The Riverside Press-Enterprise
Exhibit sheds light on an early Black photographer
The scene is almost entirely in darkness: a locomotive in silhouette, belching smoke inside a station, light streaming in through slats in the roof.
The story behind this 1921 photo, “The Spirit of Transportation,” is cloaked in even more shadows. But the persistence of photographer KD Ganaway's family is now bringing details into the light.
Riverside's California Museum of Photography has had a print of this Ganaway photo in its collection since 1990, when singersongwriter Graham Nash, a noted photographer and collector, donated 262 historic images, including this one. But little was known about Ganaway.
“Our curators always liked this photo, but we only knew the basics of the story,” senior curator Douglas Mcculloh told me.
More than 25 years after the donation, a Ganaway relation in Tennessee doing internet research learned that Ganaway's most famous photograph was in Riverside. She got in touch with museum officials.
“I was in shock that it was in the archives,” Brenda Fredericks told me. “And I was even more shocked when they didn't know anything about KD Ganaway. I thought, ‘We need to change that.' And they agreed.”
The result is an exhibit, “KD Ganaway: From Butler to ‘Race Photographer,'” showcasing one of the first Black photographers in the United States. As the title hints, Ganaway had an unusual career trajectory — more on that in a moment.
Members of Ganaway's extended family came to the exhibit opening on Feb. 25 from Tennessee and Indiana. I attended too, realizing that the presence of family was my best opportunity to piece together what seemed to be a complicated story. In fact, the history was more tangled than I'd guessed.
Even the family is still figuring it out. Because Ganaway had married a White woman, light-skinned descendants could pass for White. To give them a better chance of success in life, family lore about their Black roots was hidden.
Tim Fredericks, Brenda's husband, is Ganaway's great-grandson. How his mother explained away his complexion sounds like tragicomedy. As he put it, “I grew up thinking I was Costa Rican.”
As Tim, who's 64, told our gathering before the walk-through of his greatgrandfather's exhibit: “None of us should be here today. He was meant to be forgotten. His family tried to bury him.”
King Daniel Ganaway was born in 1882 in Murfreesboro, Tennessee, where his family had been enslaved prior to the Civil War. They later operated a small mercantile store in Chattanooga.
When their White competitor offered the teenager a job delivering groceries, Ganaway's parents told him to accept. The lesson: Take advantage of every opportunity you have.
Ganaway used his earnings to put himself and his sister through school, then ended up in Chicago, where he was hired as a butler by a widowed White socialite after a chance encounter.
In her employ, Ganaway had access to her personal library and served guests who included Chicago's elite, such as retail magnate Marshall Field. In his off hours, the butler pursued photography.
In 1921 he beat out 900 entrants, including such famous names as Man Ray and Edward Weston, to capture first place in a national contest with “The Spirit of Transportation.”
This made him the first Black photographer to win a major award.
Much of what is known about Ganaway is found in a 1925 Chicago Tribune profile. Headline: “This Negro butler has become famous as a photographer.”
Writer Edith M. Lloyd quoted Ganaway at length about his personal history — minus the White wife — and his artistic process. She called him an “artist-photographer” who “expresses the spirit of Chicago.” He
told her he “thinks in pictures” and that it took attempts over three years to capture the train image he’d composed in his mind.
Tim and Brenda Fredericks began researching Tim’s family history two decades ago. When they learned of the existence of the 1925 article, they bought a copy of the magazine off ebay.
“We dissected it word for word,” Brenda said. “It became the blueprint for us to rebuild KD Ganaway’s life.” She said the article is read aloud at family Christmas gatherings.
Ganaway, nearing 40 when he won the contest, had an active career in the 1920s and ’30s in the Black press in Chicago. He retired to teach Sunday school and died in 1944.
In their family research, the Frederickses in 2015 met Daryl Webb. Daryl, 54, is a grand-nephew of KD Ganaway. He and wife Donna, who both attended the Riverside opening, live in Murfreesboro.
And not just anywhere in Murfreesboro.
“The house my wife and I purchased,” Daryl said, “was on the land on which the Ganaways had been enslaved.” The home of the slave owner still stands a half-mile away.
Daryl and Tim are third cousins. As they’ve gotten to know each other, they’ve realized they have a lot in common, from mannerisms to expansive thoughts about race.
“We think like KDG would have thought,” Daryl told me, using Ganaway’s initials. “He didn’t see race the way many people see it. He navigated around it.”
Tim said if he could ask his great-grandfather anything, it might be how he and his wife, a maid from Switzerland, got together and why they separated. Or it might be why he gave up photography and gravitated toward religion. Was he disillusioned?
The exhibit consists of multiple photographs by Ganaway from Chicago newspapers and magazines, a framed copy of the 1925 article and family photos.
It’s on view through Aug. 6 at the museum, 3824 Main St. Run by UC Riverside, it’s the largest photographic center in the western United States with 500,000 photographs and objects. Admission is free.
When family members first saw the exhibit, they were overwhelmed with emotion.
So was Sasha Mayoras, the great-granddaughter of Mary Lawrence, the woman who had employed Ganaway as a butler. Brenda found her through Ancestry.com and they’ve become friends.
In keeping with that bond, and with Lawrence’s bond with KD Ganaway, Mayoras flew out from Chicago for the exhibit’s opening.
“To support that, the way my great-grandmother would have supported it, that’s why I came,” she told me.
Tim Fredericks said the exhibit is “a culmination” of their research to date, yet may not be the last word.
“I feel like there could be more to come,” Tim told me. “I don’t know what that might be,” he added with a chuckle, “but I couldn’t envision this either.”
Brenda Fredericks said if it weren’t for “The Spirit of Transportation” and Riverside, none of this would have happened.
“God bless Graham Nash,” Fredericks told me. “I want to thank him. He has no idea what he did.”