By James Williams

In the crowded hall of Philadelphia’s civic heroes, names like Rizzo, Green, and Dilworth echo through buildings, boulevards, and bronze plaques. But there’s one mayor whose name remains conspicuously absent from the city’s public landscape—Joseph Watson, Philadelphia’s 57th mayor. His omission isn’t just a civic oversight; it’s a moral failure in how we remember those who used their power to protect the powerless.

From 1824 to 1828, Watson led the city during a dark chapter in American history when free Black children and adults were being kidnapped from Northern cities and sold into slavery in the Deep South. Philadelphia, despite its reputation as a progressive city, was not immune to these horrors. But while most officials ignored the injustice, Watson acted.

In 1826, after learning that several Black children had been abducted from Philadelphia and sold in Mississippi and Alabama, Watson authorized and financed rescue missions to the South. He dispatched High Constable Samuel Garrigues with court affidavits and legal documents, determined to bring the children home. Over the course of his term, at least ten children were rescued from slavery and returned to freedom.

Watson spent more than $2,500 of the city’s budget—an extraordinary sum at the time—on these missions. Adjusted for inflation, that’s the equivalent of more than $80,000 today, underscoring the seriousness of his commitment. He didn’t hesitate to use public funds for justice.

He also pursued and helped convict key kidnappers, including John Purnell, also known as “John Smith.” Purnell was a light-skinned Black or mixed-race man used as a decoy by the infamous Cannon–Johnson Gang. He would lure unsuspecting Black children with false promises of jobs or errands, only to deliver them into the hands of traffickers. These children were then tied, gagged, and transported to holding cells or ships bound for slavery in the Deep South. Thanks to Watson’s persistence and Garrigues’ investigative work, Purnell was arrested, tried in Philadelphia, and sentenced to 42 years in prison—a rare legal victory in an era where kidnappers often walked free.

Watson also worked closely with abolitionist groups like the Pennsylvania Abolition Society to fight for legal recognition of the victims’ freedom. His efforts helped secure one of the earliest known legal victories against the “Reverse Underground Railroad.”

Despite these acts of justice, no public school, street, park, or building in Philadelphia bears Joseph Watson’s name.

That silence is deafening. Watson, a white mayor who risked his office and reputation to defend Black lives, stood up when it mattered. His actions saved lives and challenged a system that was comfortable with looking away. If we can name a stadium after a bank and a boulevard after a bureaucrat, surely we can name something after a mayor who freed children from slavery.

In 2016, while serving as a City Council staffer to Councilman David Oh, I personally researched Joseph Watson’s heroism and presented it to the Councilman. That work led to City Council’s adoption of Resolution No. 160889, which formally recognized Watson’s moral courage and contributions to justice. But resolutions fade. Buildings last.

Philadelphia owes Joseph Watson more than a line in the archives. It owes him remembrance, reverence—and a name etched in stone. He didn’t just serve this city. He stood for its soul.