Some aged Negroes believe that many of the superstitious ideas that are
practiced by their race today had their origin in Africa. A practice
that was quite common in ante bellum days was for each member of the
family to extract all of their teeth, in the belief that in doing so the
family would never disagree. Fortunately, this and similar practices of
self mutilation have about become extinct.
An old custom practiced to prevent the separation of a husband and wife
was to wrap a rabbit's forefoot, a piece of loadstone, and 9 hairs from
the top of the head in red flannel, and bury it under the front door
steps.
As a preventitive against being tricked or hoo-dooed, punch a hole
through a dime, insert a string through the hole, and tie it around the
left ankle.
To carry an axe or hoe into the house means bad luck. An itching nose
indicates some one is coming to see you, while an itching eye indicates
you will cry.
Interviewer: Bernice Bowden
Person interviewed: Henrietta Ralls
1711 Fluker St.
Pine Bluff, Ark.
Age: 88
"Yes ma'am, I was here in slavery times. I was born in Mississippi, Lee
County, March 10, 1850. Come to Arkansas when I was ten years old. Had
to walk. My old master was Henry Ralls. Sometimes we jump up in the
wagon and he'd whip us out.
"My old mistes name was Drunetta. She was good to us. We called her Miss
Netta. Old master was mean. He'd whip us. One day he come along and
picked up sand and throwed it in my eyes. He was a mean old devil. He
thought I was scared of him. Cose I was. That was before the war.
"I recollect when the Yankees come. I knowed they was a'ridin'. White
folks made me hide things. I hid a barrel of wool once--put meal on
top. They'd a'took it ever bit if they could have found it. They wanted
chickens and milk. They'd take things they wanted--they would that.
Would a'taken ever bit of our wool if they could have found it.
"They wouldn't talk to old mistes--just talk to me and ask where things
was. She didn't notice them and they didn't notice her.
"I reckon the Lord intended for the Yankees to free the people. They was
fightin' to free the people.
"I hear em say war is still goin' on in the world.
"The owners was tryin' to hide the colored people. Our white folks took
some of us clear out in Texas to keep the Yankees from gettin' em. Miss
Liza was Miss Netta's daughter and she was mean as her old daddy. She
said, 'Oh, yes, you little devils, you thought you was goin' to be free!
She had a good brother though. He wanted to swap a girl for me so I
could be back here with my mammy, but Miss Liza wouldn't turn me loose.
No sir, she wouldn't.
"After freedom I hired out--cooked, milked cows and washed and ironed.
"I went back to Mississippi and stayed with my father. Old Henry Ralls
sold my father fore we come to Arkansas.
"I never been married. I could have married, but I didn't. I don't know
hardly why.
"I been makin' my own livin' pretty much since I left my father.
"Biggest majority of younger generation looks like they tryin' to get
a education and tryin' to make a livin' with their brain without usin'
their hands. But I'd rather use my hands--cose I would.
"I went to school some after the war, but I had to pay for it.
"I been disabled bout five or six years. Got to have somethin' to take
us away, I guess."
Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson
Person interviewed: Diana Rankins, Brinkley, Arkansas
Age: 66
"I was born at Arlington, Tennessee but when I was a chile the depot was
called With. My parents' name Sarah and Solomon Green. There was seven
girls and one boy of us. My sister died last year had two children old
as I was. I was the youngest chile. Folks mated younger than they do now
and seem like they had better times when there was a big family.
"Adam Turnover in Charleston, South Carolina owned my papa. When he died
they sold him. He was one year and six months old when he was sold.
"I think S.C. Bachelor, around Brownsville, Tennessee, owned mama first.
She said they put her upon the block and sold her and her mother was
crying. The man after he sold her ask her if she didn't want him to sell
her. She said she didn't care but said she knowed she was afraid to say
she cared cause she was crying. She never seen her mama no more. She was
carried off on a horse. She was a little girl then. General Hayes bought
her and he bought papa too. They played together. General Hayes made the
little boys run races so he could see who could run the fastest.
"Papa said they picked him up and carried him off. He said they pressed
him into the breastworks of the war. He didn't want to go to war. Mr.
