ANNA PARKES, Age 86
150 Strong Street
Athens, Georgia
Written by:
Sarah H. Hall
Federal Writers' Project
Athens, Georgia
Edited by:
John N. Booth
District Supervisor
Federal Writers' Project
Residencies 6 & 7
Augusta, Georgia
Anna Parkes' bright eyes sparkled as she watched the crowd that thronged
the hallway outside the office where she awaited admittance. A trip to
the downtown section is a rare event in the life of an 86 year old
Negress, and, accompanied by her daughter, she was making the most of
this opportunity to see the world that lay so far from the door of the
little cottage where she lives on Strong Street. When asked if she liked
to talk of her childhood days before the end of the Civil War, she
eagerly replied: "'Deed, I does." She was evidently delighted to have
found someone who actually wanted to listen to her, and proudly
continued:
"Dem days sho' wuz sompin' to talk 'bout. I don't never git tired of
talkin' 'bout 'em. Paw, he wuz Olmstead Lumpkin, and Ma wuz Liza
Lumpkin, and us b'longed to Jedge Joe Henry Lumpkin. Us lived at de
Lumpkin home place on Prince Avenue. I wuz born de same week as Miss
Callie Cobb, and whilst I don't know z'ackly what day I wuz born, I kin
be purty sho' 'bout how many years ole I is by axin' how ole Miss Callie
is. Fust I 'members much 'bout is totin' de key basket 'round 'hind Ole
Miss when she give out de vittals. I never done a Gawd's speck of work
but dat. I jes' follered 'long atter Ole Miss wid 'er key basket.
"Did dey pay us any money? Lawsy, Lady! What for? Us didn't need no
money. Ole Marster and Ole Miss all time give us plenty good sompin'
teat, and clo'es, and dey let us sleep in a good cabin, but us did have
money now and den. A heap of times us had nickles and dimes. Dey had
lots of comp'ny at Ole Marster's, and us allus act mighty spry waitin'
on 'em, so dey would 'member us when dey lef'. Effen it wuz money dey
gimme, I jes' couldn't wait to run to de sto' and spend it for candy."
"What else did you buy with the money?", she was asked.
"Nuffin' else," was the quick reply. "All a piece of money meant to me
dem days, wuz candy, and den mo' candy. I never did git much candy as I
wanted when I wuz chillun."
Here her story took a rambling turn.
"You see I didn't have to save up for nuffin'. Ole Marster and Ole Miss,
dey took keer of us. Dey sho' wuz good white folkses, but den dey had to
be good white folkses, kaze Ole Marster, he wuz Jedge Lumpkin, and de
Jedge wuz bound to make evvybody do right, and he gwine do right his own
self 'fore he try to make udder folkses behave deyselvs. Ain't nobody,
nowhar, as good to dey Negroes as my white folkses wuz."
"Who taught you to say 'Negroes' so distinctly?" she was asked.
"Ole Marster," she promptly answered, "He 'splained dat us wuz not to be
'shamed of our race. He said us warn't no 'niggers'; he said us wuz
'Negroes', and he 'spected his Negroes to be de best Negroes in de whole
land.
"Old Marster had a big fine gyarden. His Negroes wukked it good, and us
wuz sho' proud of it. Us lived close in town, and all de Negroes on de
place wuz yard and house servants. Us didn't have no gyardens 'round our
cabins, kaze all of us et at de big house kitchen. Ole Miss had flowers
evvywhar 'round de big house, and she wuz all time givin' us some to
plant 'round de cabins.
