Showing posts with label elderly. Show all posts
Showing posts with label elderly. Show all posts

Thursday, February 27, 2025

Mother Hunt: Big love

head and shoulders photo of Sarah Hunt, a 2025 Black History Icon in Daytona Beach
The City of Daytona Beach
featured this photo of 
Sarah Hunt on their website page
about 2025 Black History Icons:
https://www.daytonabeach.gov/1441/2025-Black-History-Icons

Where to begin with the story of Sarah Hunt, aka Mother Hunt. The City of Daytona Beach and the Daytona Beach News-Journal honored this remarkable woman in February 2025 as a Black History Icon. She deserves the recognition.

A couple of big names tend to garner major Black history attention in Daytona Beach, with understandable reason. Mary McLeod Bethune and Howard Thurman are legendary giants, famous far beyond their Daytona Beach legacies. 

But for every Bethune and Thurman in the world, there are a thousand Sarah Hunts. In Daytona, she saw orphans and elderly in dire need and she did something about it. She took in children -- sometimes left on her doorstep -- and guided frail elderly to safety and security by providing a home for them all.

She officially founded an orphanage in 1924 on what is now George Engram Boulevard. The home is believed to have been the first black orphanage in Florida. 

The facility was first known as the Old Folks and Children's Home. It was later renamed the Florida East Coast Orphan and Child Caring Home. Sarah Hunt also founded a church across the street from the orphanage, the Mount Mission Missionary Baptist Church.

She received little to zero help from whatever state agencies existed in the 1920s and 1930s. Closely tied to her story are memories of her walking around the neighborhood with a basket on her arm, seeking donations to help keep alive those in need. She used her own funds and community donations to maintain the orphanage.

Little is known about the personal life of Sarah Hunt, yet the few details we have convey a sense of dignity, determination, strength and Christian love. 

She was born in 1857 or 1865 or 1867 and came to Daytona Beach from Georgia in 1905. Why she moved here is unknown. She died in 1936 from pneumonia and is buried in Mount Ararat Cemetery in Daytona Beach. 

One of her final acts - hours before her death - was to contact a local representative of the Florida state welfare system. She relayed her worries about the 25 children and six elderly people she looked after at that time. "She told the welfare worker the orphanage was totally without funds, that even the supply of food was limited." 

That information is from a Dec. 19, 1936 Daytona Beach Morning Journal newspaper article about Sarah Hunt's death. The same article noted she had been well known both locally and to state welfare agencies as Mother Hunt. 

The article explains that the Florida welfare department couldn't help because the orphanage wasn't licensed by the state. But Mother Hunt's plea traveled up departmental lines. The statewide director issued a statement encouraging private and church-led agencies to aid the orphanage. 

On the surface, it sounds like red tape prevented the state from taking over the orphanage. Still. I'm a little suspicious. Surely they could have done something. There obviously was a relationship and an open line of communication. But this was the Jim Crow South. Just the fact that the state director issued a supportive statement was probably outside the norm.

The 1936 article says nothing about Sarah's life before she reached Daytona. We learn a little more from her death certificate, which someone uploaded to the Find A Grave website. The certificate says she was about 79 years old when she died in 1936. That would put her birth in the 1850s. Her exact date of birth is listed as unknown.

Sarah was born in Rabun County in northern Georgia, a state where slavery still existed in the 1850s. Was she born to enslaved parents? Free parents? A forced encounter? Her father's name and birthplace are listed as unknown. Her mother's birthplace is also listed as unknown, but her name is given. The first name is illegible but the last appears to be Hunt.

Interestingly, the death certificate also lists Sarah as the widow of a Robert Hunt or Robert Hugh. She's shown as homekeeper of the "colored orphanage," and as having worked at that occupation for 50 years. 

That's far longer than she oversaw the formally established orphanage. That leads me to think she cared for others informally for decades before opening the dedicated home in 1924. It was her life's work. What led her to it? We may never know. But there is a clue in the 1910 U.S. Census.

The 1910 Census lists Sarah Hunt, age 45 (birthdate 1865), as a widowed dressmaker living on Daytona's Midway Street in a home she owned. If this is the same Sarah Hunt, she must have arrived from Georgia with some or all the money needed to buy a home. No local dressmaker could earn enough in five years (1905 arrival to 1910 census) to cover a down payment, mortgage and taxes. That she owned her home is significant. It was no easy feat for a widowed Black woman at that time and place. 

That Census also shows Sarah as living with one adopted adult child. Then there is the shocker: Sarah is listed as having four children -- none of whom were still alive. What happened to them? How did they die? My gosh, to lose all four children? It's unthinkable. One of my grandmothers lost four of her eight children and it scarred her for life. And she still had four who lived.

