Learning from the Past: The 1918 Flu Pandemic in Kansas City

Soldiers being treated for influenza at Camp Funston at Fort Riley, Ks. Image courtesy of the National Archive

It was given an incorrect name that stuck. It seemed to come from nowhere, and doctors at the time had little treatment for it. It was unclear how it even was transmitted, as the theory about germs was in its infancy. Public officials tried to balance the line between protecting the population without scaring them and reporting the straight-up facts.

Camp Syracuse in New York, taken October 1918.
Courtesy U.S. Army

Many historians call the influenza outbreak in 1918 the “forgotten pandemic.” Even though everyone in the United States was affected in some way, the public over time forgot about it- but scientists didn’t.

We do tend to forget the past.

The lessons learned from what came to be labeled the Spanish Flu should have laid the course for what and what not to do during a pandemic. Kansas City in particular suffered harder than most large cities due to divided politics, mixed messages, and a raging World War.

The story, many now believe, begins in a county just shy of of 400 miles southwest of Kansas City. 

King Alfonzo VIII of Spain 
(1886-1931)

In January 1918, rural Haskell County in the southwestern corner of Kansas was facing a serious problem. Practically overnight, people were reporting severe symptoms. The newspaper reported, “Most everybody over the country is having la grippe or pneumonia.”

"La Grippe" or "the Grip" was a common term for influenza at the time. 

  

Shortly after, several young men kissed their mothers goodbye and headed to Camp Funston at Fort Riley, Ks. to be trained in the Army to fight overseas in World War I. They didn’t just take their luggage with them- they were likely carrying with them a deadly strain of influenza.

By the beginning of March,1100 soldiers came down with this mysterious flu at Camp Funston. Because of the war effort, these soldiers carried the virus to other Army camps. Before getting their ticket to the battlefields in Europe, influenza infected at least 24 of the large Army camps in the states and spread to nearby communities.

  

The United States stayed quiet as the virus virtually spread like wildfire – no one wanted the enemy to know that soldiers could have been weakened by sickness. By the time it reached Europe and crossed the invisible borders into Spain, millions of people had been infected.... including their king, Alfonzo VIII.

Boss Tom Pendergast (1872-1945)

Spain was neutral during World War I, so they openly reported the outbreak while most everyone else downplayed the problem. In turn, this new, deadly strain of influenza got a new name- the Spanish Flu.

The name has stuck for over a century.

By 1918, Kansas City’s population was around 225,000. Because of rapid population growth, the city was congested. Many boarding houses crammed tenants into them, and modern plumbing was a luxury. The absence of sufficient bathing houses, running water and lack of personal hygiene was the perfect breeding ground for a deadly virus.

The people making political decisions were a part of the “Democratic Machine.” Joe Shannon and Tom Pendergast had at one time been at odds for control of democratic politics but had agreed to work together to elect “their people” into office.

Mayor James Cowgill was one of these people, and after put into office, Pendergast and Shannon split appointment of government offices in half so each boss could have equal control over the police and fire departments, the City Council and even the Health Board.

Old City Hospital (General Hospital No. 2), the first black hospital
in Kansas City, operated from 1908-1957

Kansas City had one public hospital called General Hospital that had about 350 beds. There were over a dozen private hospitals- if you could afford them. The head of General Hospital was Dr. E.H. Bullock, and he was appointed director of the Health Board.

The president of the Health Board was W.P. Motley, and most everyone on the Board were people who “worked” for the Democratic Bosses. The political setup in Kansas City would directly affect the way these men would respond to a public health crisis in 1918.

And of course, we were in the heart of the Jim Crow era, so equality in Kansas City was certainly lacking. Hospitals were segregated. In 1908 when General Hospital built a new and nicer building across the street from their first location, African Americans in Kansas City finally got their own hospital -their only one at the time- called "General Hospital #2," commonly referred to as the Old City Hospital or the Negro Hospital.

Dr. William J. Thompkins (1884-1944)

At the time, African Americans made up 10% of the city's population- 25,000 people. They were crowded into three areas of the city and had their own bathhouses- although there definitely weren't enough for a population of their size.

The Old City Hospital was set up to cater to black and Latino people and was run by Dr. William J. Thompkins starting in 1914. He worked to set up a school at the hospital to train African-American nurses. 

Although influenza had attacked the Army and other communities in March and April, Kansas City seemed to have avoided any direct threat to the virus. As the second wave of this strain of flu emerged in late September, it swept through Kansas City and created mass chaos.

Ironically, a second hospital for blacks called Wheatley-Provident Hospital opened at 1826 Forest Ave. on September 29, 1918- two days after the first case of the flu crept into Kansas City. 12,000 people gathered on their opening day to witness the dedication.  Founded by Dr. J. Edward Perry, the facility was designed to run as a hospital and training school for nurses.

There were two black hospitals for 25,000 people in 1918. Today, over a century has passed and racial disparity is still alive and well in Kansas City.

12,000 people gathered on September 29, 1918 outside of Wheatley-Provident Hospital to celebrate
its dedication. Photo courtesy Missouri Valley Special Collections, KCPL

On the other side of the segregated city, the first case of flu likely started with the Army in town. Starting in the city’s two Army motor corps schools, the first cases of the disease were immediately put into quarantine but the damage had already been done. The soldiers had been in contact with some young ladies, and shortly thereafter, they came down with the illness. According to the University of Michigan, “By October 1st, twenty percent of the city’s army training schools [in Kansas City] had contracted influenza. Forty-three civilian cases had appeared, with 33 of them under isolation.”

Mayor James Cowgill (1848-1922),
Kansas City's mayor from 1918 until his death

Health Director Dr. Bullock acknowledged the cases but said it was “not yet dangerous.” Five days later, 24 deaths were reported in one day. General Hospital was already crowded and people were being turned away.

It sure was an inopportune time to be battling a deadly virus, especially since doctors didn't even agree at the time what caused the spread of it.

In the 19^th century, no degree was required to enter medical school and there were various theories of disease transmission. When this flu broke out, it didn’t get diagnosed correctly at first because the symptoms were so unique.

Instead of infecting the young and old, it seemed to have targeted the population who should have been the strongest. This strain was killing young, healthy men and women at their prime. Patients experienced a quick onset of a high fever, a wet cough that brought up blood, and their faces would turn blue. Within 24 to 48 hours, many would succumb to the illness.

Treatment at the time was varied. Young doctors better trained in medicine had enlisted in the war, leaving a shortage of them throughout the nation. The Army saw quarantine as the best way to fight the disease. Susan Debra Sykes Berry, who wrote a thesis on the pandemic in Kansas City, explained, “Quarantine was one of the best public health measures, and most Army doctors were aware that a 21-day period was the ideal.”

