Back to Town Characters
"Old Uncle Tom"
Many people will recall Uncle Tom, an interesting character who in former years was a resident of Wilkes-Barre. His last resting place would have been forever unmarked had it not been for the late Stewart Pearce, who erected a stone in the City Cemetery. The epitaph read as follows:
THOMAS HARPER
Known as "Uncle Tom"
Was born in Maryland,
About 1798
He was a fugitive slave and whenever interrogated as to where he came from, fearing a return to bondage, invariably replied:
"No matter whar you come from, honey, but whar is you gwine to, dat's de question."
He witnessed the burning of Washington City by the British Army in 1814.
He died from sore legs, in his little cabin in Wilkes-Barre, January 22, 1874.
He was famous for attending church and funerals. His wardrobe consisted of twenty-one hats, sixteen suits of clothes, provided by friends.
He has gone where all good negroes go. Peace to his ashes.
Erected by a friend.
(Historical Record, 1899)
Edith Brower (Little Old Wilkes-Barre as I Knew It) said:
"Uncle Tom lived with Squire Dyer in an old double brown house that stood opposite the present site of the Boston Store. I do not like the term “nigger”, yet somehow it best describes this ancient African in his picturesqueness, and he would have been the last one to resent it. He was a typical plantation darkey, a runaway slave. Just how he came to stop short of Canada and get into the Dyer family I do not know, but for many years he had been there. Over six feet in height, lank, muscular, with huge hands and feet, his forward hanging head covered with whitening wool, his gait shambling to a degree rarely seen at the north, even among the negroes—thus do I remember Uncle Tom Harper. This name was undoubtedly an assumed one, for he lived to the end of his days in terrible fear of being captured and carried back South.
Never had he been known to tell where he came from. Few words did he ever speak, but they were always to the point. One day, as he slumped and shuffled along Main street, he approached a group of citizens talking together, among them a man whose name was not Morris, but who shall be called so here, one who would not have voted for prohibition or for putting the lid on anything. When he saw Uncle Tom coming, he suddenly resolved to be funny, or at least to get some fun out of the former slave. “Say, Uncle Tom, where on earth did you come from, anyway?“ The old fellow stopped, looked out from under his heavy eyebrows and said with slow significance: “Don’ make no diff’unce whar a man come f’om, Mass’ Mo’is; make mo’ diff’unce whar a man gwine. Whar you gwine, Mass’ Mo’is?” and slumped on."
"Old Uncle Tom"
Many people will recall Uncle Tom, an interesting character who in former years was a resident of Wilkes-Barre. His last resting place would have been forever unmarked had it not been for the late Stewart Pearce, who erected a stone in the City Cemetery. The epitaph read as follows:
THOMAS HARPER
Known as "Uncle Tom"
Was born in Maryland,
About 1798
He was a fugitive slave and whenever interrogated as to where he came from, fearing a return to bondage, invariably replied:
"No matter whar you come from, honey, but whar is you gwine to, dat's de question."
He witnessed the burning of Washington City by the British Army in 1814.
He died from sore legs, in his little cabin in Wilkes-Barre, January 22, 1874.
He was famous for attending church and funerals. His wardrobe consisted of twenty-one hats, sixteen suits of clothes, provided by friends.
He has gone where all good negroes go. Peace to his ashes.
Erected by a friend.
(Historical Record, 1899)
Edith Brower (Little Old Wilkes-Barre as I Knew It) said:
"Uncle Tom lived with Squire Dyer in an old double brown house that stood opposite the present site of the Boston Store. I do not like the term “nigger”, yet somehow it best describes this ancient African in his picturesqueness, and he would have been the last one to resent it. He was a typical plantation darkey, a runaway slave. Just how he came to stop short of Canada and get into the Dyer family I do not know, but for many years he had been there. Over six feet in height, lank, muscular, with huge hands and feet, his forward hanging head covered with whitening wool, his gait shambling to a degree rarely seen at the north, even among the negroes—thus do I remember Uncle Tom Harper. This name was undoubtedly an assumed one, for he lived to the end of his days in terrible fear of being captured and carried back South.
Never had he been known to tell where he came from. Few words did he ever speak, but they were always to the point. One day, as he slumped and shuffled along Main street, he approached a group of citizens talking together, among them a man whose name was not Morris, but who shall be called so here, one who would not have voted for prohibition or for putting the lid on anything. When he saw Uncle Tom coming, he suddenly resolved to be funny, or at least to get some fun out of the former slave. “Say, Uncle Tom, where on earth did you come from, anyway?“ The old fellow stopped, looked out from under his heavy eyebrows and said with slow significance: “Don’ make no diff’unce whar a man come f’om, Mass’ Mo’is; make mo’ diff’unce whar a man gwine. Whar you gwine, Mass’ Mo’is?” and slumped on."
