Lunch Ticket
  • Current Issue
  • Archive
    • Issues Archive
      • Issue 22: Winter/Spring 2023
      • Issue 21: Summer/Fall 2022
      • Issue 20: Winter/Spring 2022
      • Issue 19: Summer/Fall 2021
      • Issue 18: Winter/Spring 2021
      • Issue 17: Summer/Fall 2020
      • Issue 16: Winter/Spring 2020
      • Issue 15: Summer/Fall 2019
      • Issue 14: Winter/Spring 2019
      • Issue 13: Summer/Fall 2018
      • Issue 12: Winter/Spring 2018
      • Issue 11: Summer/Fall 2017
      • Issue 10: Winter/Spring 2017
      • Issue 9: Summer/Fall 2016
      • Issue 8: Winter/Spring 2016
      • Issue 7: Summer/Fall 2015
      • Issue 6: Winter/Spring 2015
      • Issue 5: Summer/Fall 2014
      • Issue 4: Winter/Spring 2014
      • Issue 3: Summer/Fall 2013
      • Issue 2: Winter/Spring 2013
      • Issue 1: Spring 2012
    • Genre Archive
      • Creative Nonfiction
      • Essays
      • Fiction
      • Flash Prose
      • Interviews
      • Lunch Specials
      • Poetry
      • Translation
      • Visual Art
      • Writing for Young People
  • About
    • Mission Statement
    • Lunch Ticket Staff
      • Issue 22: Winter/Spring 2023
      • Issue 21: Summer/Fall 2022
      • Issue 20: Winter/Spring 2022
      • Issue 19: Summer/Fall 2021
      • Issue 18: Winter/Spring 2021
      • Issue 17: Summer/Fall 2020
      • Issue 16: Winter/Spring 2020
      • Issue 15: Summer/Fall 2019
      • Issue 14: Winter/Spring 2019
      • Issue 13: Summer/Fall 2018
      • Issue 12: Winter/Spring 2018
      • Issue 11: Summer/Fall 2017
      • Issue 10: Winter/Spring 2017
      • Issue 9: Summer/Fall 2016
      • Issue 8: Winter/Spring 2016
      • Issue 7: Summer/Fall 2015
      • Issue 6: Winter/Spring 2015
      • Issue 5: Summer/Fall 2014
      • Issue 4: Winter/Spring 2014
      • Issue 3: Summer/Fall 2013
      • Issue 2: Winter/Spring 2013
      • Issue 1: Spring 2012
    • Achievements
    • Community
    • Contact
  • Weekly Content
    • Friday Lunch Blog
    • Midnight Snack
    • Amuse-Bouche
    • School Lunch
  • Contests
    • Diana Woods Award in CNF
      • Issue 22: Winter/Spring 2023
      • Issue 21: Summer/Fall 2022
      • Issue 20: Winter/Spring 2022
      • Issue 19: Summer/Fall 2021
      • Issue 18: Winter/Spring 2021
      • Issue 17: Summer/Fall 2020
      • Issue 16: Winter/Spring 2020
      • Issue 15: Summer/Fall 2019
      • Issue 14: Winter/Spring 2019
      • Issue 13: Summer/Fall 2018
      • Issue 12: Winter/Spring 2018
      • Issue 11: Summer/Fall 2017
      • Issue 10: Winter/Spring 2017
      • Issue 9: Summer/Fall 2016
      • Issue 8: Winter/Spring 2016
      • Issue 7: Summer/Fall 2015
      • Issue 6: Winter/Spring 2015
      • Issue 5: Summer/Fall 2014
      • Issue 4: Winter/Spring 2014
      • Issue 3: Summer/Fall 2013
    • Gabo Prize in Translation
      • Issue 22: Winter/Spring 2023
      • Issue 21: Summer/Fall 2022
      • Issue 20: Winter/Spring 2022
      • Issue 19: Summer/Fall 2021
      • Issue 18: Winter/Spring 2021
      • Issue 17: Summer/Fall 2020
      • Issue 16: Winter/Spring 2020
      • Issue 15: Summer/Fall 2019
      • Issue 14: Winter/Spring 2019
      • Issue 13: Summer/Fall 2018
      • Issue 12: Winter/Spring 2018
      • Issue 11: Summer/Fall 2017
      • Issue 10: Winter/Spring 2017
      • Issue 9: Summer/Fall 2016
      • Issue 8: Winter/Spring 2016
      • Issue 7: Summer/Fall 2015
      • Issue 6: Winter/Spring 2015
    • Twitter Poetry Contest
      • 2021 Winners
      • 2020 Winners
      • 2019 Winners
  • Submissions
  • Search
  • Menu Menu
  • Facebook
  • Instagram
  • Twitter

