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him, his responses often made him appear to be much older than he really was. “Being raised in Whitehaven,” said Reed who still lives in the area, “I always questioned my parents about why I had to walk from here, where I am now, over to Geeter School when there was an empty bus that passed me going over to pick up three white children and bring them back. The bus went over empty and it came back empty and I always asked my parents, why? The bus went over empty and it came back empty, but we couldn’t ride it.” Reed often questioned his parents wanting to understand why he and his siblings couldn’t ride the bus, but they could not give him an answer. William told himself that if he ever got grown, he’d “do something about it.” “As a child growing up in Whitehaven, we were left behind in everything,” said Reed. “During WWII, when the Jap’s bombed Pearl Harbor, we had some young [black] men who had enlisted in the U.S. Navy who lost their life in the war. I was very young, but I was very angry because I felt that when the Jap’s bombed Pearl Harbor that was the wrong thing to do. They’d taken advantage of a lot of people. A lot of people lost their lives. Some people I knew who were in school lost their lives. During that time, they brought a B-14 or 15 bomber, whatever it was, up to Whitehaven High School for the white boys to tear it down, rebuild it, and get it ready for flying. They didn’t even put a T-Model or an A-Model Ford over there [at Geeter] for us to work on.” Reed always felt that the decision to not train blacks on aircraft or other types of transportation was wrong; but the real shock of WWII didn’t actually fully set in until he was drafted into the U.S. Army. “One of the first things that happened when we landed in le Laha, France occurred when I saw the pillboxes that had been built,” said Reed. “They were truly something else. They had been bombed to the point that they almost looked like tissue paper.” Reed remained in Germany for a while and travelled to Munich, Stuttgart, and some of the other places that had also been bombed to ashes. Upon his return to the United States, he discovered yet another disturbing practice that was in place. “I found out that my service in the military did not even warrant me a decent place to go in and sit down to have a meal with my family,” said Reed, referring to the lack of fair treatment he and his family continued to endure. “It was just mind-boggling. My wife and children and I had gone to the Harlem House to eat. It was one of the best places to eat in Memphis and we had to eat from a stool.” Reed was now a grown man. He was married and had his own family to care and provide for. He remembered telling himself as a child that if he ever reached this stage in life he would try to change some things that he didn’t Long before he married, William Reed purchased some land and this three-room house on Whitehaven Lane. was a task so momentous, that even in the mid-1940’s and especially below the Mason-Dixon line, it was going to be far harder than he had chalked it up to be. His solution? Moving his young family north. “Whitehaven has always been called Whitehaven,” said Reed. “At one time, it was so small that it was just a street up there that connected to the highway. If you didn’t know Whitehaven was here, you’d pass right by it and never know it!” It was around this time when Reed and his wife began receiving papers from as far away as Colorado and Minnesota. “We picked some places where we thought we could go to raise our children. Where they would have a better education and we would have access to a library and whatever we needed, but it didn’t work out,” said Reed. Meanwhile, some of the Black residents of Whitehaven were silently praying that Reed and his family could not get out of Whitehaven and make things work the way they wanted them to. “There was Mother Mullins who got to be over 100 years old, Mother Geeter, my Grandmother, Mother Reed, and my wife’s family,” said Reed. “I had this job offer in Pueblo, CO. I took a week’s vacation from my job at Harvester, left my family in Memphis, and went there to get the job, but I couldn’t get the job because of my skin color.” That job was for a WD-14 machinist, the same job Reed was performing in Memphis. Being the sole provider for his family, Reed knew that he couldn’t afford to lose his machinist job in Memphis, so he returned to Whitehaven. But there was a different feeling going on inside of him. Reed returned, but with a whole new outlook on and attitude about life 2 like about the way white’s treated blacks. As an adult, Reed had finally figured out what his parents knew all along. Changing the way blacks were treated by whites While preparing to write the history of the MCMJ, I discovered that in the African American community, there is an illness that we as a people suffer with, what I call, “start