On the night of Oct. 15, 1854, flames engulfed the main building of Howard College in Marion, Ala.
Amid the chaos, a 23-year-old college janitor named Harry moved through smoke-filled halls, waking sleeping students. Urged to save himself, he reportedly replied, “I must wake the boys first.” Moments later, after jumping from a top-floor window, he sustained fatal injuries. Many students survived. Harry did not.
More than 170 years later, Samford University, formerly Howard College, continues to remember him.
Harry, born in 1831, was a Black man, enslaved and owned by then–college president Henry Talbird, one of nine people he enslaved. In 1854, the enslaved African Americans that lived in Marion were nearly three times the number of white residents, reflecting the centrality of slavery to the region’s economy and institutions.
Harry’s life and death unfolded within that system.
In the days following the fire, the Marion newspaper praised his “high humanity and courage,” writing that his devotion marks “the reciprocal affections between the master and the servant.” Such language, common in the era, framed his actions as evidence of harmony between enslaved people and owners.
Today, Samford commemorates Harry in multiple ways.
A plaque installed in February 2019 along Centennial Walk reads, “In Memoriam, Harry, college janitor and servant of President Talbird.” It recounts his final words and cites John 15:13: “Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.”
In Marion, a marble shaft marks his grave.
In May 2020, the university dedicated a Reconciliation Memorial obelisk near Hodges Chapel.
The marker reads: “In memory of Harry (1831–1854), an African American man who lived in slavery and died from injuries received while rousing the students at the burning of the Howard College building at midnight on October 15, 1854. Harry is remembered for bravery that saved lives and sustained this institution.”
The monument, authorized by the Samford University Board of Trustees, was described as a symbol of the university’s “mindful commitment to the mission of reconciliation in the name of the Lord Jesus Christ.” Etched above is Amos 5:24: “Let justice roll down like waters, and righteousness like an ever-flowing stream.”
The language of sacrifice and Christian love has become central to how Harry is remembered.
Yet some historians and community members urge a fuller accounting of the conditions in which he lived. As Dr. David Bains noted after the dedication of the Plaque on Centennial Walk, “to describe him as something other than an enslaved person is to detach ourselves from the reality of his life.”
That reality includes the absence of legal autonomy.
Enslaved people did not have recognized control over their labor, movement or personal decisions. Within that context, questions emerge about choice and compulsion.
While Harry’s reported words have been preserved as a testament to selfless devotion, some argue that framing his death solely as voluntary heroism risks overlooking the constraints of slavery itself, and the possibility that refusal may not have been a viable option.
Samford’s own institutional timeline underscores the long arc between Harry’s death and racial integration. The Civil Rights Act, which officially ended legal segregation in higher education, passed in 1964. Audrey Lattimore Gaston became the first African American student to attend Samford in 1967, and the university officially adhered to the Act in 1968.
Though remembered for sustaining the institution in its earliest days, a person in Harry’s position could not have hoped to see the legal possibility of enrollment at the university for which he served, until more than a century after Harry’s death.
On Thursday, Feb 26 at 10 a.m., university leaders will be dedicating a new plaque to be installed in Harry’s Coffeehouse, further recognizing his life and legacy.
In response, Kedarius Spikes, the president of the Samford Black Student Union emphasized that commemoration must extend beyond symbolic gestures.
“Honoring Harry is not just about a plaque,” Spikes said. “It is about restoring dignity to a life shaped by a system that denied him full humanity. Recognizing his courage matters because it calls us to confront the realities of enslavement while still honoring his life and impact.”
Spikes also expressed a need for balance.
“At the same time, we must acknowledge that his bravery existed within a system where he did not have true freedom or choice, and we cannot assume his actions were fully voluntary. This moment should challenge us to remember history truthfully, honor those whose voices were silenced, and ensure their stories are told with honesty and respect.”
Staff Reporter
