Explore the remarkable story of Harry Jackson, a runaway slave who became a long-time resident of Bristol, Connecticut, and was buried at West Cemetery in 1904.

By Rit Carter

I – The End

On a mild mid-afternoon on the third day of March in 1904, a horse-drawn hearse adorned in black velvet covers and black plumes over the horse’s ears left an in-home funeral on Matthews St. near the railroad tracks and made the short journey to Bristol’s West Cemetery. 

The procession bypassed the damaged and unsightly north entrance and instead opted for an approach from the east. The entourage included two three-seated carriages and two single-seated carriages carrying mourners. 

The coachman, dressed in the day’s formal wear, led the procession to the summit of a hill near the middle of the cemetery. The sound of horseshoes striking the narrow dirt road pierced the quiet air. The delegation soon came to a halt on a sloping plot of land along the west side of the public burial grounds. Here, Harry Jackson, Bristol’s oldest citizen, his age estimated between 102 and 107, a former farm laborer and runaway slave, was laid to rest.

How did Harry Jackson, a former runaway slave and a Bristol resident for almost 25 years, come to live in Bristol? Well…

II – Background

In the spring of 2020, while researching and writing a series of articles about Bristol and the 1918 pandemic for The Bristol Edition (TBE), I became aware of Harry Jackson from a story in the Hartford Courant archives. The reporting was limited to about 400-words and short on specifics. Immediately intrigued, I pitched the story to my TBE colleagues with a late May-early June deadline. 

With only two newspaper articles to go by from 100 years ago, locating additional information was necessary to verify the original reporting and advance the story, so I needed to find new details.

The difficulty in researching during a pandemic became instantly apparent. Many public institutions that could lend aid and assistance were closed or short-staffed. Unanswered emails and phone calls or delayed responses for weeks and months became the norm due to the volume of requests, historical societies and libraries were receiving.

Except for his estate and census reports, there is no paper trail for Mr. Jackson. There are no journals or letters about his life in his hand or anyone he associated with, as far as we currently are aware. Consequently, his perspective is limited to a newspaper article and an obituary. 

He had no family, so I attempted to find decedents with whom he associated. Perhaps they had written accounts about his life.

Finding articles in long-forgotten newspapers and public documents then became necessary to flesh out the story. This, too, proved challenging.   

The article soon developed into a project.

As the months moved along and impacted by Jackson’s story, I decided I needed to get closer to him and understand his surroundings. In my view, one cannot write about playing in Rockwell Park without having played in Rockwell Park. You must experience the sights, the sounds, and the smells.  Therefore, to be fully invested, I visited the origins.

In September, a drive through Connecticut’s foothills to upstate New York within the Taconic Mountains’ shadows along Route 22 led me to a quiet and unassuming cemetery in West Copake, whose beauty lay in its age, simplicity, and muted surroundings. For miles, the morning quiet could be heard.

The vastness and grandeur of the farmlands where Jackson farmed following his escape made Bristol feel claustrophobic.

Another Saturday morning in early November, I set out for Paterson, New Jersey, the town where Jackson was born and escaped. Following a two-and-a-half-hour drive and battling tri-state motorists on a multitude of expressways, I found myself at the Huntoon-Vanrensalier-Underground–Railroad-Monument and walking the streets of Paterson.   

I visited Paterson searching for echoes of the 1840s, I found the grittiness of the 1940s mixed with the 2000s instead. 

The outdoor underground railroad site is hallowed ground, but trying to imagine the mid-1800s was difficult when surrounded by modern-day conveniences.

Despite the challenges and setbacks encountered, an updated portrait of Harry Jackson’s life emerged from the small details from those that were part of his life. 

Harry Jackson is not a household name, but that does not diminish the telling of his story. It may not be as dramatic as notorious runaways such as Frederick Douglas, Oney Judge, or Robert Smalls, but his life story is worthy of explanation. Although specifics about his day-to-day life and the challenges he encountered are likely lost, we are fortunate for the threads we have, unlike countless slave stories and identities lost to history. 