A Naval hospital in California in November 1918
takes care of influenza patients

Many people used remedies spanning back to Egypt and wore onions and garlic around their necks. Some believed eating them was even more effective. Non-smokers began smoking, thinking it would choke out the disease. Others believed eating yeast would do the trick, and many ended up with terrible stomach aches as a result. The Kansas City Star reported, "Under the negro practice, night sweats can be cured by placing a rusty ax edge under the bed." 

Well, these are certainly interesting theories...

In truth, the best remedy for influenza was nurse care which included drinking fluids, keeping warm and trying to lower the patient’s temperature. Many doctors recommended aspirin or quinine and ordered patients to stay home.

List of recommended remedies for the flu published
in the Kansas City Star October 6, 1918

Even as the flu ravaged through Kansas City by October 6, there were no orders issued by the Health Board except for “asking” places where people congregated (such as theaters, churches and streetcars) to disinfect surfaces at night. They offered suggestions such as people should stay out of crowds, keep bowels active with laxatives, get plenty of sleep, and keep warm by proper dressing, just to name a few.

Since the Health Board in Kansas City wasn’t leading, an unexpected group stood up and demanded action. The Chamber of Commerce led by Bernard Parsons asked for a meeting with the mayor and Health Board. Closing businesses to the public would directly hurt the Chamber, but they argued that the lives of Kansas Citians were more important.

Businessman R.A. Long said, “I’d feel like a criminal, personally, if I were a businessman and insisted on keeping open in a time like this. If the epidemic grips your own household you will then commence to know what human life means as compared to money.”

Headline in the Kansas City Star from
October 7, 1918

It was agreed after the meeting on October 7th to forbid gatherings of more than 20 people and they closed schools the next day.

Sound familiar?

On the Kansas side of the state line, the mayor took swifter action and closed schools, churches, and theaters. All public gatherings of all kinds were prohibited until “after the danger from the disease has passed.” For the most part, Kansas never lifted their quarantine.

The minute that there was a decrease in cases in a 24-hour period, Kansas City resumed talks to lift the ban. To no surprise, saloons were still open and quite crowded. Because the Democratic Machine was directly involved in saloons and also controlled the police, they went about business as usual knowing that no action would be taken against them. Many even boasted signs at the back of bars claiming the flu could be fought with quinine and whiskey, but the Kansas City Star noted, “The saloons continued to work extra bartenders to accommodate crowds- not for advised quinine- but for tall steins of ‘suds.’”

It is true that whiskey was seen to be a remedy to the flu. Many people claimed that people who regularly drank whiskey could avoid getting sick.

That's the polar opposite advice I would give to any twenty-something today. Like, if you want to get sick, drink a ton of whiskey at a party.

1899 advertisement of Kansas City's J.Rieger & Co. whiskey
claiming it was a "good thing for the grip." Courtesy KC Journal

Local companies like mail-order whiskey house J. Rieger & Co. followed the trend and advertised their product was a "good thing for the grip."  The resurrected J. Rieger & Co. in the East Bottoms has wisely dropped the company's prior claim of using whiskey as medicine and has used 21st century technology to make hand sanitizer during the Covid-19 pandemic.

Now that is "very good for the grip" - and germs in general.

In any case, just one week after placing a ban on crowds (which was not enforced) on October 7th, 1918, the Health Board and the mayor lifted it despite the glaring evidence that most physicians didn’t agree with the decision. Major Dell D. Dutton with the Red Cross stated, “I consider it very unwise to lift the ban. The history of other epidemics shows this to be the critical time. To lift the ban now is to invite the return of the epidemic.”

Ahhh.... the parallels....

Health Board president W.P. Motley responded that if lifting the ban was a mistake, “we can rectify it later on” while another man present warned, “A dead man cannot accept apologies.”

113 cases of the flu were reported the next day.

Schools in Kansas City, Mo. decided to remain closed for a week longer despite the lift on the ban October 7th. 

A postcard of the new General Hospital
at 24th and Gillham in 1908
Courtesy Missouri Valley Special Collections

Two days later, Missouri's governor Frederick D. Gardner issued a Proclamation
"appealing to the people of the State to take every possible precaution against the spread of influenza."

On a side note... just over two weeks later, he issued another Proclamation announcing "Sunday School Day."

So much for taking every precaution, Governor.

That also sounds strangely familiar.

On October 15th, 106 new cases were reported at General Hospital followed by 113 the next day.

The Chamber of Commerce was irate when the ban was lifted and saw a growing problem in the streets of Kansas City. They cited that neighboring communities were still under quarantine, so those people were coming to Kansas City for entertainment. That was always the case in the West Bottoms since the state of Kansas was dry of libations. Boss Tom Pendergast made a lot of his money operating saloons along "the wettest block in the world" where liquor stores, brothels and bars operated steps away from the state line. 

Cartoon in the Kansas City Times, October 19, 1918

And when you're still ordered to be under quarantine and you wanted a little fun and a cheap drink, men in Missouri were ready to serve you.

Head of contagious diseases in Kansas City Dr. A.J. Gannon claimed pressure (likely from the political bosses), “The responsibility of preventing [the flu’s] spread should be assumed by the individual.” 

The concerns of the Chamber worked to change their minds; a second ban closing nonessential businesses was ordered on October 17th but exempted “war industries, butcher shops, grocery and drug stores.”

In turn, the Chamber of Commerce- the heart of Kansas City business- emphasized there would be "heavy losses in the event the ban was removed, but [the Chamber of Commerce] emphasized the fact that the lives of Kansas City citizens should be placed above personal gain."

So in 1918, businesses with vested interest were the steady voice of reason in Kansas City.

Digest this. The businesses of Kansas City were begging for the city to keep businesses under quarantine- city officials influenced by politics were the ones considering otherwise.

A headline in the Inter Ocean from 1907 

An editorial the following day in the Kansas City Star was critical of those in charge, specifically Mr. Motley, president of the Health Board. They wrote, “Throughout the epidemic, he has acted much more like a representative of the interests that would have put their own profits above human lives, rather than like the guardian of public health.”

Even as the Health Board was under scrutiny, they continued to mitigate with denial. Head of contagious diseases, Dr. A.J. Gannon, claimed in a statement to the Kansas City Star, "I do not believe it necessary to put the ban back." The second ban was lifted two days earlier on October 14th. He continued by stating, "The responsibility of preventing [the flu's] spread should be assumed by the individual."

That's an interesting claim.

Pretty unbelievable claims were printed in area newspapers during the pandemic. The African-American newspaper The Kansas City Sun printed, "Those optimistic colored folks who insist that race prejudice is often a blessing are pointing with pride to the fact that the influenza has almost completely ignored the Negro."

That was far from true, and death certificates prove this. By October 19th, the Old City Hospital where blacks were treated had 56 cases and 15 had reportedly died. We also have to consider that many blacks in the city weren't able to get proper medical care, so deaths from the flu may have been written off as something else altogether.