An Ancestor’s Legacy

June 7, 2020/ Tom Wade

In the United States Census of 1850, Charles Younger’s name was on Schedule 2, Slave Inhabitants in Blue Township in the County of Jackson, State of Missouri. It appeared, in the enumerator’s neat handwriting, under the column Name of Slave Owners. The other columns related to the enslaved: number, age, sex, color, fugitives, “manumitted,” and “deaf & dumb, blind, insane, or idiotic.” Schedule 2 did not allot space for the names of the enslaved. Thirty rows detailed the demographics of Younger’s human property: sixteen individuals aged twelve to forty, ten females and six males; and fourteen children aged six months to ten years old, seven females and six males with one four-year-old missing a gender classification. Two, probably more, of the individuals on this schedule were Younger’s progeny.

Charles Lee Younger was my fourth great-grandfather. Virginia, a daughter of his from whom I descended, was a half-sibling to the two enslaved youngsters whose paternity Younger conceded, making their offspring my cousins. She wasn’t listed on Schedule 2 because she was white.

Susan Neiman, in her book Learning from the Germans, notes that post-World War II Germans denied a connection to the Holocaust, claiming their husbands, fathers, and brothers who served in the military were not involved in the genocide. That was the work of the SS. Whether they knew it or not, Neiman demonstrates they were wrong. In a similar vein, most white Americans descended from antebellum families deny suggestions they have slaveholding ancestors. When I found out I have a forebear who owned people, I acknowledged the news, though I can’t say I wasn’t in denial. Without disavowing its authenticity, I dismissed the abhorrent nature of enslaving thirty people—in part because it took place one hundred and seventy years in the past, and in part because of its novelty and unexpectedness. And there was another reason.

In his will, Younger freed six enslaved persons: Fanny, Elizabeth, and their offspring. Fanny’s children were Nathan and Washington, and the twenty-two-year-old Elizabeth’s were Catherine and Simpson. In a codicil, he gave the women forty acres of land and the house he was living in when he died. Signifying he fathered Catherine and Simpson, he established a fund to educate them and a bequeathal of $1,500 each at age twenty-one. When I first read these provisions, I thought the codicil a hoax. But later I discovered other sources confirming its validity. Impressed, I felt good about his sensibility and his independence from the prevailing practices and beliefs of his peers. I deemed this merciful deed in his dying days somewhat offset his slave-owning sins. Then author Octavia Butler disabused my charitable judgment.

Well, it looks as though you have three choices. You can go to him as he orders; you can refuse, be whipped, and then have him take you by force; or you can run away again.

Butler wrote Kindred, a science fiction novel about a modern-day black woman, Dana, who finds herself transported to an early nineteenth-century Maryland slave plantation where she saves the life of the white owner’s son, Rufus. Throughout the story, she’s transported back several times, from when Rufus was a child to when he was in his twenties. In one scene, after Rufus’s father died and he takes over the plantation, Dana is talking to a young enslaved woman, Alice, with whom Rufus, her master, wants to have sex. Dana tells Alice, “Well, it looks as though you have three choices. You can go to him as he orders; you can refuse, be whipped, and then have him take you by force; or you can run away again.”

[Alice:] “What am I going to do?”

[Dana:] “I can’t advise you. It’s your body.”

[Alice:] “Not mine.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Not mine; his. He paid for it, didn’t he?”

This passage caught my breath. Up to this point, I wasn’t troubled about Younger’s actions. My empathy muted, I was in the mode I go into when I see a car accident on the highway or when I read a headline about a midnight murder. These words drew me to an unavoidable conclusion.

