Quincy Jones Square in Bremerton is more than a public gathering space, it is a living archive. Anchored by public art, historical artifacts, and community memory, the square honors the early life and legacy of Quincy Jones, whose musical genius was nurtured in Washington long before the world knew his name.
In this Q&A, Judge Tracy Flood reflects on why marking place matters, how Quincy Jones Square came to be, and why preservation and archiving are essential acts of cultural survival, especially now.
Q: I grew up listening to Quincy Jones’s music, but I never knew he had roots in the Pacific Northwest. Can you talk about that connection?
Judge Tracy Flood: Absolutely. Quincy Jones’s family relocated from Chicago to Kitsap County for work at the Bremerton shipyard. While living here, Quincy encountered music in a transformative way, touching a piano for the first time at the armory in Bremerton. Those early experiences mattered. After that period, the family moved to Seattle, but Bremerton was foundational. This is where the spark was lit.
Q: Quincy Jones Square feels intentional–art, history, community all in one place. How did this come together?
The square represents collective effort and accountability to history. Alongside the sculpture, there’s a mural and curated artifacts, including the piano Quincy played, now displayed at the Kitsap History Museum, which sits right on the square. The sculpture itself went through revision. Quincy’s family, especially his brother, Senior U.S. District Judge Richard A. Jones, wanted it to be right. The artist was asked to go back to the drawing board so the final piece truly honored Quincy’s spirit and legacy.
Q: Why is it important to physically mark history–through sculptures, museums, and public spaces like Quincy Jones Square?
Because place anchors memory. If history isn’t visible, it becomes vulnerable to erasure. When people walk through Quincy Jones Square, they are standing inside a story. They’re reminded that Black excellence didn’t only happen elsewhere, it happened here. And that matters, especially in places people don’t automatically associate with Black history.
Q: You’ve spoken about how much Black history exists in Bremerton that many people don’t know. Can you share more about that?
At the height of World War II, more than 10,000 Black people lived and worked here in the shipyards. That history includes labor struggles, redlining, legal battles, and community building. Black attorneys came from Seattle to fight discrimination cases here. These stories aren’t in textbooks, but they shaped the region. We have enough artifacts and documentation to fill an entire museum. The challenge is making sure they’re preserved and accessible.
Q: Why is preservation and archiving especially urgent right now?
Because erasure is active. It shows up in whitewashed textbooks, in policies that minimize Black contributions, and in the absence of public memory. If we don’t record our history, write it, catalog it, protect it, it disappears. And when history disappears, people lose context, pride, and power. Knowing where you come from shapes where you believe you can go.
Q: What do you want young people to understand about history and legacy?
That they come from strength. Our ancestors built institutions, fought for rights, created excellence under impossible conditions. None of this is new, it’s just been forgotten or hidden. When young people understand that lineage, they walk differently. Preservation isn’t about the past alone; it’s about grounding the future.
Q: What does Quincy Jones Square ultimately represent to you?
It represents proof. Proof that Black history lives in Washington state. Proof that genius can be nurtured anywhere. And proof that when a community chooses to honor its stories, publicly and permanently, it disrupts erasure and restores truth.
Quincy Jones Square stands as a reminder that history is not abstract; it is local, embodied, and alive. Preserving Black history through archiving, storytelling, and public memory is not optional work; it is necessary work. As Judge Tracy Flood makes clear, if we don’t protect our stories, someone else will rewrite, or flat out, remove them.
History must be marked. Memory must be defended. And legacy must be made visible.