“You Do Your Part and I’ll Do Mine.”

Last year, I wrote a blog post about visiting a local historical site, Abingdon Plantation, which is hidden away along my regular bike route. In that post, I included a quote from British poet Alexander Pope, “Tis but a part we see, and not a whole.” I closed by wondering about what other gems I might be missing along my ride. Well, it turns out there’s at least one more.

On Christmas Day, Souzz and I made a plan to bike to Arlington National Cemetery (my parents are in Section 75). We’d then continue along the path to Reagan National Airport to visit the ruins of Abingdon Plantation (Souzz had not yet been there). Finally, we’d head home by way of the W&OD trail. This was my usual solo ride–but with a few personal and historical detours.

For the personal part, our visit to Arlington National Cemetery was very impactful–as it always is. The grounds are well cared for any time of year, but especially during the holidays. Every year in mid-December, each of the 400,000 graves is decorated with a wreath from Wreaths Across America (my brother helped this year). During our visit, we left some flowers, and we shared a sip of Souzz’s home-made egg nog (it was one of my parents’ holiday favorites).

As for the historical part, Arlington County has worked hard to preserve its past. We’ve learned about pieces of that history–but not all of it, and certainly not enough of it. We knew that a section of Arlington Cemetery was once Freedman’s Village, a settlement for freed slaves after the Civil War. We also knew that the cemetery grounds were once a part of Abingdon Plantation. The whole area was Powhatan Native land from long before that.

As planned, we stopped by Abingdon Plantation, reading the interpretive signage and learning what we could. It’s a fascinating little spot, tucked into the Reagan National Airport grounds and packed with history. There’s so much to learn.

Our full ride covered about 20 miles, finishing on the W&OD trail. Along the way, we stopped briefly near the baseball fields in Green Valley to get a drink from a public fountain. It was there that Souzz noticed the sign for Jennie Dean Park and asked me if I knew who Jennie Dean was. I was embarrassed that I’d never noticed that (huge) sign before, despite my hundreds of trips on this circuit. I made up a nonsensical answer (you’d expect no less), but I resolved to look it up when we got home.

Later, while most people were probably enjoying a holiday dinner, I was reading about Jennie Dean and her remarkable story. I learned a lot through resources from Arlington County, the City of Manassas, the College of William and Mary, and many others who have taken the time to preserve her memory.

As for her story, Jennie Dean was born into slavery in 1848 and freed as a result of the Civil War. She left home as a teenager to work in Washington and Boston, eventually saving enough money to buy a farm for her family back in Manassas. She got her education through a school run by the Freedmen’s Bureau, making opportunity despite the massive obstacles of the times. Along the way, she founded several churches, taught Sunday school, and taught various trades throughout the region.

By all accounts, Jennie Dean talked a lot about the relationship between education and poverty. So she made it her quest to open a school for young African Americans, an area where she saw tremendous need. She began intensive fundraising towards that goal in the 1880s, recruiting donors through her tagline “you do your part and I’ll do mine.” Those successful efforts led to the 1893 opening of the Manassas Industrial School for Colored Youth.

The Manassas Industrial School for Colored Youth was a private residential institution for young African Americans, the only one of its kind in Virginia. It was built on a parcel of land in Prince William County, on the rail line about 30 miles west of Arlington. Frederick Douglass spoke at its dedication, saying “To found an educational institution for any people is worthy of notice, but to found a school, in which to instruct, improve and develop all that is noblest and best in the souls of a deeply wronged and long neglected people, is especially noteworthy.”

The school offered standard high school courses as well as instruction in trades like carpentry, dressmaking, childcare, blacksmithing, cooking, shoemaking, and farming. It grew into fourteen buildings across a hundred acres, with much of the land actively farmed as a part of the curriculum. The school continued to gain prominence over the next decade, leading to a 1906 White House meeting between Jennie Dean, faculty, students, and President Theodore Roosevelt (arranged by Booker T. Washington).

Jenny Dean passed away in 1913, but the school continued on for several more decades. It became a part of the nearby Fairfax County (still segregated) school system in 1938, and it operated in various forms until 1959. In the present day, the buildings are gone but the site has been preserved. The former campus is now a lovely town park adjacent to Jennie Dean Elementary School.

I made the trek out west to visit the park last week, and it is very well done. Just her statue alone was worth the drive.

Closer to home, my regular bike workout has taken me back through Jennie Dean Park in Arlington a few more times. Its history is well documented by several kiosks; I’d just never taken the time to look. Adding to Jennie Dean’s story, her namesake park has been at the epicenter of recreation for African Americans in Arlington for nearly a hundred years.

Souzz and I wouldn’t know any of this history if not for our bikes, our community, and a dash of curiosity. The tributes in the park to Jennie Dean and to others that created long-overdue change are well-deserved. Less visible but still notable are the untold numbers of African American families across generations that were directly impacted by the school, by the park, and by Jennie Dean. Her vision, her determination, and her ability to “do her part” would be impressive for someone in the present day. These things are astounding—truly awe-inspiring—for a woman of color in her era.

My usual bike route travels in a big circle–so it seems fitting that I come back to Alexander Pope. One of Pope’s most famous works is An Essay on Criticism, which includes the passage “A little learning is a dangerous thing; Drink deep, or taste not the Pierian spring.” As I went back through Jennie Dean Park this week, I stopped and took a big swig of water. I looked around and I thought about Jennie Dean, and education, and opportunity, and water fountains, too.