I had not heard of Boley, Okla., until a conversation last week with a woman who was born there in 1918. Hortense McClinton, now living comfortably retired in Silver Spring, Md., at age 104, credited the tiny all-Black town with laying the foundation for her successes in life.
“When I was in the eighth grade, a Black social worker spoke to our class, and I knew that’s what I wanted to be,” McClinton told me. And that’s what she became — ultimately a pioneering professor at the UNC School of Social Work, striking blows against racism and misogyny along the way.
At its zenith, Boley had a population of about 4,000 residents. They were served by two Black-owned banks, four Black-owned cotton gins, five Black-owned hotels, three schools, 25 Black-owned grocery stores, a waterworks, a telephone exchange and a Black-owned electric power company.
In 1920, the town’s Black-owned weekly newspaper, the Boley Elevator, dubbed the place “the greatest Negro city in the world.” The “elevator” in the name symbolized a race of people on the rise. “All men up,” said the newspaper. “Not some men down.”
I’d heard a lot about the so-called “worst” predominantly Black cities in the country but virtually nothing about towns such as Boley. How was it that newly freed enslaved people could build communities from scratch, construct schools and churches that still stand, while so many communities today are run down, with buildings in disrepair that could be easily fixed?
Last year, 38 years after McClinton retired, faculty and former students at UNC’s School of Social Work were still so impressed with her legacy that she was called back for a celebration. There was a dedication of a residence hall that had been named for her, along with an outstanding faculty award and a student scholarship fund, also in her name.
As a professor, she caused quite a stir by introducing the study of institutional racism into the social work curriculum. If the role of the social worker was to assess barriers to well-being and find ways to ameliorate problems, understanding racism, sexism and economic oppression would be essential.
She also pushed to get job opportunities for UNC’s Black employees who’d become stuck in the lowest-paying positions, as cafeteria workers and janitors, with no chance for advancement. As the only Black faculty member for three years, she was the go-to person for anything and everything having to do with race.
That alone could have overwhelmed her and caused her to quit. But she pressed on.
At the dedication, Ramona Denby-Brinson, who is the first Black woman to serve as dean of the UNC School of Social Work, credited McClinton with paving the way for her and noted the fortitude required for being a pathfinder.
“She was by herself at this university and still had the courage to stand up and speak out when it was not popular to do so,” Denby-Brinson said. “We have to draw on her example to continue this work.”
McClinton’s daughter, Linda Bell, also recalled her mother’s courage. One day they were shopping in downtown Durham when they walked into a Ku Klux Klan march.
“They were in white robes and hoods, and one of them must have said something to my mother because she started shouting back at them,” Bell recalled. “I was so scared I started begging her to stop talking to them. But she didn’t stop, and they just kept marching past us.”
McClinton recalled that her father, Sebrone King Sr., also had a penchant for speaking up. He was born in Kilgore, Tex. in 1865, the year the 13th Amendment abolishing slavery was ratified. Before his 40th birthday, King had graduated from Wiley College, earned a degree in veterinary medicine and owned a lumber business in Kilgore.
“One day, a White man accused him of stealing lumber, so my father said that was not true and that he had a bill of lading to prove it,” McClinton said, recalling the story as told by older family members. “Then the man told him: ‘I don’t let n-----s talk to me that way. I’ll jump on you.’ And my dad told him, ‘If you jump, you won’t hit the ground alive.’ So, the man vowed to get him.”
Not long afterward, King learned about a new town getting started in Oklahoma that sounded appealing. He rented some box cars from the railroad, loaded up his cattle and lumber, and moved to Boley.
With that lumber and the help of other skilled Black craftsmen, King built an elegant two-story house with wraparound porches on both levels. He went on to become president and founder of one of the town’s two banks — the First National Bank of Boley.
The town of Boley still exists but has experienced some hard times. Once youngsters like McClinton got a taste of the big city, there was no going back to small-town life. But she learned lessons in that pioneering town, and they have served her well for more than a century.
“You have to speak up,” McClinton said. “Or you’ll eventually lose your voice. That’s the main thing that you learned in Boley.”