From the Daughter of a Slave to One of Seattle’s First Black Principals

By Giovanne Schachere

The first time I realized my great-grandmother was the daughter of a slave, I was just a kid.

I remember sitting there, confused.

Slavery felt like ancient history — something from textbooks and documentaries. Something that happened a long time ago to other people.

Not to my family.

But then I did the math.

My great-grandmother, Virginia Lucinda Humes Hill Galloway, was born in 1915, only fifty years after slavery supposedly ended in America.

History wasn’t distant.

It was sitting right across the table from me.

The Woman Who Ran the House Like a Classroom

To the world, Virginia Galloway was a trailblazer — one of the first Black teachers hired by Seattle Public Schools and later a principal and district administrator.

But to us?

She was the woman who made you play Scrabble whether you wanted to or not.

If you walked into her house, she had one question waiting for you:

"Who is the President of the United States?"

And you better know the answer.

Education in her home wasn’t optional. It wasn’t something you clocked in and out of. It was a way of living.

You learned at the dinner table. You learned through conversation. You learned through curiosity.

Looking back, I realize she wasn’t just raising a family.

She was building thinkers.

Virginia in Gray with the first black Seattle School District teachers

A Pioneer in a System That Didn’t Want Her

Before she ever stepped into a classroom in Seattle, my great-grandmother taught in the segregated South, where Black teachers worked under conditions most people today can’t imagine.

Less funding. Fewer resources. Higher expectations.

When Seattle Public Schools finally began hiring Black teachers in the late 1940s, she became part of the small group of women who opened the door for everyone who came after them.

She taught at Maple Elementary, trained teachers across the district, and in 1971, she became the principal of Genesee Hill Elementary School.

For a Black woman in America at that time, that was more than a promotion.

It was history.

The House Where I Learned the World Was Bigger

Some of my favorite memories happened in her home near the University District in Seattle.

When I was attending Eckstein Middle School, I would walk over after class.

Her house was always full.

Full of laughter. Full of cousins for the holidays. Full of stories.

And full of a family that looked like America.

My family was mixed — some people looked white, some looked Black, and some looked somewhere in between. My last name is French, and my father’s father's side of the family comes from Louisiana Creole roots.

That house was the first place where I learned something important:

People are more complex than the boxes society tries to put them in.

Before I ever heard debates about race and identity on television, I had already lived the truth of it around her kitchen table.

She Never Stopped Teaching

When my great-grandmother retired from Seattle Public Schools in 1977, she didn’t slow down.

She just found a bigger classroom.

She began volunteering internationally, traveling to six countries — including Kenya and other parts of Africa — to teach English and support education programs.

Even in her later years, she continued traveling the world, staying in hostels and seeking new experiences.

Most people retire from their profession.

She simply expanded her mission.

The Moment That Meant Everything

One of the moments that stayed with me the most happened late in her life. She got the chance to meet former President Barack Obama in person.

And when she did, she kissed him on the cheek.

Think about that for a moment.

A woman born just fifty years after slavery, who spent decades fighting discrimination inside American schools…

…meeting the first Black President of the United States.

For her, it must have felt like watching history bend.

Still Walking, Still Driving, Still Sharp

My great-grandmother lived to be 99 years old.

Even in her 90s, she was still driving, still walking around the block for exercise, and still keeping up with a family tree that seemed to grow by the year.

When she passed in 2015, she left behind:

• 16 grandchildren

• 24 great-grandchildren

• 6 great-great-grandchildren

But what she really left us was something much bigger.

The Lesson She Left Me

My great-grandmother understood something that every generation has to learn again.

Progress doesn’t happen automatically.

Someone has to push history forward.

She was the daughter of a slave.

She became a principal. She helped integrate a school system. She traveled the world teaching others.

And she built a family determined to keep going.

When people ask me why I push so hard in my own life — why I refuse to give up when things get difficult — I think about her.

Because when your great-grandmother was the daughter of a slave…

…you don’t waste the opportunities she fought to create.

You honor them.

About the Author

Giovanne Schachere is the founder and CEO of Mystis Adult and Family Services, a multi-state healthcare and housing organization serving communities in California and Washington. Raised in a family shaped by educators, public servants, and civil rights-era pioneers, he focuses his work on addressing homelessness, expanding housing access, and challenging systemic barriers. He writes about leadership, generational resilience, and the intersection of policy and lived experience.