Source of book: I own this, and you should too.
Way back in 1998, I had just moved out into my own home (well, one shared with my brother), and was enjoying doing the adulting thing. Something I inherited from my dad was a love of just going for a drive to explore. I fired up my old Camaro, and headed north and west, just to see what I could find.
I ended up taking Highway 43 through Shafter, then Wasco. At the junction in Wasco, I saw one of those brown signs for state parks that said “Colonel Allensworth State Historic Park” and an arrow pointing north up the highway.
I had no idea whatsoever what that park was. I mean, it was out in the absolute middle of nowhere, I had never heard of a “Colonel Allensworth,” but why not go find out?
A quick left turn over the railroad tracks, just after the Tulare County line, and I found myself in the skeletal remains of a ghost town from nearly 100 years ago, on the edge of wetlands, and, aside from the railroad and a few scattered mobile homes in the area, far from everything else.
I took a walking tour of the place, the only person there, and learned a bit of the story.
I returned later first with my wife (when we were dating) and later with my kids. This last weekend, we attended the Black History Month festival at the park - and that is the best way to experience it, during one of the festivals throughout the year.
Now, just to be clear, the “official” story told at this state park is not entirely accurate, as I found out later. Many of the interpretive signs really need to be updated, as they reflect the official line from 1976, when the park was founded, but they can at least give an idea of what happened at Allensworth.
The book itself is a good addition to the official story, as it is the story of those who lived in Allensworth and their descendants. I highly recommend getting the book, whether or not you ever have a chance to visit Allensworth, as it is a crucial part of the history both of the State of California and the United States.
Let me start with that idea. Without Black History, the history of the United States is really just White History. It is at best a history told from a very limited perspective, and at worst, a wytewashing of the truth, mere propaganda to prop up systems of injustice that still survive today.
A true history of the United States requires not just the perspectives of white people - or more accurately, white upper and upper-middle class men - but the whole range of perspectives. Not just Black History, but Women’s History, Working Class History, Latinix History, Indigenous History, Queer History, and so on. Regular readers of this blog will know that I have made a conscious decision to expand my frame of reference by reading these different perspectives on history. To assume that the dominant class, race, and gender is somehow “objective” is foolish, and the results detrimental to our society.
I hardly need mention that the American Right Wing is frantically trying to silence these other voices in our schools, in our libraries, in our media, and in our public discussion. It is pretty clear that there is a panic about losing the ability to dictate the narrative.
A quote by the always perceptive James Baldwin is on point:
“History, as nearly no one seems to know, is not merely something to be read. And it does not refer merely, or even principally, to the past. On the contrary, the great force of history comes from the fact that we carry it within us, are unconsciously controlled by it in many ways, and history is literally present in all that we do. It could scarcely be otherwise, since it is to history that we owe our frames of reference, our identities, and our aspirations.”
The unspoken (and often unconscious) frames of reference that we have inherited from the past continue to control our ways of thinking - particularly for us white folks, who have been comforted by our delusions, and cocooned in our ignorance. The time has come to listen, not lecture. Only by a synthesis of all of these voices can we comprehend the truth, and learn to live in reality and harmony with each other.
Before I get into the story, I want to talk a bit about the authorship of the book. There are plenty of books which can be said to have a single author, but this is not one of them. The late Alice C. Royal, born in Allensworth, and a longtime advocate for its story, contributed the most to this book, and thus she is listed as the “author.” But that fails to adequately describe what went into the book. Mickey Ellinger and Scott Braley are listed as “with” - which often means “ghostwriter,” but that too doesn’t seem adequate.
Ellinger and Braley (wife and husband, incidentally) describe the making of the book in one of the introductory sections, and they note that Mrs. Royal (never Alice - mind your manners!) was the driving force behind the book, but she was also the one who got the story into California 4th Grade social studies texts.
But there are so many more sources. The authors used the archived interviews of Allensworth surviving residents during the 1970s, interviewed dozens of survivors and their descendents, looked at official records, and incorporated the archeological remains of the site. While Braley took plenty of pictures for the book, there are many more that were provided by the Allensworth families. The book is thus a truly community effort, filled with a chorus of voices.