"All de cookin' wuz done at de big house kitchen, and hit wuz a sho'
'nough big kitchen. Us had two boss cooks, and lots of helpers, and us
sho' had plenny of good sompin' teat. Dat's de Gawd's trufe, and I means
it. Heap of folkses been tryin' to git me to say us didn't have 'nough
teat and dat us never had nuffin' fittin' teat. But ole as I is, I cyan'
start tellin' no lies now. I gotter die fo' long, and I sho' wants to be
clean in de mouf and no stains or lies on my lips when I dies. Our
sompin' teat wuz a heap better'n what us got now. Us had plenny of
evvything right dar in de yard. Chickens, ducks, geese, guineas,
tukkeys, and de smoke'ouse full of good meat. Den de mens, dey wuz all
time goin' huntin', and fetchin' in wild tukkeys, an poddiges, and heaps
and lots of 'possums and rabbits. Us had many fishes as us wanted. De
big fine shads, and perch, and trouts; dem wuz de fishes de Jedge liked
mos'. Catfishes won't counted fittin' to set on de Jedges table, but us
Negroes wuz 'lowed to eat all of 'em us wanted. Catfishes mus' be mighty
skace now kaze I don't know when ever I is seed a good ole river catfish
a-flappin' his tail. Dey flaps dey tails atter you done kilt 'em, and
cleaned 'em, and drap 'em in de hot grease to fry. Sometimes dey nigh
knock de lid offen de fryin' pan.
"Ole Marster buyed Bill Finch down de country somewhar', and dey called
him 'William' at de big house. He wuz de tailor, and he made clo'es for
de young marsters. William wuz right smart, and one of his jobs wuz to
lock up all de vittals atter us done et much as us wanted. All of us had
plenny, but dey won't nuffin' wasted 'round Ole Marster's place.
"Ole Miss wuz young and pretty dem days, and Ole Marster won't no old
man den, but us had to call 'em 'Ole Miss,' and 'Ole Marster,' kaze dey
chilluns wuz called 'Young Marster' and 'Young Mistess' f'um de very day
dey wuz born."
When asked to describe the work assigned to little Negroes, she quickly
answered: "Chilluns didn't do nuffin'. Grownup Negroes done all de wuk.
All chilluns done wuz to frolic and play. I wuz jes' 'lowed ter tote de
key basket kaze I wuz all time hangin' 'round de big house, and wanted
so bad to stay close to my ma in de kitchen and to be nigh Ole Miss.
"What sort of clo'es did I wear in dem days? Why Lady, I had good
clo'es. Atter my little mistesses wore dey clo'es a little, Ole Miss
give 'em to me. Ma allus made me wear clean, fresh clo'es, and go
dressed up good all de time so I'd be fittin' to carry de key basket for
Ole Miss. Some of de udder slave chilluns had homemade shoes, but I
allus had good sto'-bought shoes what my young mistess done outgrowed,
or what some of de comp'ny gimme. Comp'ny what had chilluns 'bout my
size, gimme heaps of clo'es and shoes, and some times dey didn't look
like dey'd been wore none hardly.
"Ole Marster sho' had lots of Negroes 'round his place. Deir wuz Aunt
Charlotte, and Aunt Julie, and de two cooks, and Adeline, and Mary, and
Edie, and Jimmy. De mens wuz Charlie, and Floyd, and William, and
Daniel. I disremembers de res' of 'em.
"Ole Marster never whipped none of his Negroes, not dat I ever heared
of. He tole 'em what he wanted done, and give 'em plenny of time to do
it. Dey wuz allus skeert effen dey didn't be smart and do right, dey
might git sold to some marster dat would beat 'em, and be mean to 'em.
Us knowed dey won't many marsters as good to dey slaves as Ole Marster
wuz to us. Us would of most kilt ourself wukkin', fo' us would of give
him a reason to wanna git rid of us. No Ma'am, Ole Marster ain't never
sold no slave, not whilst I kin 'member. Us wuz allus skeert dat effen a
Negro git lazy and triflin' he might git sold.
"No Negro never runned away f'um our place. Us didn't have nuffin' to
run f'um, and nowhar to run to. Us heared of patterollers but us won't
'fraid none kaze us knowed won't no patteroller gwine tech none of Jedge
Lumpkin's Negroes.
