Mary Church Terrell: Part I

Mary Church Terrell, circa 1890

In 1892, Mary Church Terrell received the devastating news that her dear childhood friend, Thomas Moss, had been lynched by a mob in Memphis, Tennessee. That moment changed Mary's life.

At the time, Mary had recently married and was considering taking on the traditional role expected of women: managing the household and raising a family. Instead, Mary, who had never been known for staying quiet, dedicated herself to actively improving life for black Americans.

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Mary Eliza Church, or Mollie as she was known to everyone, was born in the middle of America's Civil War on September 23, 1863, in Memphis, Tennessee. Her parents were both former slaves. Mary described her father as "one of the most courageous men I have ever known. If it ever has been true of a human being that he knew no fear, it can be said of Robert Reed Church." Sharing one story about him, Mary wrote,

"Shortly after the Civil War what is commonly called 'the Irish Riot' occurred in Memphis. During that disturbance my father was shot in the back of his head at his place of business and left there for dead. He had been warned by friends that he was one of the colored men to be shot. They and my mother begged him not to leave his home that day. But he went to work as usual in spite of the peril he knew he faced. He would undoubtedly have been shot to death if the rioters had not believed they had finished him when he fell to the ground. Till the day of his death there was at the back of his head a hole left by the bullet which wounded him, into which one could easily insert the tip of the little finger. He suffered terribly from excruciating headaches which attacked him at intervals and lasted several days. Sometimes the pain was so great he threatened to take his life. Doctors told him these headaches were caused by the wound he received during the Irish Riot when he was a young man."

Robert was the son of a white steamboat captain and an enslaved black woman. His father treated him well, though, letting Robert learn to read and write and work aboard riverboats, where he saved money and learned about business, for which he developed a sound mind. After emancipation, Robert invested in a saloon and other companies and, with remarkable foresight and steadiness, became one of the South’s wealthiest black men and one of America's first black millionaires.

Mary's mother, Louisa Ayers, was no less determined. After becoming free, she built a successful hair salon serving black and white clients, including many of the city’s elite.

Though the couple would divorce early in Mary's life, together, they gave Mary something rare for black children in the South at the time: comfort and exceptional education. But Memphis was still the South. And no amount of wealth could shield a black family from racism. Mary could ride in carriages yet be denied entry to fine restaurants. She had elegant dresses but not full freedom. The contradiction shaped her early awareness of what was possible and what was withheld.

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From an early age, Mary was pushed to excel. Her father demanded discipline; her mother instilled refinement, order, and the value of hard work. There was little tolerance for idleness. Mary was expected to learn languages, study diligently, and carry herself with poise and purpose. She took music lessons, read widely, and was taught to value not only achievement but character. Learning was not simply a goal, it was a duty. And Mary's mother wanted the best education for her daughter. At the time, that meant going north. After preparatory studies in Yellow Springs, Ohio, Mary enrolled at Oberlin Academy Preparatory School and then Oberlin College.

Oberlin had long been a progressive outlier, known for its abolitionist roots and its rare commitment to admitting black students and women. Still, inclusion did not mean equality. Mary had to work hard to prove she belonged. Which she did. And like her parents, she was steadfast in doing what she believed right, including selecting her major. About the experience, she wrote,

"Some of my friends and schoolmates urged me not to select the 'gentlemen’s course,' because it would take much longer to complete than the 'ladies’ course.' They pointed out that Greek was hard; that it was unnecessary, if not positively unwomanly, for girls to study that 'old, dead language' anyhow; that during the two extra years required to complete it I would miss a lot of fun which I could enjoy outside of college walls. And, worst of all, it might ruin my chances of getting a husband, since men were notoriously shy of women who knew too much. 'Where,' inquired some of my friends sarcastically, 'will you find a colored man who has studied Greek?' They argued I wouldn’t be happy if I knew more than my husband, and they warned that trying to find a man in our group who knew Greek would be like hunting for a needle in a haystack.

But I loved school and liked to study too well to be allured from it by any of the arguments my friends advanced. I was very much impressed and worried by the one which warned that I couldn’t get a husband. But I decided to take a long chance. I wrote to my father and laid the matter clearly before him, explaining that it would cost more to take the course that I preferred and that few women of any race selected it. My dear father replied immediately that I might remain in college as long as I wished and he would foot the bill."

In 1884, Mary graduated with a bachelor's degree. But she didn’t stop there. She returned five years later to earn a master’s degree in education, the first black woman to do so at Oberlin.

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“Most girls run away from home in order to get married. I ran away in order to teach.”

- Mary Church Terrell