Elizabeth was fifteen when her oldest, Catherine, was born. Younger was sixty-eight. The historical record doesn’t address if their union was consensual or forced, but the circumstantial evidence is overpowering. My fourth great-grandfather was a rapist. Reading Butler drove home that Younger did not entice, with his charm and looks, a teenaged Elizabeth to sex. The union wasn’t consensual. But in Butler’s portrayal, his cruelty came to life: He forced himself on a girl. A slave owner established their dominance in many ways. The most appalling and consequential was rape.

I can’t shake a memory of two uncles railing against blacks when the March on Washington took place in 1963. These brothers of my dad were angry at the protesters, both those with grievances as well as their enablers. They started by spouting racist stereotypes about lazy and criminal blacks, and then they enumerated those responsible for the black menace, going from the present to the past. As they one-upped each other, my uncle Bill came to what he considered a logical conclusion. “Direct the harshest wrath,” he said, “to the sons of bitches that brought them here and those who kept them here, those who made it possible for blacks to come and stay.” His surprising, ironic twist: Blame the slavers. My grandfather—Younger’s great, great-grandson—sat listening and, by remaining quiet, condoned his son’s curse, unaware of his forbear’s deeds.

Younger signed the codicil the day before his death. It replaced an original conveyance of 300 acres to Elizabeth and Fanny with less acreage, a house, and, for Catherine and Simpson, trust funds and educational support. To make his wishes clear, he wrote that the codicil, “be liberally constructed to promote the Freedom, Happiness, Education and Respectability of said Catharine and Simpson.” He underlined “Freedom” and “Happiness” in the original. He also expressed the desire that Catherine and Simpson use his surname.

In Kindred, Alice made a trade-off with her enslaver: She would not resist his advances as long as he educated their offspring. Later, she attempted to escape. After her capture, the master told her he sold the children. He had banished the two most important people in her life and, with them, her purpose for being. She committed suicide. But he had lied to punish her for her transgression, having sent the youngsters to stay with a relative. After Alice’s tragic death, he freed their children either out of compassion or guilt. It’s plausible that Elizabeth, like Alice, made a trade with her enslaver. She could have exchanged a large tract of land for other assistance in an attempt to enhance Catherine’s and Simpson’s futures.

While Younger had hoped for his heirs’ freedom and happiness, racial barriers blocked those aspirations. In the will, he described Elizabeth as having a “mulatto colour.” So, Catherine and Simpson, with one-quarter African heritage, had light complexions; and Catherine at times passed as white. Documentation of Catherine’s life is sparse. A friend wrote that she “took in washing, suffered the direst of poverty, but struggled to keep herself.” The chronicle of Simpson’s life is more detailed. In one noteworthy episode in 1888, he bought tickets in the orchestra section for a play, in advance, from a ticket-seller who assumed he was white. When he arrived at the theater with a black woman, an usher refused to honor their tickets and told them to sit in the balcony or leave. They left. Simpson filed a lawsuit but lost an appeal in the Missouri Supreme Court. A 1957 newspaper article about this incident, noting Simpson’s light skin, reported that he “resented being classified a Negro.” Simpson’s youngest daughter took umbrage.

Theodora Younger Telford wrote to the paper that her father didn’t resent being black. Echoing Octavia Butler, she said he “resented the white man, if for no other reason than that in slavery days, the white man used his helpless slave girls, not only for slaves, but for pleasure, too.” Writer Diane Euston confirmed Simpson Younger’s bitterness as expressed in one of his poems: “Yes, I’m an American that is true / But I have not the rights that white folks do.” He did feel resentment, but it wasn’t because he was “classified” as black. He resented the treatment he endured from being black.

Most of my white relatives, who are also descendants of Charles Younger, maintain that African-Americans are inferior, a scourge. They don’t want their kids going to school with blacks; they don’t want to live in the same neighborhood as blacks; they don’t want to work with blacks. I fantasize about telling these relations we have black cousins.

In the telling, I’d relate the story about Younger and Elizabeth and their offspring. I’d relish the distaste on their faces. I would want to rub it in; make it clear that Charles Lee Younger, well-off farmer, father of a score of children, assaulted an adolescent.

