Determination evident in her face, the little girl trudged across the plowed field with an entourage of children trailing behind. Johnsie Evans was taking the first steps in what would turn out to be a lifelong quest for the betterment of those less fortunate than herself. That pursuit would eventually lead to the establishment of one of the nation’s premier schools for wayward boys.
From her early childhood, it was evident that Elizabeth Johnson Evans was special. Using the personal traits bestowed upon her at birth along with those developed during her remarkable life, she was destined for greatness. For Johnsie, that meant a life devoted to serving her Lord and her fellow man.
The little girl, dubbed “Johnsie” by her father, was born to Peter and Lizzie Morehead Evans of North Carolina in May 1851. The best novelist could not imagine a more romanticized Old South life than the one Johnsie’s family lived. Although history has taught that the Evanses’ lifestyle was not the norm, theirs appears to be one case where fact lived up to fiction. As one writer put it, she was “born to the purple.”1 Her maternal grandfather was the governor of North Carolina. Both of her parents had grown up on sprawling plantations with slaves to do their bidding. It is said that during their courtship, Peter would send a messenger on a three-day ride just to deliver his love letters to Lizzie. Beechwood, the plantation house where Johnsie grew up, was elegantly furnished and decorated.
This was definitely Southern aristocracy at its grandest, with one major caveat. Despite the affluence in which they lived, Johnsie’s parents seem to have been well-grounded. They instilled Christian character and values into their daughter. It does appear that Peter Evans was a benevolent slavemaster, providing his charges with brick cottages replete with glass windowpanes, a point that became a source of pride for the inhabitants. Johnsie noted that her father was “as kind as he was strict” to his hundreds of slaves. Mrs. Evans supervised the women involved in domestic labor such as weaving and sewing, while also providing a nursery and Sunday worship services.2
So, while the Evanses enjoyed the fruits of the slavery system, within it they appear to have tried to live up to the biblical admonition that “to whom much is given, much is required.” They seemed to take seriously their obligation to help the less fortunate. In sharing her life story with her niece, Johnsie related this lesson and many others she learned from her parents and through her childhood experiences. These lessons proved instrumental in providing the motivation and skills she needed to establish a school for wayward boys years later.
Johnsie would no doubt profess that the most important principle that sustained her throughout her marvelous journey was her unwavering faith in God. That seed was planted early in Johnsie’s life. In fact, she often said that an incident illustrating Jesus’s abiding presence was her earliest childhood memory.
Johnsie and her parents were on an overnight visit at a relative’s home. At bedtime, Johnsie realized that this would be her first night to sleep in a room apart from her parents. Fears flooded her mind and filled her with dread. She began to cry and begged her mother not to leave her alone.
“What do you fear my child?” her mother consoled her. “Jesus is with you here as well as anywhere.”
Temporarily pacified, Johnsie drifted off to sleep, only to be awakened by the nightmare of a man being in the room. She started to scream as her fears returned in full force. But suddenly she remembered her mother’s comforting words that “Jesus is with you.”
“Dear Jesus,” the little girl spoke aloud, “just put your hand on my head and take care of me.” With her assurance renewed, she drifted back to sleep. For years afterward, it was always her testimony that his comforting “hand” was never far away when she needed it. 3
That childlike trust and dependence would remain an integral part of Johnsie’s life. Many marveled during her lifetime at her conversational relationship with her Heavenly Father. That relationship carried her during the tragedies in her personal life and the trials she encountered in her service to others.
The desire to serve the less fortunate took root early in Johnsie’s life. One day she was weeding in the garden when a group of slave children ran urgently up to her. “Lil’ Miss, that overseer is plowing up us colored folks’ graveyard,” one shouted breathlessly. Immediately, the master’s daughter dropped her tools and started across the plowed field toward the cemetery.
“Stop! Stop!” she called to the foreman. “Don’t you dare plow up one of those graves,” she called out in the most authoritative voice that such a child could muster. “If you touch one of them I will have my father turn you off at once.”4
She then gave all of those present an impassioned speech on a person’s obligation to look out for one’s neighbors. The lesson must have taken hold, for the overseer decided to find fertile ground elsewhere. This episode was the first of many persuasive speeches that Johnsie would be called upon to deliver on behalf of others to governors, legislators, businessmen, and civic groups.
It was about that same time that the young girl, now about eight, learned a thing or two about financial responsibility and the burden of debt. For some time, she had longed for a “store-bought” doll from New York, with “real hair” and eyes that “open and shut.” And the price for such a treasure was “only six dollars.”
In the antebellum South, six dollars was no small consideration. She thought several times about approaching her father to ask for the doll, but lost her nerve each time. Finally, she settled on writing him a note asking if he would loan her the necessary money. It was her notion that he would be touched by her request and buy her the doll as a gift. She miscalculated. Instead, he agreed to her proposition upon the explicit condition that she repay him in full.
