Columbia, you must claim what is yours

Dearest Gentle Reader,

Your humble correspondent must take up her quill today to address a matter of some considerable civic importance — one that touches upon glory misappropriated, history insufficiently celebrated, and the peculiar habit of one's neighbors claiming credit for one's own most magnificent inheritance.

Let us speak plainly of Columbia — that storied borough upon the Susquehanna — and of two of the most extraordinary sons ever to grace its streets: Mr. William Whipper and Mr. Stephen Smith. These gentlemen, one a businessman and abolitionist of the first order, the other his equally formidable partner, operated a lumberyard in Columbia that was, in truth, something altogether more magnificent than mere commerce. Hidden within their train cars were secret compartments, and within those compartments rode human souls — men, women, and children — traveling from the darkness of bondage toward the blessed light of freedom. Dear Reader, one shudders with admiration.

And yet — and here is where your correspondent must fan herself with some vigor — it is Lancaster that has seen fit to celebrate this legacy, as Whipper and Smith are featured prominently in its exhibits. Lancaster now hosts a lecture series in Whipper's honor. Lancaster's public library welcomes his descendants to speak. Lancaster's institutions drape themselves in the rich fabric of a story that was, at its very heart, Columbia's story.

One does not begrudge Lancaster its enthusiasm — enthusiasm for history is always a virtue — but one cannot help but observe that Columbia itself has done precious little to claim what is rightfully hers. Where, pray tell, is Columbia's monument to these men? Where is the historical marker — other than a simple plaque — of suitable grandeur along the very streets where Whipper and Smith conducted their heroic enterprise? Where is the lecture series, the dedicated exhibition, the civic pride that ought to overflow like the Susquehanna herself in the spring thaw — especially now, in this celebration of Columbia's 300th year?

The family of William Whipper — represented most recently by the estimable Dyymond Whipper-Young of Philadelphia, an artist, educator, and storyteller of considerable accomplishment — travels not to Columbia to speak of her ancestor's deeds, but to Lancaster's public library. One feels the sting of this, or rather, one feels that Columbia ought to feel the sting of this, were she paying sufficient attention.

Mr. Whipper was born in Drumore Township, yes, but it was in Columbia that he built his life, his business, and his legend. It was in Columbia that the midnight work of liberation was carried out with extraordinary ingenuity and at considerable personal peril. Smith and Whipper did not merely assist the Underground Railroad — they engineered it, quite literally, concealing freedom within the very infrastructure of commerce.

Columbia, Dearest Reader, possesses a history that other municipalities would construct elaborate fictions to claim. And yet Lancaster constructs not fictions but actual institutions, while Columbia rests, apparently, upon her laurels — laurels she has not even fully cultivated.

Your correspondent urges — nay, implores — the good citizens of Columbia to remedy this oversight with all appropriate haste. Celebrate your Whipper. Celebrate your Smith. Hang their portraits, erect your markers, speak their names from rooftops facing that great river that carried so many toward freedom. Do not allow history to be relocated, like so much unclaimed luggage, to the next town down the highway.

Lancaster is a fine city. But this, Dear Columbia, is your story.

With the utmost affection and no small measure of exasperation,

Your Most Devoted Correspondent,

Lady Whistletown