"I was born at Goldsboro, N.C., July 25, 1847. I never knew who owned my
father, but my mother's master's name was Lifich Pamer. My mother did
not live on the plantation but had a little cabin in town. You see, she
worked as a cook in the hotel and her master wanted her to live close to
her work. I was born in the cabin in town.
"No, I never went to school, but I was taught a little by my master's
daughter, and can read and write a little. As a slave boy I had to work
in the military school in Goldsboro. I waited on tables and washed
dishes, but my wages went to my master the sane as my mother's.
"I was about fourteen when the war broke out, and remember when the
Yankees came through our town. There was a Yankee soldier by the name of
Kuhns who took charge of a Government Store. He would sell tobacco and
such like to the soldiers. He was the man who told me I was free and
then give me a job working in the store.
"I had some brothers and sisters but I do not remember them--can't tell
you anything about them.
"Our beds were homemade out of poplar lumber and we slept on straw
ticks. We had good things to eat and a lot of corn cakes and sweet
potatoes. I had pretty good clothes, shoes, pants and a shirt, the same
winter and summer.
"I don't know anything about the plantation as I had to work in town and
did not go out there very much. No, I don't know how big it was or how
many slaves there was. I never heard of any uprisings either.
"Our overseer was 'poor white-trash', hired by the master. I remember
the master lived in a big white house and he was always kind to his
slaves, so was his wife and children, but we didn't like the overseer. I
heard of some slaves being whipped, but I never was and I did not see
any of the others get punished. Yes, there was a jail on the plantation
where slaves had to go if they wouldn't behave. I never saw a slave in
chains but I have seen colored men in the chain gang since the war.
"We had a negro church in town and slaves that could be trusted could go
to church. It was a Methodist Church and we sang negro spirituals.
"We could go to the funeral of a relative and quit work until it was
over and then went back to work. There was a graveyard on the
plantation.
"A lot of slaves ran away and if they were caught they were brought back
and put in the stocks until they were sold. The master would never keep
a runaway slave. We used to have fights with the 'white trash' sometimes
and once I was hit by a rock throwed by a white boy and that's what this
lump on my head is.
"Yes, we had to work every day but Sunday. The slaves did not have any
holidays. I did not have time to play games but used to watch the slaves
sing and dance after dark. I don't remember any stories.
"When the slaves heard they had been set free, I remember a lot of them
were sorry and did not want to leave the plantation. No, I never heard
of any in our section getting any mules or land.
"I do remember the 'night riders' that come through our country after
the war. They put the horse shoes on the horses backwards and wrapped
the horses feet in burlap so we couldn't hear them coming. The colored
folks were deathly afraid of these men and would all run and hide when
they heard they were coming. These 'night riders' used to steal
everything the colored people had--even their beds and straw ticks.
"Right after the war I was brought north by Mr. Kuhns I spoke of, and
for a short while I worked at the milling trade in Tiffin and came to
Canton in 1866. Mr. Kuhns owned a part in the old flour mill here (now
the Ohio Builders and Milling Co.) and he give me a job as a miller. I
worked there until the end of last year, 70 years, and I am sure this is
a record in Canton. No, I never worked any other place.
"I was married July 4, 1871 to Jennie Scott in Massillon. We had four
children but they are all dead except one boy. Our first baby--a girl
named Mary Jane, born February 21, 1872, was the first colored child
born in Canton. My wife died in 1926. No, I do not know when she was
born, but I do know she was not a slave.
"I started to vote after I came north but did not ever vote in the
south. I do not like the way the young people of today live; they are
too fast and drink too much. Yes, I think this is true of the white
children the same as the colored.
"I saved my money when I worked and when I quit I had three properties.
I sold one of these, gave one to my son, and I am living in the other.
No, I have never had to ask for charity. I also get a pension check
from, the mill where I worked so long.
"I joined church simply because I thought it would make me a better man
and I think every one should belong. I have been a member of St. Paul's
A.M.E. church here in Canton for 54 years. Yesterday (Sunday, August 15,
1937) our church celebrated by burning the mortgage. As I was the oldest
member I was one of the three who lit it, the other two are the only
living charter members. My church friends made me a present yesterday of
$100.00 which was a birthday gift. I was 90 years old the 25th of last
month."
Hall resides at 1225 High Ave., S.W., Canton, Ohio.
