Some history I found on the First Baptist Church Jefferson Park website explains how my mother’s people migrated from Mulberry Island to Jefferson Park.
The late Deacon William and Mrs. Lucy Wooten’s inspirational leadership contributed to the organization of The First Baptist Church Jefferson Park in 1918 under the Holy Spirit’s guidance. After being displaced from their homes by the United States Government, Deacon and Mrs. Wooten and a small group of others came to Jefferson Park from Mulberry Island (now Fort Eustis) in 1918.
Remember, Poppa (Grandpa Moses) was born and lived with his parents on Mulberry Island.
When the government took the island to establish Fort Eustis, about 1,000 people lived on the island, they were primarily black. In relocating, they scattered in many directions. Some went to Yorktown and Warwick County. Others went to the Colony area, and some to Jefferson Park. Information from a document written in Mrs. Wooten’s handwriting in 1918 tells the story of the move from Mulberry Island to Jefferson Park. She and her husband, Deacon Wooten, and Mr. and Mrs. Samuel Harris were the first to move into Jefferson Park from the island. They came to the Park mainly because of Mrs. Ethel Ashe’s efforts, daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Samuel Harris. Mrs. Ashe was a former resident of Mulberry Island. But then, she lived in Newport News because her husband, the late Trustee William Ashe, was in the Army and stationed at Camp Steward. Upon hearing the bad news concerning her parents’ plight and the others who had to leave Mulberry Island, Mrs. Ashe began looking for a place for them to live. Fortunately for her, one day, while shopping, she overheard a conversation about Jefferson Park, where land was available for black people to buy. Immediately, she went to the island and told her parents and others the good news. Negotiations began to purchase the land, and the move to Jefferson Park soon began.
The Islanders were frustrated over having to leave Mulberry Island for many reasons. They had to start their lives all over, leaving their homes, families, and churches. Most Islanders who came to Jefferson Park were members of the Colossian Baptist Church on the island. Like any undeveloped area, Jefferson Park had no modern conveniences, public schools, mail delivery, or church. The people were stouthearted and determined to make the Park livable. They worked hard, cleared the land, and did everything they needed to make it their home and a proud place to live. However, they were unsatisfied with their striving to clear the land. They wanted a Church. Not having a Church to worship was the greatest frustration for them. The people missed the singing, the praying, the preaching, and the fellowship they had enjoyed in the Colossian Baptist Church. However, God had not forgotten them, and His plan was already in action though they did not know it.
The first place of worship was a very crude building. According to some members, the building resembled a woodshed more than a Church. Deacon Wooten built the church; he and other men also made the pews, the pulpit, and the communion table. Kerosene lamps attached to the bare walls furnished the faint glimmer of light for the night services. There was no piano, organ, or formal choir. Someone usually led the songs they sang in the group. The leader would start by saying a few words of a song, such as Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound…and the people would answer back with the same words in the song. Today, this type of service is challenging to visualize and, for some, difficult to appreciate.
The pioneers of our church, regardless of the circumstance or the building’s plainness, were faithful to God. Sincere in their commitment and genuine in their worship. As more people moved into the Park, the church continued to grow. In the people’s efforts to save souls, they often gathered at the little church and then walked through the Park from house to house, singing songs of praise. Whenever they came to a place where an unsaved person lived, they sang and prayed tirelessly, hoping to persuade the person to come out and “be saved.” Many people did come to know the Lord through these soul-saving campaigns. The Church baptism services were in the James River, just off Lincoln Park in lower Newport News. Today, we can be thankful for the zeal exhibited by the early pioneers.
As you can see from the church’s history, the people who moved from Mulberry Island were related. Esther and my Mother are first cousins, so Esther’s mother and my Grandma Jane, these two sisters, Jane and Elizabeth (Liz), went in different directions when they moved from Mulberry Island. Grandma Jane and Poppa moved to Yorktown, while her sister Elizabeth moved to Jefferson Park.
Years later, my parents purchased two lots to build a house across the street from the church you read about at the beginning of this chapter. My parents moved from Newsome Park to Jefferson Park. Jefferson Park had the same makeup as Newsome Park; the only difference was that they owned their homes. Our cousin Esther’s house was next door to the church. 621-42 St. After her death, her nephew, Cepheus Boykins, sold her house to the church. Esther did not have children, so Cousin Cepheus was her next of kin. It is now part of the parking lot for First Baptist Jefferson Park.