Hayes kept him hid out but they stole him and took him to fight. He come
home. He belong to Jack Hayes, General Hayes' son. They called him
Mr. Jack or Mr. Hayes when freedom come. Mr. Jack sent him to Como,
Mississippi to work and to Duncan, Arkansas to work his land. I was
fifteen years old when we come to Arkansas. Mr. Walker Hayes that was
president of the Commercial Appeal over at Memphis lost his land. We
been from place to place over Arkansas since then. Mr. Walker was
General Hayes' grandson. We worked field hands till then, we do anything
since. I nursed some for Mr. Charles Williams in Memphis. I have done
house work. I got two children. My son got one leg off. I live with him.
This little gran'boy is the most pleasure to us all.
"The Ku Klux never did interfere with us. They never come to our house.
I have seen them.
"When papa come from war it was all over. We knowed it was freedom.
Everybody was in a stir and talking and going somewhere. He had got
his fill of freedom in the war. He said turn us all out to freeze and
starve. He stayed with the Hayes till he died and mama died and all of
us scattered out when Mr. Walker Hayes lost his land.
"Ladies used to be too fine to be voting. I'm too old now. My men-folks
said they voted. They come home and say how they voted all I know about
voting.
"Walker Avenue in Memphis is named for Mr. Walker Hayes and Macremore
was named for him or by him one.
"We never was give a thing at freedom but papa was buying a place from
his master and got in debt and sold it. I don't own a home.
"I have high blood pressure and the Welfare gives me $8 a month. I'm not
able to work. When you been used to a good plenty it is mighty bad to
get mighty near helpless."
Interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden
Person interviewed: Senia Rassberry
810 Catalpa Street, Pine Bluff, Arkansas
Age: 84
"Yes'm, I know what I hear em say. Well, in slavery times I helped make
the soldiers' clothes.
"I was born on the old Jack Hall place on the Arkansas River in
Jefferson County.
"I know I was 'leven years old when peace declared. I reckon I can
member fore the War started. I know I was bastin' them coats and pants.
"My old master's name was Jack Hall and old mistress' name was
Priscilla. Oh, yes'm, they was good to me--just as good to me as they
could be. But ever' once in awhile they'd call me and say, 'Senia.' I'd
say, 'What you want?' They say, 'Wasn't you out there doin' so and so?'
I'd say, 'No.' They say, 'Now, you're tellin' a lie' and they'd whip me.
"I was the house girl, me and my sister. My mammy was the cook.
"Old master had two plantations. Sometimes he had a overseer and
sometimes he didn't.
"Oh, they had plenty to eat, hog meat and cracklin' bread. Yes ma'am. I
loved that, I reckon. I et so much of it then I don't hardly ever want
it now. They had so much to eat. Blackberry cobbler? Oh Lawd.
"How many brothers and sisters? Me? My dear, I don't know how many I had
but I heard my mother say that all the chillun she did have, that she
had 'leven chillun.
"Our white folks took us to Texas durin' of the War. I think my old
master said we stayed there three years. My mother died there with a
congestive chill.
"We come back here to Arkansas after freedom and I think my father
worked for Jack Hall three or four years. He wouldn't let him leave. He
raised my father and thought so much of him. He worked on the shares.
"After freedom I went to school. I learnt to read and write but I
just wouldn't _do_ it. I learnt the other chillun though. I did
_that_. I was into ever'thing. I learnt them that what I could do.
Blue Back? Them's the very ones I studied.
"In slavery times I had to rise as early as I could. Old master would
give me any little thing around the house that I wanted. They said he
was too old to go to war. Some of the hands run off but I didn't know
where they went to.
"Some of the people was better off slaves than they was free. I don't
study bout things now but sometimes seems like all them things comes
before me.
"I used to hear em talkin' bout old Jeff Davis. I didn't know what they
was talkin' bout but I heered em.
"I was sixteen when I married and I had eleven chillun. All dead but
four.
"Yes'm, I been treated good all my life by white and black. All of em
loved me seemed like.
