The Lost Legacy of the Forgotten HBCU
When most people discuss historically black colleges and universities, they imagine Howard, Spelman, Morehouse and Tuskegee. But despite being a graduate of Alabama A&M University (another HBCU), the place I think of first is one few readers will be familiar with: Saint Paul Normal and Industrial College, in Texas. The reason is my family.
Figure 1. Rev. L.W. Thomas, date unknown. Courtesy of the Thomas family.
About three years ago, when doing genealogical research, I came across an obituary for my great grandfather Rev. L.W. Thomas (Figure 1). I’d remembered seeing it before but had never read it in detail. As I did, my attention was drawn to the fact that he was a longtime trustee of a college I’d never heard of, which he had helped found: Saint Paul, in his hometown of Mexia (mə-HAY-ə). I was surprised because my mother, aunts, uncles and grandmother had never mentioned the place. I quickly fell down the rabbit hole of family research, trying to find out as much as I could about this school that I had a newfound connection to. My search yielded a number of gems. But before we get into the details, I would like to share a bit about Rev. Thomas and his connection to Mexia, the town with the unusual name.
My great grandfather, the only child of Boss and Bettie Thomas, was born in Springfield or Tehuacana, Limestone County, Texas, on August 19, 1873. Boss was an Alabaman who migrated to Texas. Bettie was a Texan. Attending Sardis Primitive Baptist Church as a child in nearby Mexia, L.W. felt a strong calling to preach the gospel, according my late great uncle Oletha, L.W. 's eldest son (Figure 2). After finishing school in Mexia, L.W. earned a bachelor’s degree from Wiley College, another HBCU, in Marshall, Texas. In 1895, he married Clementine “Clemmie” Estella Ross, also a native of Limestone County. This union would produce thirteen children, twelve of whom lived to adulthood (Figure 3).
Figure 2. Rev. L.W. Thomas preaching with the choir of St. Thomas Primitive Baptist Church (Summit, Okla.) looking on, circa 1940s, location unknown. Courtesy of the Thomas family.
Figure 3. Rev. L.W. Thomas with his young family in Mexia, Texas, c. 1920. Courtesy of the Thomas family.
Then fortune struck. In 1912, a large natural gas deposit was discovered by the Mexia Gas and Oil Company. In 1920, oil was discovered, including on land that L.W. owned. Soon, he had ten producing oil wells on his property. As his wealth increased, Rev. Thomas was able to provide materially for his family. But it brought trouble, too. According to family lore, whites in town claimed L.W.’s teenage sons were “too rambunctious,” and threatened them with imprisonment. Rev. Thomas obviously was not going to allow his sons to be arrested, because there was a good chance that they would not be returned to him alive. Instead, L.W. decided to move his family north, to Oklahoma, where he felt they would be safer.
Along with his newfound riches, L.W. brought with him a vision of establishing a model community for African Americans. He was passionate about the progression of Black Americans, especially those who were determined to be self-sufficient by providing for themselves living off of the land. He used some of his oil money—more than $100,000 (approximately $4.8 million in 2019 dollars)—to buy land in Muskogee County, on the Jefferson Highway (today U.S. Route 69), eight miles southwest of Muskogee—establishing the town now known as Summit. He divided the site into lots and sold them to African Americans, with preference for those also migrating from Texas also to escape racial tensions, especially those who were members of his congregation. The place thrived, filling with others who forged strong, neighborly ties and functioned, often, as one big family. I grew up there nearly a century later, surrounded by descendants of many of the early settlers. As in the 1920s, the community remained predominantly African American.
Though my great-grandfather had much influence on Black placemaking in Oklahoma, it was back in Limestone County, Texas, where he developed into the altruistic figure depicted in his obituary. For several years after leaving, he returned to Mexia and put his wealth to a new public-spirited use: supporting Saint Paul Normal and Industrial College.
Figure 4. Not only do few physical traces of Saint Paul remain, but few visual traces, too. Here are thumbnails of three anonymous photographs of it that I have collected: during construction, construction completed, and as it fell into disrepair.
According to community historians, the idea for St. Paul first took shape in 1906, the brainchild of members of my great grandfather’s congregation of the Primitive Baptist Church. Several congregations, eventually, united to form a statewide Primitive Baptist Association (later the State Educational Convention of Colored Primitive Baptists of Texas) to promote the cause. After moving to Oklahoma, L.W. remained involved. And in the late 1920s, he lent it the money—an estimated $9,000 ($480,000 today) or more—to finish building its first (and only) building, on a campus of 28 acres (Figure 4). Construction was completed February 1929. That September, just a month before the Great Crash, the school welcomed its initial thirty-five students. The dean was a man by the name of Rev. E.M. Cooper. The first teachers, mainly women, included Edith J. Boston, Joanne Cooper, Maggie Pulliam, Janie Stout, and P.M. Williams. Many of the students trained to become educators; the school also offered some trade courses.
Saint Paul thrived. And not just as a place of higher learning for students from Limestone County but as a community institution, later hosting events such as the 69th Sinai Primitive Baptist Convention, in 1947.
Still, like many small colleges—not least HBCUs—its finances were unstable. During the early years, in the Great Depression, bills were paid late, teachers were sometimes not compensated in full, and the school’s debt grew. As the Rev. Thomas explained to the Mexia News, “Our obligations continued to increase” and “for years we were unable to keep up on the interest on the principal of the main debt.” In 1940, the property was foreclosed upon. Thankfully, Rev. Thomas saved it again, arranging (along with two other pastors) for new financing. Things looked up. Members of many Primitive Baptist churches in the area fervently raised money and paid off the new debt in just three years (seven years early!), underscoring the strong bonds that the African American churches commonly foster within a community. The college held a note-burning ceremony to celebrate (Figure 5). Sadly, however, new troubles arose, and the college shuttered, this time permanently, in 1953. Today, all that remains physically are broken pillars and bricks, although many elder Mexia natives remember it fondly.
Figure 5. Rev. L.W. Thomas, school administrators, and members of the Primitive Baptist community burning loan notes, after repayment, in front of Saint Paul, circa 1943. Courtesy of Carolyn Anderson.
As a doctoral student in Texas, studying historically black settlements in the region, learning about Saint Paul and my personal connection to it gave me the chills. Throughout my childhood I had heard of Mexia, if not the college. Unfortunately, the only person I knew who had been to the town was my grandfather Joe, who passed away when I was two, in 1995. Reading about the college in L.W.’s obituary flooded me with emotions, especially a sense of loss as I contemplated the many things that he might have shared with me. Recovering this history has become a way to ease the heartache, while opening a path to explore the rich legacy of Saint Paul and other long-forgotten HBCUs.
