David Pilgrim, the curator of the Jim Crow Museum, describes himself as a “garbage collector, racist garbage.” For over thirty years, he has amassed a disturbing collection of items that defame and demean African Americans and their descendants. This collection, now housed in the Jim Crow Museum of Racist Imagery at Ferris State University, includes over 4,000 objects – from children’s games to everyday household items – all bearing hateful caricatures of Black people. Pilgrim’s motivation isn’t morbid fascination; it’s a profound belief in the power of these objects to educate and foster tolerance. He understands that confronting the visual evidence of racism, even in its most grotesque forms, is essential to dismantling its enduring legacy.
As Stetson Kennedy, another collector of racist artifacts, noted, these items can be seen as “interest to posterity in a Museum of Horrors.” Pilgrim echoes this sentiment, recognizing the educational potential within this “racist garbage.” One particularly jarring example from his collection is a 1930s parlor game called “72 Pictured Party Stunts.” One card callously instructs players to mimic “a colored boy eating watermelon,” accompanied by a deeply offensive image of a Black child with exaggerated features indulging in the fruit. This card, like countless others in the museum, is a stark reminder of the dehumanizing stereotypes that were once commonplace and socially acceptable. These weren’t just isolated incidents; they were pervasive representations that shaped and reinforced racist attitudes, contributing to the oppressive reality of the Jim Crow era.
A collection of “Mammy” figurines, showcasing a common racist caricature of Black women as subservient and nurturing domestic figures.
Pilgrim’s journey into collecting these painful artifacts began with a personal encounter in his youth. As a young boy in Mobile, Alabama, in the early 1970s, he purchased his first racist object: a Mammy saltshaker. He recalls it being cheap, readily available, and disturbingly ugly. His immediate reaction after buying it was to smash it on the ground. This wasn’t a calculated political statement, but an emotional outburst of disgust. He couldn’t articulate it then, but this saltshaker, like so many other mass-produced items of the time, represented a “cheap knock off” of human dignity, a distorted and demeaning representation of Black womanhood. This visceral reaction, born from a deep-seated understanding of the injustice these images represented, marked the beginning of his lifelong commitment to collecting and confronting racist memorabilia.
Another object in Pilgrim’s collection, a 1916 magazine advertisement for ink featuring a Black child drinking from an ink bottle with the caption “Nigger Milk,” further illustrates the insidious nature of these “cheap knock off” stereotypes. Purchasing this print in 1988, Pilgrim insisted the salesclerk accurately label it, confronting her discomfort and resistance to using the overtly racist title. This anecdote highlights Pilgrim’s unwavering commitment to calling racism by its name and refusing to sanitize its history. These weren’t just innocuous antiques; they were potent symbols of a system designed to demean and oppress.
A vintage advertisement featuring a racist caricature of a Black child with the offensive caption “Nigger Milk,” demonstrating the pervasiveness of racist imagery in early 20th-century advertising.
While the Mammy saltshaker and the “Nigger Milk” print are disturbing, Pilgrim’s collection includes even more overtly offensive items. The “Chopped Up Niggers” puzzle game from 1874, manufactured by McLoughlin Brothers, exemplifies the extreme depths of racist caricature. This game, now a “prized collectible” in some circles, represents a truly abhorrent level of dehumanization. Postcards from the early 20th century depicting lynchings, another grim reality of the Jim Crow era, are also part of this collection, highlighting the normalization of violence and terror against Black communities. These items, often sold for hundreds of dollars in online auctions, are not just historical artifacts; they are chilling reminders of a brutal past that continues to resonate in the present. They represent the ultimate “cheap knock off” – the reduction of human lives to commodities in a marketplace of hate.
Pilgrim’s dedication to this unsettling collection is often met with questions and even accusations of obsession. He traces the roots of this “obsession” back to his time as an undergraduate at Jarvis Christian College, a historically Black institution. Here, his professors provided him with a profound understanding of life under Jim Crow segregation, not just through textbooks, but through lived experiences. He learned about the daily indignities and systemic oppression faced by Black people, even those in positions of education and authority. These weren’t just historical accounts; they were personal narratives that illuminated the pervasive nature of racism and the constant struggle for dignity in a society built on inequality. He realized that scholarship could and should be a form of activism, and the idea of collecting racist objects as a tool for education began to take shape.
