Juneteenth Scholarship Pageant in Milwaukee, kids 'open up'
The Northcott Neighborhood House presented its Juneteenth Scholarship Pageant.
The event aims to "showcase the best of the city's African American youth."
Milwaukee is home to the nation's longest-running Juneteenth celebration.
MILWAUKEE - Juneteenth is still two weeks away, but Milwaukee has already begun celebrating.
Local perspective
The Northcott Neighborhood House on Saturday presented its Scholarship Pageant. The event, held at the Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. Community Center near 17th and Vliet, aims to "showcase the best of the city's African American youth," crowning a Miss Juneteenth, Mister Juneteenth, Little Miss Juneteenth and/or Mister Juneteenth Jr.
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"Our kids have an opportunity to let the world see who they are. It takes a lot to get on stage, to open up, to do a poem, to do a dance," said Tony Kearney, Northcott's executive director. "They've got to let you know who they are as they're doing this – there's no hiding – and that's extremely important. It makes me very proud of them."
The backstory
Milwaukee is home to the nation's longest-running Juneteenth celebration, having held its first in 1971.
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Juneteenth commemorates the end of slavery in the U.S. On June 19, 1865, soldiers arrived in Galveston, Texas with news that the Civil War was over. The holiday observes the date "the people of Texas were informed all slaves are free."
In 2021, after decades of lobbying, Juneteenth became a federal holiday.
The Source
FOX6 News attended Saturday's pageant and gathered information from organizers for this report.
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Hamilton Spectator
3 hours ago
- Hamilton Spectator
‘Pleased as punch': $265K Black history art installation now under construction honours early Oakville entrepreneur
The Town of Oakville has begun construction of a new permanent art installation honouring local Black history. Construction of the installation began in Burnet Park the week of July 14 and is expected to finish by the end of September. Town staff said the installation honours Oakville's Black history, community, heritage and, in particular, entrepreneur Samuel Adams, a free African American from Maryland who moved to the Oakville area around 1855. He came with his wife and young family and set up a successful blacksmith practice in Bronte. According to the Canadian Caribbean Association of Halton (CCAH), Adams would go on to invent equipment used to lift flat stones from the bottom of Lake Ontario so they could be used in construction. The practice would become known as 'stonehooking' and would become a significant industry in Oakville. Adams' invention of stonehooking equipment would make him a wealthy man and he would reportedly use this wealth to help African Americans fleeing slavery in America to make a life for themselves in Upper Canada. The CCAH said Adams also worked with Reverend William Butler to organize a group of devout Black settlers who, in 1891, built the Turner African Methodist Episcopal Church. The church building still stands at 37 Lakeshore Rd. W. Town staff said the art installation will incorporate stones from the foundation of the Adams family home, which stood at 104 Burnet St. until 2017, when it was demolished due to fire damage. There will also be iron benches at the site that call back to Adams' iron work. According to the Town of Oakville, $265,000 has been allocated to this project. Burnet Park remains open to the public during this construction period. 'We're pleased as punch that this is coming to fruition,' said Dionne Downer, CCAH executive director. 'I think this is a wonderful project and we're very pleased as a community by its progression.' Town staff said descendants of the Adams family have worked with the town and the CCAH to ensure the artwork would be designed by Black artists and reflect on and celebrate the contributions of the Black community to Oakville. Design work for the project was completed by a Black-owned architecture practice, the Studio of Contemporary Architecture (SOCA), a Toronto-based architecture and urban design studio. Avion Construction Group Inc., has been retained as the general contractor for construction. A statement on the SOCA website said their design for the installation, which they call a memorial to Adams, commemorates the life and legacy of a remarkable figure whose story embodies resilience, ingenuity, and community leadership. They said the salvaged foundation stones from the 19th century heritage home will anchor the site with authentic material memory. 'These stones are framed by newly constructed rammed earth walls that evoke permanence and craft,' the statement continues. 'Sculptural iron seating gestures to Adams' blacksmithing trade and longer histories of African iron work, while the open, contemplative design invites visitors to connect with a profound local history of migration, invention, and Black community-building. The project honours Adams' legacy not only as a skilled craftsman and entrepreneur, but as a builder of place — whose story continues to shape Oakville's cultural landscape.' Error! Sorry, there was an error processing your request. There was a problem with the recaptcha. Please try again. You may unsubscribe at any time. By signing up, you agree to our terms of use and privacy policy . This site is protected by reCAPTCHA and the Google privacy policy and terms of service apply. Want more of the latest from us? Sign up for more at our newsletter page .