"I been livin' in Arkansas all my life. I never have worked in the
field. I always worked in the house. I always was a seamstress--made
pants for the men on the place.
"After I come here to Pine Bluff I worked for the white folks. Used to
cook and wash and iron. Done a lot of work. I _did_ that.
"I been blind 'leven years but I thank the Lord I been here that long.
Glory to Jesus! Oh, Lord have mercy! Glory, glory, glory to Jesus!"
Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson
Person interviewed: Clay Reaves, (light mulatto, large man)
Palestine, Arkansas
Age: 80
"I will be eighty years old my next birthday. It will be July 6th.
Father was bought from Kentucky. I couldn't tell you about him. He
stayed on the Reaves place that year, the year of the surrender, and
left. He didn't live with mother ever again. I never did hear no reason.
He went on Joe Night's farm. He left me and a sister older but there was
one dead between us. Mother raised us. She stayed on with the Reaves two
years after he left. The last year she was there she hired to them. The
only thing she ever done before freedom was cook and weave. She had her
loom in the kitchen. It was a great big kitchen built off from the house
and a portico joined it to the house. I used to lay up under her loom.
It was warm there in winter time. I was the baby. I heard mother say
some things I remember well.
"She said she was never sold. She said the Reaves said her children need
never worry, they would never be sold. We was Reaves from back yonder.
Mother's grandfather was a white man. She was a Reaves and her children
are mostly Reaves. She was light. Father was about, might be a little
darker than I am (mulatto). At times she worked in the field, but in
rush time. She wove all the clothes on the place. She worked at the loom
and I lay up under there all day long. Mother had three girls and five
boys.
"Mr. Reaves, we called him master, had two boys in the army. He was a
real old man. He may have had more than two but I know there was two
gone off. The white folks lived in sight of the quarters. Their house
was a big house and painted white. I've been in there. I never seen no
grand parents of mine that I was allowed to claim kin with.
"When I got up some size I was allowed to go see father. I went over to
see him sometimes. After freedom he went to where his brothers lived.
They wanted him to change his name from Reaves to Cox and he did. He
changed it from James Reaves to James Cox. But I couldn't tell you if
at one time they belong to Cox in Kentucky or if they belong to Cox in
Tennessee or if they took on a name they liked.
"I kept my name Reaves. I am a Reaves from start to finish. I was raised
by mother and she was a Reaves. Her name was Olive Reaves. Her old
mistress' name was Charlotte Reaves, old master was Edmond Reaves. Now
the boys I come to know was John, Bob; girls, Mary and Jane. There was
older children. Mother was a sensible, obedient woman. Nobody ever
treated her very wrong. She was the only one ever chastised me. They
spoiled me. We got plenty plain rations. I never seen nobody married
till after the surrender. I seen one woman chastised. I wasn't close. I
never learned what it was about. Old Master Reaves was laying it on.
"Mother moved to New Castle, Tennessee from Mr. Reaves' place. We
farmed--three of us. We had been living southeast of Boliver, Tennessee,
in Hardeman County. I think my kin folks are all dead. Father's other
children may be over in Tennessee now. Yes, I know them. Mother died
over at Palestine with me. She always lived with me. I married twice,
had one child by each wife. Both wives are dead and my children are
dead.
"Mother said I had three older brothers went to the Civil War and never
come back home. She never heard from them after they went off. I don't
know but it was my understanding that they was to be soldiers. I don't
recollect them.
"Mother got so she wasn't able to work in the field several years before
she died. She worked in the field long as she was able. She lived with
me all my whole life till she died. But I farmed. Some years we done
well and some years we jess could live. I farmed all my life but a few
years. I love farm life. It is independent living. I mean you are about
your own man out there. I work my garden out at my shop now. I make
baskets and bottom chairs at Palestine. A few years I kept Mrs.
Wilkerson's yard and garden. Her husband died and she moved off to
Memphis. They did live at Palestine.
"I heard it said that Reaves said he could keep his own farm. The Ku
Klux never bothered us. I have heard a lot of things but I am telling
you what I know. I don't know nothing about the Civil War nor the Ku
Klux. I was most too small a boy at that time to know much.
