Lew Bobb, local musician and teacher, playing the piano, 1961. Esplanade collection 253-A-2.--PHOTO COURTESY ESPLANADE ARCHIVES
Archives strive to be inclusive and representational of all people past and present. We accomplish this by collecting records (whether paper, oral, or digital) that tell stories of our community. Although these efforts are constant and year-round, Black History Month allows the Archives an opportunity to listen to, and share widely, the stories about people of African and Caribbean descent who have made Medicine Hat home.
Black history has been a part of Medicine Hat’s history since the fur trade era and continues to bring diversity of culture and dynamism of place to our city.
A name in an early twentieth century census record with the term ‘negro’ listed alongside, or an unnamed face of darker complexion in the background of a photo, may remain almost anonymous. Others are more well-known in the historical record and within the Archives.
For example, the local area rancher, John Ware, is very recognized as his children bravely advocated that he be well remembered. Nannie and bootlegger Mollie Smith has many stories told of her (some may, or may not, be true). David Mills was an amazing man; his father was a slave and his mother Kainai. He worked as an interpreter at the signing of Treaty 7, and later translating for the railway.
As Archives staff, we realize that telling the same three stories each February is not adequate, nor appropriate. When we get a chance to learn more, we pursue it.
During COVID, my colleague Jenni Barrientos discovered a set of negatives of an unidentified black man playing the piano with a band of local musicians. Jenni posted the photo on social media asking for help identifying him, and within minutes numerous people responded with “That’s Lew Bobb! He taught me Chemistry at Crescent Heights High!”
Lew unfortunately passed away just months before, but there was a fan remembrance page as Lew had become an established jazz musician in New Zealand. Jenni connected with Lew’s widow and discovered he had written his memoirs. He speaks fondly of Medicine Hat within the book’s pages.
Many remain anonymous. During the first half-century of the settlement of Medicine Hat (I focus on this period here because census data is only publicly available from 1891 to 1931), people listed as African or ‘negro’ did not stay in Medicine Hat for long. Of the 42 names listed in the first five censuses, only two names appear in multiple decades. Likewise, surnames disappear before the next census, indicating both individuals and families were itinerant. As people move, they often take their stories with them.
While Black people resided in Medicine Hat, the records that have come to the Archives (mostly created by white men) ignored people of a darker complexion, while often ridiculing them as a race. Such an environment encouraged Black people to maintain a low profile. This, in combination with unofficial – but sadly effective – segregation may mean that fewer records and photographs were created to tell the stories.
Archives, like all public institutions, depend on trust, something that can only be earned through kindness and fair treatment. I like to think that the Archives has made positive steps in this direction, but wounds can take generations to heal.
Neither as an institution, a community, nor a society have we been perfect. We know there are stories that deserve to be told.
We always love to hear stories and share records of our community. If not with us, we encourage everyone to share their stories with family and friends, so they remain part of our lived heritage.
Philip Pype is the archivist at the Esplanade Arts & Heritage Centre
