and in the clear, predawn sky following the storm, an aurora borealis was visible as far south as Lexington.1 This was an unusual occurrence in the Bluegrass, and only those rising before the sun crested the Allegheny Mountains in the east would have witnessed the natural phenomenon.2 On the morning in question, between the hours of 3:00 and 5:00, farmers in central Kentucky would have been starting their days, tending to livestock, milking cows, and gathering eggs from chicken coops. They would have mused over the dancing streaks of bluish-green light in the northern sky. Most did not understand that charged particles ejected from the sun and carried by the solar winds caused these magnificent displays, which were usually visible only in the Far North, in places like Alaska, Canada, and Iceland. What did it mean to see such a sight so far south? Had the earth's magnetic poles shifted? Had there been some “extreme event,” whereby the amount of material ejected from the sun was so massive and powerful that the greenish glow could be seen for more than 3,000 miles? Whatever the farmers might have thought or wondered, few if any wrote about it, and complete accounts are difficult to find.

  Like the farmers, horse trainers, grooms, and stable boys would have been tending to their early-morning chores, ensuring the comfort of the Thoroughbred horses in their care. Primarily black men who were former slaves, these individuals would have been up early enough to see the awe-inspiring bluish-green light in the sky and wonder what was happening to the world. The boys and young men working the stables would have relied on the knowledge and wisdom of the older trainers to explain the meaning of such natural phenomena. To these older men, the sky was a mystery, and its secrets were divine in nature—not meant to be known by men. On the morning in question, an older trainer might have shared stories with his young apprentices about the early days of slavery in Kentucky, when it was believed that if a child entered the world under a sky aglow with fire and light, that child was special and gifted and had the ability to change the fortunes of his people.

  Thus, these black men and boys might have seen the northern lights as a sign of the future success of the colts and mares they were preparing for the spring races. In Kentucky, if a horse were born during such a celestial phenomenon and had markings on its coat similar to those in the sky, it would be named to memorialize the event, and each time it won a race, the past event would be recalled with enthusiasm and excitement. The names Comet, Asteroid, and Nebula were not common, but neither were the horses that possessed them. A Thoroughbred horse born under an aurora borealis and marked with a jagged white stripe or blaze on its face might inspire a dramatic name like Aether, the elemental god of the sky. Its particular value and purpose would be tested in April and May on the training tracks and proved in the heat of July and August at the numerous courses throughout Kentucky, the South, the West, and the Northeast. These exhibitions were not limited to demonstrating the strength, resilience, and beauty of the horse and increasing the financial gain and prestige of their owners. These performances were inextricably linked to the reputations of the black trainers who brought them to the line, the black grooms who took care of their needs, and the black jockeys who rode them to their full potential.

  In 1826 the Kentucky Association, dedicated to the development of agriculture and livestock, was founded by a group of prominent farmers, politicians, and businessmen, all of whom were breeders or patrons of central Kentucky's Thoroughbred horses and owners of slaves. The combination of land, capital, and slave labor had ensured that horse breeding played an important part in the development of the state, and the association's primary objective was clear: “To improve the breed of horses by encouraging the sport of the turf.”3 While serving as an outlet for members' leisure activities, the association also promoted the various interests of the farms and factories located on the outskirts of Lexington's bustling urban environment. Central Kentucky produced Thoroughbred horses, livestock, hemp, tobacco, and, prior to the Civil War, slaves, and Lexington's politically powerful sought to expand the market for these goods and services beyond the state line. Elisha Warfield, John Wesley Hunt, General Leslie Combs, Dr. Benjamin W. Dudley, John Brand, and John Boswell—the same men responsible for establishing the Kentucky Association—would charter the Lexington and Ohio Railroad in 1830, with the dual purpose of creating a more reliable means of transportation and promoting trade with northern markets and beyond.4

  After four years of political, sectional, and environmental challenges, the initial rail line was completed as far as Frankfort, Kentucky, linking the capital to one of the state's most productive centers for economic development and providing a more efficient means of transporting central Kentucky politicians to and from their seats of power.5 Unfortunately, the rail line would take another forty years to complete, as the politics involved in constructing a railroad to Louisville proved more of a hindrance than first imagined. In addition, the outbreak of the Civil War in 1861 killed such projects until peace was established during Reconstruction.