“He freed them, gave them educations, and generous sums of money,” my benighted kin would respond, using my facts in a bid to undercut me.

I’d say, “How can an old man have sex with and impregnate a young, teenage girl and not be a predator? A sexual deviant? By current law, he’s a rapist.” I envisage sticking it to them, knowing I won’t change their minds: I daydream but I’m not delusional.

I am related to an enormity, distant and tenuous, more abstract than real. This relationship would shame a principled person, but I only sustain vague regret and the uneasy desire to better understand the effect my forebear had. I’m unsettled. Charles Younger exemplifies oppressors who ignored moral bounds, yet his will hinted at an attempt to do right out of what looks like a sense of compassion or guilt. I’m unable to weigh his last written words against the terror and humiliation he imposed.

Like slavery’s existence, I can’t conceive its aftermath. Another slaver offspring, John W. Miller, wrote white Americans see slavery as an event that might strike an inquisitive chord, while it has left a mark on African Americans. It “is to black Americans a cruel, unavoidable ghost that haunts this nation’s cities, schools, hospitals and prisons.” Slavery’s onus persists, intrinsic to our culture and psychology.

In a recent conversation I had with an African American woman, she disclosed, without prelude, a murderer had taken her grandson’s life the week before and she had attended his funeral earlier that day. She spoke with little emotion. Stunned, I couldn’t say anything for a moment: Had I heard right? Her countenance remained impassive as she responded to my questions, saying he was her oldest grandchild, the son of her oldest daughter, and the killer, who had shot three others, was in jail. While her tone didn’t change, her quiet voice revealed sadness. A religious person, I assume she accepted what had happened as another cross she and her family must bear. I reason she has learned to absorb suffering. But my life has differed from hers to such an extent that my suppositions are pointless. For her, the murder of someone close, though not anticipated, is not out of the question. Disparate sets of circumstances have molded us: Mine, though sometimes frustrating, has fostered hope; hers, though sometimes hopeful, has brought despair.

Butler depicted more than sexual maltreatment. She gave vivid sketches of whippings finished off by pouring salt on the wounds, of a runaway having his ears cut off, and of constant, unpredictable terror. These images brought home a personal attribute I hesitate to acknowledge: Cruelty unnerves me. I wince at pictures of bodies piled into mass graves and of emaciated children dying of malnutrition. I’m unable (or is it unwilling?) to pore over accounts of the Holocaust or lynchings and to grasp the suffering wreaked on the vulnerable by “normal” human beings. Because they’re daunting, I haven’t dwelled on my forefather’s sins.

What I know about Charles Younger evokes discomfort, but what I know is a fragment of his essential nature. Using the passing of time and his limited beneficence as excuses, I held an image of a flawed character who revealed promise. Whereas I disregarded the crueler aspects of his history, I can’t ignore that elements of his depraved behavior have survived through the generations—his posterity littered with racists. Still, genes don’t transmit depravity; it’s a product of upbringing and social forces. As part of a community and society that sustains cruelty, I’m uncertain I can keep up the singular effort needed to oppose it, for it will require I confront my ancestor’s legacy and overcome hard truths about myself.

Tom Wade

Tom Wade is a retired state government employee. He has been a volunteer ombudsman (advocate) for residents of long-term-care facilities for seven years. His essays have been published in Foliate Oak Literary Magazine, Communion, Jenny, Quarterly Literary Review Singapore, Wilderness House Literary Review, Squawk Back, Canyon Voices, and The Dr. T. J. Eckleberg Review.

