By Marie Hughes, director Chambers County Museum in Wallisville
Montie Humphrey, the son of Wash and Melinda Humphrey, was born into slavery on May 14, 1862, at the vast JHK Ranch in Double Bayou, Texas, owned by James Merriman Jackson. From an early age, ranching became his way of life. By the time he was 17, he was already working as a stock hand, honing the skills that would later define his legacy.
Recognizing Montie’s talent and character, James M. Jackson, a man known for his keen judgment of people, made an unprecedented decision. In Montie’s mid-twenties, Jackson appointed him as foreman of the JHK Ranch—a move unheard of during that time. While tradition may have dictated otherwise, Jackson valued principle over protocol and believed Montie was the best choice to oversee the ranch. Montie, respected by both black and white ranch hands alike, soon proved that Jackson’s confidence in him was well placed.
Kevin Ladd, in a 1997 article, wrote, “No one bothered to record or otherwise memorialize one of the most unusual events in the history of cattle ranching in Southeast Texas. James Jackson, the owner of the JHK Ranch in Chambers County, called all of his cowhands together one day in the late 1880s. And so, they gathered, black and white, poor, and not so poor, joined together by little more than their affinity for the land upon which they stood and the cattle which was their joint responsibility. With his full white beard, Jackson looked a great deal like one of the major prophets of the Old Testament. He cleared his throat and announced that he was putting day-to-day operations of the ranch in the hands of one man. He looked each man squarely in the eye with an intensity that underscored his words. The ranch foreman, he said, would be Montie Humphrey. The actual words, as we said, were not recorded, but the gist of the message has been handed down. ‘If Montie tells you to do something, I expect you to follow his orders just the way you would follow my orders.’ What makes this moment extraordinary is the fact Montie Humphrey was a black man.”
The significance of this appointment was not lost on historians.
Ladd continued, “Mike Searles, a history professor who has been studying black cowhands in Texas for the past several years, says he has never heard of any other black man of the last century being elevated to the rank of foreman on a white man’s ranch—at least not in Texas and not for a ranch as large as the JHK. In that sense, Humphrey was unique. What James Jackson needed was someone who knew and loved the ranch as well as he did, and someone he could trust completely. Montie Humphrey fit that job description exactly.”
Ladd also described Montie’s striking presence, writing, “Humphrey was tall and lanky in the manner of many cattlemen, and his features were almost wholly African unsullied by Caucasian blood. His hair was brittle, almost unruly, strained by the humid climate and constant exposure to the elements. He carried himself with an intensity easily revealed in his photograph. He had dark, penetrating eyes and a temper that was both electric and legendary.”
Montie Humphrey’s rise to foreman was a remarkable testament to his skill, determination, and leadership—qualities that set him apart in an era when racial barriers often overshadowed ability. His story remains a powerful example of perseverance and the strength of character.
Love Runs Deep
Ralph Semmes Jackson, in his book Home on the Double Bayou, recorded that Montie Humphrey had been born a slave on the Jackson Ranch and spent his entire life breaking horses and working cattle on the old homestead.
“Montie was a prideful man whose love for the old ranch was perhaps greater than that of the owners,” wrote Ralph. “He stood on his feet and sat on a horse as if his backbone was made of steel. He was a forceful talker—all of his adjectives were cuss words, and his cuss-word vocabulary was full and complete. It is my honest belief that in many years since Montie’s death, I have not heard a single cuss word that did not belong to his colorful vocabulary. Montie was almost speechless in the presence of my mother because he would not, upon the pains of death, utter a cuss word in the presence of Miss Berta.”
After the death of James Jackson in 1895, his son, Guy Cade Jackson Sr., took over operations of the ranch.
Ralph recalled, “Montie (which is pronounced ‘Monuntie’) continued in much the same capacity. In the absence of my father (Guy Cade), he was in charge of the cattle work, and we boys jumped to his orders as quickly as to our father’s commands.”
In the aftermath of the 1915 storm, Montie was saddled with the heartbreaking task of locating, identifying, and burying the bodies of friends and co-workers. Joined by his neighbors, he rode through the devastation left behind by the hurricane. Among the first victims they found were Hugh Jackson and his 8-year-old grandson, Bennie.
The Spring Roundup
Each spring, ranch activity intensified as cattle were gathered, worked, and fences, troughs, and equipment were repaired. Ralph recalled, “Late spring was roundup time—a time of excitement for a small boy.”
“As soon as it was light enough to see, all hands congregated at the round pen, where the horses were waiting,” wrote Ralph. “The order in which the horses were roped from the pen was governed by a rigid priority system. Montie Humphrey, the old colored foreman, would step first to the center of the pen with the noose of his rope open in his right hand and the coils held loosely in his left. As he started to twirl the noose slowly around his head, the horses would crowd to the circular fence and start running around and around the roper, who continued to turn slowly on his heels, all the while whirling the rope over his head until he saw the head of Dad’s horse in the clear,” he explained. “Then with one quick step forward and a graceful throw of the rope, he sent the noose floating high for a second before settling over the head of the selected horse. Dad would step to the center of the pen, slip the bridle on, and lead his horse to the saddle house. Then Montie roped his own horse, and after that, each hand roped his horse in turn according to his seniority as a cowhand on the ranch.”