  In spite of these events, the Kentucky Association and its mission to improve the horses of the Bluegrass continued to flourish, thanks to the innovations of men such as Robert A. Alexander of Woodburn Farms in Woodford County. Alexander's operation became the model for horse farms throughout the United States. With the assistance of head trainer Ansel Williamson and a dozen or so other black men serving as grooms and jockeys, Woodburn Farms brought more than a few champions to the line each spring, including the famed Asteroid, son of Lexington. Indeed, from 1857 until well after Alexander's death in 1867, Woodburn Farms reigned as the pride of the Bluegrass, a jewel in the crown of central Kentucky.

  By January 1870, a significant number of dramatic events had occurred in and around Lexington, making the appearance of t
he aurora borealis seem appropriate. Like the solar eclipse of August 1869, the northern lights may have led some residents of the Bluegrass to theorize that change was again on the horizon. Others may have seen the aurora borealis as a sign of the philosophical shift taking place in Kentucky, with black men gaining access to citizenship and securing the right to vote with ratification of the Fourteenth and Fifteenth Amendments. Obviously, Kentucky was not physically shifting to the geographic North, but the state was becoming more Northern in its philosophy. It had reestablished itself as a stronghold for the party of Lincoln, as black men found their political voices and were encouraged by their white Republican friends to exercise their rights as citizens as frequently as possible. In contrast, many other white Kentuckians, both rich and poor, were vehemently and violently opposed to “Negro suffrage” and wrapped themselves in the garb of “lost cause” identity politics, refusing to accept the changes occurring in Kentucky and throughout the South.6

  The fact that Kentucky blacks were free, had gained the rights and privileges of citizenship, and were on the verge of attaining suffrage challenged the core beliefs of whites who saw themselves as superior to people of African origin, regardless of their proven ability to rise above their previous status as human chattel. These white men worked hard to deny black rights by systematically punishing those African Americans with social, political, and economic aspirations. Blacks, along with white politicians, business owners, and average citizens who favored changes to the status quo, became the targets for these disillusioned and disoriented white men, most of whom still suffered from the trauma of losing the Civil War and held on to the notion that white male power required black subjugation at the institutional and communal levels. Unable or, in some cases, outright unwilling to accept the inevitability of change, these men continued to fight the war of rebellion on the local front; they fought to maintain the American principles ordained by the founding fathers, who had claimed the divine right of white men over the land and promoted white dominance over the Negro as necessary to the development of the country and a truly authentic American identity.7

  To be sure, by 1870, the city of Lexington was in the midst of a revolution. Led by ministers, newly empowered black men, and hardworking black women, Lexington's black community was alive with the pulse of progress and hungry for the promises made to those who were willing to trust the often maligned political process of self-government in this “new order of things.” Although a small sample of articles from various Kentucky newspapers might lead one to believe that few blacks understood the power being bestowed on them through the Fifteenth Amendment, one article in particular illustrates that some leaders of the black community were well aware of its significance. In the Kentucky Statesman, black leaders from Frankfort called for a “Colored Men's Convention”:

  We, the colored citizens of the city of Frankfort, have duly considered the condition of our people throughout the State of Kentucky, and knowing as we do that there are many of our people not aroused to what is being done, and that there is a great work before us and a great responsibility resting upon us—knowing the intentions of our good Democratic friends who have for years been battling against the colored men, depriving us of the rights of citizens, depriving us of that which we gained at the point of a bayonet, denouncing us ignorant and incapable of self government. In view of these things, we, as a committee, with the right invested in us by the popular will of all the colored citizens of the city, at a public meeting held on the 24th, call a State Convention to meet in the city of Frankfort on the 23rd day of February, 1870, to discuss and prosecute means appertaining to the political issues of the day, and to the vital interest of our race throughout the State. Each county is authorized to send three delegates to each thousand population. Each delegate is advised to come prepared to defray his personal expenses of the Convention. There will be due notice given by sending circulars all over the State. We hope all loyal editors will publish this article throughout the State.8

  Clearly, blacks throughout the state of Kentucky were ready to act to secure their right to vote and claim their share of the American franchise.

