This is the fourth in a continuing series on the Robert E. Lee monument located in Ft. Myers, FL. For part 1 click here. For part 2 click here. For part three click here.

Social exclusion. The process of pushing individuals or groups of people outside your circle. Marking them “other.” Preventing them from accessing the safety, shelter, governing laws, group knowledge, and resources as those within.

It has happened in every time and place in human history. In our primitive past, social exclusion meant death. The world was too harsh, the predators too fierce to survive alone. Although we now have larger safety nets as humans, we still live in fear of exclusion. It can cause us to behave in ways that later shame us. The way we pretend to not hear another person being singled out. The way we even joined in on making fun of a person who was an easy target. The way we prioritized our social currency instead of calling out the racist comments of others. When Ruby Bridges was escorted under military guard into William Frantz Elementary School every single family pulled their child from her class. For an entire year, she was a class of one, sitting in an otherwise empty room with her teacher Barbara Henry. I’ve often wondered if there were parents who were fine with Ruby being in their child’s classroom, but still pulled them because of what it would do to their own social standing. Not wanting to suffer the same treatment as the black citizens of their communities, they held the line.

Social Exclusion is a cruel thing to do to individuals. It is a cruel thing to do to groups of people as well, but we see a different phenomenon in groups. The exclusion of groups of people results in culture. Dialects, clothing, foods, new genres of music, unique forms of dance and other art forms are developed. New traditions and social norms are established. Mythology is developed, new legends are passed down. A sense of pride emerges that is far greater than the exclusion that created it in the first place.

Those who crossed the ocean in putrid, stinking slave ships, those who endured generations of human trafficking in America already had a jump on this process. Centuries of social exclusion tend to do that. In times when not even the children these women gave birth to were theirs, in times where generation after generation had no knowledge of their own circumstances or family – there was a sense of belonging, a consistency where one was accepted.

In the year 1907 the sleepy city of Ft. Myers sat, rather isolated, on the water’s edge. The easiest means of transportation here was by boat, which gave Ft. Myers a more elite edge. Those being able to pay for this journey were more likely to come from the north. More likely to be Union Sympathizers. This made Ft. Myers rather unique in its social construct. The city formed an interdependence between the races that was unseen in much of the south. The black residence of Ft. Myers were respected businessmen and property owners. Literacy was the highest in the state. It was fitting for a place put on the map by a group of black, cattle-moving, slave-freeing Union soldiers. The Second United States Colored Infantry, men who would hold Fort Myers under Confederate siege at the end of the Civil War.

The social landscape of the city changed dramatically when the railroad reached Ft. Myers; bringing with it a flux of Confederate sympathizers and a sizeable black labor force. The laborers were preceded by a reputation they hadn’t earned, that of being lawless and needing heavy-handed supervision. The long time, well established black families of Ft. Myers suffered guilt by association. Over the next decade, every one of these families were prodded, stripped of property, and even outright pushed across the tracks to an area known as Safety Hill. And this is where we pick up our story.

Ft. Myers was now city segregated. As happened across the rest of the south, new laws and regulations restricted black people from owning property, voting, attending the same schools, churches, restaurants or businesses as white people. These laws were, of course, one-sided. Severely enforced upon black citizens while only pretending to protect them from unlawful behavior.

The Latisha Ashmore Nutt Chapter of the United Daughters of the Confederacy, Chapter 144, were two years into their effort to raise $6000 for a monument to General Robert E. Lee. They had been relatively successful in this, the fund stood at $1800. The city was busy with other things. The old courthouse, an out-of-date wooden building, had been recently torn down and its lumber used to build the first hospital in Lee County. It was decided that the United Daughters of the Confederacy would donate their funds to assist in this effort. The year was 1915, the funds for the Robert E. Lee Monument in Ft. Myers returned to $0.

Segregation was here to stay. In 1924 Ft. Myers built a new train station, the blueprints of which were drawn as a segregated building. The station had two waiting rooms, one for black passengers and the other for white with the ticket booth between them. Although the blueprints show the intention of equally-sized rooms, the area used for black passengers was quickly reduced by half and used for storage. The last train departed the Ft. Myers station in 1971. Although no longer segregated by law, on that final departure the building remained segregated by social custom. The passengers waited in their respective areas and rode in their respective cars as the era of train travel came to an end. (The train station has been repurposed into the lovely Collabratory, the waiting rooms intact, the former train tracks marked as brass lines through the building.)

A terror was making its way across the south during these years. Lynching. Segregation law was one thing. It killed the dreams and inhibited social advancement. If you were black, the law absolutely was not going to protect the rights afforded you by the Constitution. There was nothing that could be done about it because you were so sheerly outnumbered. Justice was not blind, as is the American ideal. Justice saw your color and disregarded your opinion. Segregation law was bad enough – until you compare it to the ever-present threat of lynching. No black person was safe from it, it happened men, women and even children. These acts were above the law, those responsible for them were never persecuted. In fact, it was not uncommon to have postcards made of these horrific scenes and send them to friends and relatives. The mere suggestion of impropriety could end your life on any given day. Unjust laws were sealed with the blood of the innocent. Any attempts to gain justice would seal your own fate.