Hamilton Spectator
6 days ago
- Hamilton Spectator
Brant resident was one of Canada's first Black women to attend university … then she vanished
Local residents rallied to have a new Grand Erie school named after Blanche E. Williams , one of the first Black women in Canada to attend university on the same terms as white students. Now, they're searching for the rest of her story. 'She sort of completely disappeared, like her family disappears … we don't know what happened,' Angel Panag told The Spectator. Historian Sarah Clarke happened upon Williams' trail-blazing accomplishment while researching the Black community in Brantford in her spare time. 'It's not super well-known, I don't think, that there was a very early Black community in Brantford, many of whom would come up here during slavery,' she told The Spectator. Clarke was searching an African American newspaper database while she was at Western University and typed in 'Brantford.' A story popped up in the Huntsville Gazette in Alabama. 'OK, how does the U.S. have an article about this person from Brantford, Ontario, that we've never heard of?' Clarke recalled thinking. The clip, dated 1885, named Williams as the first Black woman accepted to University of Toronto with the same privileges as white students. From there, Clarke found other articles noting her accomplishment. 'There was all this coverage … And I'm like, 'how did that story not continue?'' Clarke said. The search took on a greater purpose after the Grand Erie District School Board put out a call for names for a new school in West Brant. Construction for the $34-million school is underway at Shellard Lane and Strickland Avenue in Brantford. Along with Clarke and Amanda Mersereau — fellow members of the grassroots organization Unite Against Hate — and community members, Panag brought Williams' name forward. 'I was talking to some people around Brantford who thought that the name should be reflected in the community,' Panag said. He began a community campaign to elevate Black and Brown voices in the naming process, something he felt was particularly important in West Brant — a diverse area with many newcomers. Panag knows firsthand the power an inspirational name can have for kids — especially if they're the first generation of their family attending post-secondary school. He completed law school in 2023 and is working toward his masters of law. 'I remember living in Brantford, I used to hear about a young guy who became a lawyer and was a hip-hop artist and went to North Park (Collegiate and Vocational School), where I went too, and it just made it sound like that was possible,' he said, referencing Salman Rana, who is also known as YLook. The group was successful in its efforts. 'With education as the path to transformation, Blanche Williams interrupted racial barriers and showed us what's possible,' GEDSB superintendent of education Liana Thompson said in a news release announcing the name. 'Naming our school after her is a celebration not only of her groundbreaking achievements, but her story inspires all of us to be courageous, strong and to persevere to achieve our dreams,' it said. The $34-million school is expected to open September 2026 at Shellard Lane and Strickland Avenue. The project is a partnership with the City of Brantford and will include a library and recreation centre. A University of Toronto document shows Blanche E. Williams enrolled in the Faculty of Arts. A local group hopes someone might know what happened to her afterward. Census records indicated Williams' family came to Brantford from the United States after the Civil War, around 1867. 'I imagine at that time, they probably were living in the northern states because slavery had ended, but there was still a lot of (racism). So I think maybe they came up for more opportunities,' Clarke said. They found baptism records for Williams and her mother, Josephine, at First Baptist Church in Brantford around 1870. They learned her father, Charles, transferred his barber position from the Kerby House Hotel in Brantford to the affiliated Palmer House Hotel in Toronto the year Williams started at U of T. But from there, they lost track of the family. 'From what we can tell, she did not finish her studies at U of T,' Clarke said. 'Maybe she got married and was studying under a married name,' but her folks seemed to disappear from local records too, Clarke said. They pursued a number of potential theories of where Williams ended up. The name turned up on a land record in Michigan. A hairdresser advertisement in Vaughan or Markham. 