Standing on Their Shoulders
I want to acknowledge the support of my family. I also honor the mentors, colleagues, and trailblazers who opened doors and guided me with their wisdom and example. Their contributions have been instrumental in shaping my path, and I am profoundly grateful for the opportunities they have afforded me. This is a recognition of their legacy and a recognition that my achievements are built upon their enduring influence and generosity.
Squire "Square" Hatten Sr.
This is my great-great-grandfather. He was "patient" #251 in the highly unethical Tuskegee Study of Untreated Syphilis in the Negro Male.
This study, conducted by the U.S. Public Health Service, started in 1932 and continued for 40 years. It involved 600 Black men, 399 of whom had syphilis, while the remaining 201 were not infected. The men were deceitfully told they were receiving treatment for "bad blood," a vague term used locally for various health issues, including syphilis, anemia, and fatigue. In reality, they were not properly informed about the study's nature, nor did they give informed consent. They were offered free medical exams, meals, and burial insurance, but not the actual treatment for syphilis, even after penicillin became the standard cure.
The study's ethical breaches were so brazen that it continued without offering proper treatment even after effective medication became available. It wasn't until October 1972 that an advisory panel recommended halting the study, and the following month, the Assistant Secretary for Health and Scientific Affairs officially terminated it. Outrageously, it took until May 16, 1997, when I was in the 5th grade, for the victims and their families to receive an official apology from a U.S. president.
Initially brought to my attention by my sister-cousin, Makeda Shanee, we continue to share this critical piece of our family history because it should never (and will never) be forgotten.
Paul R. Griffin
Dr. Paul R. Griffin, emeritus professor in the Department of Religion, passed away on August 17, 2018, at Miami Valley Hospital. Dr. Griffin began his career at Wright State in 1988 and, until his retirement in 2010, taught a variety of courses on Western Christian thought and African American religious history.
As a Black faculty member, I aspire to be like Dr. Griffin. I stand on his shoulders. I would not be where I am today if it weren't for his fated question, "Have you ever considered continuing your education?" That simple question planted the seed and set me on a path I had never considered. Dr. Griffin modeled a role for me that I had never seen before, a role I saw for myself.
As a professor, he challenged me and appreciated my challenging him. He reached out to students, especially Black and Brown students, who were newly exposed to the often-exclusionary environment of higher education and guided them along. When I earned my PhD, I sent him a thank you message. I didn't hear back from him, and I now know that he was ill. He will be missed. ("OH YEAH!!" - a little inside reference for those of us who took his classes).
Dr. Griffin's legacy lives on in the countless students he inspired and guided, including myself. I owe much of my academic journey to his encouragement and vision.
The Great Migrators
Honoring these four brave souls who had the courage to leave the only home they’d ever known to forge a new path: Lewis, Doris, Dorothy, and Herbert.
When Herbert (1937) and Dorothy (1945) were born, Mississippi was deeply entrenched in the Jim Crow era, marred by racial segregation and widespread discrimination against Black Americans. The state was largely rural, with agriculture, particularly cotton farming, dominating the economy. The Second World War was underway, and while some economic opportunities emerged due to the war effort, the benefits were unevenly distributed. Education and healthcare were starkly segregated, with Black communities receiving significantly fewer resources than their white counterparts. Social and political life was heavily influenced by racial tensions and a strict social hierarchy enforced by laws and customs.
When Lewis “Baby Love” Bryant (1933) and Doris “DOT” Jean (1935) were born, the Dolcito area and Tarrant City, Alabama, were small industrial communities located near Birmingham. The region was heavily influenced by the Great Depression, leading to economic hardships, high unemployment rates, and widespread poverty. Tarrant City, in particular, was known for its steel mills and related industries, which were major employers. My grandma Doris and her brother Peter grew up in what was considered a “village,” which is now the location of the Dolcito Rock Quarry. The area was segregated, with Black American residents facing significant discrimination and limited opportunities. Despite the economic challenges, the community showed resilience, with local institutions and informal networks providing support and solidarity to residents during these tough times.
At some point, my grandparents decided to head north, joining the Great Migration of Black Americans between 1916 and 1970. During this period, around six million Black individuals moved northward and westward in search of better opportunities and a higher quality of life. My family settled in Lorain, Ohio. According to family stories, “Baby Love” played a crucial role in helping many other families make the journey north and establish new lives.
Their courage and foresight ensured that I could grow up in an environment where I could pursue my dreams and ambitions. Their decision provided access to better education, employment, and living conditions, laying a foundation for future generations to thrive. The legacy of their journey is a testament to their strength and determination, shaping the trajectory of my life in ways I am deeply grateful for.