Miriam Logan
Lebanon, Ohio
MRS. CELIA HENDERSON, aged 88.
Born Hardin County, Kentucky in 1849
(drawing of Celia Henderson) [TR: no drawing found]
"Mah mammy were Julia Dittoe, an pappy, he were name Willis Dittoe. Dey
live at Louieville till mammy were sold fo' her marster's debt. She were
a powerful good cook, mammy were--an she were sol' fo to pay dat debt."
"She tuk us four chillen 'long wid her, an pappy an th' others staid
back in Louieville. Dey tuk us all on a boat de Big Ribber--evah heah ob
de big ribber? Mississippi its name--but we calls it de big ribber."
"_Natchez on de hill_--dats whaah de tuk us to. Nactchez-on-de-hill dis
side of N' Or'leans. Mammy she have eleven chillen. No 'em, don't
'member all dem names no mo'. No 'em, nevah see pappy no moah. Im
'member mammy cryin' goin' down on de boat, and us chillen a cryin' too,
but de place we got us was a nice place, nicer den what we left. Family
'o name of GROHAGEN it was dat got us. Yas'em dey was nice to mammy fo'
she was a fine cook, mammy wus. A fine cook!"
"Me? Go'Long! I ain't no sech cook as my mammy was. But mah boy, he were
a fine cook. I ain't nothin' of a cook. Yas'em, I cook fo Mis Gallagher,
an fo 4 o' de sheriffs here, up at de jail. But de fancy cookin' I ain't
much on, no'em I ain't. But mah boy an mammy now, dey was fine! Mah boy
cook at hotels and wealthy homes in Louieville 'til he died."
"Dey was cotton down dere in Natchez, but no tobacco like up here. No
'em, I nevah wuk in cotton fields. I he'p mammy tote water, hunt chips,
hunt pigs, get things outa de col' house. Dat way, I guess I went to wuk
when I wuz about 7 or 8 yeahs ol'. Chillen is sma't now, an dey hafto be
taught to wuk, but dem days us culled chillen wuk; an we had a good time
wukin' fo dey wernt no shows, no playthings lak dey have now to takey up
day time, no'em."
"Nevah no church fo' culled people does I 'member in Natchez. One time
dey was a drouth, an de water we hauls from way ovah to de rivah. Now
dat wuz down right wuk, a haulin dat water. Dey wuz an ol' man, he were
powerful in prayer, an gather de darkies unda a big tree, an we all
kneels down whilse he pray fo de po' beastes what needs good clean water
fo to drink. Dat wuz a putty sight, dat church meetin' under de big
tree. I alus member dat, an how, dat day he foun a spring wid he ol'
cane, jes' like a miracle after prayer. It were a putty sight to see mah
cows an all de cattle a trottin' fo dat water. De mens dey dug out a
round pond fo' de water to run up into outa de spring, an it wuz good
watah dat wudn't make de beastes sick, an we-all was sho' happy.'"
"Yes'em, I'se de only one of mammy's chillen livin'. She had 11 chillen.
Mah gran'na on pappy's side, she live to be one hundred an ten yeah's
ol' powerful ol' ev'y body say, an she were part Indian, gran'ma were,
an dat made her live to be ol'.
"Me? I had two husband an three chillen. Mah firs' husban die an lef' me
wid three little chillens, an mah secon' husban', he die 'bout six yeahs
ago. Ah cum heah to Lebanon about forty yeahs ago, because mah mammy
were heah, an she wanted me to come. When ah wuz little, we live nine
yeahs in Natchez on de hill. Den when de wah were ovah Mammy she want to
go back to Louieville fo her folks wuz all theah. Ah live in Louieville
til ah cum to Lebanon. All ah 'members bout de close o'de wah, wuz dat
white folks wuz broke up an po' down dere at Natchez; and de fus time ah
hears de EMANICAPTION read out dey was a lot o' prancin 'roun, an a big
time."
"Ah seen soldiers in blue down there in Natchez on de hill, oncet ah
seen dem cumin down de road when ah were drivin mah cows up de road. Ah
wuz scared sho, an' ah hid in de bushes side o' de road til dey went by,
don' member dat mah cows was much scared though." Mammy say 'bettah hide
when you sees sojers a-marchin by, so dat time a whole line o dem cum
along and I hide."
