Walking in Poppie’s Ancestral Power
Let's Walk!
This morning, as I warm up my muscles and step onto my walking pad, each step feels particularly sacred – a prayer, a meditation, a reclaiming of my own power. My heart hums with stories about my beloved ancestors and the bold, Black leaders of Colorado. Their creativity, courage, their boundless love for life whispers to me, gentle reminders to love my Black self and savor this God-given gift of life. Today, I walk for them – for Poppie, for those who came before him, and for the ones who rise after him. With every step, their legacies surge through my veins – love, brilliance, boldness, and the relentless drum beat of liberation.
Yesterday, during a lunch brimming with laughter and the rich flavors of a marvelous meal, I sat surrounded by my Mom and four cherished SistaFriends. Our souls were nourished not only by the delicious food but also by the vibrant stories we shared. Earlier we toured the Blair-Caldwell African American Research Library in Five Points, a Denver community that stands as a bastion of Black history and culture. Brotha Shanti Zaid, our guide, led us on a journey through time, reintroducing us to the Black royalty of Colorado – people whose names I grew up hearing spoken with respect, reverence. We marveled at the art created by local Black artists, their brushstrokes and sculptures telling stories of triumph, struggle, and beauty. We admired the works of gifted high school students, their talent a testament to the creativity that flows through our community like a river, unbroken and unstoppable.
And ohh the stories! How I long for a beautifully crafted book, overflowing with images and vivid narratives, celebrating Colorado’s Black historical figures. Brotha Shanti shared stories that felt familiar, yet this time, they unfolded with new, breathtaking details. Take Aunt Clara Brown, for instance – Denver’s first Black woman resident and a trailblazing entrepreneur. Born enslaved in Virginia in 1800, she was freed at 56 years of age, claimed her liberation, and set her sights westward, drawn by the promise of the Gold Rush. She first settled in Kansas but soon yearned to venture further west. In 1859, Colonel Benjamin Wadsworth offered her a deal: cook for 26 men on their voyage to Colorado in exchange for “free transportation.” Here’s what stunned me, y’all – they made Aunt Clara WALK beside those wagons full of men, step by grueling step, through the dust and heat of an eight-week, 700-mile journey from Kansas to Colorado! And after all of that walking, she arrived here and built an empire – laundry shops, homes in Central City, buildings in Denver, and she even owned mines in Boulder, Georgetown, and Idaho Springs. GAWN, Aunt Clara! Talk about a beacon of vision, strength, and unstoppable possibility!
Another story lingers in my heart – the story of Dr. Joseph H.P. Westbrook, a Black man whose courage knew no bounds. With fair skin that allowed him to “pass,” Dr. Westbrook infiltrated the KKK. Sitting among those who sought to destroy us, Dr. Westbrook listened, learned their plans, and turned their hatred into a shield for the Black community. With help from Dr. Westbrook and many other brave Black people, Five Points – a vibrant hub of Black culture and commerce – was spared the devastation that ravaged so many other Black neighborhoods, like Greenwood/”Black Wall Street” in Tulsa, Oklahoma. Dr. Westbrook’s story is a reminder that even in the face of hatred, we always find ways to protect, to resist, and to flourish.
By the 1930s, over 75 percent of Denver’s Black residents called Five Points home, a reality shaped in part by the city’s discriminatory housing policies. Yet, from these racist challenges, we prospered. In 1931, the first all-Black fire station, Fire Station 3, was established here, anchoring the community and sparking a cultural renaissance. Five Points became fertile ground for businesses, restaurants, and a thriving arts scene. Soon, the soulful rhythms of jazz poured out of the venues lining Welton Street, earning the neighborhood its legendary title: "Harlem of the West." Can you imagine it? Local jazz artists sharing stages with icons like Duke Ellington, Ella Fitzgerald, and Billie Holiday, their music pulsing through the air like a heartbeat. The bustling streets, the laughter, the music, the joy, the sheer brilliance of a community that turned struggle into triumph, creating a legacy that still sings today.
After the wonderful, story-filled tour of the library, my mom, our SistaFriends, and I gathered at a restaurant, and shared stories about our own ancestors. Mom recounted the story of Poppie, my Great-Grandfather – a man whose legacy is etched into my very bones. Nearly a century ago, Poppie was chased out of Greenville, Mississippi by white men who discovered he and a white woman were in a loving relationship. As Poppie fled, they shot at him. A bullet pierced his skull, took out his eye, and that bullet remained lodged in his head for the rest of his life. Poppie was determined to live. He made it to a friend’s home, where they tended to his wounds, hid him in a CASKET, and smuggled him onto a train bound for Chicago. From there, he journeyed to Pueblo, Colorado, a haven where Black people – many seeking refuge – were building lives full of possibility.
As a child, I knew that I was supposed to feel good about this story given the way the adults told it with so much animation, volume, even celebration. But it broke my heart. I couldn’t understand why Poppie couldn’t love who he wanted to love. I couldn’t fathom the terror of being chased, of a bullet tearing through his skull and eye, of hiding in a casket, unsure if he’d live to see another day. And now, as an adult, I see the story more clearly. Poppie’s is not just a story of survival – it’s a story of triumph. He didn’t just endure, he thrived. He built a life in Colorado, a life full of purpose, love, and family. His descendants include steel mill workers, doctors, nurses, ministers, entrepreneurs, teachers, and yes, even a few hoodlums. We are his legacy, and his glorious spirit lives on in us.
Today, as I walk, I feel Poppie’s strength coursing through me. Each step is a declaration of liberation, a celebration of the creativity and courage that defines my people. I think of the Black artists whose work I saw yesterday, their creations radiating the beauty we bring into the world. I think of Aunt Clara, Dr. Westbrook, and Five Points – the Harlem of the West – and my chest swells with pride. I think of Poppie, my dear Great-Grandaddy, his journey from a casket to a life of abundance, a life that makes my existence possible and powerful.
And I’m thinking about walking; it’s more than motion. Walking is a reverent ritual of grounding and becoming. With each step, we align with the rhythm of life, reclaim space and time, move forward even when the journey is long, celebrating progress – one step at a time. With every step, I honor those who came before me, those who walked so I could run. I walk with love, the same love that sustained Poppie and so many others. I walk with courage, the courage that allows us to survive and thrive against unimaginable odds. I walk with creativity, the creativity that turns pain into beauty and tells our stories. I walk with liberation, because liberation is who we are.
As I step off the walking pad, I am filled with profound gratitude – for Poppie, for my ancestors, for the Black community in Colorado and beyond. Gratitude for the stories that remind us of who we are and where we come from. Gratitude for the journey, for every step we take toward a future where we all walk in freedom, love, and power. Today, I walk with Poppie’s spirit as my guide, every step a reminder that I am both the prayers of my ancestors and the hope of generations to come.