Issue Archive

  • Issue 22: Winter/Spring 2023
  • Issue 21: Summer/Fall 2022
  • Issue 20: Winter/Spring 2022
  • Issue 19: Summer/Fall 2021
  • Issue 18: Winter/Spring 2021
  • Issue 17: Summer/Fall 2020
  • Issue 16: Winter/Spring 2020
  • Issue 15: Summer/Fall 2019
  • Issue 14: Winter/Spring 2019
  • Issue 13: Summer/Fall 2018
  • Issue 12: Winter/Spring 2018
  • Issue 11: Summer/Fall 2017
  • Issue 10: Winter/Spring 2017
  • Issue 9: Summer/Fall 2016
  • Issue 8: Winter/Spring 2016
  • Issue 7: Summer/Fall 2015
  • Issue 6: Winter/Spring 2015
  • Issue 5: Summer/Fall 2014
  • Issue 4: Winter/Spring 2014
  • Issue 3: Summer/Fall 2013
  • Issue 2: Winter/Spring 2013
  • Issue 1: Spring 2012

Genre Archive

  • Creative Nonfiction
  • Essays
  • Fiction
  • Flash Prose
  • Lunch Specials
  • Poetry
  • Interviews
  • Translation
  • Visual Art
  • Writing for Young People

Friday Lunch Blog

Friday Lunch! A serving of contemporary essays published the second Friday of every month.

Today’s course:

How to Kill a Cat, or How to Prepare for CATastrophe

March 10, 2023/in Blog / Meghan McGuire
Read more
https://lunchticket.org/wp-content/uploads/2023/03/51458407-FB7D-4C1F-AD98-9E3181F097C9.jpg 2288 2288 Meghan McGuire https://lunchticket.org/wp-content/uploads/2021/12/lunch-ticket-logo-white-text-only.png Meghan McGuire2023-03-10 11:55:512023-03-08 12:08:20How to Kill a Cat, or How to Prepare for CATastrophe

The Night I Want to Remember

December 16, 2022/in 2023ws-migration, Blog / Sanaz Tamjidi
Read more
https://lunchticket.org/wp-content/uploads/2022/12/paul-volkmer-qVotvbsuM_c-unsplash-scaled-1.jpg 1704 2560 Sanaz Tamjidi https://lunchticket.org/wp-content/uploads/2021/12/lunch-ticket-logo-white-text-only.png Sanaz Tamjidi2022-12-16 16:12:142022-12-16 16:12:14The Night I Want to Remember

From Paper to the Page

November 18, 2022/in 2023ws-migration, Blog / Annie Bartos
Read more
https://lunchticket.org/wp-content/uploads/2022/11/IMG-7101-1-scaled-1.jpg 2560 1920 Annie Bartos https://lunchticket.org/wp-content/uploads/2021/12/lunch-ticket-logo-white-text-only.png Annie Bartos2022-11-18 12:27:332022-12-07 19:27:42From Paper to the Page

More Friday Lunch Blog »

Midnight Snack

Take a bite out of these late night obsessions.

Tonight’s bites:

Point Break & Top Gun Are More Than Homoerotic Action Movies

March 3, 2023/in Midnight Snack / Michaela Emerson
Read more
https://lunchticket.org/wp-content/uploads/2023/03/ECD45731-BD0A-4144-9DDE-DBE45519C4A6.jpeg 2461 1882 Michaela Emerson https://lunchticket.org/wp-content/uploads/2021/12/lunch-ticket-logo-white-text-only.png Michaela Emerson2023-03-03 23:45:542023-03-04 00:06:21Point Break & Top Gun Are More Than Homoerotic Action Movies

Mending the Heart and Slowing Down: Reintroducing Myself to Mexican Cooking

October 7, 2022/in Midnight Snack / Megan Vasquez
Read more
https://lunchticket.org/wp-content/uploads/2022/10/jason-briscoe-VBsG1VOgLIU-unsplash-scaled.jpg 1707 2560 Megan Vasquez https://lunchticket.org/wp-content/uploads/2021/12/lunch-ticket-logo-white-text-only.png Megan Vasquez2022-10-07 23:55:352022-10-07 19:31:09Mending the Heart and Slowing Down: Reintroducing Myself to Mexican Cooking

The Worth of a Billionaire’s Words

September 23, 2022/in Midnight Snack / Kirby Chen Mages
Read more
https://lunchticket.org/wp-content/uploads/2022/09/image2-scaled.jpeg 2560 1920 Kirby Chen Mages https://lunchticket.org/wp-content/uploads/2021/12/lunch-ticket-logo-white-text-only.png Kirby Chen Mages2022-09-23 23:56:162022-09-23 21:56:42The Worth of a Billionaire’s Words

More Midnight Snacks »

Amuse-Bouche

Little bites every third Friday to whet your appetite!