"Down dere mammy done her cookin' outa doors, wid a big oven. Yo gits yo
fiah goin' jes so under de oven, den you shovels some fiah up on top de
oven fo to get you bakin jes right. Dey wuz big black kettles wid hooks
an dey run up an down like on pulleys ovah de oven stove. Den dere wuz
de col'house. No 'lectric ice box lak now, but a house under groun'
wheah things wuz kept jest as col' as a ice box. No'em don't 'member jes
how it were fix inside."
"Yas'em we comes back to Louieville. Yes'em mah chillen goes to school,
lak ah nevah did. Culled teachers in de culled school. Yes'em mah
chillen went far as dey could take 'em."
"Medicin? My ol' mammy were great fo herb doctorin' an I holds by dat
too a good deal, yas'em. Now-a-days you gets a rusty nail in yo foot an
has lockjaw. But ah member mammy--she put soot mix wid bacon fryin's on
mah foot when ah run a big nail inter it, an mah foot get well as nice!"
"Long time ago ah cum heah to see mammy, Ah got a terrible misery. Ah
wuz asleep a dreamin bout it, an a sayin, "Mammy yo reckon axel grease
goin' to he'p it?" Den ah wake up an go to her wheahs she's sleepin an
say it.
"What fo axel grease gointo hep?--an I tol her, an she say:--
"Axel grease put on hot, wid red flannel goin'to tak it away chile."
Ah were an ol' woman mahse'f den--bout fifty, but mammy she climb outa
bed an go out in de yard where deys an ol' wagon, an she scrapes dat
axel off, an heat it up an put it on wid red flannel. Den ah got easy!
Ah sho was thankful when dat grease an flannel got to wukin on me!
"You try it sometime when you gets one o' dem col' miseries in de winter
time. But go 'long! Folks is too sma't nowadays to use dem good ol'
medicines. Dey jes' calls de Doctor an he come an cut 'em wide open fo
de 'pendycitus--he sho do! Yas'em ah has de doctor, ef ah needs him. Ah
has de rheumatism, no pain--ah jes gets stiffer, an' stiffer right
along."
Mah sight sho am poor now. Ah cain't wuk no mo. Ah done ironin aftah ah
quit cookin--washin an ironin, ah likes a nice wash an iron the bes fo
wuk. But lasyear mah eyes done give out on me, an dey tell me not to
worry dey gointo give me a pension. De man goes to a heap o' wuk to get
dem papers fix jes right."
"Yes 'em, I'se de on'y one o' mammy's chillen livin. Mah, gran'ma on
pappy's side, she live to be one hundred and ten yeah's ol--powerful ol
eve'ybody say. She were part Indian, gran' ma were, an dat made her to
be ol."
"Yes'em, mos' I evah earn were five dollars a week. Ah gets twenty
dollars now, an pays eight dollars fo rent. We is got no mo'--ah
figgers--a wukin fo ourself den what we'd have wuz we slaves, fo dey
gives you a log house, an clothes, an yo eats all yo want to, an when
you _buys_ things, maybe you doesn't make enough to git you what you
needs, wukin sun-up to sun down. No' em 'course ah isn't wukin _now_
when you gits be de hour--wukin people does now; but ah don't know
nothin 'but that way o'doin."
"We weahs cotton cloths when ah were young, jes plain weave it were; no
collar nor cuffs, n' belt like store clothes. Den men's jes have a kinda
clothes like ... well, like a chemise, den some pantaloons wid a string
run through at de knees. Bare feet--yes'em, no shoes. Nevah need no coat
down to Natchez, no'em."
"When we comes back to Louieville on de boat, we sleeps in de straw on
de flo' o' de boat. It gits colder 'n colder! Come big chunks ol ice
down de river. De sky am dark, an hit col' an spit snow. Ah wish ah were
back dere in Natchez dat time after de war were ovah! Yes'em, ah members
dat much."
"Ah wuk along wid mammy til ah were married, den ah gits on by mahsef.
Manny she come heah to Lebanon wid de Suttons--she married Sam. Sutton's
pappy. Yes 'em dey wuz about 12 o'de fambly cum heah, an ah come to see
mammy,... den ah gits me wuk, an ah stays.
"Cookin'? Yes'em, way meat is so high now, ah likes groundhog. Ground
hog is good eatin. A peddler was by wid groun' hog fo ten cents apiece.