A portion of a death certificate from Kansas City of an African American's
cause of death listed as "Spanish influenza." 

In midst of the pandemic, the slums of Kansas City were under a close eye. Urban planning during this time wasn't even a consideration, so it wasn't uncommon to see shanties in the shadows of large, impressive buildings indicating progress.This was just the case of McClure Flats, one of Kansas City's most infamous slums.

Located at 19th and McGee, McClure Flats housed the poorest of the city. In 1909, the Kansas City Journal reported, "They're bathing less in the McClure Flats. Private bathtubs have always been an unknown luxury there. . . an investigating committee last summer estimated that there were approximately 10,000 people in the city who had not the use of a bathtub."

So it's pretty certain that by 1918 these conditions hadn't improved. These three-room apartments that had 125 units were certainly unsanitary, yet African-Americans, Mexicans and other immigrants continued to live in them. Historian Karla Deel notes in her book Storied & Scandalous Kansas City,  "One-story tenements offered dirt outdoor privies and no running water, and most housing was in a state of decay."

When city inspectors on the track of the flu pandemic made their way to McClure Flats, they found abhorrent conditions, including 94 families living in 138 rooms. Children were said to play near the garbage of the waste from flu victims.

The conditions in this area of time really shine a light to how the city's poorest would have suffered during this era.

Back alley of McClure Flats (looking north) - photograph taken in 1912.
 From the third annual report of the board of public welfare. 

The truth was- a lot of Kansas City's high poverty areas were the perfect breeding ground for a virus. Even though the city found the area "unfit for habitation," people continued to live at McClure Flats until the place was bulldozed in 1919.

The height of flu cases occurred in October, but the damage to the city continued due to mismanagement by city officials. The death toll was on the rise, but maintaining the order over a long period of time became difficult. 

The Chamber of Commerce responded on October 25th, "Every man and woman in Kansas City will have to help fight this epidemic and fight it with all their might. It is no time to slack."

Two weeks later, the mayor seemed to think everything back to normal- even as cases continued to stack up. Inconsistencies in Kansas City plagued their overall response.

By November 8th, 1918- 21 days after the second ban was implemented- Mayor Cowgill commented that the present ban “is needlessly hampering businesses.” He then lifted the ban and only required that streetcars still limit capacity. Theaters reopened and crowds went back to normal on the streets.

But the city wasn't ready to tackle a deadly virus even then.

  

A streetcar on an unidentified street in 1915
Courtesy Missouri Valley Special Collections

November 11th welcomed Armistice Day, and Kansas City had over 100,000 citizens crowding the streets of the city in celebration of the end of the war. One week later, schools reopened for the first time in five weeks.

  

The biggest problem was that cases were still being reported at a steady pace, but due to the want to stimulate the economy and the Democratic Machine’s pocketbooks, politics took a front seat to public health.

  

When new cases spiked yet again on November 26th, it was attributed to schools being reopened, but evidence shows it was the overall ban being lifted that likely caused the increase. The next day, Dr. A.J. Gannon was fired and schools closed once again on Nov. 30. The day before, a record 414 cases were reported in one day. The damage had been done.

The desperation of hospitals for healthy workers was still a major problem in Kansas City. Dr. William J. Thompkins at the Old City Hospital saw that the all-white hospital across the street was being crushed under the pressures of sick staff and overcrowding.

African American nurses trained at the Old City Hospital are in the black row of this photo.
Those sitting include the doctors overseeing their training in October 1918. Dr. Thompkins sits in the center.
Photo courtesy of The Kansas City Sun

In December, The Kansas City Star reported, "Black nurses trained by Dr. William J. Thompkins, super of the Colored Hospital #2, volunteered to treat patients at General Hospital, and their offer was accepted."

If this acceptance doesn't tell you how desperate city health officials were in a very segregated Kansas City, then I don't know what will.

A 1918 photograph taken at 9th and Locust

It was clear the misguided leadership of city officials created confusion and caused more harm in the long-run. No one knew who to listen to, and their decisions cost human lives. 59 deaths from the flu were reported on December 10th, and quickly Kansas City was becoming one of the deadliest cities in the nation. Children under 16 were ordered to stay home from church, school and theaters and by December 16th, saloons were ordered temporarily closed. It’s unclear if these orders were ever completely carried out by the police. Schools didn’t reopen until December 30th.

  

On December 23rd just in time for Christmas, the city lifted their bans and Dr. Bullock proclaimed, “The epidemic is over if the people will continue to observe precautions against large crowds and follow the personal preventative measures.” In that same breath, he projected cases would likely rise after Christmas. For all intents and purposes, life by Christmas in Kansas City was back to normal- minus the large number of cases of influenza still circulating the city.

In the last four months of 1918, 1,865 Kansas Citians died from what was coined the Spanish Flu, but it's hard to know if that number is even close to accurate. Deaths labeled as simply pneumonia, which could have been onset by the Spanish Flu, may or may not have been counted in the numbers. When cases finally evaporated in Spring 1919, there were over 11,000 cases and around 2,300 deaths in Kansas City. The number of deaths was estimated to be at least 50 million worldwide with about 675,000 occurring in the United States.

Kansas City was one of the hardest hit cities in the country with more cases per capita than New York City, Chicago, and Seattle. Kansas City was also the only major city in the entire country forced to close schools three times during the 1918 flu pandemic due to lifting bans too soon- most closed twice. St. Louis had one of the lowest cases in the nation due to adhering to a strict quarantine. Division in politics and how to respond to this pandemic in 1918 cost the city greatly.

Even recently, St. Louis was praised for their response to the 1918 flu - and Kansas City still remains at the bottom of the largest fifty cities due to their lack of sticking to a quarantine over 100 years ago.

In the end, history matters. If we don’t learn from history, we are doomed to repeat it. The 1918 flu pandemic was lost in the pages of history, rarely referenced by people even with how devastating it truly was. Scientists haven’t forgotten; they reference these responses as a lesson in how to best preserve human lives and respond effectively in the direst of circumstances.

* * * * * * * 

A shortened version of this story was originally published in the Martin City Telegraph

** Check out my FREE history podcast with 610 Sports Radio Personality Bob Fescoe called Kansas City: 2 States: 1 Story! It's FREE! Don't be scared to try out the format of a podcast. It's as simple as going to a website and listening! If you download it, you can listen later at any time!  To listen to the podcast on the 1918 Flu Pandemic in KC, click here!

Please consider 'liking' my page "The New Santa Fe Trailer" so you don't miss any of my writing! I post all my writing from the The Martin City Telegraph  and from my blog on there. Click Here!

