
Venture Smith, born Broteer Furro, was an African American farmer and craftsman whose life story reflects the harrowing journey from slavery to freedom. Kidnapped at the age of six and a half from West Africa, he was sold into slavery in Anomabo, present-day Ghana. His early life was marked by hardship, but through determination and resilience, he eventually purchased his freedom and that of his family. Smith's experiences and insights into the lives of enslaved individuals are encapsulated in his autobiography, 'A Narrative of the Life and Adventures of Venture, a Native of Africa: But Resident above Sixty Years in the United States of America, Related by Himself.' This work stands as one of the earliest known autobiographical narratives by an African American, providing a rare first-hand account of the complexities of slavery and the pursuit of liberty. In his narrative, Smith not only recounts his personal experiences but also offers a vivid portrayal of his native land and the people he left behind. He describes himself as a physically imposing figure, standing over six feet tall and weighing 230 pounds, which adds a unique dimension to his story. Smith's legacy is significant; he is one of only a handful of African Americans from his time to have documented his life in such detail, making his narrative an invaluable resource for understanding the historical context of slavery in America. His burial site in East Haddam, Connecticut, is now part of the Connecticut Freedom Trail, honoring his contributions to the narrative of freedom and resilience in the face of oppression.
“There’s nothing to read into. I’m here to collect my beloved Damon andStefan is just helping me.”Bonnie looked at her with her brows knitted and her mouth pursed, butdidn’t venture a word.“Bonnie?”“Um-hm?”“Did I just say what I thought I said?”“Um-hm.”Elena, with one motion, gathered an armful of pillows and deposited themon her face.””
“We were as Hansel and Gretel and we ventured out into the black forest of the world.””
“I had read it some time ago but was so completely immersed that I retained nothing. This has been an intermittent, lifelong enigma. Through early adolescence I sat and read for hours in a small grove of weed trees near the railroad track in Germantown. Like Gumby I would enter a book wholeheartedly and sometimes venture so deeply it was as if I were living within it. I finished many books in such a manner there, closing the covers ecstatically yet having no memory of the content by the time I returned home. This disturbed me but I kept this strange affliction to myself. I look at the covers of such books and their contents remain a mystery that I cannot bring myself to solve. Certain books I loved and lived within yet cannot remember.””