Ruminations on the Current Lack of Thirst for History
by Gary Dean Gardner, Independent Scholar
The story of Dan Ford, Kentucky's earliest documented enslaved distiller, has yet to be told. Truthfully, I'm not convinced I should even tell it. Oh yes, it deserves to be told, and ought to be, and no, I've no hang-up about a white historian discovering and telling of the contributions of African-Americans, but there first needs to be a hankering to hear it. And there is not.
200 years ago about this time of year, Dan was beginning his busy season as the corn and wheat were being harvested. Before ole Nathan "Uncle Nearest" Green down in Lynchburg, Tennessee was ever born much less stirred his first mash pot, Dan was plying his trade amongst the small planter-distillers in central Kentucky, here where the Knobs separate the Barrens from the Bluegrass. In this fertile undulation of fields and valley that Dan called home, commercial whiskey distilling was first birthed by slave-owning pioneer "jacks of all trades" like Philip Phillips and Walter Boone who set up stills to become the first bankers of the Back country, exchanging grain for liquor that was used to trade and purchase everything a man might need from iron nails to salvation itself. Sometimes they even purchased a man like Dan, buying the skills that outmatched their own and allowed them the opportunity to gather wealth for their sons while black men became "the nameless who toiled" to support a burgeoning American economy. Even with talent and determination, their names would be mostly forgotten, overshadowed by that of their masters. Two centuries removed, and I'm the only person who knows Dan, though thousands toast & celebrate the name of W. L. Weller.
But maybe, just maybe, the distance of the needle from EMPTY to FULL is sort of short when it comes to the Black experience. Perhaps the parallel saga of one slave whiskey maker influencing a white-named Bourbon label is plenty for the industry, the drinker, and the arm chair historian alike. One story is as good as another, just changing out the names, right?
No, I'm not sure I need to tell this story, no matter how fascinating I find it. Could be Jack Daniel just plain overshadows the myth of W. L. Weller. Whiskey is whiskey, right? Clearly Dan suffered a crueler fate than Nathan, a less palatable reading, with far more sting than we want in the tale of good Bourbon. And again, how many slaves making whiskey do we even want to read about? If you heard about Lynchburg, you've pretty much heard it all!
So, thank you Homer Nicholas for the oral clues, the vestige of memory of Dan that led me to recognize him as I plowed through those records of the Weller family. Dan, thank you for the preservation of a craft, and a recipe, still enjoyed to this day. Those picking up a bottle of Weller because they think it's just cheap "Pappy" don't appreciate your labors all those hot Kentucky autumn days and crisp nights, but I sure do. I promise, I'm not keeping your story a secret. They just aren't ready to read it. One day, Dan, one day....
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