Recommended Reading: 

Karla Deel.  Storied & Scandalous Kansas City: A history of corruption, mischief and a whole lot of booze. Guilford: Globe Pequot Press. https://www.amazon.com/Storied-Scandalous-Kansas-City-Corruption-ebook/dp/B07X8T2BV9/ref=sr_1_1?dchild=1&keywords=karla+deel&qid=1587707674&sr=8-1

Susan Debra Sykes Berry. “Politics and Pandemic in 1918 Kansas City.” https://mospace.umsystem.edu/xmlui/bitstream/handle/10355/7521/SykesBerryThesisPolPan.pdf?sequence=1

John M. Berry. The Great Influenza: The Story of the Deadliest Pandemic in History. Penguin Press. https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B000OCXFWE/ref=dbs_a_def_rwt_hsch_vapi_tkin_p1_i0

Richest Black Girl in America: Redefining Sarah Rector and Her Family

These images, pinned to the top of this blog, are shamelessly shared via-social media on personal pages, history blogs, and even the Smithsonian. The two photos side-by-side, one of a young girl donned in a plaid dress and the other of a stoic woman with her hair pulled simply back, have been timelessly interpreted to be “the richest Black girl in America,” Sarah Rector - the very same Sarah Rector who lived out the majority of her interesting life in Kansas City.

I have some important news to share with all of America.

Headlines in 1913 captured only part of the story
of Sarah Rector

Those images are not Sarah Rector.

I, too, fell victim to the forgery of these photos. Around Black History Month, I always see several posts about her story, complete with these photographs of an unknown girl and a young woman.  I mean, if credible sources are using the images, they must be her... But they aren’t.

Just over a century ago, headlines spilled across America and the world and are misrepresentations of what really happened to Sarah Rector, her money and her family. The most important part lost in this saga is the simple fact that her family got lost within the tabloids- tabloids worldwide that painted a picture of a poor little Black girl from Oklahoma who slept on a dirt floor, struck it rich, was taken advantage of, and lived frivolously.

Some of these statements are partially true, but the true story of Sarah should be told through her family. It was, in fact, her family that was there for her through thick and thin.

How did I get this information? How do I know for certain those images aren’t Sarah Rector?

The Rector women who made this research & writing possible.
L-R: Donna Thompkins, Deborah Brown, Rosina Graves, and
 Diann Brown. They are the daughters of Rosa Rector, Sarah's sister

I started where I always do- in the pages of research and of history. If I was going to tell the story of Sarah Rector, I had to find living descendants.

Families are the ones who hold the memories and records that make up our collective history.

I always try to preface that history should be told in stories, and those stories aren’t laced into the words of traditional history books or told in timelines. You won’t likely find the real stories on the Internet, and the good stuff is definitely not on Wikipedia. You learn the truth behind the headlines by talking with people - with families- sitting down with those that have collected the records, hold hundreds of photographs of their own family, and can laugh as well as reflect on the past. I was lucky that a line of the Rectors - Sarah’s nieces- were willing to talk to me and share their story.

Let me tell you: Sarah's nieces are amazing, strong women.

L-R Debbie, Diane (the author of this blog) and Donna

Through multiple meetings that always comprised of food (including the best fried fish I’ve ever had) and laughs that made my stomach hurt, I visited with Sarah Rector’s nieces and learned more than about the richest Black girl in America- I learned about their rich history. These women introduced me to some powerful stories of slavery, survival and then life after striking it rich. It became vividly clear that this story isn’t about Sarah- it’s about the Rectors.

I am blessed to be able to share their true legacy with the world.

*****

Sarah Rector, touted to be the “richest Black girl in America” in 1913 when she was just 11 years-old, holds more than just wealth in finances. To tell this story the right way- in order to paint the picture of the “richest Black girl in America” – we have to understand the circumstances surrounding Sarah Rector’s ancestry and the family that raised her.

Chief Opothle Yahola (1778-1863)

Sarah Rector’s luck hit in part because of her ancestry and the way in which land allotments for Native Americans- and their freedmen- occurred in Oklahoma. Sarah’s paternal grandparents were born into slavery and were enslaved by the Creeks in eastern Alabama. In the 1830s, history tells us, the Five Civilized Tribes (which included Creek, Cherokee, Chickasaw, Choctaw and Seminole Tribes) were forced to leave their lands. 20,000 Creek Indians and their enslaved people were forced west.

The chief of the tribe, an Alabama-born man named Opothle Yohola (1778-1863) was one of these leaders who enslaved people. When he moved to Indian Territory, he settled on a 2,000-acre plantation near the Deep Fork River. One of his people in bondage was none other than a woman named Mollie, and Mollie would marry a man who was once held in slavery by Reilly Grayson. His name was Benjamin McQueen.

Chief Opothle Yohola may have owned chattel, but he wasn’t willing to sacrifice it all and side with the Confederacy during the Civil War. Even as most of the Creeks opted to follow the rebels, Opothle Yohola stayed neutral during the early onset of the war. Due to the encroaching Confederate troops, many Creeks fled into Kansas and joined the First Indian Home Guard. Sarah’s maternal grandfather, York Jackson, served alongside Creek Indians as a private. His father, Jack McGilbra (1821-1891) was enslaved by the Creeks.

Names in this family’s history can be complicated, so bear with me. York had taken the surname “Jackson” in honor of being, literally, "Jack’s son."

An enslaved woman held by Opothle Yohola named Mollie married Benjamin McQueen and had a son named Jack Benjamin (another example of a freedman choosing his father’s first name instead of a slave master’s surname). Jack Benjamin left Indian Territory long enough to enlist in Lawrence, Kan. In November 1863, he joined the Union Army as a private in the 83^rd Infantry, U.S. Colored Troops.

Even after these two men once in bondage left the service, they returned back to Indian Territory to rejoin their family and friends.

At the onset of the Civil War in 1861, the Five Civilized Tribes included 10,000 enslaved men, women and children - and they weren't freed just yet. 

Jack Benjamin (cir. 1838-1915), for some reason, changed his name to John Rector and married Bettie Corbner (b. 1846). York McGilbra Jackson married Amy Manuel (1846-1936).

Shockingly, even though the Civil War abolished slavery across the nation, that didn’t include Indian Territory. In 1866, a treaty forced Native Americans to abolish slavery and allowed Creeks and these slaves (freedmen) to become United States citizens.

Freedmen such as Benjamin and Mollie McQueen, Jack Benjamin (John Rector), Bettie Corbner Rector, York Jackson (McGilbra), and Amy McGilbra were all freedmen born into slavery and eligible for land allotments according to the treaty. At this time in history, Indian Territory had been reduced to 20 million acres. Each freedman was given 160 acres of land, and the Creek Freedmen chose to settle together and form their own town.

Amy Manuel McGilbra (1846-1936) with Joe and Rose
Rector's daughter, Rosa (1913-1992)
Photo courtesy of the Rector descendants

Originally calling their settlement Twine after William H. Twine, the first editor of an African American newspaper in Indian Territory (who ironically rented land from John Rector), the town by 1904 became known as Taft.

