Miles Robinson, March 11, 1865
Miles Robinson was held in slavery by a Mrs. Roberts in York County, Virginia, but he was hired out to work some seventy miles away in Richmond. In 1859, at the age of twenty-two, Robinson heard that he was to be sold. Preferring to take a chance at freedom, he was hidden in a closet for pots and kitchen utensils by a woman who worked on a Richmond-to-Philadelphia steamboat.
On reaching Philadelphia Robinson was directed to William Still, a key organizer of the Underground Railroad. Still sent him further north to Boston, where he met the Rev. Leonard Grimes, minister of the Twelfth Baptist Church, known as “the Fugitives’ Church.” For four years Robinson worked in the restaurant business, and in October 1864 he married Reverend Grimes’s daughter, Emma.
Robinson had saved some money and returning to Philadelphia with his new wife, he opened a restaurant with two friends. One hundred and sixty years ago today, as the Civil War dragged on, around 5:00 p.m. on March 11, 1865, in a pelting rain, Miles Robinson and his partners set out with “an order to attend to in the eastern part of the city.” Four days later the Philadelphia Press published a letter from the three men describing what happened to them. The corporations owning the horse-drawn Philadelphia streetcars only allowed Black passengers to ride on the exposed platform in the front, a restriction that had been repeatedly challenged in recent months. Robinson and his partners considered their situation and wrote, “We were impressed with the idea that just now, when the impartial draft is making no distinction of color, and when, too, the tax-collectors come to our places of business as readily as to those of white persons, we might be permitted, and did enter a car of the Walnut and Chestnut streets line (to avoid the extremity of the weather.)”
The three men were told, “You cannot ride in this car.” When they asked why not, the conductor replied curtly, “Because you are not allowed.” One of them responded, “We do not mean to go out; you can put us out if you wish.” When a white passenger challenged them with “harsh language,” they replied, “If we are offensive to the passengers we will get up and go out” The same passenger responded in a rage, “You are offensive to these ladies.” There were only two ladies in the car, and they both rose and said emphatically, “They are not offensive, but we want no disturbance.”
The conductor then summoned a policeman who threatened to arrest them. “Is it against the law for us to ride in here?” they asked. The policeman replied, “It is.” One of them said, “It is not against the law, and you may lock me up.” With the help of the same contentious white passenger and others who came in from the street, the police arrested them, but only after blows were exchanged and several windows were broken. Fortunately, Robinson managed to get a message to William Still, and eventually around midnight Still located an alderman, posted their bail, and got them released.
That Miles Robinson was firmly committed to the cause of equal rights is further testified by the fact that, as we shall see in a future post, he, his wife, and their small child were again subjected to further mistreatment on the Philadelphia streetcars.