Oldest schoolhouse for Black children in US moving to museum

WILLIAMSBURG, Va. (AP) — A building believed to be the oldest surviving schoolhouse for Black children in the U.S. was hoisted onto a flatbed truck and moved a halfmile Friday into Colonial Williamsburg, a Virginia museum that continues to expand its emphasis on African American history.

Built 25 years before the American Revolution, the original structure stood near the college campus of William & Mary. The two-story pinewood building held as many as 30 students at a time, some of them free Black children studying alongside the enslaved.

Hundreds of people lined the streets to celebrate its slow-speed trip into the heart of the living history museum, which tells the story of Virginia's colonial capital through interpreters and restored buildings.

For historians and descendants alike, the Bray School contradicts the belief that all enslaved Americans were uneducated. But the school's faith-based curriculum – created by an English charity – also justified slavery and encouraged students to accept their fate as God's plan.

“Religion was at the heart of the school, and it was not a gospel of abolition,” said Maureen Elgersman Lee, director of William & Mary's Bray School Lab.

“There was this need to proselytize and to bring salvation while still not doing anything to destabilize the institution of slavery,” Lee said. “Save the soul, but continue to enslave the body. It was the here versus the hereafter.”

More than half of the 2,000 people who lived in Williamsburg at the time were Black — and most were enslaved. The school was established in 1760 — 141 years after slavery began in Virginia — by a London-based Anglican charity at the recommendation of Benjamin Franklin. Named after philanthropist Reverend Thomas Bray, the charity set up schools in other cities, including New York and Philadelphia.

The curriculum ranged from spellers to the Book of Common Prayer. But even within the schools' paternalistic framework, the education could still be empowering, perhaps even subversive.

“I was going through a facsimile of one of the books, and there are words like ‘liberty,'” Lee said. “What did learning those words do to expand these children's sense of themselves? Their sense of the world?”

Isaac Bee, a Bray School student, would run away as an adult from a slave owner named Lewis Burwell. An ad that Burwell placed in The Virginia Gazette in 1774 offering a cash bounty for his return warned that Bee could read.

The white teacher, a widow named Ann Wagner, lived upstairs at the school, and taught an estimated 300 to 400 students, whose ages ranged from 3 to 10, according to surviving records.

The Williamsburg Bray School operated until 1774; only Philadelphia's reopened after the Revolutionary War. The structure became a private home for many years before it was incorporated into William & Mary's campus.

The former schoolhouse eventually was moved from its original spot to make way for a dormitory. It was expanded over the years, last used as an office for ROTC, the college program that prepares military officers.

Historians believed they had identified the original Bray School building, but it wasn't confirmed until 2021, through the use of dendrochronology, a scientific method that examines tree rings in lumber to determine the wood's harvest date.

“This is a remarkable story of survival,” said Matthew Webster, Colonial Williamsburg's executive director of architectural preservation and research. “And for us, it's so important to put it back (to its original state) and tell the full and true story.”

The Bray School was exceptional: Although Virginia waited until the 1800s to impose an anti-literacy laws, white leaders across much of Colonial America forbid educating enslaved people, fearing literacy would encourage their liberty. South Carolina criminalized teaching slaves to write English in 1740.

Inside the schoolhouse, the original post at the bottom of the walnut staircase still stands, its square top rounded and nicked from centuries of use, Webster said, adding that it's a “very powerful piece for a lot of people.”

For Tonia Merideth, the Bray School Lab's oral historian, the building stirred up many emotions upon her first visit. It was material proof against the narrative that her ancestors were illiterate and dumb.

“Everything that I learned about my ancestors was wrong,” she said. “They could learn. They did learn. They were able.”

Merideth added: “Regardless of the intentions of the school, the children were still taking that education and possibly serving it for their own good and aiding in their community.”

Merideth can trace her roots to the Armistead family, which enslaved people in the Williamsburg area and is known to have sent at least one child, named Locust, to the Bray School. But only three years of student lists have survived.