  For young Isaac Burns Murphy, Lexington was the perfect place to grow up. It was a place where radical black thought and action originated; it was a place where a young black boy could develop an identity grounded in the communally supported philosophy of self-reliance, achievement, and prosperity. By choosing to remain in Lexington, America Murphy exposed her son to a community participating in the great movement to reconstruct the body politic of the United States to include blacks as valuable citizens and contributors. The question, however, was how to accomplish this in a state that had been both pro-Union and Southern during the Civil War,9 and where a majority of white men still claimed to be superior to blacks. This would be the challenge for aspiring blacks and their hopeful yet naïve offspring.

  By mid-August 1870, nine-year-old Isaac and his mother were living in the First Ward, in the Lower Street cluster of homes set aside for African American inhabitants.10 According to the 1870 U.S. census, America and Isaac had taken the last name of Simon Williams, a day laborer who was listed as the head of the household. Whether this was a loving marriage or one of convenience, a physical relationship between two consenting adults in need of companionship, or a mistake on the part of the census taker in assuming that Simon and America were husband and wife will never be known. Also living at the same residence were three other adults—Anne, James, and another woman named Anne, all with the last name Murphy—perhaps America's siblings. According to the census data, all the adults worked, with the exception of the older Anne, who was twenty-five and was listed as keeping house, and America, who was recorded as being twenty-nine years old (according to other records, her actual age was closer to thirty-nine) and was listed as being “at home.”

  Of those living at the residence, only Isaac and America were literate, which meant they were able to read and write. Simon Williams could read, probably a result of being stationed at Camp Nelson and taking advantage of the education provided by the American Missionary Association. The census also reveals that Isaac attended school in 1870. Based on the location of their residence, he probably attended the school at Pleasant Green Baptist Church, where the pastor, the Reverend Morrison M. Bell, taught the day school to supplement his income.11 Along with the other children, many of whom also lived in the Lower Street cluster of homes, Isaac would have been drilled with Bible lessons and challenged to memorize the Ten Commandments and other passages.

  Whether America Murphy was religious is not known. However, it is safe to say that she, like a majority of blacks during this period in American history, understood the power and purpose of religion to ease the physical and psychological pain of the past, the unpredictable present, and unknown future. It is unclear whether she attended Sunday services regularly or evening prayer meetings on Wednesdays or Fridays. Nor do we know whether she participated in the various church activities that helped maintain the stability of the black community. Chances are good that she did. Because she did not work outside the home, America had the opportunity to be an active member of the church, to volunteer at the Sabbath school held on Saturday mornings, or to take part in Reverend Bell's program for the moral education of black children, giving her a sense of purpose within her community.

  As part of Lexington's radically progressive and politically active black community, America may have attended the Republican Club meetings held on Saturday nights at Pleasant Green Baptist Church. There, she would have learned about the importance of maintaining a politically active community and utilizing the power gained through the Civil War amendments, as well as the usefulness of white Republican friends such as William Cassius Goodloe, a former politician and editor of the Kentucky Statesman. Goodloe's efforts to represent the issues of the African American community in the pages of his biweekly newspaper advanced awareness of the political process, which would be essential to constructing and broade
ning ideas about freedom, equality, and citizenship. Another critical supporter of the black community was John G. Hamilton, the superintendent of colored schools and principal of the Howard School. In addition to advocating the education of black children, Hamilton helped the freedmen save their money and acquire home mortgages. On November 8, 1870, Hamilton opened a branch of the National Savings Bank and Trust Company, also known as the Freedmen's Bank, on the corner of Upper and Church Streets. General D. S. Goodloe, William's brother, served as chairman of the bank's advisory board, consisting of A. M. Barnes, Colonel John A. Prall, W. S. Taylor, the Reverend James Monroe, and Henry King (secretary).12 As both cashier of the bank and superintendent of the colored schools, Hamilton was responsible and held accountable for the black community's financial and educational development.

  Another valuable ally was Llewellyn P. Tarleton Jr., a well-known lawyer and politician who would become editor of the Kentucky Statesman in 1871 and secretary for the committee exploring the development of the railroad through Lexington. By all accounts, he was capable of great leadership and stamina, but as a defender of African American rights and privileges, he was exceptional; the pages of the Statesman resonated with his viewpoints and opinions on the rights of African Americans. In 1883 Tarleton would argue before the U.S. Supreme Court on behalf of John Bush, a black man accused of murdering Annie Van Meter, the daughter of a farmer. According to Tarleton, Bush had not received a fair trial in Kentucky in 1879, and his case was one of the first heard by the Court regarding the denial of black rights under the Fourteenth Amendment.13