The story of Allensworth is stated in the first paragraph:
A visitor to Colonel Allensworth State Historic Park, in the dusty southwest corner of Tulare County, may find it an unlikely spot for a historic undertaking, but in the early years of the twentieth century, a handful of Black visionaries set out to build a self-governing community there in California’s San Joaquin Valley, a community where their people could grow and prosper without discrimination or persecution.
But the story begins even before that. Colonel Allen Allensworth has one of the most American stories of all time.
Born into slavery in 1842, he was the youngest of thirteen children. He got himself in trouble by teaching himself to read, and, as a punishment, was sold away from his family. In 1862, he escaped enslavement, signed on with the US Navy, and rose to the highest position (chief steward) a black man could attain at the time.
After the Civil War, he opened a series of restaurants in St. Louis with one of his brothers, got an education, married, and became a minister and teacher.
Then, after a careful campaign, he was appointed as a chaplain in the US Army by President Cleveland, and served with the Buffalo Soldiers. Before he retired in 1906, he rose to the level of lieutenant colonel, the highest a black man had risen at the time. He also wrote curriculum for soldiers that was used for a number of years - by white soldiers as well.
It was in his retirement years that he became a true civic leader, even speaking at the Republican state convention (you know, back before the parties switched places on racial issues), and met a group of likeminded people who would begin to dream of a self-governing black community.
This is where the “official” story of the town picks up. This visionary group purchased a section or so from one of the big land companies in California, founded the town (named after the Colonel), and made a success of it for a while, before water issues (and a few other things) led to its decline.
Oh, and Colonel Allensworth was run down by a motorcycle and killed during a visit to Monrovia to speak at a church. This happened in 1914, a mere five years after the town was founded, so he essentially disappears from the story.
If you dig a bit deeper, though, it becomes clear both that there is a lot more to Allensworth than the Colonel, and also that the Colonel, as inspiring as he was, was not as central to the story as the official narrative would have you believe.
As to that second one first: this happened during the height of Jim Crow and lynchings and the rise of the second KKK. If Allensworth were to succeed, it needed to project an image. This image needed to combine several elements. First, the figurehead - the spokesman - needed to have gravitas, dignity, and a worth that even racist whites could respect. Colonel Allensworth was perfect for this. He was a decorated veteran, a civil leader, a well-spoken and dignified older man. He had the perfect resume, an impeccable reputation. And so, he was chosen as the man to put a face - and a name - on the town. And sure, he was absolutely involved in its founding. However, old men do not a town make, and the other founding families, while lacking the accomplishments, had the youthful energy - and the remaining lifespan - to make a sustainable community.
The other part of the image that needed to be projected was directed at the KKK. To this day, Tulare County is a bastion of right-wing bigotry here in California. There are a disturbing number of Trump flags, hate crimes, and general prejudice. Particularly in the rural parts of the county. Back in the day, it was, if anything, even worse. So, the Allensworth folk had to project the kind of strength that would keep them safe from racial terrorism.
We spent some time talking with the various docents and volunteers at the park this time (which is why a festival is the best time to go), and one line that really struck me is when one of my kid’s friends asked if the Klan was a problem. The docent pointed out that Colonel Allensworth and a lot of the other founders (and many of the residents they recruited) were ex-military, and “they knew how to take care of that stuff.” Yeah, KKK sorts are cowards, and facing down a bunch of ex-soldiers was probably not a great idea.
Throughout the book, the stories told about life in Allensworth was a kind of utopia compared to the prejudice, harassment, and outright violence African Americans experienced in Jim Crow society.
So what went wrong?
There were several things that combined to make Allensworth as it was envisioned fail. Some of these were general issues that faced many small towns in the Central Valley, while others were the result of prejudice.