Sitting eight miles west of Muskogee, Taft today is one of only thirteen all-Black towns still in existence in Oklahoma. At the time, it was one of fifty settlements founded by freedmen.

John Rector and his wife, Bettie had a son named Joseph (b. 1878), and York McGilbra Jackson and his wife, Amy had a daughter named Rose (b. 1886). In an all-Black community concentrated on farming cotton and corn, it is certain that these two families knew one another for quite a long time.

Just because they were allotted 160 acres apiece didn't mean they were resistant to poverty; it was quite the opposite.

To think that these families, mostly illiterate and lacking formal education at the time, were able to build the bustling early 20^th century town of Taft is inspiring. According to the Oklahoma Historical Society, Taft had two newspapers, three general stores, a brickyard, drugstore, a soda pop factory, a livery stable, a gristmill, two hotels, a restaurant, a bank and a funeral home- all before 1910.

Joe and Rose likely attended church, dances and social gatherings together for many years before they decided to take the plunge. First came their daughter, Rebecca (called Becky) in 1901 and Sarah followed on March 3, 1902. By 1906, a boy named Joe Jr. joined the growing family.

They didn’t have much; the dusty streets of Taft were the center of their entire social existence. In 1907, the town’s population clocked in at a whopping 250 with most of the community traveling to it from their Indian allotment lands outside of town.

The growing Rector family resided in a two-room cabin situated on Rose’s allotment of land. Yes, two rooms are tight- but it’s likely to have been the condition of most, if not all, the freedmen that lived in the area around Taft.

Allotments were about to run out, and the Rector’s knew it was time to get in line for their children. The cutoff date of March 1906 only allowed their three oldest children, Becky, Sarah and Joe Jr. to get a piece of the lands even though they welcomed a daughter, Lou Alice in 1907.

Sarah Rector's land allotments on the Cimarron River is highlighted
on "Hastain's Township Plats of the Creek Nation," 1910.

By the time they had their chance to get a hold of land for their children, the pickings were slim. Becky’s land was in Okfuskee County, and Sarah and Joe, Jr. ended up with fragmented parcels of 160 acres 50 miles northwest of Taft. The government was grabbing at undesirable deeds that didn’t even adjoin one another; Sarah’s land was near a bend along the Cimarron River and was valued at around $500. At $3.50 an acre, she wasn’t shouting “I’m rich!” just yet.

Nor did anyone ever in a million years think that a Creek freedman would become a millionaire.

To own land- even land with the rockiest, driest soil- requires taxation. Taxes, people. Taxes always seem to play into the Rectors rise and demise.

"Home of the Creek Freedmen," Oklahoma Territory, cir. 1900
Image courtesy fo the Records of the Office of the Secretary of the Interior

By 1909, Joe was trying to sell his three children's land holdings. The fact that they had 160 acres per child became a pretty big tax problem, especially since the land that landed in their laps was so far away. He was successful only in selling Becky’s land for $1700 in 1910, a financial windfall for the family.

But, was that enough? Was that $1700 going to support a family that had now grown to seven mouths to feed? It was certainly a ton of money to a family living in a two-room cabin.

There was soon a buzz within the tight knit community of Taft. Oil- the black gold of America- was discovered in farms sprinkled across Oklahoma. It seemed that the richest soil in the area didn’t necessarily hold the high dollars below ground… it could be anywhere.

…Especially on untouched rocky, grimy lands allotted to freedmen.

By 1911, Joe was desperately trying to rid himself of Sarah’s land. The new promotion of  leasing land to these greedy oil-diggers presented a new opportunity for the Rectors' useless land so many miles away from them. Joe ended up quite satisfied when he was able to lease Sarah’s land to an oil company out of Pennsylvania. He received a bonus of $160.

They still didn’t strike oil. The lease ran out and nothing happened. But things had happened on other freedman lands, and the results led to nothing positive.

Money can, indeed, create problems.

Faculty at Taft School. Courtesy Oklahoma Historical Society

Oil was discovered on other Indian allotment lands given to children. In the same year, Harold Sells, 13, and his sister, Castella, 10, struck the big time when oil was discovered on what was assumed to be useless land. In the middle of the night, dynamite was placed under their house in Taft where the two children were sleeping. The house erupted into fiery pieces. Harold was killed instantly. His little sister was trapped under burning timbers and was not as lucky.

These kids were murdered for an estate valued at just over $50,000.

Several men, both Black and white, were implicated in the crime, including Jim Manuel, likely a distant relative of the Rectors. The surname “Manuel” was in fact Rose’s mother’s maiden name.

More on this connection soon.

Headline in the Muskogee Daily Phoenix
April 26, 1915

Striking oil was surely a life-changer, but as the little Sells children learned, it also brought greed and great weight on how to manage what could be millions of dollars.

A year later, another lease for Sarah’s land came through- but for only $80. At this same time, a “gusher” had been located about five miles south of Sarah’s land. That’s when karma kicked in.

In March, when Sarah was attending school in nearby Taft, oil driller B.B. Jones assembled the necessary equipment to check out Sarah Rector’s land near the Cimarron River. Any oil produced would give a 12.5% royalty to Sarah.

In late August 1913, B.B. Jones produced a “gusher” on the land leased from Sarah’s allotment. Quickly, this oil gusher produced 2,500 barrels of oil per day. Sarah’s cut- per day- was $300.

That was a hell of a lot of money.

By this point, Sarah was the second oldest of six children, her parents welcoming Alfred, Lillie and little Rosie by 1913.

New siblings weren’t the only thing new in Joe and Rose’s life- they had a daughter who was transformed as a little Black girl from Taft into a millionaire headline overnight.

Headlines such as “Girl’s 112,000 a Year,” “Negro Girl Will Pay Largest Tax,” and “Negro Girl Rich From Oil- Has Income of $475 Daily – More Soon” sensationalized the story of a girl and her family’s reality. When this gusher was found by B.B. Jones on Sarah’s land, the family still lived frugally in their little cabin.

Photo courtesy of Oklahoma Historical Society

It wasn’t uncommon for white guardians in Oklahoma to be placed by courts in order to protect allotments of freedmen. For whatever the reason, Joe opted to appoint Thomas Jefferson (T.J.) Porter as Sarah’s guardian in July 1913- just a few months before the “gusher” gushed its millions.

Why T.J. Porter? Well, he was, according to the family, a trusted acquaintance. And boy, did the newspapers have a hey-day with his motives. 

This may seem strange to us now, but it was commonplace in this era to have white legal guardians taking a cut of the royalties in order to supposedly “protect” an estate. Guardians got on average of two to six percent of the profits, and in the case of T.J. Porter, he got less than two percent.

When I asked the Rector descendants on their personal feelings about Porter, they described him as being a fair man.

Regardless, he was in control of all bankrolls from Sarah’s newfound wealth.