'One of them is a church and jazz singer in Philadelphia,' Panag said. An obituary for a fellow who was 'beloved by his sister Blanche Williams.' But in any of the cases 'it's hard to know if that's the same person,' he said. 'The interesting thing, believe it or not, is that there are many Charles, Josephine and Blanche (Williams) families,' Clarke said. However, Blanche's middle initial seems to be a distinctive feature. 'We're hoping that when people read this article, they might know something' and reach out, Mersereau said. Anyone who has information about Blanche E. Williams or her family can email uniteagainsthatebtfd@ . Error! Sorry, there was an error processing your request. There was a problem with the recaptcha. Please try again. You may unsubscribe at any time. By signing up, you agree to our terms of use and privacy policy . This site is protected by reCAPTCHA and the Google privacy policy and terms of service apply. Want more of the latest from us? Sign up for more at our newsletter page .
San Francisco Chronicle
15-07-2025
- San Francisco Chronicle
What it's like to live in the Bay Area neighborhood that's aging the fastest
Thousand Oaks, a leafy neighborhood nestled into the base of the Berkeley Hills, boasts views of the Golden Gate Bridge, shingled lodges designed by well-known architects and serpentine streets lined with massive granite boulders. Such scenery helps mask a growing problem: Thousand Oaks has gotten old. Between 1980 and 2023, the median age climbed from 37 to 55, turning this tree-lined pocket of North Berkeley into one of the nation's oldest urban neighborhoods without a nursing home or retirement community. A third of Thousand Oaks' roughly 7,500 residents are now at retirement age. With many older locals mostly housebound, the block parties and barbecues that were once pillars of the neighborhood social scene have become far less frequent. A decline in foot traffic along Thousand Oaks' lone commercial corridor of Solano Avenue forced family-run boutiques to shutter. Once a diverse community home to Northern California's first African American congressman, Ron Dellums, the area has fewer and fewer Black families. 'By not evolving with the times in some ways,' neighborhood native Brenden Millstein said, 'Thousand Oaks actually lost something really special.' Thanks to a glut of empty-nested baby boomers, the Bay Area's high cost of living, and the property-tax breaks that incentivize homeowners not to leave, Thousand Oaks offers insight into the complex challenges neighborhoods face with older populations. How this picturesque area 2½ miles north of UC Berkeley confronts its aging-related issues could go a long way in forecasting the future of the entire region. The Bay Area counts about 20% of its population as elderly. By 2060, that number will spike beyond 30%. 'Neighborhoods like (Thousand Oaks) are important to study because what you're seeing here is kind of an extreme example of what could happen Bay Area-wide in a few decades,' said Tim Thomas, research director at UC Berkeley's Urban Displacement Project. 'But what if we get to the point where even rich people can't afford a home in places like Thousand Oaks? That's when things get really dicey.' For the teachers, police officers and nonprofit employees who flocked to this serene enclave during the mid-to-late 1900s, it represented the domestic bliss of a mortgage, a mailbox and a sense of belonging. Now, with a median home price of around $1.8 million, Thousand Oaks is a place where only the wealthy can buy. Berkeley officials have a choice: Address this neighborhood's evolving needs, or risk macro-level consequences like economic upheaval, overburdened community resources and ballooning social inequality. Barring a sudden cratering of the housing market, Thousand Oaks could even follow a similar script to the one that plagues towns decimated by natural disasters. By the time the neighborhood's last baby boomer dies, the housing supply might exceed the number of qualified homebuyers. The potential fallout — an influx of private equity groups, a nosedive in homeownership, an increasingly homogeneous populace — could spell the end of Thousand Oaks as locals know it. 'When the middle class is phased out, it does a real disservice to the community,' said George Mattingly, a board member for the Thousand Oaks Neighborhood Association. 