Sarah shows up in the 1914 Daytona Beach City Directory as a widowed nurse living on 2nd Avenue in a house she owned. And in the 1920 U.S. Census as a 53-year-old (born 1867) rooming-house proprietor in a 2nd Avenue house she owned. I love that she attained and maintained home ownership in such a challenging time.

Census records and directories don't provide a full picture. They leave questions. Far more telling is the way the orphanage was renamed Mother Hunt's Orphanage soon after her death. It speaks to how much she was loved, respected and admired.

The orphanage remained in operation. A March 7, 1961 article in the Daytona Beach Morning Journal notes that it was "the only licensed orphanage for Negro children in Florida." 

Mother Hunt's Orphanage eventually became the Sarah Hunt Methodist Children's Home. It merged with the Florida Methodist Children's Home in 1971. The two became the Florida United Methodist Children's Home, a longtime fixture on acreage near Lake Monroe in Enterprise. The Daytona Beach property later became part of Bethune-Cookman University. 

In 2011, a new structure at the Children's Home was named the Sarah Hunt Home. It's so fitting that her name lives on. A March 30, 2011 Daytona Beach News-Journal article covered the building's dedication. In the article, a Rev. Walter Monroe is quoted as saying Mother Hunt "tried to provide a haven and refuge for that [each] person to become whole again."

And perhaps, in doing so, Sarah Hunt also became whole, herself. 

Friday, April 24, 2020

Losing one's mind, for real

Screengrab of cover of 1904 medical manual
Cover of a 1904  home health medical manual.
Credit: UF Health

Watching and caring for an elderly loved one who is dying is no easy task. You see them decline, day by day, until the time comes when your nursing care is pretty much useless. 

They're near death, and you pray, and tell them you love them, and treat them with gentle care. Finally, the day comes when you kiss them goodbye.

I just went through all that. My husband and I nursed my father through his final days in our house. And thank God for that. 

Had my father been in a nursing home, he would have died alone because of the coronavirus lockdown. He wouldn't have understood why I or other family members weren't with him. His Alzheimer's had clouded his mind too much by then. 

AdventHealth Hospice Care guided us every step of the way. I'm grateful for that. You learn quickly how to do things you never thought you'd have to do. And you don't mind. Your life isn't your own, because the needs of a dying Alzheimer's patient are great. 

And then, suddenly, everything stops. You know the time is coming but you're not ever really prepared. Dad's been gone less than two weeks and the void in the house is great. I'm still reeling from it all.

With more time at hand, I started wondering how people cared for dementia-suffering elders in Florida during pioneer days. Nursing homes didn't exist. 

My early 20th century ancestors considered hospitals places to be avoided. My ancestors were in New York City. I don't know if Florida had hospitals outside major areas at that time. My guess is that eldercare was done primarily in the home.

To check the era's home-health advice, I turned to the U.S. National Library of Medicine's online version of Dr. Gunn's New Family Physician Home Book of Health. The book was popular and had been updated and reprinted numerous times over decades. I viewed the 1901 edition.

On page 722, we're told that old age is "the only disease natural to man." Dr. Gunn believed "dosing and drugging" with non-natural remedies would bring on an early old age. People were advised to stick with roots, barks, and herbs. They were told to steer clear as much as possible from "Mineral Remedies."

The book is massive. On page 1,022 there's an entire discussion about bones. While the medical explanation is outdated, the author seems on target in saying that bones of the elderly "are extremely brittle and easily broken." 

Other pages hold decidedly modern notions. One example is an emphasis on healthful eating and unrushed, regular mealtimes. People who acquire such habits were said to reach old age "cheerful, sprightly and youthful in their feelings." 

All that is interesting, but a home-health manual of that size ought to contain something about dementia. 

In the old days, people who had dementia were said to be senile. Yet that word doesn't appear in the book. Nor does the word dementia. Or forgetfulness, or memory loss. Yet dementia was recognized by the medical community at the time. "Alzheimer's" would be named a scant few years later, in 1906.

I had slightly more luck finding the word "senile" in HathiTrust digital library's 1904 - get ready for this title - The Favorite Medical Receipt Book and Home Doctor, Comprising the Favorite Remedies of Over One Hundred of the World's Best Physicians and Nurses

Those one hundred-plus medical experts didn't have a remedy for senility. In the book, the word senile is associated with something called Senile Gangrene. It was the name used to describe a limb that became useless in an old person. Heart problems were said to cause the ailment. 

Again, no mention of dementia anywhere in the book. 

Maybe people didn't live long enough to suffer end-stage dementia in olden days. Life expectancy was a lot shorter then. 

But people suffered from it. It just wasn't as commonly known or understood as it is today. I can't imagine how bewildered the sufferers and their caregivers were upon dealing with the relentless loss of cognitive abilities and memory. It had to be terrifying and sad. Because it still is today.