Ralph listed a few of the ranch hands: Fred Johnson, Jim Fish, and Pal Mayes. Once the horses were saddled, they trotted off toward the bottom of the pasture, with Guy Cade and Montie leading the way.
Late in the afternoon, the distant sight of cattle moving through a cloud of dust signaled the return of the herd. The sharp cracks of cow whips mingled with the shouts of cowhands and the bellowing of cattle as they were pushed toward the home pens. Then the real work began—separating, branding, vaccinating, and worming.
“The cows and calves were separated by putting a portion of the herd in the big corral at the branding pens, where Dad and Montie would cut out the calves on their cutting horses while two hands would shoo them through the gate into a smaller pen,” Ralph wrote. Once the calves were separated, the branding commenced. “As soon as the thrower had his calf down, he would shout ‘Hot Iron,’ and Dad would step over and brand the calf. Then Montie Humphrey would place one foot on the neck of the calf and quickly earmark both ears. If the calf was a bull calf, he would also remove the reproductive glands with his knife, thereby converting the little bull into a young steer.”
Aaron Humphrey’s memories of ‘Grandpa Montie’
“My grandpa worked for ole man James Jackson and his son Guy C. Jackson,” said 91-year-old Aaron Humphrey, grandson of Montie Humphrey, “and he would hire men to work under him. They would round up the cows and drive them to White Ranch and then down to the train at High Island. They’d load the cattle on the train and ship them to market. Most of my grandpa’s sons worked on ranches, but a couple of them, Montie Jr. and Kyle, were conductors on the trains. They would travel between Louisiana and Houston and settled in Los Angeles, California.”
Aaron’s memories of his grandfather painted a picture of a man deeply rooted in the cowboy way of life.
“When I was a little boy, Grandpa Montie would come riding up on his horse to see my daddy,” he recalled. “He would turn his horse loose and let it drag the rope and go out with our horses. When he was ready to go, he would tell me and my brother, Gene, ‘Boys, you go get my horse. I’m ready to go.’ We would go get his horse and bring it back to him, and he would catch me by my arm and throw me up on his horse. My daddy told him, ‘Pappa, you’ll get my boy killed riding those half-wild horses.’ My grandpa Montie took and pulled me off that saddle and put me right beside him and my older brother, Gene, and said, ‘Ike, you don’t tell me! Aaron is like my son, named after my boy Aaron.’”
Montie’s insistence on naming his grandson Aaron stemmed from the tragic loss of his own son, Aaron, who died at the young age of 30 due to lockjaw from a gunshot wound to his foot. Montie made it clear that his legacy would continue.
“Grandpa told me, ‘Boy, you’re just like my oldest son, Aaron.’ He told my daddy before he married, ‘Ike, when you get married, you name your last boy after my son Aaron,’” he said.
Aaron also shared stories about his uncle, the first Aaron Humphrey, a fearless cowboy known for taming wild horses.
“My daddy said there used to be loose horses running wild, and my Uncle Aaron would take two cans of pork and beans, a bag of coal, and a box of matches, roll them up in his slicker, and put it on his horse and say, ‘I’ll see y’all later.’ They wouldn’t see him for four days. He roped a wild horse he saw riding with the group of wild ones and tied him to his horse. All the ranchers around there knew that when Aaron came back, he would have two horses. He would tell them, ‘Which one do you want, the one I’ve been riding and caught the wild one with or the wild one?’ He was quite a cowboy.”
Carrying on the Cowboy Tradition
Sadly, Aaron died at the young age of 30 as a result of lockjaw from a gunshot wound in his foot. This explains why Montie was so insistent that Ike name his last son Aaron. It appears that the second Aaron lived up to the cowboy lifestyle of his uncle.
“I started riding when I was 10 or 12,” he said, “Somewhere around in there, and when I got old enough, I would go and break horses and work on ranches and stuff. I worked on my nephew’s ranch and for O.C. Jackson. I rodeoed too. I used to rodeo at the Double Bayou arena on Jackson Road. My last rodeo was at White’s Park arena, and it cost $25 a man.”
Aaron reminisced about one of his proudest moments in rodeo.
“I told my cousin Cora Lee’s boy, Raymond, and my son Eric, ‘Y’all don’t have any money, I’m going to stake you.’ We were going to do team penning. I told Raymond I knew he could ride, and I had him borrow a horse from Felix Jackson. Eric had an old sorrel horse he used to rope off of, and I told him, ‘Eric, that’s no cow horse.’ Cal Carrington said, ‘Eric can ride my horse.’ I paid $75 to the man at the arena and told Raymond to take Felix’s big sorrel horse and go on the back side. I had Eric go to the middle. When they called me up, I rode in on a little ole horse I had trained, I called him Ole Ringo. He was a little ole bay horse. I was working on the last brahma calf, and he tried to jump the pipe fence and fell backward. I hollered at Raymond and Eric to bring the others on around, and that little brahma fell right in with them.”