Because he became part of our community for a quarter of his long life, it is certainly worth sharing and telling and not during a cemetery tour or in a written form every 100 years. 

III – The Beginning and Life in Paterson NJ

Harry Jackson, or “Old Jack,” as he was known, was born into slavery in Paterson around 1800 when John Adams was president. The exact date of his birth, he never knew. Before the Civil War, he was legally considered the property of Cornelius Hopper, a Paterson resident. According to Jackson, without elaboration, he was mistreated by Hopper and knew of all the hardships of that life.

Alexander Hamilton founded Paterson in 1792 to be an industrial center. Originally it was formed as a township from portions of Acquackanonk and in 1837 it became part of Passaic County. In April of 1851, based on the results of a referendum, it was incorporated as a city. 

In 1840, the last census on the record before Jackson escaped, Paterson had a population of 7,956 with eight slaves. 

Despite being a northern state, New Jersey was the final state to abolish slavery, taking a gradual emancipation approach. The last of their slaves were not freed until the passage of the Thirteenth Amendment in 1865.

In 1841, the Black residents of Paterson advised the New Jersey legislature of their sufferings and called for the manumission (the act of an owner freeing a slave) of New Jersey slaves. 

The first case of manumission in Passaic County did not occur until 1838, when Samuel Tiebout was freed. 

Between 1841 and 1865, the legislature passed tepid laws that gradually changed their plight.

One such measure enacted in 1846 was New Jersey’s second abolition law.  In effect, it reclassified the enslaved as “Apprenticeships for Life” but for all Black children born after its passage. 

Consequently, under this classification, Jackson would have been a slave for the rest of his life. 

IV – The Escape and The Underground Railroad

The exact date of his escape, route, and method is unknown. In newspaper accounts, Jackson placed his age about 50 and “right before the war” when he became a runaway, but without elaborating. 

The City of Paterson actively participated in the underground railroad. Historians believe it was a well-organized station (stopping place) and that it had more than one safe-house in which they hid fugitive slaves en route to New York and Canada. However, the only acknowledged location is Huntoon’s Corner (Huntoon-Van Rensalier Underground Railroad), a refuge for runaway slaves organized by abolitionists Josiah Huntoon, a spice merchant and one of Paterson’s wealthiest men, and William Van Rensalier, his Black benefactor and friend.

A slave escaping during the American Revolution might flee to the British as a safety net. But in the 1840s, if the plan went awry, there was no Plan B. Escaping took guile, bravery, planning, and cunning. For example, Fugitive Slave ads, published in the classified section of newspapers seeking the recapture of fugitive slaves, described the clothing when they fled. As a result, runaways would change clothes or disguise their appearance. 

There were considerable risks for running. Captured runaways were typically shackled and whipped. Within Paterson’s city limits, there were five Liberty Poles (whipping posts). Such punishments were a spectacle and done following school or on weekends to attract crowds. 

We can only speculate how Harry Jackson escaped and was ushered out of New Jersey.

There are several routes out of Paterson, but the most likely way was an old Revolutionary War road called Cannonball Rd.

Moving mostly at night to avoid southern sympathizers and slave hunters, Jackson, and his guide or guides would have followed the road to the Ramapo River, one of the five rivers that feed the Passaic Falls. Following the river, it leads to Suffern, New York, through the Ramapo Mountains, where runaway slaves were protected by The Ramapough Mountain Indians (also spelled Ramapo), also known as the Ramapough Lenape Nation.

V – My Trip to Paterson

In the fall of 2020, my research hit a wall. 

I contacted the Columbia Historical Society in New York State, where a part of this story takes place, seeking additional information regarding Elijah Finkle. Mr. Finkle befriended Mr. Jackson and took him in following his escape. The society was closed due to COVID-19.

The Passaic Historical Society in Paterson was closed too but for renovations.

The Bristol Historical Society told me they had no information regarding Jackson. 