Ground hog is good as fried chicken any day. You cleans de hog, an boils
it in salt water til its tender. Den you makes flour gravy, puts it on
after de water am drain off; you puts it in de oven wif de lid on an
bakes hit a nice brown. No 'em, don' like fish so well, nor coon, nor
possum, dey is too greasy. Likes chicken, groundhog an pork." Wid de
wild meat you wants plain boiled potatoes, yes'em Irish potatoes, sho
enough, ah heard o' eatin skunk, and muskrat, but ah ain't cookin em.
But ah tells you dat groun' hog is _good eatin_.
"Ah were Baptized by a white minister in Louieville, an' ah been a
Baptist fo' sixty yeahs now. Yes'em dey is plenty o' colored churches in
Louisville now, but when I were young, de white folks has to see to it
dat we is Baptised an knows Bible verses an' hymns. Dere want no smart
culled preachers like Reverend Williams ... an dey ain't so many now."
"Up to Xenia is de culled school, an dey is mo's smart culled folks, ol'
ones too--dat could give you-all a real story if you finds dem. But me,
ah cain't read, nor write, and don't member's nuthin fo de War no good."
Celia is very black as to complexion; tall spare; has small grey eyes.
In three long interviews she has tried very hard to remember for us from
her youth and back through the years; it seems to trouble her that she
cannot remember more. Samuel Sutton's father married her mother. Neither
she or Samuel had the kind of a story to tell that I was expecting to
hear from what little I know about colored people. I may have tried to
get them on the songs and amusements of their youth too often, but it
seems that most that they knew was work; did not sing or have a very
good time. Of course I thought they would say that slavery was terrible,
but was surprised there too. Colored people here are used to having
white people come for them to work as they have no telephones, and most
white people only hire colored help by the day or as needed. Celia and
Samuel, old age pensioners, were very apoligetic because they are no
longer able to work.
WPA in Ohio
Federal Writers' Project
Bishop & Isleman
Reporter: Bishop
[HW: Revised]
Topic: Ex-Slaves.
Jefferson County, District #5
July 6, 1937
GEORGE JACKSON
Ex-Slave, 79 years
I was born in Loudon County, Virginny, Feb. 6, 1858. My mother's name
was Betsy Jackson. My father's name was Henry Jackson. Dey were slaves
and was born right der in Loudon County. I had 16 brothers and sisters.
All of dem is dead. My brothers were Henry, Richard, Wesley, John and
me; Sisters were Annie, Marion, Sarah Jane, Elizabeth, Alice, Cecila and
Meryl. Der were three other chillun dat died when babies.
I can remember Henry pullin' me out of de fire. I've got scars on my leg
yet. He was sold out of de family to a man dat was Wesley McGuest.
Afterwards my brother was taken sick with small-pox and died.
We lived on a big plantation right close to Bloomfield, Virginny. I was
born in de storeroom close to massa's home. It was called de weavin'
room--place where dey weaved cotton and yarn. My bed was like a little
cradle bed and dey push it under de big bed at day time.
My grandfather died so my mother told me, when he was very old. My
grandmother died when se bout 96. She went blind fore she died. Dey were
all slaves.
My father was owned by John Butler and my grandmother was owned by Tommy
Humphries. Dey were both farmers. My massa joined de war. He was killed
right der where he lived.
When my father wanted to cum home he had to get a permit from his massa.
He would only cum home on Saturday. He worked on de next plantation
joinin' us. All us chillun and my mother belonged to Massa Humphries.
I worked in de garden, hoein' weeds and den I washed dishes in de
kitchen. I never got any money.
I eat fat pork, corn bread, black molasses and bad milk. The meat was
mostly boiled. I lived on fat meat and corn bread. I don't remember
eatin' rabbit, possum or fish.
De slaves on our plantation did not own der own garden. Dey ate
vegetables out of de big garden.
In hot weather I wore gean pants and shirt. De pants were red color and
shirt white. I wore heavy woolen clothes in de winter. I wore little
britches wid jacket fastened on. I went barefooted in de summer.
De mistress scold and beat me when I was pullin' weeds. Sometimes I
pulled a cabbage stead of weed. She would jump me and beat me. I can
remember cryin'. She told me she had to learn me to be careful. I
remember the massa when he went to war. He was a picket in an apple
tree. A Yankee soldier spied and shot him out of de tree.
I remember Miss Ledig Humphries. She was a pretty girl and she had a
sister Susie. She married a Mr. Chamlain who was overseer. Der were
Robert and Herbert Humphries. Dey were older dan me. Robert wuz about 15
years old when de war surrender.