In November 1913, Joe was receiving $50 per month for Sarah’s care, which was a ton of money in those days.

They even eventually had a seven-passenger Cadillac, a big upgrade from a horse “too old to work.”

It wasn’t long before the accusations came pouring in from outsiders.

The headline on November 29, 1913 in the Chicago Defender 

Sarah and her siblings were perfectly content going to school in Taft, but that didn’t seem to be acceptable of those outsiders looking in.

Due to her newfound wealth, publications across America wrote of marriage proposals, especially those that came from four white men from Germany. “Evidently the color of an heiress does not matter if the color of her gold is genuine,” wrote Edward Curd, Sarah’s attorney. He also concluded that the men that wrote her were “fine looking chaps.”

By October 1913, 11-year-old Sarah Rector received $11,567 in royalties from the gusher.

Booker T. Washington

It was an article in a respectable Black newspaper called the Chicago Defender that turned their worlds upside down. In November 1913, not aware of the monthly allotments Sarah was getting, the newspaper headline read “Richest Colored Girl Forced to Live in Shack.” Claims were made that Sarah was sleeping on the floor and her guardian was only giving her a few dollars a month. The article claimed, "The parents are so ignorant they have no conception whatever the amount of her income and no inclination to assist upon a good education and befitting comforts to her, so little Sarah easily becomes the prey of white men."

That’s all it took. The Washington Post went on to write that Sarah had “little mental capacity.”

These were all lies, perpetuated by the media.

The headlines didn’t shake the foundation of this family, and T.J. Porter had to answer to so many of these accusations. In December 1913, Sarah received a phonograph, a piano, and they built a new five-room home for her and her family.

Between the marriage proposals, the mistreatment of funds, and the idea that Sarah was not being furthered academically became a target of the public.  The NAACP got involved due to the continuous reports from the Chicago Defender.  W.E.B. DuBois personally wrote the judge overseeing her allotments and asked that they ensure that little Sarah- not her siblings- receive the best education offered.

November 28, 1918 addition of the Chicago Defender created a stir
with the NAACP

Booker T. Washington allegedly became so concerned about Sarah’s condition- not those of the rest of the family- that he came to the area in the summer of 1914 to inspect her home. Was Sarah sleeping on a dirt floor? Was she in the condition that some had reported her to be in?

That would be a “no.”

It was reported that Sarah had still never slept in a bed (but on a pallet) and she was still living in a “poor house” on her mother’s land.

The truth was that the family was in what we could call in a moderate condition; they were not in dire straits.

Even when the children were still attending school in Taft, the financial problems continued. By Spring 1914, Sarah’s allotments had given the family just over $55,000 in royalties. Just a short time later, the pressure from the NAACP and Black leaders across America who had read her story had Sarah leaving home and heading back to where, ironically, the story began: Alabama. Sarah was enrolled in the Tuskegee Institute’s elementary school called the Children’s Home, but she wasn’t going to do it alone. Her mother insisted that older sister, Becky go along to ensure her younger sister was in good hands.

Even after Sarah and Becky left for Alabama for better schooling, the newspapers reported that they were living in a tent.

Sensationalized media existed even then.

After one year, the girls went to Fisk University’s boarding school before rejoining the Rector family for Christmas break in 1916. No evidence exists that the girls returned to school in Alabama, and it's likely the family moved shortly thereafter to Kansas City.

Most of Sarah’s money was held up in investments across the community and in bonds. By the time she left for school, T.J. Porter had arranged for her to buy over 2,000 acres of land that he then leased for a steady income. One of her bigger investments was in a two-story building in Muskogee at 213-223 S. 2^nd St. that included the Busy Bee Café. The top floor was renovated and became the Busy Bee Hotel.

Sarah’s family still remembers hearing stories of the Busy Bee Café.

By the time Sarah was 18, she was worth well over one million dollars. Likely in order to escape scrutiny and not wanting to be the target of some greedy party’s act, Sarah’s family secretly slipped away and moved north to Kansas City by 1917. By 1918, Joe Rector is listed as living at 1218 Euclid in the heart of what was becoming a booming African American community. The family appears to have lived here for at least three years.

As fate would have it, the Rector family would further reside in Kansas City and visit their beloved home of Taft when they could.

The caption suggests Sarah Rector bought the home, but her mother, Rose did.
Published in the Kansas City Sun, September 11, 1920

I found it interesting that her family told me that Sarah never really visited her “homestead” containing the "gusher" that made her millions of dollars; she fell on the wayside as a spectator of her own wealth in the long run. 

The Rectors settled into the east side of Kansas City in the home Rose bought at 2000 E. 12^th, now oftentimes referred to as the Rector Mansion.

Even as the Rectors relocated to Kansas City, there were transactions and business to attend in Oklahoma. By 1918, there were 50 oil wells on Sarah’s land, and a new contract with a Kansas company resulted in a $300,000 signing bonus...

...In 1918.

Mama Rose Rector posing inside the Rector Mansion in the 1920s
Photo courtesy of the Rector descendants

Getting that beautiful brick mansion at 2000 E. 12^th was a statement to everyone in the community- they were reformulating the boundaries of acceptance. That property had quite a bit of history that didn’t involve African Americans, which further made the transaction monumental.

They just didn’t think that mansion was lovely, but they set out to buy the whole block. By 1920, the Rector family, including 18-year-old Sarah, were all living in a home previously occupied by Henry S. Ferguson, president of the U.S. Water & Steam Supply Company. He had lived in the home for over 17 years.

The house, known today (inaccurately) as the Sarah Rector Mansion or House, was actually purchased by Rose Rector for $20,000 after they leased the home for several months. At the time the house was purchased, it was said Sarah was worth one million. The house was known as “Sunset Manor."

Quickly, the entire frontage of 12^th St. from Euclid to Garfield was bought with Rector money. Just as had been done while Sarah was under guardianship of T.J. Porter, investing money and leasing land was part of the Rector portfolio.

Not every segment of the Rector history is rosy. Even before the family's wealth, Joe had his run-ins with the law. Joe’s reputation may have made Rose’s parents a bit nervous when they decided to get married. In 1898, Joe was stabbed twice in Twine, once in the right shoulder and once in the left chest. Although it was originally thought he would die from his injuries, he survived.

In 1916, Joe was involved in a lawsuit with his mother over falsified deeds, and in 1920, there was a "disagreement" after a game of cards in Taft that had a gun pulled on him. Luckily, even though the gunman shot at him twice, Joe was unharmed.

Even Joe’s own brother, Fred tried to get in on the money management of Sarah’s lands. That alone tells you how contentious (and how important) it was that the family move away.

The Rector Mansion at 2000 E. 12th St.

The Rector family came to Kansas City for a new life and to obviously avoid the misfortunes that overtook other freedman families over money.

In 1922, the Rectors had a really big year-both good and bad.