And the Bristol Room, located within the Bristol Library, could not assist because their archives were closed due to equipment problems (their archive became available two weeks before publication).

It became clear that a visit to Paterson was necessary because I needed to know what he saw and where he lived, but this could not be accomplished from my “War Room” in Bristol.

Consequently, on a beautiful Saturday morning in November with the temperatures in the 70s, clouds nowhere to be found, and while presidential election votes were still being tabulated, the journey began.  After several highway changes and a trip over the Tappan Zee Bridge, I was soon on the Garden State Parkway and eventually I 80, looking for exit 57B to Paterson.

The 122 miles, which should take a little over two hours, were done in three due to traffic and careful driving.

My immediate exposure to Paterson was a series of tight roads, potholes, and jaywalkers. It reminded me of New Britain but intensified. 

Finally, I arrived and elected to park in a lot for “patrons of Wendy’s only.” 

From my parking space and with cameras monitoring my illegally parked car, I could see the outdoor monument.

With a backpack and three cameras (I took no chances with equipment failures), I walked to the monument while taking in the scenery.

There were two parking garages, a community college bookstore, a skywalk, doubled-sided parking, sirens, and of course, a Dunkin Donuts. 

Each step brought me closer and the feeling that I was finally getting somewhere after numerous recent roadblocks. 

While on the move, I removed the “good” camera from the bag and began shooting video. 

As I crossed a small driveway, something seemed amiss, and within a few steps, I discovered what it was. The monument and the sculptures of two men standing for the path to freedom were locked and closed. It was noon on a Saturday. 

I just stood there in stunned silence. I did the obligatory shake of the gate, hoping my meager efforts would loosen the locking mechanism. It did not.

As this was unfurling, a gentleman approached from my right, dancing, and singing, “The gate is locked mmm-mm, the gate is locked mmm-mm.” Obviously, I was the latest victim of this cruel trick. 

While shooting video and taking photos from behind an iron fence, I heard sirens and saw a tow truck. Convinced the tow truck was for my illegal parking, I humbly returned to my car. 

It was time to start writing the story. 

VI – After Paterson and Who Was Elijah Finkle?

Having eschewed the clutches of slavery and protected by northern abolitionists (The American Anti-Slavery Society and free Blacks had a network in New York City, which extended to areas in upstate New York), Jackson obtained a job as a stevedore along the Hudson River. 

Loading and unloading tug boats and steamers as they went to and fro was backbreaking work. Jackson grew tired of the rigors of working on the Hudson and wanted a change when he came into contact with Elijah Finkle.

Elijah Finkle, born in 1816, was a farmer by trade in Columbia County. He married Mary Drum, and they had one child named Mariette. She was born in 1846.

Columbia County borders the northwestern hills of Connecticut. With its small tiny hamlets and rural hill town, communities are primarily known for farming. The county was such an idyllic setting that President Martin Van Buren retired to the region in 1850.

Finkle was loosely involved in The Anti-Rent War revolt of 1839-1845, and like most farmers in the area, rented the land he farmed from wealthy landowners. The leases were terrible, which resulted in little profit and a great deal of resentment, so a rebellion ensued. Farmers torched buildings, destroyed documents, and due to the terror caused, over 100 of them were imprisoned. He seems to have been a man that stood up for what he believed. 

Where Finkle and Jackson met is not known. The articles in the Bristol Press and Hartford Courant ignored how they came into contact. In my estimation, it occurred along the Hudson River when Finkle shipped his goods along the river. 

The 1850 federal census showed Elijah Finkle residing in Taghkanic with his wife, daughter, sister-in-law Angeline Drum and Henry Finkle, a 22-year-year-old Black male. 

A search of Finkle family members and public documents from that period produced no Black 22-year-old male named Henry Finkle. Did the Finkle’s disguise Jackson’s identity by faking his name and age? The census of 1860 identifies Harry Jackson on line 24, as age 40, occupation Farm laborer, sex male, and race Black.   

