From: Roberta Flander’s Diary

Source: Petersburg, VA

Personal Acquisition

 

Background:

 

Miss Roberta Flanders was the daughter of Mr. Douglas Flanders once of Petersburg, Virginia. Mr. Flanders had been a small-time businessman, making a modest living as a shopkeeper until he made a trip to England in 1831. He returned to Virginia in 1832 with little to show for his trip except a handsome young African slave named John. Mr. Flanders decided, for reasons unknown to anyone, to take a most unusual step and put John to work in his store. Few blacks were thought capable of work in occupations that did not demand a strong back or manual skills; but John, according to Flanders, was the exception.

His assessment certainly turned out to be true. Before long, everyone in Petersburg was familiar with this charismatic young black man that seemed to always have what you needed -- sometimes even before you were aware of it yourself. He single-handedly grew Flanders’ from a shop of simple sundries to one of the largest and most high-end shops in town. Mr. Flanders could spend his day socializing with the town’s better families since he had such a competent manager in John. Indeed, the people of Petersburg fairly forgot John was a slave, and most of the women in the town truly wished he were not. According to her diary, Roberta had overheard a conversation one morning between two of her very respectable neighbors:

 

From the diary:

 

“I sat under the rose bower and enjoyed the early morning dew. It was one of my favorite places. The drops of water there were like perfume – free rose water. I listened to the sounds from the house as the rest of the family began their day. I knew that John would be along presently. This was one of the few chances I would get to talk to him alone. I wanted to speak with him before he went off to open the store.

I heard him as he said goodbye to Cook. My heart beats faster even at the sound of his voice. Cook is in love with him too, I can tell. He is nice to her, but I know he does not love her. John is nice to everyone, and everyone loves him.

I waited to see him, but today he did not pass the bower on his way from the house. He went down the walk to the side gate. As he passed beyond my sight, I could hear our neighbor ladies speaking just over the back fence. I climbed up on the seat of my hiding place so that I could see who was speaking. It was Mrs. Fitzsimmons and her neighbor, Mrs. Russell, the tailor’s wife. They were bent close in conversation, but I could hear them quite well; especially that fat Fitzsimmons cow. She was always drooling after my John.

 ‘He’d make a fine catch if he wasn’t a black,’ moaned Mrs. Fitzsimmons.

I climbed higher up on the seat to better see.

‘I’ve been observing the fine muscled behind of John as he passes on the way to Flanders’. A finer pair of buttocks I’ve never seen.’  She had obviously forgotten herself and blushed fiercely to the roots of her chestnut locks. I could see that her neighbor was also blushing. Finding themselves of like mind, they both burst out laughing, quickly shushing each other before someone questioned this outbreak of frivolity.

I hated her and her friend for their wanton ways. I knew that John was far too good to ever notice them. He was mine, only mine. His color did not matter to me, and I loved him for the wonderful man he was - not for the dirty things those women wanted from him. We would be together soon, and he would never have to worry about people like them again."