Sarah wanted nothing more than to have control over her own money after years of guardianship, and even though she had turned 18 in 1920, people still wanted their hands in the pot. Luckily, a judge named Jules E. Guinotte (son of Kansas City pioneer Joseph Guinotte) released her from guardianship and set her free at last.

This was good and bad. At this same time, Joe Rector allegedly received a call from an old acquaintance named Jim Manuel.

Does that last name sound familiar?

Remember those two little children killed by dynamite after their allotments ended up with oil reserves on them?

Headline from the Muskogee Times-Democrat
August 17, 1920

Jim Manuel had allegedly been involved in the dynamite explosion in Taft that killed two children with oil allotments. However, he was not one of the two men who were given life in prison for the heinous crime.

He also had a rap sheet that makes Joe look like a saint. 

Jim Manuel had a rap sheet in Oklahoma that reached back to 1895; he was labeled as a “notorious negro” arrested for forgery of five checks, deeds, and for stealing a horse and buggy. He was labeled “a dangerous hombre” when he tried to take a gun into a jail so he could shoot officers.

In 1913, he was said to have a set of gold teeth that would disguise his identity and that he had a warrant in almost every county in Oklahoma. He was “charged with enough misdemeanors to send him to the penitentiary for life.” Instead, they put him in for ten years.

That didn’t last.

Headline featuring Jim Manuel's arrest in the Muskogee
Daily Phoenix, Oct. 19. 1913

In 1919, Jim Manuel was pardoned and then sent to St. Louis to answer for a charge of “using the mails to defraud.” He was charged and convicted of the crime.

Jim Manuel, about 40 years old, was always up to no good. Maybe Joe didn’t see this for some reason, even though Jim was responsible for defrauding his own sister in Taft years before.

As an inmate in the Missouri State Penitentiary, Jim allegedly contacted a Mexican lawyer he knew from prior “endeavors.” The lawyer then contacted the warden and claimed that Jim had lands gushing with oil worth millions of dollars. Jim was described as “60 years old, skinny as a rail, bald headed and without a natural tooth in his head.”

After pressuring the prison warden, Jim Manuel was able to allegedly arrange a meeting at the Rector Mansion in Kansas City, Mo. with a prison guard in tow. He pleaded with Joe, stating that he couldn’t get to the land worth so much money in oil without his help, and he promised to give him half of the money earned.

Rose Rector definitely didn’t like the scenario, but as her descendants told me, “Mama Rose” was always “including Joe in financial decisions.” Rose was a hard worker as a laundress prior to the financial windfall, and she knew hard work in her day. It was said in many records that she was “stingy.”

Original telegram sent to Mama Rose Rector July 10, 1922 mentioning Joe Rector's body being
transported to Muskogee, Okla. Courtesy of the Rector descendants

The Rectors certainly knew something of his criminal past, but money may have been the motivator here. Sarah Rector had given Mama Rose control of her money, and her father, Joe didn’t have any say.

In order for Jim Manuel to show Joe Rector where the alleged $40,000,000 oil gusher was in Mexico, he had to be free. In turn, Joe was able to talk his wife (allegedly) into paying his $8,000 bond plus $2,000 in expenses to go to Tampico, Mexico and get his half.

Headline in the Muskogee-Times
Democrat, July 11, 1922

This story, for the record, is quite different than the story told to me by the Rector family. They were told that Joe was working on bringing cattle back from Texas when he was shot on a train.

Maybe? That could be true, but it is also a possibility that what the papers reported were embarrassing for the rich Rector family. The truth lies likely somewhere in between these stories.

While on their adventure, Jim Manuel and Joe Rector arrived in Mexico on Joe’s dollar and all the money evaporated while trying to target this land in Tampico. Not too long after arriving, Jim Manuel disappeared into the sunset. All records indicate he never, under his legal name, surfaced in his homeland.

This left Joe Rector all alone, broke, and with the heartache of telling Rose what happened. The newspapers reported with much sensation that he was desperate and finally wired his beloved wife at 2000 E. 12^th for the money to get home. Defeated, he “sobbed all the way” to Dallas where “his sorrow killed him” as he traveled by train on his way back to Kansas City.

What?

Joe’s death record tells different story. It shows that from July 7 to July 8, Joe was seen by a doctor at Baylor Hospital in Dallas. His cause of death looks like “trauma” and the underlying cause was kidney disease.

It was known that Joe had prior operations for health reasons.

Regardless, the newspapers registered this unfortunate death as being the fault of Jim Manuel and his scheme for some of the Rector money.

Sarah Rector at her home in
Wyandotte Co.

This death was a blow to his wife, Rose and her children in Kansas City. Mama Rose quickly arranged a train to take her beloved husband’s body back to Taft where it was buried at Blackjack Cemetery in the family plot.

Several stories were shared about the family’s time in the Rector mansion. In the back of the stately home was a two-story carriage house with servant’s quarters on the second floor. It should be no surprise that the family had hired help in the Roaring Twenties, where less than a mile down the road was the booming 18^th and Vine district -  the hub of African American social activity.

Shortly after the death of Joe, Sarah married Kenneth Campbell when she was 20 years-old and her sister, Becky married as well. Cars and clothes seemed to be the favorites with the Rector women. A chauffeur was tasked with driving a series of expensive vehicles, including a Rolls Royce. When Rosa, Sarah’s little sister (b. 1913) was forced to go to school, the cries would echo throughout the Rector home.

It became a routine for her to be dressed while still sleeping, put inside the Rolls Royce limo while she still slept, and the chauffeur would struggle to get her out of the car and "get her butt into school.”

A 1925 window display at Kline's at 11th and Main shows the fashionable
items available along Petticoat Lane.
Courtesy Missouri Valley Special Collections, KCPL

In the 1920s, the whole family, including Sarah and her husband, Kenneth lived in the Rector mansion. One of Mama Rose’s chauffeur’s named Emery Nelson got himself involved in a little scheme when a vendor showed up just before Christmas in 1924 to make a sale to the Rector ladies.

$2,000 worth of silk underwear “and other silken wearing apparel” valued at another $500 was stolen from a car outside as the vendor was showing the ladies his new line of silks, trying to make a sale.

The ladies loved finer clothing, but due to the color of their skin, they were not allowed to shop alongside white patrons in stores along Petticoat Lane in downtown Kansas City. Many stores, including  Emery, Bird, Thayer & Co. (EBT) would shut their doors to the public and allow the Rector women to shop freely.

Spending freely at the most fashionable stores was commonplace for the Rectors in the 1920s. In 1926, Mama Rose must have been a bit embarrassed when the exclusive Vogue Shop at the Hotel Muehlebach, which featured “unusual style and exquisite designing” claimed she wrote a bad check for $388.50.