a splinter group.” When these individuals see something that has promise, if they can’t take over, they will “start a splinter group.” They will work with your program just long enough to discover what makes your program great. Then they will “start a splinter group.” Consequently, we have a large number of look-alike splinter groups, from master programs. There have been many such individuals involved whit the Jubilee’s program that fell victim to this illness. I have been urged to document the history and purposes of the MCMJ celebration to give outsiders a clean view of the celebration as it actually existed. As well, to point to the fact that volunteering to work for the betterment of others is a noble undertaking. This documentary will focus on the volunteers that worked to promote the MCMJ, did so to bring dignity to the black community and worked to see their fellow man’s quality of life enriched. This documentary will give evidence as to how well documented the MCMJ is as an organization, and give insight into its many accomplishments. You will discover that for many, once they had worked promoting the MCMJ in excess of 50 years because they felt good about the work they were doing for the benefit of others. Even though the celebration’s activities have come to a temporary stand still, I am working to see that a museum is established to insure the historical records of the MCMJ are presented for all times, which will give the celebration an opportunity to be revived. Additionally, the museum may be used as a toll to recruit new members to help restore the movement and the celebration and bring forward new innovative ideas to revive the celebration for the next generation. Finally, I have a burning desire for young people to know about the successes of the MCMJ that prevailed in the early 1930s when the Black community was facing its most difficult times. With this knowledge, as a People, if we were able to reach such milestones then, there is no limit to what young people can accomplish today. Provided they strive for excellence and seek services that will elevate their fellowman. This is the history of the Memphis Cotton Makers’ Jubilee (MCMJ). This story starts with the introduction of the MCMJs founder, Dr. Ransom Quincy Venson, II. Dr. Venson was born April 10, 1895 in Tioga, Louisiana to Ransom Quincy Venson Sr. and Creasy Griffin-Venson. He was the oldest of seven children born to this union. Tioga was a very small rural township, located in Central Louisiana. Dr. Venson professed a hop in Christ at the age of 10 with the New Light Baptist Church in Louisiana. He moved his membership to St. John Baptist Church in Memphis, Tennessee in 1927. He was inducted into and served his country in the U.S. Army during World War I and was Honorably discharged with the rank of 2nd Lieutenant on December 16, 1918. To be continued in March 2019 35 Dr. Venson graduated from Coleman College located in Gibsland, Louisiana which is located close to Ruston, Louisiana and geographically located in north Louisiana. He received his Doctor of Dental Surgery degree at West Tennessee School of Medicine in Memphis. His post graduate work was done at Meharry Medical College in Nashville, Tennessee. After being discharged from the military, Dr. Venson opened his first dental office in 1919. It was located at 179 Beale at Third Street in Memphis, Tennessee. He continued to practice dentistry at that location until his death on August 4, 1970. He married the former Ethyl Bell Horton in 1935. There were no children born to this union. Dr. Venson was active in the Memphis community and he was a devoted member of St. John Baptist Church where he was a Sunday School teacher, a Deacon, and Chairman of the Board of Trustees. He was one of the organizers of the Tri-State Bank of Memphis and he served on the banks’ Board of Directors. Dr. Venson helped to organize the Autress Russell Post No. 27, American Legion, which was the largest black post in America in 1934. He served as the Commander of Post No. 27 and as President of State Chapter of the American Legion. Dr. Venson was one of the founders of the Local, State, and National Dental Association where he served a term as President for each level, local, state, and national. The National Dental Association is still very much active today. Finally, and most importantly, Dr. R. Q. Venson was the founder of the Memphis Cotton Makers’ Jubilee. Founded in 1935, he served as the General Chairman of the Board of Directors until his death in 1970. As a dentist, each day, after eating lunch in his office, he spent an hour walking down Beale Street, talking to the many businessmen on the street. This, along with his political activities, caused him to be revered by the business community on Beale Street and throughout the city of Memphis, and Shelby County, Tennessee, and on a national level.

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