'It definitely makes you nervous about the future.' What's unfolding in Thousand Oaks is occurring, to some degree, in communities across the nation. Due to longer life expectancy, tumbling birthrates and the graying of baby boomers, the U.S. population has a greater portion of elderly adults than at any time since the government began tracking such data 175 years ago. With experts expecting the nation's rapid-aging trend to shift into overdrive, no single force could shape America more in the coming decades than its older demographics. The ramifications will rip through every part of society, placing unprecedented demands on housing, health care, education and social services. That could be particularly pronounced in the Bay Area. Fueled by a pandemic-spurred exodus of young people and laws that motivate homeowners to stay, the region has aged faster over the past half-decade than any other major metro area. The Bay Area's median age of 41 is now the highest among major urban centers located outside the retirement hotbed of Florida. Though an abundance of young tech workers has made the issue less acute in Silicon Valley, local leaders in places like Marin County (median age: 47), Napa County (43) and Sonoma County (43) would be wise to monitor how events unfold in Thousand Oaks. Among the pressing questions: Who will care for the aging? Where will they live? How must city planning adapt? And what will happen to the economy when the working-age population plummets? As Thousand Oaks residents begin to grapple with the unknowns, some, like Ian Ransley, have other concerns. Sitting at his mother's kitchen table, Ransley flipped through a well-worn promotional book from his former neighbor, the late Dellums, until he came across one of his favorite childhood photos. There, with a zipped-up hoodie and untied shoelaces, was a young Ian jumping in the Dellums' front yard with his sister and four other neighborhood kids. The now-63-year-old Ransley — a tall, gray-haired man with a youthful energy — moved back into his childhood home in Thousand Oaks two years ago to care for his elderly mom, Carol. While gazing at that black-and-white photo on a Friday in early May, he turned wistful. 'Nowadays, you just don't have that same neighborhood feel here,' Ransley said. 'I miss it, but I'm not losing faith that it'll come back eventually.' Wedged between Kensington and Albany, in the northeastern section of Berkeley, Thousand Oaks has what one local realtor characterizes as 'a suburban feel, with the perks of both nature and the city.' When California officials proposed to move the state capital to Berkeley in the early 20th century, this area was briefly slated to become a gigantic public park. Shortly thereafter, Mark Daniels, the same landscape architect behind Pebble Beach's famous 17-Mile Drive, designed the Thousand Oaks neighborhood around its natural contours. The result was curved roads, flanked by towering oaks, gently winding up steep, boulder-studded hillsides. By the time Ransley's parents purchased a three-bedroom Craftsman bungalow on San Pedro Avenue for $23,000 in 1962, Thousand Oaks was a well-kept community with a slew of storefronts along Solano Avenue and footpaths that ran perpendicular to the streets. Both British immigrants in their 30s, Carol Ransley was a homemaker while her husband Derek worked as a chemist at Chevron. Their neighbors included a janitor, a department-store clerk and a librarian. On that recent Friday, Ransley chuckled as he walked past BMWs parked in the driveways of $2 million homes. While growing up on San Pedro Avenue, he'd often been too embarrassed to tell kids from the ritzier Berkeley Hills where he lived. 'Back then, this was considered the flatlands,' Ransley said, 'and being from the flatlands meant you didn't come from money.' That hardly made Thousand Oaks any less idyllic. Ransley, who was a year old when his family moved here, compares his childhood to 'Leave It to Beaver.' There were bicycle rides with neighborhood kids until the streetlights came on, annual Halloween parades on Solano Avenue and Independence Days spent watching fireworks from atop Indian Rock. Through the 1960s, redlining and other discriminatory housing practices had kept Thousand Oaks almost exclusively white. According to clippings from the now-defunct Berkeley Gazette, the area was once a gathering spot for segregationist and white supremacist groups, including the Ku Klux Klan. But by the time Ransley attended UC Davis in the early 1980s, Thousand Oaks was cementing itself as one of North Berkeley's more diverse neighborhoods. California's 1978 passage of Proposition 13 — the landmark law that limits property-tax increases — helped entice a new wave of first-time homebuyers with a range of ethnic backgrounds. Some remain. After Carol Ransley, 94, survived a bad fall in January 2023, Ian and his then-12-year-old son, Fabien, moved in to ensure she wouldn't have to sell her beloved house and relocate to a nursing home. Carol is among the roughly 20% of Thousand Oaks residents who have lived in the neighborhood since at least 1990. 