Author: Jamie Bradburn
When I was a child, my father enrolled me in week-long summer programs offered by the many museums in my hometown, Amherstburg, Ontario, which is about 29 kilometres from the city of Windsor. On visits to the Fort Malden National Historic Site, a former British stronghold during the War of 1812, I would dress up in British military uniforms, like what Black Loyalists in the U.S. and Canada would have worn when they fought for the British in exchange for land and freedom – except the jackets were way too big for me!I learned how to make poultices (fomentation),from the herbs grown at the Park House Museum. The fun I experienced sparked a passion in me for history that I did not know was within me.
In my 30s, my interest in history evolved into a career as a professional writer, researcher, and public historian specializing in the history of Toronto and its province. This has led me into projects I never could have ever imagined doing, from appearing in bonus features in the CBC drama series Murdoch Mysteries on DVD to helping name city streets in Toronto, like Via Bagnato near Dufferin Street and Lawrence Avenue.
Growing up in Amherstburg was a great environment for a future historian. The town is filled with reminders of its colourful past, especially along its waterfront through sites like King’s Navy Yard Park. Plaques in town commemorate everything from early churches, like the Nazrey African Methodist Episcopal Church built in 1848 by Black refugees who escaped enslavement in the U.S. by travelling to Canada, to the Indigenous Wyandotte cemetery.
My love of history started with my dad
History was all around me when I was child, but its importance was reinstated by my father, who taught history at the General Amherst High School for 30 years. From him, I learned the value of maintaining a large personal reference library, and of newspapers as research material.
His collection of newspaper clippings, inspired by one of his history professors, was massive. It filled several rooms in the high school, drawn from the five daily newspapers we bought like the Detroit Free Press, Toronto Star, or Windsor Star, along with the Sunday New York Times and numerous magazines. Once or twice a week he sat at our kitchen table, listening to CBC radio or sports as he clipped away. After sorting them into subject areas in our basement, he took them to the school and filed them away in his collection. He kept files on virtually everything, providing a pre-Internet resource for his students—and others—to use.
I was one of those users, starting in elementary school my constant exposure to newspapers fueled dreams of someday having a byline in one, which occurred sooner than I expected when I was in grade 8 and got the chance to write my elementary school’s monthly roundup for the Amherstburg Echo.
Amherstburg’s rich Black history
My interest in telling stories about Amherstburg’s role in Black Canadian history has a lot to do with the town’s history. Amherstburg was an important gateway for the Underground Railway into British North America. The Black community that grew around it has left a substantial legacy in town, from historic churches like the Amherstburg First Baptist Church which continues to hold services to the Amherstburg Freedom Museum (or, as I knew it growing up, the North American Black Museum). And it was not far to go to discover more about Black history in southwestern Ontario, thanks to other historical Black communities in Essex County and Chatham-Kent.
I have also had a deep desire to learn about a subject alongside my readers, especially when related to either Toronto or Essex County. Discovering a story or incident I did not know about usually results in some of my better stories, and these tend to be the ones that people keep coming back to. As a white person, I am aware of the importance of not speaking with a voice of authority when writing about Black history; instead, I prefer to let people from the historical record lead the conversation —these are the voices that should be at the forefront.
Uncovering racism in Ontario
I frequently stumble upon stories by accident. Whenever I research a topic in newspapers, I take note of other stories on a page for potential future use and file them away on my computer. A good example of uncovering an unexpected history can be seen in my writing about the Ku Klux Klan interfering when a mixed race couple in Oakville. The couple, Isabel Jones (white) and Ira Johnson (Black), attempted to marry in 1930, and the Klan thought they could intervene the resulting trial saw one of the ringleaders, Hamilton chiropractor William E. Phillips, let off with a fine due to his position in the community. The attorney-general’s office filed an appeal, which led then-Ontario Chief Justice William Mulock to issue a three-month jail sentence. Mulock believed that mob law was “a venomous serpent.” In between the trials, the couple tied the knot.
What surprised me most about that story, even though I really should not have been, was discovering that the last segregated school in the Ontario public school system was a short drive from where I grew up and only closed a decade before I was born. S.S. #11 operated just outside Harrow until 1965, closing due to public pressure and the opening of a new consolidated school in town. The building still stands today, as a private home hidden by trees. I never recalled anyone discussing its existence, but it did not shock me as much as it could have because anti-Black racism among kids I knew bubbled up every so often, such as those who yelled the “n” word out of school bus windows at Black fishermen sitting along Big Creek which flows into Lake Erie.
Working with archives to write stories
While preparing the story for TVO, I learned from a local historical group that the school was still considered a sensitive issue, and also confirmed my suspicions that one of the most powerful photographs in the Globe and Mail’s coverage was probably staged. The image depicted a student holding up a large live rat, which was probably dead and sitting on a nearby woodpile. Nevertheless, it gave momentum to the argument that the school should be closed, as learning conditions weren’t suitable for any children, regardless of their race.
The story ended up being one that had a real life impact. After it was published, I was contacted by the Sheffield Park Black History & Cultural Museum in Clarksburg, which had acquired a desk to display from S.S. #11. I was asked if the story could accompany the exhibit, and it was such an honour to have my work validated in that way, even as it is not always the most financially lucrative.
What I have learned over the years
Black history stories I cover provide some of the most satisfying feedback I receive in terms of helping others with their own research or personal/professional projects. As an example, I wrote about the “Jamaican Patty War” in Toronto’s Kensington Market in the 1980s, and someone kept me informed about how they used it in their writing while studying at an American university.
Positive conversations with readers have confirmed that the methods I use work. I sometimes worry about unintentionally offending someone, but inevitably that is going to happen.
I often wish I could discuss what I have learned over my career with my father—this year marks 25 years since he passed away. It was inspiring to hear from my mother that I was achieving his dream of being a published historian. That is really all I need to remind myself when times get hard — my passion for history was passed along from my dad so that today, I can browse the folders on my computer — the electronic equivalent of his cutting old newspaper clippings to build a collection.
If I share what I have learned through my research and it strikes a chord with an audience, inspiring them to continue to explore these stories on their own, I feel like I have done my job. In an age filled with misinformation and hostility towards communities that have long faced prejudice, passing on knowledge of past injustices and triumphs is critical to finding better paths for the future.
About the author
Jamie Bradburn is a Toronto-based freelance writer, researcher, and public historian. His work has been published by TVO, Spacing, the Toronto Star, Toronto Today, the Canadian Encyclopedia, and Canada’s History. He received Heritage Toronto and National Magazine Awards for his work on Torontoist’s “Historicist” column.