Anne Spencer

Poet. Gardner. Librarian. Activist.

Her Story

Anne Spencer was born in Henry County, Virginia, to Joel Cephus Bannister and Sarah Louise Scales. When Anne was only four years old, her parents separated, and she and her mother moved to Bramwell, West Virginia, where Sarah had family.

Anne’s early life was shaped by strong personalities, deep love, and complicated family dynamics. Her father, Joel, owned a tavern, and as a young child Anne would sometimes stand on top of the bar while his customers listened, fascinated by the intelligence and quality of her conversation. Her mother, Sarah, was deeply religious and did not want her daughter growing up in that environment. Anne later reflected that both of her parents carried the “stench of slavery” on them, and their relationship was marked by the wounds, limitations, and pressures of the world they had survived.

After Sarah left Joel, Anne never saw her father again, though they continued to write to one another.

In Bramwell, Sarah wanted more for Anne than she felt she could provide. She was protective and particular about the kind of environment she wanted her daughter to experience. Because she did not want Anne attending the local Black school, Anne did not initially receive formal schooling. When Joel learned that Anne was not in school, he insisted that Sarah find one for her or he would come for Anne himself.

Sarah eventually learned of the Lynchburg Seminary in Virginia. Though Anne was only eleven and the youngest students were generally expected to be twelve, Sarah was determined. Joel had sent money for Anne’s education, and Sarah took Anne by train to Lynchburg and enrolled her, paying for the year’s tuition.

At the time, Anne could not read, but her teachers quickly recognized her brilliance. They invested in her, and Anne worked hard to catch up. Though the school struggled with limited resources and difficult conditions, Anne returned year after year and flourished. She formed lifelong friendships and discovered the joy of language, learning, and literature.

At Lynchburg Seminary, she also met Edward Spencer. The two tutored one another: Edward helped Anne with math and science, while Anne helped him with English and literature. After graduation, Edward asked for Anne’s hand in marriage. Though her mother initially had reservations and hoped Anne might marry someone else, Anne chose love. Sarah eventually gave her blessing, and Anne married Edward Spencer.

Edward built Anne a beautiful home on Pierce Street in Lynchburg, Virginia, along with the garden that would become one of the most meaningful spaces in her life. Together, Anne and Edward raised three children and built a home filled with love, intellect, creativity, and community. Edward became one of Lynchburg’s first Black postal workers and was also involved in several business ventures.

Anne Spencer’s life expanded far beyond her home, though her home remained central to her legacy. She helped establish the Lynchburg chapter of the NAACP, which led to her meeting James Weldon Johnson, then a national leader in the organization. Johnson saw Anne’s poetry and recognized her extraordinary gift.

Through his encouragement and connections, her work reached publishers, anthologies, and readers far beyond Lynchburg.

Anne Spencer became associated with the Harlem Renaissance, and her home became a gathering place for some of the most influential Black thinkers, writers, artists, and leaders of the twentieth century. Langston Hughes, W.E.B. Du Bois, James Weldon Johnson, and many others visited the Spencer home. Because of the warmth, beauty, and modern comforts of the house, including indoor plumbing and thoughtful design, guests visiting Lynchburg Seminary and the broader community were often welcomed there.

The Spencer home was more than a private residence. It was a sanctuary. It was a garden. It was a salon. It was a place where Black brilliance could rest, think, write, laugh, organize, and dream.

Anne Spencer’s poetry, activism, hospitality, and garden continue to inspire generations. Her words traveled far beyond Lynchburg, and her legacy still blooms.

As Anne Spencer’s children grew older and began preparing for college, she decided to seek work to help support the cost of their education. She wanted her children to attend school in the North, believing they would have access to stronger educational opportunities there.

At the time, Lynchburg did not have a public library for Black residents. Anne went to the library and boldly asked that a position be created for her. She had no formal librarian experience, but she brought with her a powerful résumé: the books and publications in which her own poetry had appeared.

Eventually, a library space was established for her at Dunbar High School, where she helped provide Black students with access to books, information, and a broader world of learning. Her presence there opened doors for young people who may not otherwise have had access to those resources.

This part of Anne Spencer’s story reveals the kind of woman she was. She was willing to ask for what she wanted, but she was also willing to meet a need. Through her work as a librarian, she expanded access to education and helped nourish the minds of Black students in Lynchburg.

The Brick She Built

Anne Spencer built the brick of beauty, voice, and sacred space.

She understood that freedom was not only political. It was also spiritual, intellectual, artistic, and personal. Through poetry, she gave language to beauty, grief, resistance, faith, nature, and Black life.

Through activism, she helped build institutions that fought for justice. Through her home and garden, she created a space where Black leaders, artists, and thinkers could be welcomed with dignity.

Her brick was also the brick of cultivation. Anne cultivated words. She cultivated flowers. She cultivated friendships. She cultivated community. She turned her home into a living expression of creativity, hospitality, and purpose.

Anne Spencer also built the brick of access.

As a librarian, she helped place books, knowledge, and possibility into the hands of Black students at a time when access to public libraries was denied or restricted. She understood that reading could open doors, expand imagination, and strengthen a young person’s sense of what was possible.

Anne Spencer’s life reminds us that resistance can look like a poem, a garden, a chapter meeting, a letter, a meal, a safe room, or a conversation held around a table. She built a world where beauty and justice could live together.

From Archive to Stage

Anne Spencer has been one of the most challenging women to bring to the stage because there is so much of her story I want to tell.

Her life is rich, layered, and deeply moving. Reading about her through J. Lee Greene’s work and other archival materials allowed me to envision her life from childhood to adulthood, from the mountains of West Virginia to the halls of Lynchburg Seminary, from her garden on Pierce Street to the pages of Harlem Renaissance literature.

She is mesmerizing — the kind of woman I truly wish I could have met.

The challenge was deciding which part of her story to lean into. Anne Spencer was a poet, gardener, wife, mother, librarian, activist, hostess, and community builder. Each part of her life could become its own scene, its own lesson, its own full production.

For Bricks Without Straw: Virginia’s Finest, I chose to focus on the portion of her story that reveals her love of language, her boldness, her garden, her home, and her commitment to creating access for others. I wanted audiences to see the woman who cultivated beauty while also building spaces of intellect, dignity, and possibility.

This process has been both difficult and exciting because I believe there are still so many stories to tell within the Anne Spencer story. The portion shared in Virginia’s Finest is only one glimpse. I look forward to exploring other ways to share more of her life, her words, her home, her garden, and the impact she continues to make today.

Anne Spencer’s story reminds me that some legacies do not simply survive. They bloom again and again.