In 1848, when America was still entangled in the chains of slavery, a girl named Caroline Still was born into a home where freedom was more than an idea, it was a calling. Her father, William Still, one of the nation’s most determined abolitionists, led the Philadelphia branch of the Underground Railroad, guiding hundreds of enslaved Africans to freedom. Her mother, Letitia, stood beside him in steadfast defiance, nurturing in their daughter a spirit of courage and conviction. So when a hospital later rejected Caroline because she was Black, she didn’t plead or protest from afar, she walked in. Standing before the all-white board that had denied her, Caroline spoke with such composure and brilliance that they reversed their decision on the spot.
Caroline’s father, William Still, was one of the greatest abolitionists of his generation. Known as the “Father of the Underground Railroad,” he helped over 600 enslaved Africans escape to freedom, often right from the Still family home. He recorded their names, routes, and stories with meticulous care, determined to preserve their voices for history. Those records, later published as The Underground Railroad Records, became one of the most important firsthand accounts of freedom-seeking Africans in 19th-century America.
To the outside world, William was a successful businessman, making his fortune in the coal trade. But to the oppressed, he was a lifeline. His wife, Letitia, shared his bravery, managing the household and caring for their children while living under constant threat of arrest or retaliation for harboring enslaved Africans who managed to escape from their masters.
It was in that environment, that young Caroline learned what courage looked like. She saw her father risk his life to help strangers and her mother stand firm in quiet strength. She grew up understanding that freedom was not just a political cause; it was a moral duty.
William believed deeply in the power of education. While most Black children in Philadelphia were shut out of opportunity, Caroline was sent to some of the city’s best schools, Mrs. Gordon’s Private School, the Friends’ Raspberry Alley School, and later the Institute for Colored Youth, now Cheyney University. Education was expensive, but William’s business success made it possible, and he never hesitated to invest in his daughter’s mind.
In 1864, she entered Oberlin College in Ohio, the only Black student in her class. Four years later, at just nineteen, she graduated with honors, the youngest in her class and the first Black woman to lead the Ladies’ Literary Society of Oberlin.
But even brilliance could not shield her from tragedy. Her first husband, Edward A. Wiley, a former enslaved man and fellow Oberlin graduate, died suddenly only a few years into their marriage. Widowed young and left to raise two small children, Caroline could have retreated into safety. Instead, she did the opposite, she went to medical school.
At a time when both her race and her gender barred her from most professions, Caroline enrolled at Howard University College of Medicine in 1875. A year later, she transferred to the Woman’s Medical College of Pennsylvania, where she graduated in 1878, becoming one of the first Black women in America to earn a medical degree. She financed her studies by teaching drawing and speech, balancing classrooms, motherhood, and racism.
Her greatest test came right after graduation. Caroline applied for an internship at Boston’s New England Hospital for Women and Children, only to be rejected by the hospital board because of her race. Most would have accepted that as the end of the road, but not Caroline. She boarded a train to Boston, walked into that boardroom, and faced the men who had denied her. There, she spoke for herself, with the same poise, intelligence, and grace that had carried her through Oberlin and medical school.
The board was reportedly so struck by her confidence and knowledge that they reversed their decision on the spot, appointing her unanimously. It was not charity, they knew talent when it stood before them. Caroline had forced them to see what racism had blinded them to: excellence.
After completing her internship, she returned to Philadelphia, where she opened a private practice and taught hygiene, physiology, and public speaking. Alongside her second husband, Reverend Matthew Anderson, she co-founded the Berean Manual Training and Industrial School, offering education and vocational skills to the city’s Black youth. Caroline served as assistant principal and teacher while continuing to treat patients, especially those who could not afford care.
But her mission extended beyond medicine. She became a prominent social activist, leading the Berean Woman’s Christian Temperance Union, helping organize Black YMCAs, and serving on the board of the Home for Aged and Infirm Colored People. Her activism was driven by the same conviction that had made her walk into that hospital board years earlier, the belief that Black lives, voices, and dreams were worthy of respect.
In 1914, a stroke forced her to retire, but her legacy was already carved deep into Philadelphia’s history. W. E. B. Du Bois himself would later praise her work and her service to her community.
Caroline Still Anderson passed away in 1919, but her life remains a lesson in rebellion. Her father fought chains made of iron; she fought chains made of bias. And like him, she won, not with anger, but with excellence.
Sources:
https://exhibits.temple.edu/s/william-still/page/biography-of-caroline-still-an
https://thephiladelphiacitizen.org/caroline-still-anderson-facts/
