What Happened to the Black Healers of Roanoke?

By Antonio D. Stovall

Not long ago, I found myself asking a simple question that has become increasingly difficult to answer.

What happened to the Black healers of Roanoke?

Most of us can name local pastors, business owners, educators, and civil rights leaders. But how many of us can name the men and women who once cared for the health of our communities before hospitals were accessible to everyone?

For generations, healing in Black communities looked very different than it does today. If someone became sick, many families didn't immediately rush to a hospital. They visited a respected elder, a neighborhood herbalist, a midwife, or a trusted medicine man or woman. Grandmothers knew which roots eased a fever. Mothers understood which teas settled a cough. Elders recognized plants growing along creek banks and mountain trails that had been used for generations.

This knowledge wasn't learned from textbooks.

It was passed from hand to hand, season to season, and generation to generation.

Like many Indigenous cultures around the world, our ancestors understood that healing involved far more than treating symptoms. It required caring for the whole person—body, mind, spirit, family, and community. Prayer, food, movement, rest, relationships, and the natural world all played a role. Healing wasn't something one person did alone. It was something a community practiced together.

One of the most remarkable examples of this tradition was Dr. John Henry Pinkard.

Born in Franklin County, Pinkard moved to Roanoke during the early twentieth century and established his herbal business on Salem Avenue. From his home, he developed botanical formulas that earned him a reputation extending well beyond Southwest Virginia. People traveled from surrounding communities—and even other states—to seek his care. Long before "holistic health" became a popular phrase, Pinkard was practicing a form of community wellness rooted in plants, observation, experience, and faith.

His story forces us to ask another important question.

Was Dr. John Henry Pinkard one of the last highly visible traditional healers Roanoke produced?

Black healing traditions have always been broader than herbal medicine alone. They included midwives who welcomed children into the world, elders who understood food as medicine, community members who knew the medicinal value of roots, bark, leaves, flowers, and seeds, and spiritual leaders who offered comfort through prayer and presence.

These traditions became necessities because Black Americans were often denied equal access to healthcare. Communities learned to care for themselves. They built systems of wellness based on experience, observation, resilience, and trust.

That wisdom was never isolated.

African botanical traditions met Indigenous knowledge of this land. Over time, practical European herbal methods were incorporated as well. The result was a uniquely American healing tradition shaped by survival, adaptation, and generations of shared knowledge.

From an Indigenous perspective, the land itself is medicine.

Mountains are more than scenery. Rivers are more than water. Forests are more than places to hike. They are living relatives that nourish us physically, emotionally, and spiritually. Every season offers instruction. Every ecosystem carries medicine. Traditional healers understood that the Creator placed healing throughout Creation and that our responsibility was to learn from it with humility and respect.

That is one reason Roanoke is such a special place.

We are surrounded by mountains, rivers, streams, springs, forests, and clean air. These aren't simply beautiful landscapes. They are resources that invite us to slow down, reconnect, and restore ourselves. Long before wellness retreats and mindfulness apps existed, our ancestors understood that spending time with the land was itself part of the healing process.

Yet somewhere along the way, many of these stories faded from public memory.

I know this personally.

When I first became interested in holistic wellness in 2005, I struggled to find examples of people in my own community who openly practiced the traditions I was searching for. I could study healing systems from other cultures, but I rarely heard anyone talking about the natural healing legacy that once existed right here in Roanoke.

When I began teaching holistic wellness in 2010, meditation, breathwork, herbs, yoga, and plant-based nutrition were often dismissed or misunderstood. Many people simply weren't interested.

Today, the conversation has changed.

Since the pandemic, more people are growing gardens, learning about medicinal herbs, exploring meditation, practicing yoga, improving their diets, and spending more time outdoors. People are looking beyond treating illness and asking how to build lasting health.

Ironically, many are rediscovering principles our ancestors never forgot.

Yet despite this renewed interest, countless Roanokers have never heard the name Dr. John Henry Pinkard.

That should give us pause.

Roanoke was once home to one of the country's respected botanical healers, yet his story remains largely absent from our public memory.

Remembering Dr. Pinkard isn't about rejecting modern medicine or trying to recreate the past. It is about recovering an overlooked chapter of our history and recognizing that healing has always been about more than prescriptions. It has always involved community, culture, faith, and our relationship with the natural world.

As we continue searching for healthier ways to live, perhaps the question isn't simply what happened to our healers.

Perhaps the better question is whether we are ready to remember them.

Because every community needs people who preserve its history.

And every community needs people who help restore its health.

Sometimes, those two callings belong to the same person.