Saving Black Americana

His name was Jocko Graves and his sacrifice quite possibly saved George Washington's life. It was Dec. 25, 1776 and, facing disaster, Washington took a desperate chance in attempting to cross the Delaware River to launch a surprise attack on the Hessian encampment at Trenton, N.J. It was darkest night in the dead of winter and foggy as well, so steering the boat to the correct area would prove difficult at best.

Washington had an ace up his sleeve, however, in the form of a brave 12-year-old slave named Jocko Graves who stood with lantern and blankets in hand as a stationary beacon to guide Washington's ferry. Of Course, as history indicates, Washington did make it across the river, thanks to the help of Jocko's vigilant stand. Regrettably Jocko did not survive the incident, freezing to death as he stood in place. Washington was so touched by this ultimate sacrifice that he erected a statue of the young boy and placed it on his lawn. Little did he know that this action would result in the appearance of many "lawn jockeys" adorning the front yards of future America.

Jocko's statue is just one representation among many in a genre of art depicting black Americans through heroic or racist lenses; a line of collectible artwork known to many as Black Americana that was still being produced as late as the early 1980s. These pieces represent a de facto world of prejudice; a collection of work long since hidden or forgotten by Americans due to embarrassment or negligence. There is history in this artwork, such as the story of Jocko, of which most present-day Americans are unaware.

According to African-American student and dealer of Black Americana Gerald Diggs, one of the primary reasons many of the once-abundant items are now scarce, and therefore largely unknown to most Americans, is that many of them were bought by wealthy African-Americans in the 1970's and promptly destroyed. Diggs, who is black, sees this as a tragedy for many reasons.

"In my opinion these things were important to both whites and blacks because they force us to be honest with ourselves and our feelings to each other," said Diggs. "The ugliness of hate is only truly broached and dealt with when you bring yourself face to face with it. The destruction of these derogatory pieces serves to turn a social monster that could be faced honestly into a silhouette that hovers over us all, ever more powerful without challenge."

Diggs, who is in the process of writing a book on Black Americana, believes there is something deeper to be found in these pieces; something painful and at the same time oddly beautiful. "Martin Luther King Jr. once said that 'it is not the positive images that made me who I am' and I believe a similar understanding is evident when people see these things. I am fascinated with the detail of work that has gone into building some of the more elaborate pieces. It truly is a testament to what hate can do and how it can manifest itself. I've seen reactions from joy to sorrow to anger when people first see these images. And the kicker is it wasn't that long ago that these pieces were mainstream. People need to wake up to that hard fact," he said.

One of the more surprising facts about Black Americana is that many of the pieces are simply replications of images taken from a select few models. "There are a few stereotypical images that see a lot of use among Black Americana, black supermodels of a sort" explained Diggs. "The reason for this is that it was less expensive and just generally easier to replicate the same image over and over again. Also, it helped to strengthen the racist paradigm: These people all look alike, all do the same things, etc. From the slave's perspective, modeling for one of these artists was just one more day they didn't have to pick cotton and if they were posing with chickens or watermelons or whatever, that might have meant they got to take home some more food that night to their family."