When the doll arrived from New York some weeks later, she was overjoyed. In her exuberance, she exclaimed, “I will never do anything but dress and undress my precious doll, put her to sleep and wake her up.” A demanding look from her father quickly reminded the child of her agreement. She was allowed one free day to play with her new companion before she was placed on a strict routine of cleaning her room, picking cotton, or whatever chore her father thought was appropriate for the day. Only the beginning of the hostilities between the North and South interrupted Johnsie’s payment schedule.5
A youthful Elizabeth “Johnsie” Evans displays some of the “ineffable darlingness” that won the heart of General Robert Johnston.
The Civil War disrupted Johnsie’s life in a much more significant way. Her father, always a horseman, enlisted in the 64th North Carolina Cavalry and rose to the rank of colonel in the Confederate Army. In May of 1863, Johnsie and her mother were allowed to visit Colonel Evans at his encampment. As she recalled years later, it was a bittersweet reunion in that it was the last time she ever saw her father. The following month, Evans was wounded in a battle in Virginia and taken to a prison camp near Washington, D.C. Now twelve years old, the adventurous Johnsie and a male cousin secretly made plans to run away from home to see Evans at the prison hospital. As the date of their mission neared, the family received word that Evans had succumbed to his wounds.
The indelible image of her father dying as a prisoner of war left a lasting mark on the girl. As she thought about the agony he suffered and the horrible conditions he endured in his last days, she felt herself being called to help those who were incarcerated. Although it would be years before that premonition would become a reality, it set her on a course from which she would never waver.6
As little Johnsie turned into an adolescent Miss Evans, it became apparent that another quality she had in abundance was charm. One of her many admirers described it in one of his love letters as “ineffable darlingness.” There were many suitors. The story is told of a trip to Morgantown she made as a young lady of eighteen years. While staying in one of the city’s finest hotels, a number of callers came to make her acquaintance while she was in town. One was named Robert Bingham.
“Well, I warrant you are here to see Miss Johnsie Evans,” the clerk at the desk surmised as he peered over his glasses at Bingham. “Well, my young boy, you are the ninth that has come, but each of you will go away happier for just seeing her.”
In a fitting conclusion to this story, the same Robert Bingham’s grandson had the pleasure of meeting the lovely lady some sixty-five years later. The courteous young gentleman bowed and kissed her hand.
“Madam, I am the tenth,” he said to the still beautiful woman, now in her eighties.
“Would I were younger, or you older, Bob Bingham’s grandson!” she quickly replied.7
Such charm would be indispensable as she begged, pleaded, cajoled, and humored those around her into helping those she would lovingly refer to as “her boys.”
The suitor who ultimately won her heart was former Confederate General Robert Douglas Johnston. Sixteen years her senior, General Johnston had to wage quite a campaign before Johnsie finally agreed to marriage. She told her niece that he proposed “exactly thirty-six times” before she finally told him, “Well, I suppose I will have to do it in order to get rid of you.”8
After marrying, the couple moved into a home that adjoined the Johnston family property in Charlotte, North Carolina. Their life together there was full and vibrant. They were active in their church, as well as the civic and social scene of the community. Two years into their marriage they were blessed with the first of their eight children.9
As idyllic as their life was, there were still obstacles. However with her indomitable spirit, these hardships only steeled Johnsie for the tasks that lay ahead. The first of these concerned her health. When Johnsie was just a child, a diphtheria epidemic left her with diminished hearing and also claimed the life of her younger sister. Her hearing got progressively worse with time. During the first years of her marriage, General Johnston took his wife to New York to a specialist, but to no avail.10 She would have to contend with this challenge the rest of her life. Ultimately Johnsie came to believe that this deficiency made her more sensitive in other ways. The 1944 biography by her niece, Mary Johnston Avery, is entitled She Heard with Her Heart in recognition of her facility for communicating with those who were hurting. Describe it as empathy, compassion, or any number of other terms, but Johnsie seemed to have the ability to sense what others were feeling in their hearts.11
The scourge of diphtheria again touched Johnsie’s life years later when the awful disease ravaged Charlotte. One of its many victims was the Johnstons’ oldest child, Louise. The young mother was deeply affected, but instead of turning inward, she looked outward to the plight of others. She became aware of the need for a hospital in Charlotte to serve the black community and threw her energy into that effort. However, her commitment to that endeavor did not come until after she had one of those famous conversations with her Lord.
“O, Lord, why did you start me at this,” she pleaded. “You know I have no money to build a hospital myself, and lack the ability to make others see the need!”
“I slew a thousand Philistines with the jaw-bone of an ass,” she seemed to hear him say.
“All right then, I have the jaw-bone!” she replied with a laugh.12
With her determination and hard work, and the Lord’s guidance and provision, the black hospital became a reality. Little did she realize that this contribution to Charlotte would be her last. The Lord was calling her family to a new venue and Johnsie to a new venture.
Building the hospital was a worthy cause and definitely met a need in Charlotte. At the same time it was an ideal proving ground for the skills that Johnsie would need for a much larger initiative she would champion just a few years later.