The truth might save us, but fictions sustain us. In his hybrid archaeobiography of local legend Nathan Harrison, a Kentucky-born slave who became San Diego’s first African American pioneer, anthropologist Seth Mallios unearths hundreds of stories and thousands of exhumed artifacts related to one of the most enigmatic figures in the history of the United States.
“Born a Slave, Died a Pioneer: Nathan Harrison and the Historical Archeology of Legend” documents the findings of Mallios’ nearly 20-year excavation of Harrison’s Palomar Mountain cabin site, giving us a glimpse into the life of a historical anomaly — a homestead-owning and inter-racial marrying African American who lived amicably among Indigenous tribes, Mexican ranchers, Jewish settlers and White Palomar residents during the Reconstruction and Jim Crow eras.
Equally intriguing is Mallios’ examination of our human penchant for both truth-seeking and myth-making, a lens that helps us to appreciate why Harrison’s life still matters, but why the lies about him might matter more.
Like other prominent African American former slaves whose narratives were either written, endorsed or transcribed by White men or women, Harrison became the central character of stories scripted by generations of mostly non-Black locals who recited, reconstructed or fabricated whatever version of his life that suited their needs.
As an alleged war hero, he fought in Fremont’s Battalion during the Bear Flag revolt, which enabled the U.S. to acquire California from Mexico, while others claimed that he helped the Mormon Battalion secure the American Southwest for the U.S.
Some mythologized his superhuman survival skills, reporting that he eluded “tomahawk-wielding Indians,” seceding Confederates, grizzly bears and mountain lions. On the other hand, others characterized him according to prevailing stereotypes of African Americans at the time — a lazy, half-witted and drunken gigolo who could hardly keep a job.
These confounding and contradictory accounts form a concentric narrative orbiting Harrison, who enthusiastically spoke of San Diego County “but never a word about himself.”
Mallios includes this array of plots as entry points for us to survey Harrison’s mysterious background, thus allowing us to discern the plausibility of each thread and choose which path of “truth” we want to believe. However, as an accountable historian and archaeologist, Mallios ultimately grounds Harrison in reality by deciphering fact from fiction and legend from layman. Using complex theoretical frames, he guides us through a labyrinth of tales in order to draw conclusions that satisfy our need to get to the rock-bottom truth of it all.
In doing so, he brings to light a “truth” we’ve heard before: “All the world’s a stage.” Harrison put on an act. Using his patio as a makeshift theatrical stage, he performed choreographed minstrel shows for his White visitors who made their way up the mountain to see him. He routinely opened with an alliterative racial slur, “I’m N – – – – – Nate,” spoken in an exaggerated Southern accent, but drew the most laughs from his ironic one-liner, “I’se de fust White man on dis here mountain, but I’s stayed so long I’se turned Black.” Mallios rightly explains the rhetorical intent behind Harrison’s self-caricature: it allayed White guilt and cemented his non-threatening presence in a “hotbed” of Confederate ideology.
And therein lies the irony: Harrison lived a lie by living a double life. But he did it to survive. After nearly two decades of digging through his dirt, sifting through his garbage, and brushing his tiny artifacts, Mallios uncovered nuances of Harrison’s identity stashed in his cabin-as-theater — a sharpened pencil lead to hide his literacy, a fired rifle cartridge to conceal his self-armament, and a tiny iron cross to keep secret his Catholicism.
Mallios puts these stowed symbols into context: “In a time period that was especially dangerous for African Americans who appeared to have exhibited too much societal progress, I am stunned at both how strategic he was and how strategic he had to be.”
Although not a caped crusader, Harrison surreptitiously assumed the mythos of a self-made legend akin to the character Bruce Wayne, who says, “As a man, I’m flesh and blood, I can be ignored, I can be destroyed; but as a symbol I can be incorruptible … everlasting.” Indeed, Mallios’ life-work of resurrecting Harrison’s legacy and reconstituting his person with his persona ensures that as both a man and symbol he will forever remain what he had to be and what San Diego needs him to be.
Minifee is an associate professor in the Department of Rhetoric and Writing Studies at San Diego State University.
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