So, this is information that brings my family to Jefferson Park. My parents have moved here from Newsome Park. And by now, our family has five girls, all about 18 months apart. The idea was to build and live in a small house while Daddy built the larger one with his friends’ help. The small house had only two bedrooms, so we girls had to sleep in the same bed. I remember being two at the head of the bed and two at the foot. Back then, the bedrooms would be cold with no central heat and air. We had one Big Stove in the living room, and Daddy would put so much coal and wood in it that it would turn red from the fire inside. I was afraid it would burn the house down; it heated the living room and kitchen area but not our bedroom. We used a “foot tub, ” a small tin tub; we would bring it to the living room near the stove and bathe there before bed. We would pile on blankets and coats to keep warm. To this day, I like a heavy quilt on my bed.
We survived Hurricane Hazel in that little house.
I remember we were home alone. Momma had gone to work despite a hurricane forecast to hit our city that day. She worked at the Port Author Chinse Restaurant, “Overtown,” as it was referred to back then, and Daddy worked at VEPC, Virginia Electric & Power Co., in October 1954. I was 11 years old. I would turn 12 in December, so Barbara was 13 years old.
“Long before its worst winds and waves slammed into Hampton Roads on the afternoon of October 15, 1954, Hurricane Hazel was a storm to remember. And by the time it rumbled to the north about 6 p.m., it had battered the 100-mph gauges at the Norfolk weather station so badly against the top end of the dial that they had to replace it.” The following is from a Daily Press News article I found online.
“At Fort Monroe, more than 100 trees came down — and 500 people were evacuated from their homes because of high water.
The newspaper reported that more trees fell along Chesapeake Avenue and downtown Hampton — where fierce winds pulled sign after sign down from the exposed storefronts in the King and Queen Streets business district.
Steady 90-mile per hour-plus winds roared in from the southwest against the shoreline at Newport News all afternoon, toppling a chimney at the Daily Press and sending it plunging through the roof.”
We survived Hurricane Hazel in October 1954, one of the worst storms to hit the area. My sisters and I were home alone, and I remember the hurricane well. We were not afraid, and we did not have a phone. I remember Momma was so worried about us because she had to take a bus home from work. She got home as soon as possible. But God…..There was no damage to our house. Not a shingle off the roof or window was damaged in our little house. When Momma and Daddy got home, they were so happy to see us, and we were glad they were home. They both said they did not think our house would make it. After that, Daddy was so proud of his little house.
Daddy started on the larger house, a two-story five-bedroom house, and the outside was cinderblock. There were two bathrooms, one upstairs and one downstairs, we did move into the house, but with all that happened, he never finished it. There were so many things that happened as they worked on the house. Not only did Daddy lose his job, but he also got sick. As hard as Momma tried, she could not keep up with so many children and so much to do.
One day, Daddy was working on the house. Baby Sis and (I am unsure if it was Esther Mae or Christine) were going to the store. As he tries to split a cinderblock with a hatchet, a piece of steel flies off and hits Baby Sis in the eye. They rushed her to the hospital, and the Doctors had to remove her eye; she was maybe six at the time. She received a plastic Eye then; plastic is better than glass. I remember the Lyons Club donated money for the procedure and paid $1,000 for the eye. That was a rough time for our family. But Baby Sis was young enough to get accustomed to the plastic eye and not being able to see out of her right eye. Sometimes, when she got older, she even joked about it. Momma made sure Baby Sis grew up learning how to take care of her eye. It was like Momma knew she would not be around to do things for her, and Baby Sis needed to understand how to take care of herself. Momma was most concerned about Baby Sis because of her eye. What if something happens to her other eye? “She would be blind,” Momma said; she hoped Baby Sis would go to college, and she was the first of us to get a college degree.
After many trials and Momma’s passing, we all left 614 one by one over the years.
With no one living there, the house went down fast. Homeless people and drug addicts would use it for shelter. They broke out the windows. It became a problem in the community right in front of the church. Soon, there were many complaints from the city that the house was a nuisance and fire hazard; boarding it up was the only choice. Even boarding it up was not enough; people just pulled the boards off and went in.
We leave 614-42 St in Jefferson Park, Newport News, VA. no one is living there, and it is all boarded up. We had some good times there, but not much, not much at all, after Momma died. So much happened in 614.
The timeline on 614, our family Home. This is how 614 changed hands over the years, ending with Lonnie Sr. & Martha Jane.
October 9, 1959, conveyed to Lucille Vernon by deed of Frank A Nichols et ux. Recorded in the Clerk’s office aforesaid in Deed Book 378, page 156
August 7, 1973. Kline Furniture Co placed a $1049.81 Judgment
October 8, 1974. Esther Mae Vernon Whitt, Elnora Vernon, Lucille Vernon Gibbs & George Gibbs, her husband, and Edward Lee Vernon Sr., widower of Lucille Vernon, did for and in consideration of $1 did grant and conveyed to Martha Vernon and Edward Lee Vernon Jr.; all of their right, title, and interest in the property known as 614-42nd street.