Kenneth Campbell and Sarah Rector Campbell appeared in the Kansas City Call shortly after their marriage 

Sarah’s husband, Kenneth Campbell focused on real estate development and his Hupmobile car dealership at 18^th and Vine. Sarah and her mother, Rose were known for their fancy vehicles they raced around town in. In fact, both women appeared to have a bit of a lead foot. Several speeding tickets were issued to both of them- especially to Sarah.

When she was pulled over in her shiny green and black Cadillac, Sarah would cockily turn to the officer and say, “Don’t you know who I am?!”

Sarah had three children, Kenneth (b. 1925), Leonard (b. 1926) and Clarence (b. 1929) before her marriage- and her finances- fell apart.

Sarah getting into her fashionable car, cir. 1950s.

The history books tell us that the Stock Market Crash in 1929 set the stage for a nationwide Depression that destroyed a myriad number of millionaires. The Rectors were no different. Extensive landholdings in Oklahoma, bonds now worth nothing along with depleting oil royalties marked the end of their overly-lavish spending habits. 

It was around this time that the taxes on the Rector mansion came due. Taxes always seemed to be their downfall. The home was sold to the Adkins Funeral Home.

Sarah and her older sister, Becky divorced their husbands and moved to much smaller homes on the east side. In 1930, Sarah was living with her sister and her maternal grandmother at 2440 Brooklyn. In 1934, Sarah married William Crawford, the owner of Dick’s Down Home Cook Shop at 1521 E. 18^th St. It was a favorite hangout of the Kansas City Monarchs baseball team.

To be clear, Sarah still had quite a bit of money, but she didn’t have the ability to throw money around like she had once. Her siblings all took on jobs- her mother even for a time went back to working as a maid.

Sarah was known for her extravagant parties that are oftentimes referred to as being in the Rector Mansion on 12^th St. where she entertained musicians such as Count Basie and Duke Ellington. There is no doubt that some parties would have occurred in this beautiful home, but the real parties happened, according to her family, when she moved to her home on Lockridge on the east side of Kansas City.

"Dick's Down Home Cook Shop" at 1521 E. 18th St.
Image courtesy of Tonya Bolden

She continued to invest in real estate and owned several homes around 26^th and Lockridge. She owned a sprawling farm in Wyandotte County where she invited her mother, siblings, nieces and nephews. Fond memories, although a bit traumatic at the time, included geese chasing the children all the way up to the door of the farmhouse. 

That farm became the gathering place for the family to remove themselves from the heart of Kansas City and likely reminded the Rectors of the simpler life once lived in Taft, Okla. Sarah was quiet and private; her easygoing nature were witnessed by her nieces in those visits to the farm.

Sarah’s nieces spent many-a-summer visiting the farm in Wyandotte County and visiting family down in Taft. One of Sarah’s dear friends from childhood nicknamed “Big Momma” would race around the dusty landscape chasing chickens- chickens running around without heads.

A few hours later, dinner of fried chicken was hot and on the table. Needless to say, the children would say they weren’t hungry anymore.

(L-R) Jeannie, Roy's wife, Mama Rose and Rosa

At the highest point of her millions, Sarah Rector was said to have had an income larger than that of the President of the United States. Her oil wells at one time produced $2 per minute- she became a national headline and her whole family’s lives would never be the same.

The matriarch of the Rector family, Mama Rose, passed away in 1957 and is buried in Blackjack Cemetery next to her husband and near generations of freedmen trailblazers that led to the unique story of the Rector legacy. Just over 10 years later, Sarah passed away from a cerebral hemorrhage on July 22, 1967. Ironically, her body was brought to C.K. Kerford Funeral Home. Her last stop in Kansas City was none other than the old Rector Mansion at 2000 E. 12^th St. where she and her family had once lived a life of luxury and was then operated as a mortuary.

Her final resting place in the ground was back where the story began- back in Taft, Okla. in that little peaceful parcel of land known as Blackjack Cemetery.

Today, there are many rumors that circulate around the Rectors, and the reason for this began in the headlines that blasted across the nation and world. The lies began then, and unfortunately, many of those lies are still circulated as being the truth. Sarah wasn’t deserted by her parents; she wasn’t left in the care of a white guardian. Her family loved and supported her when they lived in a small two-room cabin on Mama Rose’s allotment, and they loved and supported her when she struck it rich.

The family didn’t leave Kansas City, Mo. as some have reported; five generations of Rector descendants still call this place home. They stayed quiet as the rumors about their family recirculate every so often, as that false photo of Sarah is placed at the top of newspaper headlines and social media posts.

They drive by the abandoned Rector Mansion, boarded up and falling into disrepair, wishing that they could find a way to buy it back and bring it to its former glory. They cringe when someone says, “That’s the Sarah Rector mansion!” because the home was for all of the Rectors and purchased by Mama Rose, the matriarch of the family.  

It’s the Rector Mansion. 

A watercolor painting of the Rector Mansion by Pamela Morris (2019) made for the Rector descendants

“We would like to see the house restored and have it become a historic landmark and museum,” the Rector descendants told me around the kitchen table covered with photos, records and family papers. “We have things we would like to share with everyone.”

Sarah Rector at her farm with one of her nieces

The hope in having me write this, they told me, was to dispel so many of the wrongs that have been written over the past 100 years. They showed me incorrect articles from the Smithsonian, a video of a man claiming to be a direct Rector descendant who they don't know (who was shamelessly asking for donations to make a documentary about “his family”), and countless Black history websites that simply get the story wrong.

This article was meant to rectify the Rectors - to give them some peace of mind that their family’s story is, in fact, part of the history of our nation. But if it’s to be told, it must be told in its entirety. This was meant to tell you about their whole family- not just Sarah – as Sarah’s story is interlaced with her grandparents, her parents and her five siblings. Today, it’s kept alive by relentless Rector women set upon making sure their story from now-on is told right.

I am honored- humbled- that I was the one chosen to right some of the wrongs placed upon this family’s legacy and share this family’s powerful place in the pages of history.

The time has finally come to tell the truth.

Photos in this blog were courtesy of the Rector-Brown-Graves family. Please see below for additional family photos!

*If you liked this story, you need to check out my podcast, Kansas City: 2 States, 1 Story- It's FREE! Along with radio personality Bob Fescoe, we discuss local history in a fun, exciting way! To learn more about it, click here! If you enjoyed this story, please considering liking my facebook page, The New Santa Fe Trailer so you can read more of the stories I publish!

Recommended Reading:

Searching Sarah Rector: The Richest Black Girl in America by Tonya Bolden.
Killers of the Flower Moon: The Osage Murders and the Birth of the FBI by David Grann

Mama Rose (1886-1957) on the farm

Becky (1901-1968) and Rosa (1913-1992). Rosa's daughters supplied the information for this writing.

Lou (1907-1957)

Alfred (1909-1972)

Roy (1918-1991)

Arthur (1915-1989)