Jackson was a farmhand on the Finkle’s farm, but in 1869 Elijah died. About that same time, Aaron Dresser, a Civil War veteran from neighboring Hillsdale, married Finkle’s daughter, Mariette, and together, they stayed with Jackson until his final days. 

VII – Coming to Bristol

About 1879, Aaron and Mariette Dresser, along with Mary Finkle, Angeline Drum, Aaron Dresser’s brothers Fairfield, Chandler, and their mother Sarah, with an 80-plus-years-old Harry Jackson, boarded a rickety passenger train car in rural Copake. Their destination? Bristol, to join the 5,347 others that were already here.

Why they came to Bristol could not be determined. In all likelihood, an economic opportunity emerged. During this story’s research, a descendant of the Dresser family was identified and contacted, but he was not familiar with this story from his family’s history.

Bristol of the late 1870s and early 1880s grew immensely, seeing a 14 percent population growth. Upon arriving in Bristol, Aaron Dresser purchased 50-plus acres of farmland on Peacedale St. 

The Dressers and Mariette’s mother bought a series of properties on Matthews, Perkins, and Buckingham streets, with Aaron and Mariette making the Matthews St. property their home. Jackson settled in and lived with them on Matthews St.

VIII – The Home of Harry Jackson

After months of research, I wanted to know where Harry Jackson lived in Bristol. As a result, identifying the location of his home became imperative. Friends often tease that I am always embarking on some crusade; this was no exception and the latest campaign.

Over 100 years have passed since the Dressers and Jackson lived together, and the neighborhood has dramatically changed with the development of driveways, curbs, sidewalks, pavement, and power lines. The world of the late 19^th century of horses and wagons is gone, but characteristics remain. 

The city directories from the period identify the Dresser/Jackson home as “near the railroad tracks” (street addresses were not provided in city directories). And because land record descriptions are legal descriptions and not actual addresses, the house numbers and locations could not be determined. 

However, in 1907, an image of the Dresser’s Matthews St. home was published in Bristol, Connecticut In the Olden Time New Cambridge.  Following weeks of research and going down several rabbit holes only to emerge empty-handed, I finally had something tangible. 

Where to start?

City Hall was the logical place, but due to COVID-19 related issues, they did not have the resources or time to track down documents, undoubtedly filed away in off-site storage.  

Now what?

Within Aaron Dresser’s probate documents lay the answers. Page 6 offered the following description: “bounded east by land of the N.Y.N. H. & H.R.R. Company; South by Terryville Avenue; West by land of the N.Y.N.H. & H.R. Company; and North by land of Mariette Dresser.” Note: Following her mother’s death in 1895, Mariette Dresser inherited the Perkins St. property.

 

Based on that account and an aerial view of the neighborhood from 1934, which generated more questions than answers, I felt the Dressers probably lived on the corner of Terryville Ave. (Route 6) and Matthews.  However, this was no guarantee because the 1895 Bristol City Directory reveals Mary Finkle, who lived on Perkins, was near the railroad too. 

Armed with this new information and the grainy photograph from a bygone era, I decided to walk the road to find the house, fully aware that it may not exist. Having already spent most of my summer footslogging the hilly slopes of West Cemetery (details in Part 2), this would be a welcomed reprieve.

Before embarking on the expedition, however, I needed to know my opponent as much as possible. 

Matthews St. starts at the north end and navigates its way to the Chippens Hill area.  Named for Caleb and Ruth Mathews, the road was built in 1745 and modified to accommodate the railroad bridge. The street was later widened, a stream was relocated, the railroad abutment was removed, and in 1967, the sewer was installed.

Due to the road’s steady and steep incline, my enlistments, which aided in the search, joked about acute mountain sickness and the effects of high altitude on the human body. Once the jokes were made and water bottles dispersed, the search began on what felt like the hottest day of the summer. 

Going into this endeavor, I was not expecting much, but lacking any other information it was the only move at my disposal. As it turned out, my instinct was correct. The road has no continuous sidewalk, cars routinely race by, and matching a photo from 1907 to present-day structures was frustrating, especially under the sweltering sun that seemed to be enjoying itself. 