April 29, 1976, Barbara Vernon Haynes and James Haynes, her husband Martha Vernon, Christine Vernon Slade, and Deborah Vernon did for and in consideration of $1 did grant and conveyed to Edward Lee Vernon Jr.; all of their right, title, and interest in the property known as 614-42nd street.
November 22, 1976, Edward Lee Vernon, Jr. and Gwendolyn R. Vernon, his wife, for and in consideration of $1, did grant and conveyed to Martha Jane Williams and Lonnie Allen Williams; all of their right, title, and interest in the property known as 614-42nd street.
Things had gone so wrong with the house that Lonnie & I found ourselves coming from Denbigh almost every other week to do something. We ended up having to have what was left torn down. A picture of our Red and White car is in the driveway, a truck at the front door, and you can see through the roof.
We looked into getting a loan but did not qualify before Lonnie started working at the Shipyard. Also, Jefferson Park was not the best area. We were not 100% sure we wanted to move there.
I had a very close relationship with Aunt Mae and Uncle Horace, and they stood with me both times I married. So I saw no reason not to transfer the two lots to Uncle Horace. He would rebuild the house for us since he had a construction business and then sell it back to us. Lonnie and I talked to him about that, and that is what we did.
Although Lonnie and I owned the house (614), I should have discussed it with my siblings. I never thought my life would change so drastically as it did.
December 8, 1977, Martha Jane Williams and Lonnie Allen Williams, for and in consideration of $10, did grant and convey to Horace L Taliaferro, Sr, and Mae Ellen Taliaferro, his wife, all of their right, title, and interest in the property known as 614-42nd street.
January 23, 1978, the $1049.81 Judgment by Kline Furniture Co. placed on 614, having been paid and satisfied, the lien thereof is now released.
So, we discussed it with Uncle Horace and devised a plan for rebuilding the house. I was close to Aunt Mae and was often around Uncle Horace, so I thought this was an excellent safe plan. We signed over the lots to Uncle Horace and Aunt Mae.
Lucille came for a visit and stopped by our apartment on Motoka Dr.; we talked about 614 and what we would do with it. We were both excited about getting it redone. She stated that it could be a family house and somehow shared. I can’t remember the details of the conversation, but I know she was saying it would be the family home. We did not discuss how this would work, how the family would do the financing, or who would live there.
After she left, Lonnie and I talked, and he stated that if it was like that, he could not build a house for us on it. I tried my best to come up with something. I did not consult with my sisters and Jr.; the next thing you know, my life took some significant twists and turns, and I did not get back with Uncle Horace. I never thought he would sell the lots without giving me a chance to get them back first. But he did. He never contacted me when he was approached about the lots being for sale.
Lonnie had passed away; I met Howard, and we married and moved to Alaska. Since I transferred the lots to him and when he sold them, so much had happened in my life. As I look back, it was my responsibility. Before I left, I should have talked to them about the lots. I only found out he sold the lots when Barbara called and told me a house was built there.
As with everything in life, something always makes you stop and ask why. In my relationship with them, they knew how vital those lots (614-42nd St.) were to our family. How could they sell them, knowing that is where my sisters, brother, and I grew up? The place my mother and father worked so hard to build for our family without letting me know they wanted to sell them or someone was interested in buying the lots. I would have repurchased them at the going rate. Remember, I did not sell the lots to them; I signed them over I received no money. We had to pay off the $1,000 lien.
Losing the house and the lots placed me in a very unpleasant situation with my siblings. They trusted me by setting the property in my name; this has hurt me to my core, but I have not let it keep me from loving my family and having a relationship with them. But I feel it is so unfair.
I am genuinely sorry that this happened. It feels like everything Momma and Daddy tried to do just “went downhill,” and I did not help.
Thelma Nickles, who lived next door to us, is a little older than me, but we all grew up together, purchased the lots, and built a house on them; she was still there the last time I checked.
Saying sorry does not mean much, but I am sorry to my sisters, brother, nieces, and nephews. Most of all, I am sorry to Momma & Daddy. I know how hard they worked to get that house built. I am so sorry we did not hold on to the home and property our parents tried to build.
Looking back on the situation today, I know I could have handled the situation better, but at the time, I was dealing with so many issues. Moving to Alaska, I just got swept up into my new life. No Excuse. But I will never forget 614-42 Street as the place where I grew up, and there were some happy memories there.