It was at Jarvis Christian College that Pilgrim grasped the sheer volume and variety of racist caricatures targeting Black Americans. He learned how popular culture, through everyday objects, perpetuated harmful stereotypes, portraying Black people as everything from “pitiable exotics” to “cannibalistic savages” and “childlike buffoons.” These weren’t just harmless jokes; they were carefully constructed images designed to reinforce a racial hierarchy. As Robbin Henderson, director of the Berkeley Art Center, astutely observed, “derogatory imagery enables people to absorb stereotypes; which in turn allows them to ignore and condone injustice, discrimination, segregation, and racism.” These “cheap knock off” stereotypes, embedded in material culture, served as propaganda, justifying Jim Crow laws and the brutal system of racial inequality they upheld.
Jim Crow was far more than just “Whites Only” signs; it was a comprehensive system of racial caste, deeply ingrained in laws, customs, and everyday life. The Coon caricature, depicting Black men as lazy, unintelligent, and easily frightened, was just one of many stereotypes used to justify this system. These images, plastered across postcards, games, and sheet music, reinforced the idea that Black people were inherently inferior and unfit for equal participation in society. Pilgrim recalls the constant pressure from his elders: “Don’t be Coon, be a man.” Living under Jim Crow meant constantly battling against these demeaning stereotypes and the shame they were designed to instill.
A vintage fishing lure featuring a racist caricature of a Black person, highlighting the insidious way racist imagery permeated even leisure and recreational items.
During his graduate studies at Ohio State University, Pilgrim continued to expand his collection, often finding items that were small and inexpensive, yet powerfully offensive. A postcard depicting a Black man being eaten by an alligator, a matchbox featuring a Sambo caricature with exaggerated genitalia – these were readily available “cheap knock offs” of human dignity, readily found and consumed. However, the most overtly racist items, the true “gems” of racist memorabilia, were already becoming expensive and sought after. He recounts seeing a framed print titled “Last One In’s A Nigger,” depicting naked Black children being denied access to a swimming hole, priced at $125 in the early 1980s – a price beyond his reach at the time, but a stark indicator of the escalating market for these hateful artifacts.
Pilgrim’s time at Ohio State was marked by a growing sense of anger and frustration. While surrounded by a liberal academic environment, he felt a disconnect between theoretical discussions of race and the lived reality of racism. He and other Black students felt like “frightened outsiders,” questioning the depth of understanding from their white professors. Race relations often felt like an abstract “research category,” rather than a lived experience. This sense of alienation and the pervasive nature of everyday racism fueled his anger and further solidified his commitment to confronting these issues head-on.
Encouraged to explore Black Studies, Pilgrim encountered Paul Robeson’s book Here I Stand, which deeply resonated with him. Robeson’s unwavering fight for the rights of oppressed people, despite facing ostracism and persecution, inspired Pilgrim. He also engaged with the works of James Baldwin, whose powerful essays and novels articulated the anger and frustration of the Black experience. These intellectual explorations further shaped his understanding of systemic racism and the urgent need for social change.
Pilgrim observes a societal preference for discussing slavery over Jim Crow. Slavery, distanced by time, is often sanitized and simplified, seen merely as a period of unpaid labor. Jim Crow, however, is a more recent and uncomfortable reality, with its survivors still living and bearing witness. The horrors of Jim Crow – the lynchings, bombings, and daily indignities – are harder to ignore. Discussing Jim Crow forces a confrontation with the question, “What about today?” The legacy of Jim Crow is not just a historical footnote; it’s a living reality that continues to shape contemporary race relations.
A vintage advertisement utilizing a racist caricature to sell products, demonstrating how stereotypes were used to create humorous but ultimately demeaning marketing campaigns.
In 1990, Pilgrim joined the sociology faculty at Ferris State University, bringing his growing collection with him. Initially, he used the objects primarily in public addresses, particularly to high school students. He found that many young people, both Black and white, were largely ignorant of the historical expressions of racism and often doubted the severity of the Jim Crow era. To counter this ignorance, he presented segregation signs, Klan robes, and everyday objects adorned with racist caricatures. He aimed to connect these objects to the systemic oppression of Jim Crow laws, but admits his approach was initially “too heavy-handed,” driven by anger rather than pedagogical strategy. He was still learning how to effectively use these artifacts as teaching tools.