Due to development, the passage of time, modern home renovation techniques, and the heat, the search came to a slow and uneventful end.  The cruel reality was after 133 years, the Dresser/Jackson homestead may not even stand, or the property was merged with another parcel.

It certainly crossed my mind, but maybe the home would remain elusive like so many other parts of Jackson’s story. 

But then, on a whim and with nothing to lose, I emailed the City Engineer’s office seeking more information about Matthews St., which resulted in a swath of documents. The documents clearly showed the house was right where I suspected, on the northwest corner of Matthews St. and Terryville Ave. 

Unfortunately, the house no longer stands. Today the property is Bristol Blossoms Nurseries & Gardening Store. For over two decades, it was home to New Cambridge Furniture, which Michael and Mary Ellen Zoppo, the parents of Bristol Mayor Ellen Zoppo-Sassu, owned and operated. 

Of course, my associates now chide me about the “Matthews Street Debacle,” but it was a necessary exercise because, without that experience, I never would have contacted the city engineers. 

IX – Life in Bristol

While in Bristol, Jackson was a novelty and a curiosity. Census records of 1900 do not break down the population by color, so that was determined by examining the Bristol data line by line, which showed 24 Blacks living in Bristol. 

According to newspaper accounts, “Old Jack” immersed himself into the community and became a familiar figure. Known for working hard and greeting everyone with a hearty hello, he did not run from his past. He told stories of his slavery days to the curious and interested.

Mr. Jackson spent his summers on Luther Norton’s farm near Lake Compounce, presumably toiling in his tobacco fields, being a handyman about the place, and weaving his stories while enjoying what the lake had to offer.

During the winter months, he lived with the Dressers. 

After 100 years, he finally slowed but continued to work and remained vigilant about his duties and responsibilities.

On the morning of March 1, 1904, Harry Jackson raised his slim but rugged 100-plus-year-old body from his bed as he did each morning. The aches and pains of age and working life, no doubt, made their presence known. He went about completing his morning tasks, but just before 10 a.m., he went upstairs to the Dresser’s second floor and collapsed. Mariette Dresser, who lived with him since she was three, heard him fall and raced upstairs and found “Old Jack” on the floor. He died moments later in her arms.

X – Summation

“To forget is to offend.”

—Édouard Glissant, writer, poet, philosopher

Near the end of my return from Copake, I stopped for a late lunch at a Dunkin Donuts in Burlington. It was a gorgeous afternoon: mild temperature, an azure sky, and a baseball game on my radio. 

As I was seated in my car with the sunroof open, listening to the ballgame and making notes about my visit to Copake, to my right was another car with two occupants. The gentleman stuck his head out the window and asked what I was writing. 

When I explained, the stranger made it known he was not impressed nor interested. He spoke of not feeling guilty for the sins of our country’s past, and I talked of enlightenment and awareness. Apparently, the Civil War was still biting at his bones. 

The conversation only worsened when he pivoted to the election and the presidential candidates. I just wanted to listen to the game and write.

Across the globe, more people are being educated than ever before. Over the last 30 years, a drastic increase has occurred in those seeking higher education. We may have more libraries at our disposal; books and the internet makes it possible to have information with just a few keystrokes. 

But with all the information and knowledge, people are still judged based on their sexuality, height, weight, and, yes, skin pigment. Maybe we are not so educated after all.

Bristol was a small part of Harry Jackson’s life. As the current custodians of Bristol’s collective history, we owe it to Harry Jackson, ourselves, and the generations that follow to tell his story. Should we fail, then the mistreatment and abuse he suffered survives him in death. Consequently, we have a duty to restore some of his dignity in death that was taken from him in life. 

Postscript:

Aaron Dresser

Noted for being devoted to family and friends, Aaron Dresser was good-natured and fond of telling war stories. He volunteered for the Union Army in November of 1861 at the age of 19. A private in the 91^st Infantry and later a 2^nd Lieutenant, he was wounded on March 31, 1865, at Gravelly Run, Virgina. 

