Finding Your Roots

(calm music) Candy's grandfather settled in Jacksonville, Florida, where he found a job at a rosin factory. He was one of the very few black men allowed to work his way up to a skill position in the company. Rosin is a chemical, that's derived from the sap of pine trees. And in the 1930's, it was a key ingredient in both glue, and soap. Would you please turn the page? Before we turn the page, as a dancer, rosin, you put it on your hands. Yeah of course you know. Before we touch the ballet bar. -

Henry

Yeah, absolutely. Interesting. This is it. that's rosin isn't it? -

Henry

That's it. That's it. Your grandfather worked as a distiller in this plant. And that was a job that was generally reserved, Candy, for white men. And it was his job to run the stills, and guard against fire. So your grandfather was very important, very good worker. He must've been very smart. He was moving up in the world. But on December 2nd, 1935, an explosion rocked the rosin factory. And according to newspaper reports, only one man was injured, Josh Masters, Candy's grandfather. "The east side of the distilling plant was blown out "when one of the vats exploded. "The explosion blew hot turpentine more than 50 feet." (exhales heavily) Would you please turn the page? This is an article that appeared in the Florida Times Union, two days after the explosion. Can you read the transcribed section? "Joshua Masters, negro, who was burned early Tuesday morning in an explosion, died yesterday in Brewster Hospital." Wow. -

Henry

We tracked down two of Candy's distant cousins who had lived in Jacksonville. Both told us that Joshua's death was not an accident. Friends told Candy's family that white workers resented having a black boss. So they intentionally rigged the explosion that killed Candy's grandfather. Under the circumstances, this tragedy amounted to a workplace lynching. My goodness, at 25, imagine what he could've done. Oh yeah. That's terrible. I dunno what my grandmother lived through being so young, and left, and then my family knowing that this wasn't what it appeared to be, and yet at the same time, I'm proud of him. And your mom never talked about that? Neither did my grandmother, not a word. I never knew. Maybe it was too painful? You know? Maybe it was just too painful.