That moment secured his victory.
“Then I heard the guy over the speaker say, ‘We’ve got a new winner.’ I thought, oh, brother, that sounds good, I knew I had $700 coming to me. When I rode out on Ole Ringo, they said, ‘There goes our new winner, he just won $700.’”
Aaron smiled as he concluded his story.
“I just tipped my hat to them. Quinten stepped up and told Felix, ‘You and Pop,’ that’s what they called O.C., ‘y’all need to get Aaron to work cows for you.’”
A Legacy of Cowboys and Cattle
“When my son, Eric, was in school, he showed a brahma calf, and I have all kinds of trophies in my den that he won,” Aaron Humphrey recalled. “I have three granddaughters, and they show different stuff. The youngest one placed first at Hamshire and Beaumont in 2023 or ‘24 with her calf and then sixth at the Houston Livestock Show. We are blessed to have them. I trained horses and worked on ranches just like my grandpa did. From my grandpa down to my grandchildren, it just looks like God put us on earth to work cattle and horses,” he proclaimed, his aged voice tinged with pride.
Aaron’s stories revealed not only his deep connection to ranching but also the strong bonds between man and animal.
“One time, I helped Roy Dawson move about 300 head of cows to the JHK Ranch by the game reserve. He would go ahead with his dogs and open up the gates, and I would bring up the rear. He had two dogs, and I had two. I never will forget my two dogs’ names—they were Missy and Rock.
“Roy Dawson hollered back at me and said, ‘Aaron, I’ve got four cows across that ditch.’ We called it a ditch, but it was about thirteen or fourteen feet wide, and I know it was about twenty feet deep. I got up to where I seen them four cows. I could talk to those dogs, and they would look up at me like they were saying, ‘What else you want me to do?’ I said, ‘Missy, take old Rock over there and go get them four cows and bring them back to me on this side.’
“Those dogs went over there to those cows—God knows—they ran them until they got them right to the water. Ole Missy and ole Rock got after one of them and made her swim across, and they knew to go back and get the other three. They made them jump in and swim across, then came and got right next to me and my horse and stayed with me. They were good dogs,” he said, more to himself as he reflected on his beloved work partners.
Aaron’s love for horses was just as strong.
“When I was 55 years old, I bought a palomino from a woman in Hankamer. The lady sold him to me for $800, and I paid a lady to train him. Eric and I went to see him, and they opened the gate, and she ran him down the pen. She would talk to him just like I’m talking to you.
“She took the bridle off him and hung it on the fork tree and told the man, ‘Run that steer back by me.’ And she had him cuttin’ back and forth, and I told my son, Eric, ‘Write her a check for $500 for training him.’
“She told me, ‘No, I have 14 more days to put on him.’ I told her, ‘No, you don’t have 14 more days. I done rode horses and throwed steers myself,’ and I brought him on home. He just died last year—he was 34 years old. I’m 91 years old now.”
But of all the stories Aaron told, none were more poignant than his memories of his grandfather. “I loved my grandfather, and he loved me,” he said, his voice filled with emotion.
“My grandpa Montie was riding home with some cows and was fixin’ to open up the gate to let the cows through. When he reached down to get the latch to unlatch it, he looked back to check on his son, Vic, riding behind him and saw him being bucked hard by his horse. When he saw that, he had a heart attack and fell from the saddle. His foot got hung in the stirrup, and his horse dragged him a little bit until his boot came off and he fell to the ground. They picked him up and carried him on home. He lived about, I don’t know, about three or four days before he died,” Aaron concluded sadly.
Montie Humphrey passed away on July 30, 1939, at the age of 77. He is buried in the Martha Godfrey Cemetery in Double Bayou, Texas.
A Lasting Legacy
Montie Humphrey, the progenitor of many generations of Black cowboys, left a lasting legacy in Chambers County, Texas—not only through his male descendants but his female ones as well. One who comes to mind is his granddaughter, Roberta Humphrey Whittington, daughter of Vic and Thelma Humphrey. Roberta often cowboyed alongside her brother, Roger, and was known for her sharp roping skills—her loop rarely missing its mark.
Without a doubt, if Montie could catch a glimpse of the Humphreys who proudly boast of the cowboy blood pulsing through their veins, he would smile—a broad smile of pride and satisfaction.
From Humble Seed to Mighty Roots
A poem by Marie Hughes
In May of 1862
On the massive JHK
A cry rang out, a mother smiled
A son was born that day.
His wiry hair curled tightly
Round a face as dark as night
And brown eyes big as saucers
Filled with wonder and delight.
God filled him with great wisdom
Of the livestock and the land
Then guided and directed
To the place where he would stand.
Black foreman of a white man’s ranch
Unheard of in the land
A man respected and revered
All jumped at his command.
Born a slave but destined
For position and acclaim
He leaves a lasting legacy
To all who bear his name.