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.
These attributes of Mrs. Poe were not meant to minimize the contributions made by the Jubilee’s Founder and many
of the members of the first Board of Directors in 1934. They were all professional men and women. Mrs. Poe was simply a
member of the Jubilee that worked her way up to the board of directors by giving service. The Jubilee’s founder and
members of the first board of directors were men and women that were well established and held high stations in the
Memphis community. Mrs. Poe was simply willing to give of herself her time, energy, and family members in order to
make the Jubilee’s programs a success.
for not only himself and his family, but for all black
people living in Shelby County.
“I wanted to fight then,” said Reed talking about
the racism he had faced both in and outside of
Memphis. “But I had to fight the fight, not my fight. I
had to fight the fight of the people. The fight of the
Lord, Our Savior, Jesus Christ.”
Reed knew what he had to do. He knew what had
to been done. He was an instrumental force in
organizing the Whitehaven Civic Club which was a
member of the Bluff City & Shelby County Council of
Civic Clubs that fought for civil advancement of all
people. As a member of the Whitehaven Civic Club,
Reed called a meeting with George H. Barnes who,
at the time, was the Superintendent of the Shelby
County Department of Education.
“I was so angry,” said Reed. “I told the Board of
Education that if they thought that their children
were going to get a better education than my
children, that I’d fight them until hell freezes over.”
The next day the entire ordeal was written up in
Introduction
There are many short versions of the history of the Memphis Cotton Markers’ Jubilee, Inc., hereto referred to as MCMJ
and/or Jubilee, that were prepared by persons from the outside looking in. These individuals had limited insight into the
facts as they actually existed. As an official member of the MCMJ from (1966-2019). I felt compelled to document the history
of the MCMJ to make sure there is one complete version on the rich history of this, one of a kind, organization and
celebration. This is a documentary on who, how, and why the Jubilee was organized and what it took to make it great.
At different times this documentary will refer to our race as, “Colored,” “Negroes,” “Black,” or “African American.”
There is no actual correct terminology. However, there may be a politically correct terminology, depending on who is
talking and to whom they may be talking to, or with. [This disclaimer is interjected at this point, so readers may understand
the terminology used referring to people of African descent living in America, which will coincide with the terms
commonly used during that era.]
Additionally, it is my belief that the myth in the minds of many Black people, that their involvement in cotton, is
something they should be ashamed and should be dismissed. Rather, the Black community should come to realize that
cotton is a valuable product that is woven into the fabric of all communities in the world. I realize as a people, we were
exploited and taken advantage of in the early years during the period of enslavement and the aftermath of that period.
This should not mean the Black community should divorce themselves from such a valuable product.
Cotton is referred to as “White Gold,” internationally because of its great value.
Today, the Black community should put their heads together and devise plans
wherein we, as a people, can reap the proper financial benefits from the production
and marketing of cotton. The MCMJ was founded to seek dignity – today we should
be seeking financial equity.
Contrary to many beliefs, the MCMJ was promoted by people of color that wanted
to uplift the sights of black people, both the youth and adults that needed to be
inspired to see themselves as important to society and themselves. I hope this documentary
will dispel the notion that the people that worked to promote the MCMJ,
did not do so in hopes of personal financial gain. Rather, these spirited Negroes did
so by devoting a lifetime, giving of their time energy, and money to perform a community
good.
Today we should give our time, energy, and resources directed toward performing
a community well and receiving our fair share and our peace of the pie (from
cotton). This documentary will also tell the story of the MCMJ, its good times,
successes, bad times, and failures.
34
the paper and Reed began to pray to God to show
him how to maneuver through this situation that
was occurring in Whitehaven. These were the days
when The Commercial Appeal was the morning
paper & the Press-Scimitar was the evening paper.
“The Press-Scimitar was very outgoing,” said
Reed. “They weren’t as racially biased as The
Commercial Appeal. The Commercial Appeal
refused to call a black woman Ms. or Mrs. at that
time. So being a member of the Bluff City & Shelby
County Council of Civic Clubs we were able to take
them on.”
This was about the time that several young black
lawyers: R.B. Sugarman, A.W. Willis, B.L. Hooks, H.T.
Lockett, and J.F. Estes had passed the bar and were
able to practice law in the city of Memphis.
“They all worked for us pro bono,” said Reed. “We
took The Commercial Appeal on during the time
they refused to call black women Ms. or Mrs. When
we got through boycotting the paper, The
Commercial Appeal gave in and told us they would
call black women anything we wanted, they just
wanted us to buy the paper again! It’s been a
situation where it just goes on and on and on.”
The Board of Education was angry and they had
joined forces with the Park Commission. The focus
of this group was to stop Reed sooner rather than
later, so they decided they would take the land
belonging to all the Reed family members, the
Hyman’s, Johnson’s, Sinclair’s, and other prominent
black families residing in the area. By this time,
Reed happened to be the Whitehaven Civic Club’s
spokesperson.
“I just praised those people for giving us a place
because we didn’t want our children playing in the
William Henry Reed
and
Leola Glover Reed
were
married
In
????
The couple had 3 children (from left) Atwyn, Edwin, and William Bernard
Pictured on their land in Whitehaven is a young William Henry Reed (center
on George, the newly purchased mule) and William’s grandfather, William
“Papa Dick” Henry Reed (front center) as he tugs at Dan the mule (on the
left) and Lawrence “Bill” Johnson (far right) holds one of George’s reigns.
3