A pivotal moment came in 1991 when Pilgrim visited Mrs. Haley, an elderly Black antique dealer in Indiana, who possessed a vast collection of Black-related objects, including racist memorabilia. Initially unimpressed by Pilgrim’s own collection, Mrs. Haley revealed her hidden trove of racist artifacts, a collection so extensive and disturbing that it profoundly impacted Pilgrim. Entering her back room was like stepping into a “chamber of horrors.” Thousands of objects, representing every conceivable racist caricature, lined the walls. The sheer volume and intensity of the collection overwhelmed him with “thick, cold sadness.” It was in this moment, surrounded by this material manifestation of hate, that the idea for the Jim Crow Museum solidified.
A price guide for “Black Memorabilia,” illustrating the commercialization of racist artifacts and the disturbing market that developed around them.
Pilgrim became a regular visitor to Mrs. Haley’s shop. She shared stories of white people in the 1960s and 70s divesting themselves of racist objects, feeling a sense of shame. However, this sentiment shifted dramatically in the mid-1980s with the publication of price guides dedicated to racist collectibles. These guides fueled a market for these items, transforming them into valuable commodities. Mrs. Haley’s collection, now worth a fortune, became a testament to this disturbing trend. She refused to sell, viewing the objects as a crucial part of American history, stating, “We mustn’t forget, baby.” Her passing and the subsequent sale of her collection to private dealers deeply saddened Pilgrim, reinforcing his commitment to creating a public museum where these objects could serve an educational purpose, rather than being locked away as private commodities.
Pilgrim continued to amass his collection, scouring antique stores and flea markets for any racist item he could afford. In 1994, a workshop at Colorado College provided an opportunity to further expand his collection. Colorado Springs, a conservative city, yielded a surprising number of racist items. He acquired segregation signs, a Coon Chicken Inn glass, racist ashtrays, and racist-themed records, encountering a dealer who attempted to engage him in racist conversation, which he promptly shut down. During this trip, he and colleague John Thorp began strategizing how to establish a dedicated space for his collection at Ferris State University.
After years of effort, Pilgrim and Thorp succeeded in establishing the Jim Crow Museum of Racist Imagery at Ferris State University. For Pilgrim, moving the collection out of his home was a relief. He had always been uneasy having these objects around his young children, who innocently referred to Klan robes as “daddy’s dolls” and played with racist target games. The museum became a teaching laboratory, used by faculty and students to understand the historical expressions of racism. It also includes post-Jim Crow items, demonstrating that racism is not merely a relic of the past.
A matchbox featuring a “Sambo” caricature, highlighting the casual and widespread use of racist imagery on everyday items.
The Jim Crow Museum’s mission is clear: “use items of intolerance to teach tolerance.” It aims to foster open and honest dialogues about race and racism, examining the historical patterns and consequences of racist depictions. The museum confronts a prevalent “thick naivete” about America’s past, challenging the tendency to view historical racism as a distant abstraction. Visitors are often shocked and disturbed by the sheer volume and graphic nature of the objects, forcing a visceral confrontation with the reality of racism. Pilgrim recounts the game “Hit the Coon,” a horrific example of dehumanization where carnival patrons threw objects at a Black man’s head for prizes. These artifacts offer a glimpse into the brutal reality of the Jim Crow era and the dehumanization that underpinned it.
The museum does not shy away from painful truths. Pilgrim acknowledges the anger that fueled his early collecting, an anger that reached its peak after reading The Turner Diaries, a virulently racist novel. While familiar with racist ideologies, the book’s graphic depictions of violence and hate deeply disturbed him. He recounts a powerful experience of taking students through the museum, culminating in a young Black woman’s stunned silence before a picture titled “Alligator Bait,” depicting Black children as bait for alligators, and a white man’s tearful apology. This apology, a sincere expression of contrition, had a profound impact on Pilgrim, highlighting the potential for healing and understanding through confronting this painful history.
A postcard with the disturbing image and caption “Alligator Bait,” depicting Black children in a dehumanizing and dangerous context, reflecting the extreme racism of the Jim Crow era.
Despite its educational mission, the Jim Crow Museum faces criticism. Some argue for forgetting the past and moving forward, believing that discussing racism only perpetuates it. Pilgrim counters this argument, emphasizing that silence does not erase racism. America remains deeply segregated, and racial stereotypes persist, albeit often in more subtle forms like institutional racism and symbolic racism. Ignoring the past is not a path to progress; confronting it honestly is essential.