It happened here. On the afternoon of May 25th, 1924, a man walking by a local swimming area saw four teenagers near a local swimming area, two black teens with two white females. The four of them were known friends, and had grown up together. What was almost certainly an innocent gathering, yhe man found unacceptable and infuriating. He walked the rest of the way to town and raised the alarm, saying the two boys were raping the girls he’d seen. The boys in question were RJ Johnson, 14 years old, and Milton Wilson, 15. And they never had a chance.

The Sheriff likely cooperated. He would later claim to have been overpowered by the mob. The door to RJ Johnson’s cell was left open, giving the mob access to him. Milton Wilson was found a short time later in a railroad car. Their deaths were brutal. Their bodies dragged back to Safety Hill in, what would be described as “an evil parade from hell.” Later that same day, a jury of six Ft. Myers residents were convened and reached the decision that the teens were killed “by the hands of parties unknown, and we herewith wish to commend the Sheriff and his entire force for the earnest efforts made by them in their attempt to carry out the duties of their office.” The matter was closed.

Even the cemetery was segregated at this time. The boys were laid to rest in unmarked graves. To this day where they rest is known only to God.

The mid 1920’s would bring two large advancements to Safety HIll. In 1924 the community would raise enough money to build a hospital and in 1926 a High School would be built. Named after poet Paul Lawrence Dubar and built next to the Williams Academy, these two schools now provide K-12 education for not only the black families of Ft. Myers but all the surrounding areas. Students as far away as Naples are bussed to these schools and generations of children are educated here. Dunbar High School would quickly become the hub of social activity and the heart of the community. Because of this, the entire area would transition from the name ‘Safety Hill’ to “Dunbar”, which it is known as to this day.

The social exclusion of the black citizens of Ft. Myers begins to strengthen and grow, within itself. Dunbar becomes its own entity, a city within a city, a light of its own. A beacon of strength and perseverance, Dunbar should never have been excluded from the greater Ft. Myers. And yet it did not need inclusion to fulfill its own destiny.

The year is 1940. The Ashmore Nutt Chapter of the United Daughters of the Confederacy, Chapter 1447, have raised $500 for the monument to General Robert Lee. The Lee County Hospital is adding a new labor and delivery wing and the United Daughters of the Confederacy decide to donate their funds to this effort. The balance of the Robert E. Lee Monument Fund is once again to $0.

Clifford “Buck” McCollum Sr. was a man with a vision. Thanks to segregation laws, Dunbar was not a place of affluence. A trip over the railroad tracks, to this day, signals the fact that something has changed. Clifford McCollum didn’t seem to notice. McCollum Hall was a dance and performance hall, a warm yellow beacon just over the railroad tracks. Dunbar and McCollum Hall was a destination for black performers and athletes for decades. The hall became a mainstay on the so-called “Chitlin’ Circuit,” hosting such names as Louis Armstrong, Count Basie, B.B. King and Duke Ellington. During World War II, McCollum Hall served as a U.S.O for black servicemen stationed at nearby Paige Field. White servicemen were welcome here as well. In line with the segregation laws of the time, a rope divided the dance floor between black and white patrons.

In a time when women were not generally recognized as leaders of the community or business owners, Ft. Myers had Dr. Ella May Piper, a black businesswoman and philantropist. She earned a degree in podiatry before coming to this area. She opened a very successful beauty shop in the Dunbar area. She would later become the owner of Big 4 Bottling company and took over her mothers tradition of distributing Christmas gifts to the children of her community. Dr. Pipers Christmas Celebration carries on to this day, having grown to benefit 600 children each year.

Mrs. Evelyn S. Canady, a black educator and religious leader, would begin the Annual Dunbar Easter Parade in the 1940’s, a large community gathering that also continues through our present time.

The community is able, despite the strict segregation laws of the time, to become a self-sufficient community. Professional black athletes roomed in Dunbar during Spring Training. The businesses are successful. Dunbar Heights expanded and grew.

A single event in America seemed to change it all. It caused the Latisha Ashmore Nutt Chapter of the United Daughters of the Confederacy, Chapter 144, to begin their third and final push for a monument to General Robert E. Lee. Animosity grows. Racial tensions become strained. Dunbar begins a slow decline.

This one event was none other than the United States Supreme Courts decision in Brown vs. Board of Education. It ruled that segregated schools were in violation of the 14th Amendment, even if they were deemed equal in quality.

How does a thriving, self-sufficient community become cut off and begin to lose the lifeblood that sustains it? How long a journey is the road to equality and how does the Robert E. Lee monument play into it? Please join me for the final chapter in this story, Blood of the Martyrs: the Battle for Civil Rights in Ft. Myers. General Lee and Me. Part 5.