Echoes from the Sandhills

Echoes in Action: Lives that Shaped the Sandhills and the World

Echo 8 - A Young Voice in 1875: Education as Uplift

In 1875, just ten years after emancipation, a student at the Howard School in Fayetteville, John Tyson, stood and delivered a speech on education as part of a school oratory exercise. His words were later published in The Educator, a Black newspaper serving the Fayetteville community.

This was not simply something written in quiet reflection.

It was spoken; shared aloud, before an audience.

A young voice, rising in a new era.

He titled his piece “A Declamation.”

In the tradition of the time, a declamation was more than a speech, it was a demonstration of thought, expression, and conviction. Students were expected not only to speak well, but to speak with purpose.

And Tyson did just that.

“Education is something useful, and is badly needed among us… it is the only thing that will ever be the upbuilding of our race.”

There is no uncertainty in that statement. No hesitation. No softening. Just clarity spoken aloud.

And he did not stop there.

“I tell you, my friends, education is a great thing. But it seems that there are but few of you that think so.”

That is not simply encouragement. It is a challenge—delivered directly to those within earshot.

Imagine the moment.

A young man, only a decade removed from a time when people who looked like him were denied the right to read, now standing and declaring before others that education was not only necessary, but essential.

Not optional. Not secondary.

Essential.

And then, he presses further.

Tyson speaks candidly about the choices that stand in the way, about time and money spent on things that do not build or uplift. He calls attention to habits that distract from growth and delay progress. His words are not meant to comfort. They are meant to awaken.

It is not comfortable language. It is honest language.

And perhaps even more powerful when spoken aloud.

What makes this moment remarkable is not only what was said—but who said it.

A student.

Young, yet already carrying a sense of responsibility; not only for himself, but for his community. In a time when education for Black Americans was still limited, contested, and often dangerous, he did not question its value. He proclaimed it.

In places like the Sandhills, where education often began in brush arbors, church spaces, homes, and modest schoolhouses, this belief in learning was not theoretical. It was lived. It was pursued with urgency.

Tyson understood that education was more than knowledge. In his words, it instilled pride. It shaped character. It changed how a person saw themselves—and how they moved through the world.

Education was transformation.

We have more access now—more schools, more resources, more pathways than could have been imagined in 1875.

And yet the question still lingers:

Do we value it more—or have we simply grown accustomed to having it?

Do we see education as a tool for uplift—or merely something to complete?

Do we carry the same urgency that a young man carried when he stood and spoke, just a decade after freedom?

Sometimes, when we look back, we expect to find only struggle. But what we often find instead is clarity. Vision. Determination.

In 1875, a student stood and spoke with conviction about the power of education—not just for personal advancement, but for the upbuilding of a people.

That voice still echoes.

The voice of a student.

The voice of John Tyson.

And it is not simply asking—it is calling us, even now, to consider what we will do with what we have been given.

Echoes of the Sandhills

Series 4: Echoes in Action: Lives That Shaped the Sandhills and the World

Echo 7:  Phoebe Walker and the Women Who Delivered a Community

In the early 1900s, long before hospitals were within reach for most rural families, life in the Sandhills began at home, often in the quiet hours of the night, guided by the steady hands of women whose names were rarely recorded, but whose work was never forgotten.

But this tradition did not begin in the 1900s.

Long before emancipation, in the slave quarters of plantations across the Sandhills and beyond, Black women served as midwives bringing life into a world that often denied it dignity. With no formal training, limited resources, and under the weight of oppression, they relied on knowledge passed down through generations. They understood the rhythms of the body, the power of herbs, and the strength required to usher both mother and child safely through childbirth. Their work was sacred, even when their humanity was not fully recognized.

That legacy did not disappear. It carried forward.

One of the women who inherited that tradition was Phoebe Walker.

In 1910, Phoebe Walker was a young wife and mother living in Barbecue Township in Harnett County. Like many women of her time, her life centered around family, home, and community. She was raising children of her own, learning firsthand the realities of childbirth, resilience, and care.

By 1917, her role had expanded beyond her own household. On a birth certificate from that year, her name appears again, this time not as a mother, but as a midwife, the one entrusted to help bring new life into the world.

Phoebe Walker was part of a long tradition of Black midwives often called “granny midwives” who served as the backbone of healthcare in rural communities across the Sandhills. In areas like Jonesboro, Broadway, Pineview, Stewarts Creek, and the surrounding countryside, access to doctors was limited. Families depended on women like Phoebe—women who carried knowledge passed down through generations, who understood both the physical and spiritual weight of birth.

They traveled by foot, wagon, or whatever means they had, answering calls at all hours. They brought with them not only skill, but calm, wisdom, and faith. They stayed after the baby was born, tending to mother and child, ensuring that both had a strong start.

By 1930, Phoebe Walker appears again in the census, now a widowed woman, still living in the same community. Though the record does not list her occupation, it is hard to imagine that her work had ended. Women like Phoebe did not simply stop being midwives. They remained pillars of their communities, called upon in moments of need, trusted across families and generations.