The most significant obstacle was water. While Allensworth was promised a share of water, this was never provided, and lack of water ultimately doomed the town. When the property was sold, there were artisan wells on the property, but these soon went dry as groundwater was pumped all over the valley. (This is an ongoing problem to this day, and small communities continue to die as their wells go dry.) But worse, when wells were dug, they provided only alkali water, which wouldn’t work for farming. There is so much more to be said about the overall problem of water in California (and I will probably be reading and posting about a book on that very topic in the future), but for Allensworth in particular, there were several factors involved.
Very likely, the land company knew the wells would dry up, and never intended to provide the promised water. In this sense, Allensworth was not unique. However, it is likely that the County deliberately ignored the only African American town in favor of white towns - and even more so, the giant farming corporations that were starting to dominate California agriculture.
While farming was intended to support the town, the other major source of income was the railroad, with a depot at Allensworth. Unfortunately, this too dried up as the railroad built a spur to Alpaugh, a white town a dozen or so miles away. These days, the only trains that stop at Allensworth are the specials that bring visitors to the park from the Bay Area on festival days.
The final issue was related to the first two. While the founders had envisioned building a university adjacent to the town, a “California Tuskegee,” there was never enough funding to do so. The founders, on average, were educated, and wanted their children to go on to higher education. Unfortunately, as it has happened in every small town in the US, it seems, the kids went off to college, and never returned.
Now, does this mean Allensworth disappeared? Actually, no. The Allensworth as a black town lingered until about 1960, and there is still an unincorporated community outside of the park. Now, it consists mostly of farm workers (very much like other San Joaquin Valley towns.) The historic downtown was left to decay, until a movement to restore it led to the founding of the state park in 1976.
The California State Parks system is admirable in many ways, but Allensworth has been the forgotten stepchild of the system. It is now 47 years since the park was founded, and the visitor’s center is still just a “temporary” mobile building. It is “open” year-round, but only staffed sufficiently to open the buildings on the four yearly festival days, and for other dates by request. (You can read about all that on the website.) There is a push to get the visitor’s center built, finally, and a hope that Allensworth can join other state parks (such as Columbia and Fort Tejon) in doing reenactments. I very much hope that happens.
I wanted to hit a few highlights in the book itself, which, again, I recommend even if you are not able to visit the park.
Allensworth himself seems like the sort of person that would have been inspiring to meet. I recounted some of his story - the quintessential rags-to-riches American Dream - and his passion for education. One thing mentioned in the book is his lecture on “The Five Manly Virtues.” Those virtues:
Industry, fidelity, gentleness, fortitude, and prudence.
Hey, those sound like human virtues to me, and I suspect Allensworth would agree. But the reason I was intrigued was that these seem different from the concept of “manliness” pushed hard by conservative subcultures, where “manliness” seems to have more to do with dominance and being “not womanly” than anything positive. Allensworth’s list looks like strength through gentleness, a quiet strength, a true strength. Work hard. Be faithful to friends and family. Be gentle and kind. Follow through and don’t give up. Be wise and plan ahead. I mean, sign me up!
I also find the dream of Allensworth to be inspiring. Wouldn’t we all want to live in a place that had true community? Here is what Pauline Hall Patton, who lived in Allensworth as a child had to say about it:
“It is hard for me to describe Allensworth today, compared to my memories of the beautiful attended gardens, the green fields, the green trees that grew along the ditch banks and in some of the yards; the cheerful greetings of classmates; and the general feeling of pride I had in living in Allensworth so many years ago.”
Elsewhere in the book, there are reminders of why Allensworth was necessary for that feeling of pride. William Payne was a college educated, award winning student who became the teacher in Allensworth at its founding. What was he doing before that? Sweeping floors at a bank.
What?
Oh yeah, black people weren’t hired to teach school in California at the time. That was changing, and eventually, Payne left to become principal of a segregated school in El Centro. Yeah, still segregated, but at least it hired black teachers and staff.
Not all schools in California were segregated, at least entirely. One picture in this book that was haunting was that of young Arthur Hackett, right before his family moved to Allensworth, as the only student of color in his class in Alameda.
