The Schools That Built a Community: Black Education in Tangipahoa and St. Helena Parishes

Mt.Canaan School
Roseland, Louisiana 
Photo Courtesy: Grace B. Walker 

Over the decades, I have had the privilege of interviewing elderly residents in both St. Helena Parish, Tangipahoa Parish, and surrounding communities to document their family histories. Again and again, their stories return to one central theme: education—hard-earned, deeply valued, and often pursued under the most difficult conditions imaginable.

“Reading, writing, and arithmetic”—as the late Dr. Kingsley B. Garrison recalled—were the essential skills his parents wanted their children to learn.  For many African American families in the post-Reconstruction South, education represented far more than basic literacy—it was a pathway to dignity, independence, and opportunity he said. 

Many shared memories of walking miles through dense wooded areas—what they simply called “the woods”—to attend school. These were not schools as we might imagine today, but humble spaces: churches or small, one-room wooden buildings with outhouses nearby. Often uninsulated, with walls and floors worn thin or punctured by time, these structures were heated by potbelly stoves that offered little comfort during the biting cold of winter.

In the years following the Reconstruction Era, churches frequently doubled as schools for Black children and some adults.  Institutions like the Freedmen’s Bureau played a significant role in establishing thousands of schools across the South, supporting education for newly freed Black people. They provided teachers, resources, and facilities—but it was the determination of local communities that sustained these efforts.

Despite the hardships, the descendants of those who had gained freedom just one generation earlier understood something profound: education was the pathway to true freedom—something their ancestors had been denied. These one-room buildings and churches were the humble beginnings for many who would go on to become educators, doctors, military service members, business owners, and more.

My own mother, Isabell Harrell Cook, shared her memories of attending school at Gordon Chapel Church in Amite. She described walking several miles through the woods to get there, carefully navigating muddy trails, fallen leaves, and the ever-present threat of snakes and other creatures. Like many children, she carried a stick—not out of play, but for protection.

The journeys were grueling in every season. Winters brought a damp, penetrating cold; summers, an oppressive heat that clung to the skin. Yet, these children pressed on. Their small footprints marked paths shaped not only by geography, but by determination. Their footsteps echoed through the woods, carried on the wind, each step bringing them closer to an education.

Education, however, was not always continuous. Many students were forced to leave school during the spring and summer months to help their families plant and tend crops. Survival often took precedence over schooling, yet the desire to learn never faded. Sometimes, by the light of a coal oil lamp—if their parents could afford the oil—they continued their studies at night.

In addition to collecting oral histories, I undertook a project to identify the names and locations of Black schools in the area. During a recent conversation with Saundra Yancy McGuire—Director Emerita, Professor Emerita of Chemistry, and retired Assistant Vice Chancellor—she mentioned Centerville School in St. Helena Parish, where several of her Yancy ancestors had taught. That moment sparked a deeper search.

What followed felt like uncovering a hidden treasure. I discovered a newspaper article listing Black schools and teachers in St. Helena  parish—an invaluable record. Names that once lived only in memory were suddenly documented in print, affirming the stories passed down through generations.

These schools—though modest in structure—stood as pillars of hope. They were places where knowledge was passed on, where futures were imagined, and where a newly freed people began to claim their place in a changing world.

Today, only a few surviving individuals can recall this era firsthand. But through their stories—and through continued research—we can preserve and honor this legacy. The paths through the woods may have faded, but the journey toward education and empowerment continues to echo across generations. One of the observations I made during my research in the same article, the White teachers was addressed by Mr. or Mrs. 

Here are the school names and teachers listed on the page under “Colored Teachers”

• Ricks — Ernestine Thomas
• Pine Hill — Imogene Knighton
• Woods — Corlean B. Pope
• Morgan — Catherine Leonard
• Butler — Mildred Richardson
• Leonard — Jessie C. Hookfin
• New Hope — Willie Gordon
• Jackson — Idella Williams
• Bear Creek — Elsie Tucker, Louise M. Johnson
• Sunflower — Mattie M. Tucker, Ora Lee Spears
• Morris — Elizabeth Johnson, Viola G. Wilson
• Odom — James Causey, Eunice F. Rudison
• Story — Pearl Cook, Laura W. Knighton
• New Star — John Matthews, Clovice Hurst
• Bay Gall — Frank Stewart, Helen H. Imes
• Centerville — Toretha Yancy, Gordon Yancy, Susie B. Yancy
• Rocky Hill — Bennie Wicker, Dorothy Stewart, Annie B. Tillery, Cordella B. Gordon, Ada W. Higginbotham, Louise Richardson, Thelma W. Muse, Mildred Sutton
• St. Helena Training School

Here are the school names I came across in my research:

• Roseland School, Roseland, Louisiana
• West Side High School-Amite, Louisiana
• Ard Chapel, Amite, Louisiana
• Amite Color School, Amite,  Louisiana
• Johnsel High School, 1897, Amite, Louisiana 
• Mt. Canaan School, Roseland, Louisiana 
• Tangipahoa Parish  Training School, Kentwood, Louisiana 
• Tasker AME Church School, Ponchatoula, Louisiana 
• Burgher Black School, Independence, Louisiana 
• Martin Chapel AME, Independence, Louisiana 
• Greenville Park High School, Hammond, Louisiana

The page is from The St. Helena Echo, Aug. 26, 1955, page 3.

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