Phoebe Walker’s story is not just her own. It represents the countless women who labored quietly behind the scenes, delivering babies who would go on to shape families, sustain communities, and carry forward the legacy of the Sandhills.

Their names may only appear in fragments, on a census line, a birth certificate, or in the fading memory of a family story; but their impact is immeasurable.

Every child they helped bring into the world is a living testament to their care.

And in communities like ours, it is not an exaggeration to say:

They delivered more than babies.

They delivered a people.

Dedication

This Echo is dedicated to Phoebe Walker and to all the midwives of the Sandhills—the women who walked dusty roads in the dark,

who answered calls without hesitation,

who carried knowledge in their hands and faith in their hearts.

May we remember their names when we can,

and honor their work always—

for in every generation that followed,

their legacy lives on.

Echoes of the Sandhills

Series 4: Echoes in Action: Lives That Shaped the Sandhills and the World

Echo 6: Anthony Walter Moore (1820–1932)

Anthony Walter Moore was born in 1820 in the vicinity of Fayetteville, North Carolina. According to family accounts, he was born into slavery and was initially owned by a man named Daniel McQueen, who worked him as a field hand. At some point, he was sold to another enslaver bearing the surname Moore, from whom he later took his name. Both plantations were located in the Fayetteville area.

Over time, Anthony’s role changed. He was brought into the household and, according to these accounts, was afforded certain privileges. He was permitted access to books, learned to read and write, and is said to have shared that knowledge by teaching others.

Following emancipation, Anthony remained for a period with the Moore household. Eventually, after a disagreement, he chose to leave and begin a new chapter of his life.

During this time, he married his first wife, Mary Ann, and maintained close ties to his family, including his sister, Mary McQueen.

Anthony later relocated to the Lillington area of Harnett County, in Upper Little River Township, where he was employed in the naval stores industry, pulling turpentine boxes from pine trees. This labor—common in the Sandhills region—is supported by historical documentation; a Freedmen’s Bureau record notes a dispute involving Anthony W. Moore regarding nonpayment for work associated with cutting turpentine boxes.

After approximately a year of work, during which he saved his earnings, Anthony returned to the Seventy-First area, where his wife Mary Ann and their children were living. He then brought his wife, their five children, and his niece, Bell McKellar, back to Harnett County, where they settled in Upper Little River Township.

Through determination and resourcefulness, Anthony acquired approximately nine hundred acres of land. Homes were built for their families about one-fourth mile from the present Mount Olive Methodist Church, a congregation later founded by his niece, Bell McKellar.

The first year was marked by hardship. The land had to be cleared by cutting trees, removing shrubbery, and digging out stumps. Leaves were gathered into piles in the fall, and a mixture of lye and water was poured over them to create fertilizer. By the following spring, the fertilizer was ready for use. In the second year, the crops yielded abundantly, and from that point forward, Anthony and his family began to prosper.

They raised livestock, including sheep, goats, hogs, and cattle, as well as poultry such as chickens, ducks, geese, and turkeys. They cultivated collard greens, corn, peas, and other vegetables, preserving food for the winter months alongside cured meats. Anthony also grew sugarcane for syrup and, in later years, cultivated cotton and peanuts.

As his holdings expanded, Anthony entered into business. He established his first store, known as “Old Hundred,” on land near the site of the old Norrington A.M.E. Zion Church. He later sold that parcel to Neill A. Mason and built another store near his home site by Mount Olive Church.

During this period, his first wife, Mary Ann, passed away. Together, they had fifteen children. He later married Judy McNeill Ross (identified as Julia in census records), the widow of Mack Ross, and to this union were born additional children. In total, Anthony was the father of twenty-seven children, though several died in infancy and their names were not recorded.

Over the years, Anthony developed substantial wealth and property. He owned mules, fine homes, and well-crafted buggies, and in later years was among the first in the area to own an automobile, a Buick. He owned and operated a cane mill, grist mill, and sawmill, later partnering with his son Neill in these enterprises.

His landholdings extended beyond Harnett County to Fayetteville, Sanford, and Clinton, though he eventually sold portions of these properties. He also acquired additional land and town lots in Shawtown near Lillington.

From his original estate, he sold parcels of land to his sons—Hardie, Baptiste, Neill Archie, and Duncan—as well as to his daughter Margaret. He also sold land to others in the community, including William Steele, Nathan Black, and additional relatives and neighbors.

Desiring a change in location for his family, Anthony sold the remaining acreage of his estate to a man from Benson, North Carolina, and relocated to Shawtown. There, he built another home and store, operated a peanut farm, and continued his business activities until the end of his life.

Anthony was a long-standing member of Norrington A.M.E. Zion Church, where he served as a trustee. He was also a member of the local school board for many years and a Past Master in the Masonic Fraternal Order.

He departed this life at his home on Monday, August 22, 1932. According to available records, he reached an extraordinary age. Following his passing, his estate in Shawtown was divided among his children.

Anthony Walter Moore, along with his wives and his niece Bell McKellar, is remembered as a pioneer of this community, one whose labor, land, and leadership laid a foundation upon which generations have continued to build.