​"The stories of my ancestors have always resonated with me.  
The gift of knowing where you come from, and who you come from
instills pride, confidence, and resilience."
-Kimberly Dumpson


MY FIRST BOOK
 
Through my ancestors' own words - as contained in more than 500 lovingly and astonishingly preserved family letters - I am telling their story of resistance and resilience as they navigate life in eighteenth and nineteenth century America as Black, Indigenous People of Color.

Courtesy of the Conway Family Collection

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​Courtesy of the Cannon Maddox Family Collection

Courtesy of the Rice Family Collection

A WORK IN PROGRESS

A box of old letters and divine providence
​

When I first moved to Rhode Island in 2018, I only truly knew one person in the entire state - a distant cousin connected through  my family history research.

While looking for an apartment, he invited my family over for lunch and I told him about my research and the book I was planning to write about our family's history based primarily on extensive research of secondary source material. He listened quietly, but intently. Then, he said, "I'd like to show you something."  

He left the room for a short while and returned carrying a box about the size of a large shoebox. He knelt onto the floor, opened the box and everything I had been searching for was right there - folded, bundled, and aging, but lovingly preserved. 

He picked up the parchment colored envelopes, some loose, others tied with pieces of twine and fabric. 

As if through divine providence, he entrusted me with the treasure to see what I could discover...  

The Discovery.

As I gently pulled the letters from their well-preserved cocoon, the paper, the ink, the handwriting, and the folds, all revealed what I already knew - these letters were old.

The dates were random, nothing was in order. 1931. 1878. 1841. 1865...

My heart raced as I opened each one. 500 in all. There were letters with no stamps, envelopes with no letters. There were receipts and photos, even recipes, a sachet of dried roses and a lock of hair. 

But to whom did the letters belong? To whom were they sent? Why were they still preserved? So many questions to be answered. 

The Journey.

I was overwhelmed with the enormity of this discovery. I wanted to dive into the letters,  peer into the lives of those whose words have long outlived their authors. But, there was one problem. In my possession were the original documents. Only I, and the loving caretakers before me, knew what was contained in the letters. But if history has taught me anything, I knew that I had to first preserve the letters.

In painstaking detail, I spent hours, days, nights, weekends, between my new job and other obligations to put the letters in chronological order, digitize and file them for safekeeping.  

Only after the work was completed, then, I began to read. 

The Story.

In Newport, Rhode Island, just yards away from the ports where enslaved Africans, like his grandfather, disembarked slaving vessels, chained and shackled, Isaac Rice pushed back against slavery, took up the cause of immediate emancipation, and made his home a safe harbor to those seeking freedom and a meeting place for those who believed fervently in the cause of freedom, liberty and equality.

Growing up among those who refused to maintain the status quo, each of the eight Rice children, in their own way, aided in the effort, challenged stereotypes and carried the family torch through Civil War, Reconstruction, the Gilded Age and the turn of the 20th century.