'Why would anyone leave?' said Noel Nellis, 83, who has owned a three-story home on The Alameda with his wife, Penny, since 1971. 'Not only do we love it here, but it just makes no financial sense.' A few homeowners who spoke with the Chronicle could distill their retirement plans to the same six words: 'Carry me out in a coffin.' The community, like numerous others nationwide, continues to see its residents live longer. According to Berkeley's Public Health Division, Thousand Oaks and the rest of North Berkeley tout an average life expectancy of 93 years — about 16 years longer than people in the less wealthy neighborhoods of southern Berkeley. Like most of the U.S., Thousand Oaks also has a falling birthrate. 'It's weird,' Ransley said. 'Back in the day, you couldn't go anywhere around here without running into kids on their bikes. Now, unless I'm walking by the elementary school, I can go entire days without seeing kids here.' As Thousand Oaks' median age continues to soar, many longtime residents are now unable or unwilling to venture out much. While strolling down Solano Avenue on that recent Friday, Ransley pointed out the two mom-and-pop ice cream parlors that lasted decades, only for them to shut down when the neighborhood's elderly began to outnumber its children. A Peet's and a Starbucks now fill those retail spaces. Moments later, Ransley bemoaned the loss of Oaks Theatre, a local anchor that sat vacant for 12 years until a rock-climbing gym finally opened there in 2023. At her 53-year-old custom lamp store, Sue Johnson tries to convince young families to abandon their sleek, modern tastes in favor of her eclectic designs, hand-sourced fabrics and vibrant colors. When customers refuse, she sends them to a chain retailer nearby. Johnson, 81, has little interest in retiring. But if her tiny shop becomes the latest casualty of an aging-hastened decline in revenue, she'll take solace in having remained true to her old-fashioned ways. 'I consider myself more of a lamp maker than a business owner,' Johnson said. 'I do what interests me, and modern designs don't interest me.' Thousand Oaks' aging demographics can be felt well beyond Solano Avenue. Though people 65 and older only account for about 17% of Berkeley's total population, that group is now responsible for about 40% of the city fire department's calls. At Thousand Oaks Elementary, where a mural near the playground depicts alum Kamala Harris' likeness, principal Gabe Fredman must navigate an enrollment decline that left two classrooms empty this past year and forced the elimination of the school's drama program. In addition to mirroring the Bay Area's sinking birthrate, that almost 20% nosedive in students over the past decade underscores neighborhood newcomers' shifting priorities. With a greater percentage of children attending private school than perhaps ever before, kids throughout the Bay Area tend to feel less sentimental about their neighborhoods than baby boomers once did. Ian Ransley, who still counts some of his childhood neighbors among his closest friends, has heard his teenage son complain about how snobby and standoffish his peers on San Pedro Avenue seem. Locals also gripe about some of the newer residents' lack of involvement in neighborhood activities. 'Back when I bought my house here, there was a bridge to the middle class,' said Richard Schwartz, who has lived in Thousand Oaks since 1981 and self-published four books on Berkeley. 'I think it has been torn down. Whether the statistics show it or not, one thing's for certain: The culture has been injured by all of this.' While giving a tour of his mom's 1,900-square-foot home, Ransley explained why he considers it a 'fixer-upper.' There was the chipped exterior paint, the decades-old roof that must be replaced, the troublesome plumbing, the outdated carpeting, the unreliable electrical wiring and, oh yeah, the balcony and deck that don't meet building standards. 