Another bit that caught my eye was the fact that after the water started to fail, the town switched over to more grazing and less irrigating. The town established a communal grazing area, with everyone’s cattle mixed together. The young boys would drive them home at the end of the day, and the cows all knew which house to go to because that is where they were milked. Um, so much for “the tragedy of the commons” at work, right? Communal grazing areas have worked for millennia - all you need is community cooperation. (And, realistically, no giant conscience-free corporations…)
One unique thing about Allensworth was that, although they were never an incorporated town, they built their own local government, complete with taxes and public officials. I will give special mention to Oscar Overr, elected as Justice of the Peace in 1914 (in an election which was contested, but the California Eagle - an African American newspaper based in Los Angeles - noted that both candidates were solid candidates.) Overr became what is believed to have been the first African American judge west of the Rockies - that’s pretty incredible.
The final thing I wanted to note was the account of the great debate within the African American community over the best plan for the future. In the greater sense, this was the debate between the ideas expressed by two great men: Booker T. Washington with his belief that African Americans needed to better themselves within their own institutions, and W.E.B. Du Bois and his assertion that only full integration could bring equality.
In the context of Allensworth, the debate was in large part over the proposed university. Given its location, it would be an all-black school, and thus could be considered a form of voluntary segregation. At that time, the battle to fully integrate California’s schools - long before Brown v Board of Education - was underway, and an all-black school was seen as undermining that.
Colonel Allensworth, prior to his death, was firmly in the Washington camp, but the younger generation of Allensworth men were inclined toward the newly-founded NAACP. I liked how the book summarized the question - it really is a good way of thinking of the debate.
The conflict around the vocational school was a skirmish in the ongoing struggle between the philosophies of integration and separation. How would colored Americans be best able to live full lives - by fighting to be included in every aspect of the economic, social, and political life of the U.S., or by building their own self-reliant communities and institutions? Or could both strategies help foster equality and support each other?
This debate is ongoing today, of course. And not just when it comes to African Americans and their struggle to be able to live full lives. You can see it in the questions surrounding feminism too, and in every ethnic struggle around the world.
Not that my opinion as a white man is particularly meaningful here, but having read both Booker T. Washington and W. E. B. Du Bois (and an increasing number of other African American writers) is that the two of them were and are on the same team, kind of how rivals Brahms and Wagner sound more like each other as Romantics than they do composers from other eras. Both of them had important things to say, and on balance, did a tremendous amount to better the lives of African Americans.
This brings us back to the meaning of Allensworth itself. The town was an experiment in self-governance (and self-segregation) that allowed its residence the level of dignity, safety, and freedom they were unable to experience in the white supremacist society outside. For those who lived there, it was a cherished experience. But was it the way forward? It is difficult to be sure. Had the water supplies held up, had the train depot stayed, perhaps the town would have lasted longer in that form. Would it have survived the Civil Rights Act, though? How many of its young folk would have chosen to leave for a shot in mainstream society? And, also worth consideration, would Allensworth have met the same fate as so many small rural agrarian towns in California, with small farmers displaced by corporate monoculture?
Obviously, this is all speculation. What I am left with as a feeling about Allensworth is that it was a truly inspiring project. To build a community together like that is a noble goal, and one that all of us should aspire to whatever context we find ourselves. I am also left with sadness that it wasn’t supported by the broader society, and even more sadness that for its residents, it was necessary. Had we white people done the right thing in the past, there would have been no need for Allensworth. Just like if we were to do the right thing now, we wouldn’t be continuing to have the discussion of the best way to address ongoing systemic racial inequalities. Instead, we get government-enforced denial that our society has systemic injustice, and certainly no need to address it.
It has now been 25 years since that day I stumbled on Allensworth and the important story it tells. Trying to reconstruct in my mind all of my journey away from the thoughtless racism and indifference of the subculture I grew up in is hopelessly complicated, but I do believe that a chance encounter with Allensworth was an important part of that journey.
If you are in the area, I recommend a visit - particularly on a festival day. But in any case, this book tells an important part of our history. In fact, we all share in this history, because Black History is American History - we are united, not separated, by the diversity of our perspectives and experiences. As the T-shirts the Fresno County Unified School District students and staff got (and dang, I want one!) says, “United by our History.”
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A few photos from our last two visits:
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