Aunt Lottie’s memory and Juneteenth 2025

On June 19, 1865, 2,000 U.S. Union soldiers, after defeating Confederate troops in the Civil War, marched into Galveston, Texas, and informed Black people that they were free men and women.

Gen. Gordon Granger announced that the four-year war, fought over slavery, was officially over. As a result of the Emancipation Proclamation — an executive order issued by President Lincoln in 1863 — all Black people in Texas and the other 10 former Confederate states were no longer enslaved.

His words were:
“The people of Texas are informed that in accordance with a proclamation from the Executive of the United States, all slaves are free. This involves an absolute equality of rights and rights of property between former masters and slaves, and the connection heretofore existing between them becomes that between employer and free laborer.”

This moment marked the end of 246 years of Black people’s bondage in America. That date is now a federal holiday known as Juneteenth.

In 1865, many of the 31 million U.S. citizens — 11 million of whom lived in the former Confederate states — were elated with the outcome. I’m certain every Black person was overjoyed. And two of them were my maternal ancestors, Richard and Susan Duty. Knowing their names makes the Juneteenth holiday deeply personal for me.

The catalyst for my discovery of these relatives came from an 86-year-old retired registered nurse, Lottie Robinson. My mother’s younger sister, Aunt Lottie, has always been a great storyteller with an outstanding memory. A few years ago, she told me how my family moved from Alexandria, Rapides Parish, Louisiana, to Chicago nearly nine decades ago.

Enthralled, motionless, and beaming with pride, I listened as she recited how my grandfather, James Grant — who was respectfully called “Mr. Grant,” “Jimmie Grant,” and even “Granddaddy” by non-family members — hopped on a freight train in Louisiana in 1938 and rode it all the way to Chicago. Shortly after arriving, he found employment at a steel mill as a mechanic, where he worked until retiring 40 years later.

For nearly a year, he sent most of his earnings back to my grandmother, Augusta Grant, who remained in Louisiana with their five children, including my mother, Ollie Mae. As the oldest daughter, she was known affectionately as “Sister,” a prestigious moniker often shortened to “Sis.” While her siblings called their mother “Ma,” my mother called her “M’Dear,” short for “Mother Dear.”

A year after my grandfather arrived, my grandmother moved to Chicago with her children, but not all five. Lottie, the youngest, stayed behind for several months with my grandfather’s sister and her husband, who had no children of their own. To this day, Aunt Lottie refers to them with great affection as Aunt Suzie and Uncle Son.

She also has a vivid memory of them taking her to the station to board the Illinois Central Railroad train bound for Chicago. For many Black southerners, Chicago was known as “the Promised Land.” The allure of the city, combined with the desire to leave the South, fueled a migration of more than half a million Black people from Louisiana, Tennessee and Mississippi.

Aunt Lottie remembered seeing Uncle Son give money to the Pullman porter, Mr. Jones, so he could look after her during the 15-hour journey. (In the white sections of the train, passengers often called all porters “George.”)

She fondly recalled, with periodic giggles, sitting in the front seat of the train’s “colored section,” happily gazing out the big windows. Her feet dangled in the air as she clutched a paper bag filled with food from Aunt Suzie. Her hair was braided and tied with a flowing red ribbon. She wore a pretty pink dress, white socks, and shiny black patent leather shoes.

When the train pulled into the Chicago station, she said she was overcome with joy at the sight of “my daddy — Jimmie Grant!” He jumped onto the train, scooped her up in his arms, kissed her cheeks, and gave her a big, playful “zerbert” — a noisy kiss on the stomach that made her laugh uncontrollably. He then drove her to their apartment at 25 E. 116th Street in the Roseland neighborhood.

Ten years later, they became the first Black family to buy a house on their block in Englewood. They purchased it “on contract” from a white owner, at an interest rate of 16%, significantly higher than the mortgage rates available to white families. This was due to redlining, the federal policy that prevented banks from offering mortgages to Black families.

Eventually, my grandparents secured a mortgage from Sears, Roebuck and Co., at a much lower rate of 5%.

Over time, Aunt Lottie shared other family stories, though with fewer details. One moment that stood out was when she proudly declared, “Your great aunt, my daddy’s sister, was a WAC!” She said nothing more.

Curious, I did some research. I learned that this great-aunt was one of 6,500 Black American women who served among the 140,000 in the Women’s Army Corps during World War II. Her service and patriotism matched that of the countless Black veterans who have fought in every American war since the Revolution, more than any other racial or ethnic group.

The word Juneteenth is a portmanteau, like “chatbot,” a modern word combining “chatter” and “robot.” Juneteenth combines “June” and “nineteenth,” the day in 1865 when millions of Black people gained their freedom.

While my aunt didn’t know the specific significance of that date for our family, one simple sentence changed everything. She said, “I remember an elder in our family once saying we have people who owned a little town in Louisiana.”

That led to the discovery of my great-great-great-grandparents Richard and Susan Duty. Richard was born in Louisiana in 1824. Susan (nicknamed Sookie) was born in Kentucky in 1823, with the maiden name Madden.

This history was unearthed thanks to a Father’s Day gift from my daughter, Ariel (an Evanston Township High School alum), who hired genealogist Christopher Smother to trace our family lineage. Christopher, owner of Unearthing Your Roots Inc. in Louisiana, did an incredible job tracing our ancestry back more than 200 years. He’s the same genealogist who helped uncover Pope Francis’s Black heritage in New Orleans.

His research also verified Aunt Lottie’s story about our family’s contribution to a small town in Bienville Parish, La., where Richard and Susan settled after the 13th Amendment was ratified in December 1865.

That amendment officially abolished slavery in all 31 states, not just the 11 covered by the Emancipation Proclamation. Which means that for six months after Juneteenth, slavery was still legal in parts of the U.S.

Once freed, Richard and Susan became entrepreneurs. Through hard work, frugality and faith, they emerged as selfless leaders and philanthropists in the Black community. According to the History of Bienville Parish:

“Richard was Methodist by religious faith, and Susan was Baptist. They gave land and built the first C.M.E. church called St. Duty. They also bought land and built the first Black Baptist church in Arcadia. They gave land and built the first school for Black boys and girls in Arcadia. They also gave land for the St. Duty cemetery, where many Blacks throughout the area, including Susan, who died in 1871, and Richard, who died in 1884, are buried. He left more than 700 acres of land, houses and livestock.”

Learning this made me swell with pride. But it also made me sad, knowing these wonderful people had once been enslaved. That same bittersweet feeling returns every Juneteenth, a day of mourning and celebration.

I experienced it again when I called my aunt with the good news that she was right. We did have ancestors who were major contributors to their community. She listened quietly, then shared that she had recently been diagnosed with Lewy body dementia. I silently cried. It was devastating to hear that about a woman with such a brilliant mind.

So as we celebrate Juneteenth today, I encourage you to find the “Aunt Lotties” in your family. Especially if you’re Black and your lineage stretches back generations in America, I am certain your journey will lead you to discover formerly enslaved ancestors like Richard and Susan Duty, people who should be honored on Juneteenth and every day as American heroes and she-roes.

Steven Rogers wrote about his Aunt Lottie and her memories regarding Juneteenth.