He lived in Bristol for 36 years, and after selling the farm on Peacedale St., he worked for The Ingraham Clock Company. Mr. Dresser died on May 5, 1915, at the age of 75.

The home on Matthews St. became an issue following his death. The land he purchased from Henry Snyder in 1883 was also deeded to the railroad company. A series of transactions took place to see that the land was deeded correctly.

Aaron Dresser is buried in West Cemetery Section D-63.

Mariette Dresser

Mariette had no children. Following her husband’s death, she remarried on May 1, 1917, to Charles Eddins, a 56-year-old laborer and prospector from Utah. In 1926 they moved to Salt Lake City, where she died in the town of Murray on Dec. 12, 1926, following a lingering illness. She is interned at the Crescent Ward Cemetery there. 

Angeline Drum

She made the sojourn to Bristol and lived with her sister, Mary, on Perkins St. Outside of census reports, which list her occupation as “Helper” and documents related to her death, no information was discovered about her. She never married and died due to anemia on March 3, 1892, at 65. Angeline is buried in West Cemetery, Section D, next to Aaron Dresser. Her marker has fallen over. 

Mary Finkle

Co-owner of the house on Perkins St, she died in Bristol on Dec. 20, 1898. She is buried with her husband, Elijah Finkle, in West Copake, New York, in the West Copake Cemetery.

Cornelius Hopper

The name of Cornelius Hopper in Paterson was apparently popular. Reviewing documents from the time period showed Cornelius Hopper, Cornelius A. Hopper, Corneilus C. Hopper, Cornelius H. Hopper, and Cornelius P. Hopper. Pinpointing the actual identity at the time of publication remained elusive. I have an opinion on his identity but rather than misidentify him, we have chosen to continue researching the matter for a future project until we are certain.

Huntoon-Vanrensalier-underground-railroad-monument 

In November of 2014, Paterson unveiled a monument dedicated to Huntoon’s Corner, the safe house that hid runaway slaves in the mid-19th century. Unfortunately, the house where he lived or the Excelsior Coffee and Spice Factory no longer stands, but a monument is located on Broadway between Church St. and Memorial Dr. 

Ed Dwight, an acclaimed sculptor, architect, test pilot and the first African American to have entered the Air Force training program from which NASA selected astronauts, designed the monument. The sculpture consists of Josiah Huntoon and William Van Rensalier standing as fugitive enslaved Africans move towards them.

Paterson

Many slaves in Paterson just disappeared. The freeing of slaves was not looked favorably. One noted slave owner and horse dealer took a string of horses to the south to sell, taking several slaves with him to “take care of the animals.” The horses and the slaves were never seen again.

Harry Jackson is the first Paterson slave where it can be documented where he went and what he did following his escape. As a result of working with Jimmy Richardson, a local Paterson historian who graciously lent his time and endless knowledge to this article, I have donated all of the materials located during my research (documents, newspaper articles, maps, etc.) to Paterson because it belongs to them as well.   

State of New Jersey

During the 2020-2021 New Jersey legislative session, members of the New Jersey Legislative Black Caucus introduced legislation to create a task force to study and develop reparations proposals for African-Americans in the state. New Jersey was the sixth state to take on the issue of Reparations. The bill is currently in committee. 

Harry Jackson

Harry Jackson died of a cerebral hemorrhage, and The Bristol Press and Harford Courant covered his death. The story was picked up and reported in other newspapers as well. 

At the time of his death, it was believed that the former slave had no money. True to his industrious reputation, though, he had saved nearly $500, which adjusted for inflation would be over $14,000 in 2021. Due to his careful and continuous savings, his estate went through probate. Because Mr. Jackson had no family, Aaron Dresser, as the administrator of his estate, did not know how they would allocate the assets. 

Old Jack is buried in West Cemetery Section 5, Lot 11 S.W. Qtr., on a small knoll near a retaining wall.