Some visitors question the absence of “positive items” in the museum. Pilgrim explains that the museum serves, in effect, as a “black holocaust museum,” highlighting the systemic oppression and violence faced by Black people throughout history. He clarifies that this is not to diminish the suffering of other groups, but to acknowledge the unique and devastating impact of racism on African Americans. Future expansions of the museum will include sections celebrating the achievements of Black individuals despite Jim Crow and highlighting the Civil Rights Movement, offering a more comprehensive and ultimately hopeful narrative.
Jim Crow was dealt significant blows during the Civil Rights Movement, with landmark legal victories and growing social awareness. However, Jim Crow attitudes did not disappear; they resurfaced in new forms at the end of the 20th century. Affirmative action faced backlash, and racist stereotypes re-emerged in contemporary contexts, such as the depiction of welfare recipients and the criminalization of Black youth. Even in entertainment, racist caricatures persist, sometimes perpetuated by Black entertainers themselves, capitalizing on “cheap knock off” stereotypes for profit.
The contemporary racial climate is marked by contradiction. While overt prejudice may be declining, subtle forms of racism and racial resentment persist. Many express weariness of discussing race, believing that enough has been done. However, underlying racial biases and stereotypes continue to influence attitudes and behaviors.
Halloween masks featuring exaggerated and racist caricatures of Black people, demonstrating the ongoing commercialization and perpetuation of harmful stereotypes in contemporary culture.
Pilgrim’s experiences, like finding a resurgence of racist items in New Orleans stores after a decade-long absence, and the proliferation of racist items online, demonstrate that racist imagery is not a thing of the past. New products like the game Ghettopoly and “Trash Talker Dolls” exemplify the ongoing creation and commercialization of “cheap knock off” stereotypes. Ghettopoly, with its overtly racist game pieces and scenarios, caused national outrage but also highlights the disturbing persistence of racist tropes in popular culture. Similarly, Shirley Q. Liquor, a minstrel-drag act, perpetuates harmful Coon stereotypes under the guise of satire. Pilgrim argues that such satire often fails, instead reinforcing the very stereotypes it claims to critique.
“Ghettopoly,” a contemporary board game that utilizes racist stereotypes for humor and entertainment, sparking controversy and highlighting the persistence of racist imagery in modern products.
“Pimp Daddy” doll, part of the “Trash Talker Dolls” line, embodying racist stereotypes and contributing to the ongoing commercialization of harmful caricatures.
Ultimately, Pilgrim emphasizes that “understanding is the principal thing.” The Jim Crow Museum forces visitors to confront the reality of racism and engage in difficult but necessary conversations. It is a space for open dialogue, where no topics are off-limits. The museum’s growing reach, both nationally and internationally through its website, demonstrates its impact and importance. Pilgrim sees his role evolving, with plans to create a “Sarah Baartman Room” to address sexism, modeled after the Jim Crow Museum. He concludes with a powerful personal anecdote, witnessing his daughter’s distress at a young white boy wearing a blackface mask, underscoring the enduring pain and relevance of confronting racist imagery. The Jim Crow Museum stands as a testament to the power of confronting “racist garbage” to teach tolerance and foster a more just future.
References
Boykin, K. (2002). Knipped in the butt: Protests close NYC drag ‘minstrel’ show. Retrieved from http://www.keithboykin.com/articles/shirleyq1.html.
Faulkner, J., Henderson, R., Fabry, F., & Miller, A.D. (1982). Ethnic notions: Black images In the white mind: An exhibition of racist stereotype and caricature from the collection of Janette Faulkner: September 12-November 4, 1982. Berkeley, CA: Berkeley Art Center. The images in this book inspired Marlon Riggs’ documentary, Ethnic Notions.
Kennedy, S. (1959/1990). Jim Crow guide: The way it was. Boca Raton, FL: Florida Atlantic University Press.
Macdonald, A., & Nix, D. (1978). The Turner diaries. Washington, D.C.: National Alliance.
Pilgrim, D. (Producer), & Rye, C. (Director). (2004). Jim Crow’s museum [Motion picture]. United States: Grim Rye Productions.
Riggs, M. (Producer/Director). (1987). Ethnic notions [Motion picture]. United States: Signifyin’ Works.
Robeson, P. (1958). Here I stand. Boston, MA: Beacon Press.
Woodward, C. V. (1974). The strange career of Jim Crow (3rd rev. ed). New York, NY: Oxford University Press. This book remains a classic critique of Jim Crow laws and etiquette.