'Still,' Ransley said, 'it's worth well over a million.' According to recent data from the California Association of Realtors, fewer than one in five Bay Area households have the combined annual income necessary — around $321,000 — to afford the region's median home price of $1.4 million. In Thousand Oaks, run-down, century-old homes often sell for more than that amount. After seven years renting in San Francisco, Sarmishtha Satpathy, a biomedical scientist, and her husband, a software engineer, recently bought a two-bedroom house on Tacoma Street for $200,000 over the $1.2 million asking price. The 34-year-olds were so focused on finding an 'affordable' home near BART that they didn't realize until after they moved in that they were among the neighborhood's youngest homeowners. 'It was a little surprising at first,' Satpathy said, 'but everyone seems nice.' Though longtime residents might appreciate the money selling their houses will eventually generate, they also disdain the inconveniences they must stomach in the meantime, like often not being able to live near their adult children. Many want to see government officials approve so-called 'missing middle' housing projects like townhomes, duplexes and triplexes. Berkeley is expected to publish an updated 'Action Plan' later this year that should address many of its most urgent aging problems. By 2053, more than 40% of the federal budget could go toward programs for seniors, mainly Medicare and Social Security — a strain those systems are currently unprepared to handle. 'It can be tough when you have to keep waiting on these things the city really needs,' said Shoshanna O'Keefe, the Berkeley city council member representing Thousand Oaks' district. 'I just don't want to see our communities go through hard times as people get older.' Thomas, the UC Berkeley researcher, doubts that many Bay Area communities are prepared for what looms. Within 15 years, about a quarter of Bay Area residents will be over 65. And, unless something changes with housing values, the region could stare down a situation reminiscent of the one Maui endured after the 2023 wildfires. As more and more baby boomers die, there may not be enough qualified homebuyers to purchase their properties. Developers and private-equity groups could swoop in, buy up buildings and lease them for top dollar. Along the way, Thomas said, neighborhoods would become less diverse — both socioeconomically and racially — while more middle-class families bolt the Bay Area for cheaper properties elsewhere. Though Thousand Oaks has seen its Asian population more than double over the past 25 years, it has also watched its Black population decline significantly. The 2023 census showed zero Black families here. 'The middle-class dream of homeownership here is dying,' Thomas said. 'The whole idea of the 'idyllic neighborhood' is not really the goal anymore in this area. Ultimately, what ends up happening is segregated spaces.' Richard Florida, one of the world's most prominent urban migration experts, is more optimistic. Though he acknowledges the possibility of housing prices plunging the region deeper into an identity crisis, he clings to the belief that these things are cyclical. 'At some point, the housing market will come back down to Earth,' Florida said. 'History has taught us that it's inevitable. When that day comes, communities like Thousand Oaks will finally start to reclaim that middle-class charm that means so much to them.' When Ransley's parents first moved here over 60 years ago, they were the youngest couple on a street filled with elderly grandparents. What's happening here now, he said, is the continuation of that cycle. While standing outside his mom's San Pedro Avenue bungalow, Ransley pondered what will happen when Carol joins the long line of proud Thousand Oaks residents to have died here. There's no doubt, he said, that his two sons will want him to keep the house in the family. But since Ransley doesn't want to argue with his sister, who's eager to retire, he figures he will likely work with a realtor to sell that three-bedroom home to the highest bidder. As Ransley unleashed a deep sigh, he glanced up at the modest bungalow where he grew up. 'Even if this neighborhood continues to change in ways we don't all love,' he said, 'at least we'll still have the memories.'
