About

This blog is a collection of stories and photos about African American life in rural Virginia during the 1950s and 60s. Back when being called “Black” was an insult and we referred to ourselves as Negro and the majority of America referred to us as “Colored”. These stories revolve around the small town of Remington, Virginia in southern Fauquier County.

7 comments

  1. Wow, what an awesome story you tell as you recall your early years. I love each entry I have read!
    I grew up in Warrenton on a farm, and still live just outside of town on Springs Road. My two sisters and I, along with my parents, came to Remington every Sunday to visit our adopted grandparents and surrounding families. Your stories of the area have taken me back to a wonderful time!
    Thank you so much!
    Take care, Mary

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  2. Thanks Mary, glad you are enjoying my stories. If memory will allow, I will try to add more.

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  3. Stan-

    Really have enjoyed your stories and your chronicling of history from Fauquier . I’ve found lots of touch-points and common threads in your stories, Mr Wilson ( who always made us show him our report cards), Pat George (what a character, my mom picked him up once) and The Remington bank.

    I went to school with your brother Mike at Fauquier, and remember Ray and you from old IBM (VSLI) days. You have quite a talent for storytelling. Glad to see your doing well and look forward to reading more of your work.

    Jim

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    • Jim, I remember you very well, I’ll let Mike and Ray know I heard from you and thanks for all the kind words.

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  5. This website has truly inspired me. I’ve recently started to trace my roots. The story “The Downside to Ancestry.com” is similar to what what I’ve been going through for the past several years with my family. When I started this journey, I was faced with opposition from some of my own family members. My elders came from a time where children were to be seen and not heard and they felt like I was being down-right disrespectful when I asked certain questions. I pleaded that my intention was only to preserve my family’s history not get in grown folks business. Now nearly all of them are gone. My paternal grandfather died last summer.

    A few days ago, I came across an old stained loose leaf sheet of paper in my computer desk. I was about to throw it away when I realized there was writing on it. It was folded horizontally in three parts. I opened it and it was in my grandfather’s handwriting. It was a list of his family information: the names and birth dates of his adoptive parents, as well as his full name and birth date. The list also had my paternal grandmother’s name birth date and social security number, as well as, the names and birth dates of her parents…

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    • Family history is so important. When my mother tells stories of years and folks gone by we cling to every word. They especially love to hear of the mischievousness of their uncles and aunts now gone. When I tell a story of our childhood, I get a great deal of resistance from some siblings because it may put some of them in a bad light. Right now, they don’t realize how appreciated those stories will be two or three generations from now when we are all gone and no one is left to fill in the blanks. Thanks for your comments and thanks for taking the time to read the stories.

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