"I used to vote. Can't write my name. Don't fool with it.
"I went to school on rainy days. I went a few other days. People used
to have to work. I always wanted to work. I piddle around all the time
working now. I went to colored teachers all together. I can read a
little.
"I had a brother-in-law in Arkansas. I heard a lot of talk. I come on
a visit and stayed three months. I went back and moved here. I come to
this State--over at Palestine--March 11, 1883 on Sunday. I have a good
recollection, or I think I have for my age. I've lived a pretty sensible
life, worked hard but had good health. If I had another life to live now
I would go to the farm. I love farm life.
"I chop wood, garden, go in the woods get my splints for baskets,
chairs. I live by myself. I eat out some with I call them kin. They are
my sister's children. I get some help, $10 and commodities.
"When I did vote I voted Republican or I thought I did. But now if I did
vote, I might change up. Times have changed.
"I don't know much about the young generation. I do talk with
them--some. They are coming up in a changed time. I wouldn't talk
against the colored race of people. Some of them work--are good. Some
don't. I think some will not work. Maybe they would. I come to know
mighty little about them--no more than I know about the white girls and
boys. I see them on the streets about as much as I ever see colored
folks anywhere."
Interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden
Person interviewed: Jane Reece
819 W. Ninth Street, Pine Bluff, Arkansas
Age: 85
"I know this--I'm 85. I was born in North Carolina.
"Oh, yes'm, I 'member the War.
"I'm three thousand miles from my home.
"Old John Blue (Belew?) was my white folks.
"I did have good white folks. Yes ma'am, I'll say that. Stayed there a
long time after we was sot free. They was good to us.
"My mother was the mother of twelve chillun--she was a fast breeder.
"I was the onliest girl and old missis was just wild about me. I had
good owners. I don't remember no hard treatment among 'em.
"I 'member she used to have me runnin' from house to house totin' a
little note. That's the reason I had such a good time. Heap of times I
slept up at the big house with old missis.
"I got a good memory. We was allowed to sing and pray. I know our white
folks was good that way. I'll say that for 'em. I won't go back on 'em.
"Our folks stayed right on there a long time.
"My father died three years after ever'thing had done got quiet and
peaceful.
"I left my husband back there and come here to Arkansas with my mother.
"The bigges' work I done--I used to be terrible 'bout cookin', washin'
and ironin', and field work. Ever'thing a man ever done I've done--cut
wood, cut down sprouts, barn brush--I've done ever'thing.
"Oh yes, I went to school a whole lot. Got so I could read. Used to
write too, but all that done left me.
"I'm gwine tell you the truth, lady. I don't know whether the folks is
better off free or not. They is better off in one way--they is free--but
this young race is the devil."
Interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden
Person interviewed: Frank Reed,
1004 Missouri Street, Pine Bluff, Arkansas
Age: 78
"I was a little boy pickin' up chips and helpin' feed the hog in slavery
times for old master. Name was George Houston. That was in Alabama.
"I reckon I do remember George Houston. As far as I know he was good to
us. I remember when he died.
"Our people stayed right there after freedom. My mother was a Houston
till she married.
"I reckon I do remember the paddyrollers. I remember the hounds runnin'
too. I never thought I would remember that no more.
"They didn't get after me 'cause I was too little. It didn't last long
enough for 'em to get after me.
"I'm sick and not able to help myself. I got run over by a wagon.
"I'm livin' here with my daughter. Her husband is a preacher and they
got eight children, so you can imagine how much they can do for me.
"One word of the white folks is worth a thousand of ours."
Interviewer: Samuel S. Taylor
Person interviewed: James Reeves
2419 W. Twentieth Street, Little Rock, Arkansas
Age: 68
Occupation: Preacher
"I was born in 1870 down in Ouachita County about fourteen miles south
of Camden going on toward El Dorado. They didn't have no railroad then.
I was a young man when they put the branch through. You see, I was born
five years after slavery, but I remember my mother, my grandmother, and
my great-grandmother. They taken me and talked to me freely and I know
everything they knew.