"Us had our own Negro church. I b'lieves dey calls it Foundry Street
whar de ole church wuz. Us had meetin' evvy Sunday. Sometimes white
preachers, and sometimes Negro preachers done de preachin'. Us didn't
have no orgin or pianny in church den. De preacher hysted de hymns. No
Ma'am, I cyan' 'member no songs us sung den dat wuz no diffunt f'um de
songs now-a-days, 'ceppen' dey got orgin music wid de singin' now. Us
had c'lections evvy Sunday in church den, same as now. Ole Marster give
us a little change for c'lection on Sunday mawnin' kaze us didn't have
no money of our own, and he knowed how big it made us feel ter drap
money in de c'lection plate. Us Meferdis had our baptizin's right dar in
de church, same as us does now. And 'vival meetin's. Dey jes' broke out
any time. Out on de plantations dey jes' had 'vival meetin's in
layin'-by times, but here in town us had 'em all durin' de year. Ole
Marster used ter say: 'Mo' 'vivals, better Negroes.'
"Evvybody oughter be good and jine de church, but dey sho' oughtn't to
jine effen dey still gwine to act like Satan.
"Us chillun would git up long 'fore day Chris'mas mawnin'. Us used ter
hang our stockin's over de fire place, but when Chris'mas mawnin' come
dey wuz so full, hit would of busted 'em to hang 'em up on a nail, so
dey wuz allus layin' on Ma's cheer when us waked up. Us chillun won't
'lowed to go 'round de big house early on Chris'mas mawnin' kaze us
mought 'sturb our white folkses' rest, and den dey done already seed dat
us got plenny Santa Claus in our own cabins. Us didn't know nuffin'
'bout New Years Day when I wuz chillun.
"When any of his Negroes died Ole Marster wuz mighty extra good. He give
plenny of time for a fun'ral sermon in de afternoon. Most of da fun'rals
wuz in de yard under de trees by de cabins. Atter de sermon, us would go
'crost de hill to de Negro buyin' ground, not far f'um whar our white
folkses wuz buried.
"Us never bothered none 'bout Booker Washin'ton, or Mister Lincum, or
none of dem folkses 'way off dar kaze us had our raisin' f'um de
Lumpkins and dey's de bes' folkses dey is anywhar'. Won't no Mister
Lincum or no Booker Washin'ton gwine to help us like Ole Marster and us
knowed dat good and plenny.
"I cyan' 'member much 'bout playin' no special games 'ceppin' 'Ole
Hundud.' Us would choose one, and dat one would hide his face agin' a
tree whilst he counted to a hundud. Den he would hunt for all de others.
Dey done been hidin' whilst he wuz countin'. Us larned to count
a-playin' 'Ole Hundud'.
"No Ma'am, us never went to no school 'til atter de War. Den I went some
at night. I wukked in de day time atter freedom come. My eyes bothered
me so I didn't go to school much.
"Yes Ma'am, dey took mighty good care of us effen us got sick. Ole
Marster would call in Doctor Moore or Doctor Carleton and have us looked
atter. De 'omans had extra good care when dey chilluns comed. 'Til
freedom come, I wuz too little to know much 'bout dat myself, but Ma
allus said dat Negro 'omans and babies wuz looked atter better 'fore
freedom come dan dey ever wuz anymo'.
"Atter de War wuz over, a big passel of Yankee mens come to our big
house and stayed. Dey et and slept dar, and dey b'haved powerful nice
and perlite to all our white folkses, and dey ain't bother Jedge
Lumpkin's servants none. But den evvybody allus b'haved 'round Jedge
Lumpkin's place. Ain't nobody gwine to be brash 'nough to do no
devilment 'round a Jedges place.
"Hit was long atter de War 'fo' I married. I cyan' 'member nuffin' 'bout
my weddin' dress. 'Pears like to me I been married mos' all of my life.
Us jes' went to de preacher man's house and got married. Us had eight
chillun, but dey is all dead now 'ceppin' two; one son wukkin' way off
f'um here, and my daughter in Athens.
"I knows I wuz fixed a heap better fo' de War, than I is now, but I sho'
don't want no slav'ry to come back. It would be fine effen evvy Negro
had a marster like Jedge Lumpkin, but dey won't all dat sort."
Anna leaned heavily on her cane as she answered the knock on the front
door when we visited her home. "Come in," she invited, and led the way
through her scrupulously tidy house to the back porch.