Today’s plate:

On Such a Full Sea Are We Now

March 17, 2023/in Amuse-Bouche / Jemma Leigh Roe
Read more
https://lunchticket.org/wp-content/uploads/2023/03/JLR.jpeg 1204 1042 Jemma Leigh Roe https://lunchticket.org/wp-content/uploads/2021/12/lunch-ticket-logo-white-text-only.png Jemma Leigh Roe2023-03-17 11:55:192023-03-20 12:27:25On Such a Full Sea Are We Now

The Russian Train

February 24, 2023/in Amuse-Bouche / Cammy Thomas
Read more
https://lunchticket.org/wp-content/uploads/2023/02/06BA84B9-9FF6-4D6C-97E3-9F02075E851D.jpeg 2042 1609 Cammy Thomas https://lunchticket.org/wp-content/uploads/2021/12/lunch-ticket-logo-white-text-only.png Cammy Thomas2023-02-24 14:30:592023-02-24 11:40:48The Russian Train

Still Life

October 31, 2022/in Amuse-Bouche / Daniel J. Rortvedt
Read more
https://lunchticket.org/wp-content/uploads/2022/10/827C31B5-92AE-4C32-9137-3B4AED885093-scaled.jpeg 2560 1920 Daniel J. Rortvedt https://lunchticket.org/wp-content/uploads/2021/12/lunch-ticket-logo-white-text-only.png Daniel J. Rortvedt2022-10-31 11:59:312022-10-30 21:59:49Still Life

More Amuse-Bouche »

School Lunch

An occasional Wednesday series dishing up today’s best youth writers.

Today’s slice:

I’ve Stayed in the Front Yard

May 12, 2021/in School Lunch, School Lunch 2021 / Brendan Nurczyk
Read more
https://lunchticket.org/wp-content/uploads/2021/05/SL-Insta-Brendan-Nurczyk-2.png 1500 1500 Brendan Nurczyk https://lunchticket.org/wp-content/uploads/2021/12/lunch-ticket-logo-white-text-only.png Brendan Nurczyk2021-05-12 10:18:392022-02-01 13:24:05I’ve Stayed in the Front Yard

A Communal Announcement

April 28, 2021/in School Lunch, School Lunch 2021 / Isabella Dail
Read more
https://lunchticket.org/wp-content/uploads/2021/04/SL-FB-Isabella-Dail.png 788 940 Isabella Dail https://lunchticket.org/wp-content/uploads/2021/12/lunch-ticket-logo-white-text-only.png Isabella Dail2021-04-28 11:34:132021-04-28 11:34:13A Communal Announcement

Seventeen

April 14, 2021/in School Lunch, School Lunch 2021 / Abigail E. Calimaran
Read more
https://lunchticket.org/wp-content/uploads/2021/04/SL-Insta-Abigail-E.-Calimaran.png 1080 1080 Abigail E. Calimaran https://lunchticket.org/wp-content/uploads/2021/12/lunch-ticket-logo-white-text-only.png Abigail E. Calimaran2021-04-14 11:22:062021-04-14 11:22:06Seventeen

More School Lunch »

Word From the Editor

Our contributors are diverse and the topics they share through their art vary, but their work embodies this mission. They explore climate change, family, relationships, poverty, immigration, human rights, gun control, among others topics. Some of these works represent the mission by showing pain or hardship, other times humor or shock, but they all carry in them a vision for a brighter world.

More from the current editor »
Current Issue »

Connect With Us

lunchticket on facebooklunchticket on instalunchticket on twitter
Submit to Lunch Ticket

A literary and art journal
from the MFA community at
Antioch University Los Angeles.

Get Your Ticket

We’ll keep you fed with great new writing, insightful interviews, and thought-provoking art, and promise with all our hearts never to share your info with anyone else.

Newsletter Signup
Copyright © 2021 LunchTicket.org. All Rights Reserved. Web design and development by GoodWebWorks.
Scroll to top