De one that married Susie was de overseer. He was pretty rough. I don't
remember any white neighbors round at dat time.
Der were 450 acres of de plantation. I can't remember all de slaves. I
know der were 80, odd slaves.
Lots of mornings I would go out hours fore daylight and when it was cold
my feet would 'most freeze. They all knew dey had to get up in de
mornin'. De slaves all worked hard and late at night.
I heerd some say that the overseer would take dem to de barn. I remember
Tom Lewis. Then his massa sold him to our massa he told him not to let
the overseer whip him. The overseer said he would whip him. One day Tom
did something wrong. The overseer ordered him to de barn. Tom took his
shirt off to get ready for de whippin' and when de overseer raised de
whip Tom gave him one lick wid his fist and broke de overseer's neck.
Den de massa sold Tom to a man by de name of Joseph Fletcher. He stayed
with old man Fletcher til he died.
Fore de slaves were sold dey were put in a cell place til next day when
dey would be sold. Uncle Marshall and Douglas were sold and I remember
dem handcuffed but I never saw dem on de auction block.
I never knew nothin' bout de Bible til after I was free. I went to
school bout three months. I was 19 or 20 years old den.
My uncle Bill heard dey were goin' to sell him and he run away. He went
north and cum back after de surrender. He died in Bluemont, Virginny,
bout four years ago.
After de days work dey would have banjo pickin', singin' and dancin'.
Dey work all day Saturday and Saturday night those dat had wives to see
would go to see dem. On Sunday de would sit around.
When Massa was shot my mother and dem was cryin'.
When Slaves were sick one of the mammies would look after dem and dey
would call de doctor if she couldn't fix de sick.
I remember de big battle dey fought for four days on de plantation. That
was de battle of Bull Run. I heard shootin' and saw soldiers shot down.
It was one of de worst fights of de war. It was right between Blue Ridge
and Bull Run mountain. De smoke from de shootin' was just like a fog. I
saw horses and men runnin' to de fight and men shot off de horses. I
heard de cannon roar and saw de locust tree cut off in de yard. Some of
de bullets smashed de house. De apple tree where my massa was shot from
was in de orchard not far from de house.
De Union Soldiers won de battle and dey camped right by de house. Dey
helped demselves to de chickens and cut their heads off wid their
swords. Dey broke into de cellar and took wine and preserves.
After de war I worked in de cornfield. Dey pay my mother for me in food
and clothes. But dey paid my mother money for workin' in de kitchen.
De slaves were awful glad bout de surrender.
De Klu Klux Klan, we called dem de paroles, dey would run de colored
people, who were out late, back home. I know no school or church or land
for negroes. I married in Farguar [HW: Farquhar] Co., state of Virginny,
in de county seat. Dat was in 1883. I was married by a Methodist
preacher in Leesburg. I did not get drunk, but had plenty to drink. We
had singin' and music. My sister was a religious woman and would not
allow dancin'.
I have fourteen chillun. Four boys are livin' and two girls. All are
married. George, my oldest boy graduated from grade school and de next
boy. I have 24 grandchillun and one great grandson. John, my son is
sickly and not able to work and my daughter, Mamie has nine chillun to
support. Her husband doesn't have steady work.
The grandchillun are doin' pretty well.
I think Abraham Lincoln was a fine man. It was put in his mind to free
de colored people. Booker T. Washington was alright.
Henry Logan, a colored man that lives near Bridgeport, Ohio is a great
man. He is a deacon in de Mt. Zion Baptist church. He is a plasterer and
liked by de colored and white people.
I think it wuz a fine thing that slavery was finished. I don't have a
thing more than my chillun and dey are all poor. (A grandchild nearby
said, "We are as poor as church mice".) My chillun are my best friends
and dey love me.
I first joined church at Upperville, Virginny. I was buried under de
water. I feel dat everybody should have religion. Dey get on better in
dis life, and not only in dis life but in de life to cum.
My overseer wuz just a plain man. He wasn't hard. I worked for him since
the surrender and since I been a man. I was down home bout six yares ago
and met de overseer's son and he took me and my wife around in his
automobile.
My wife died de ninth of last October (1936). I buried her in Week's
cemetery, near Bridgeport, Ohio. We have a family burial lot there. Dat
where I want to be buried, if I die around here.