After the Onancok riot in 1907, Samuel Burton lost everything. His business was burned to the ground. His wealth was stolen. His property was confiscated. Everything he had worked for was gone, and he couldn’t rebuild in Onancock. He was banished from the town, told his life would be in danger if he ever set foot there again. With no choice but to leave, Samuel started over from nothing.
Starting Over in Baltimore
He made his way to Baltimore, Maryland, scraping and scratching to survive. He took a job as a clerk in a store — back behind the counter, back on his feet, doing what he knew best. But each day brought back memories of what he had built in Onancock — his life, his community, what he had earned, and what had been stolen from him. It bothered him deeply. This was supposed to be America. Slavery was over. He was a citizen, and as a citizen, he had rights. Samuel could have moved on, leaving the injustice behind. No one would have blamed him for walking away and never looking back. But that wasn’t Samuel Burton.
A City of Black Resistance
In Baltimore, he found something that made all the difference: a community. Baltimore in the early 1900s was more than just a big city — it was a Black city. It had one of the largest populations of free Black people in the country, with Black teachers, lawyers, doctors, and thriving businesses. The community knew how to organize. Baltimore wasn’t the Deep South, but it wasn’t free from racism either. In fact, it became the first city in America to pass a residential segregation law, banning Black people from moving into white neighborhoods. That law came about when a Black lawyer named George McMechen moved into a white neighborhood. McMechen shared a law firm with another Black lawyer, W. Ashbie Hawkins, the actual owner of the home. Hawkins filed suit to challenge the law.
Finding an Ally in W. Ashbie Hawkins
Hawkins was a legal giant long before the rise of Thurgood Marshall and other civil rights leaders. He led the NAACP’s battle against residential discrimination in the 1910s and, in the 1920s, became the first Black person to run for the U.S. Senate in Maryland. He didn’t just practice law — he practiced resistance, using the legal system as a weapon against injustice. When Samuel Burton arrived in Baltimore, Hawkins stepped in to help him.
Hawkins also cared about wages and working conditions for Black people. He was a member of Baltimore’s Defense League, a Black civic group active in the wage-labor movement. When he heard Samuel’s story — how he had been run out of town for demanding fair pay, how his store was burned to the ground — he knew he had to help.
Taking On Onancock in Court
In September 1910, three years after the riot, Hawkins filed a 12-page federal lawsuit on Samuel’s behalf against the Town of Onancock, the Supervisors of Accomack County, Constable Tank Kellam, Sheriff Lee Kellam, Mayor Leonidas Doughty, John West, and Upsher Sturges. The suit alleged that these men conspired to violate Samuel’s constitutional rights.
Samuel explained that at the time of the riot, his store made over $10,000 a year — a huge sum then. He lost that income, and his credit was ruined with wholesale houses in Baltimore and Philadelphia when he couldn’t pay his accounts. The year he spent in prison before being acquitted left him with serious physical and mental injuries. He sought $100,000 in damages.
In 1910, suing a town and its leaders was no small act — especially for a Black man in segregated America. Access to justice was almost nonexistent. Samuel wasn’t just asking for money; he was demanding the law acknowledge that what had been done to him was wrong. People noticed. Black newspapers covered the story, and The Crisis, the NAACP’s monthly publication, featured it in March 1913. Samuel had been silenced in Onancock, but now the nation was watching.
National Attention and a Long Fight
The case dragged on for three years. From the start, the defendants tried to have it thrown out, but Federal Judge Edmund Waddill ruled that it was legally sound and deserved to be heard. Finally, in January 1913, the trial began. Samuel was the first witness, telling the all-white jury how it all started — over a two-dollar debt — and how everything he had worked for was destroyed. He told them he could never go back to Onancock, not without risking his life. Other witnesses backed him up.
When the jury returned, their verdict shocked many: they ruled in Samuel’s favor, finding that the town officials had violated his rights, and awarded him $3,500 in damages — about $115,000 today. Onancock’s leaders refused to accept the loss, appealing the case and dragging it out even longer. Eventually, in February 1913, Samuel agreed to a $2,000 settlement to end all legal proceedings.
Rebuilding and Rising Higher
With that money, Samuel didn’t disappear — he rebuilt. He opened a clothing store in Baltimore that quickly became a success. In 1917, his first year, the store brought in $17,000. The next year, $35,000. By 1920, Samuel Burton was making $60,000 a year — nearly a million dollars today. His store was well-known for high-quality clothing and excellent service. He advertised in Black newspapers, held holiday sales, and, as before, hired Black employees. For Samuel, success was never about rising alone.
The Legacy of a Comeback
The message Samuel had once preached in Onancock — “Do more. Demand more. Rise higher.” — he lived out in Baltimore. They had stripped him, shamed him, slandered him, but he stood firm. They bent him, but he was not broken. His comeback was his counterattack, proof that hatred and lies cannot outlast hope and truth. You can knock us down, but we rise. You can burn our homes, but we rebuild. You can bury the truth, but it will rise again.
Samuel Burton got back everything that was taken from him — and more. His story is a reminder that telling our stories is itself an act of resistance. Every time we speak the truth, we declare: we are still here. Every time we carry forward the names they tried to erase, we affirm: we survived. And every time we remember, we make memory a form of justice.
That’s what the Memory Justice Project is about — not just the past, but the dignity, presence, and truth that we carry forward today.
