Wouldn’t surprise me a bit. I grew up in a county where everyone in the phone book with my last name was a relative. My father went to a convention in Denver one time and noticed that the person who had signed the guest register ahead of him had the same name as his brother. He asked the clerk about the other guest. The clerk gestured across the lobby to a black man. Oooops! That was my family’s plantation background from VA (1607) and KY (1785) coming back to haunt us.
I attended high school with many people sharing my surname. I was related to all the white ones, possibly related to some of the black ones and had a black male student in my graduating class with the same full name, whose ancestors were owned by my third great uncle. Oddly enough, we got along well, were even on track team together.
My own direct line married Moravian and Quaker women who frowned upon slavery, so there was little of it in the direct line, but other branches didn’t have that moderating influence. That third great uncle was next door neighbor to Peter Hairston on the Dan River, who was one of the largest slaveholders in Virginia or North Carolina, and he followed suit. They named children after one another.