"De sun feels good," she said, "and it sorter helps my rheumatiz. My
rheumatiz been awful bad lately. I loves to set here whar I kin see dat
my ole hen and little chickens don't git in no mischief." A small bucket
containing chicken food was conveniently at hand, so she could scatter
it on the ground to call her chickens away from depredations on the
flowers. A little mouse made frequent excursions into the bucket and
helped himself to the cracked grains in the chicken food. "Don't mind
him," she admonished, "he jes' plays 'round my cheer all day, and don't
bother nuffin'."
"You didn't tell anything about your brothers and sisters when you
talked to me before," her visitor remarked.
"Well, I jes' couldn't 'member all at onct, but atter I got back home
and rested up, I sot here and talked ter myself 'bout old times. My
brudder Charles wuz de coachman what drove Ole Marster's carriage, and
anudder brudder wuz Willie, and one wuz Floyd. My sisters wuz Jane and
Harriet. 'Pears like to me dey wuz more of 'em, but some how I jes'
cyan' 'member no more 'bout 'em. My husband wuz Grant Parkes and he tuk
care of de gyardens and yards for de Lumpkins.
"I had one chile named Caline, for Ole Miss. She died a baby. My
daughter Fannie done died long time ago, and my daughter Liza, she wuks
for a granddaughter of Ole Miss. I means, Liza wuks for Mister Eddie
Lumpkin's daughter. I done plum clear forgot who Mister Eddie's daughter
married.
"I jes' cyan' recollec' whar my boy, Floyd, stays. You oughter know,
Lady, hits de town whar de President lives. Yes Ma'am, Washin'ton, dats
de place whar my Floyd is. I got one more son, but I done plum forgot
his name, and whar he wuz las' time I heared f'um him. I don't know if
he's livin' or dead. It sho' is bad to git so old you cyan' tell de
names of yo' chilluns straight off widout havin' to stop and study, and
den you cyan' allus 'member.
"I done been studyin' 'bout da war times, and I 'members dat Ole Marster
wuz mighty troubled 'bout his Negroes when he heared a big crowd of
Yankee sojers wuz comin' to Athens. Folkses done been sayin' de Yankees
would pick out de bes' Negroes and take 'em 'way wid 'em, and dere wuz a
heap of talk 'bout de scandlous way dem Yankee sojers been treatin'
Negro 'omans and gals. 'Fore dey got here, Ole Marster sent mos' of his
bes' Negroes to Augusta to git 'em out of danger f'um de Fed'rals.
Howsome-ever de Negroes dat he kept wid' 'im won't bothered none, kaze
dem Fed'rals 'spected de Jedge and didn't do no harm 'round his place.
"In Augusta, I stayed on Greene Street wid a white lady named Mrs.
Broome. No Ma'am, I nebber done no wuk. I jes' played and frolicked, and
had a good time wid Mrs. Broome's babies. She sho' wuz good to me. Ma,
she wukked for a Negro 'oman named Mrs. Kemp, and lived in de house wid
her.
"Ole Marster sont for us atter de war wuz over, and us wuz mighty proud
to git back home. Times had done changed when us got back. Mos' of Ole
Marster's money wuz gone, and he couldn't take keer of so many Negroes,
so Ma moved over near de gun fact'ry and started takin' in washin'.
"De wust bother Negroes had dem days wuz findin' a place to live. Houses
had to be built for 'em, and dey won't no money to build 'em wid.
"One night, jes' atter I got in bed, some mens come walkin' right in
Ma's house widout knockin'. I jerked de kivver up over my head quick,
and tried to hide. One of de mens axed Ma who she wuz. Ma knowed his
voice, so she said: 'You knows me Mister Blank,' (she called him by his
sho' 'nuff name) 'I'm Liza Lumpkin, and you knows I used to b'long to
Jedge Lumpkin.' De udders jes' laughed at him and said: 'Boy, she knows
you, so you better not say nuffin' else.' Den anudder man axed Ma how
she wuz makin' a livin'. Ma knowed his voice too, and she called him by
name and tole him us wuz takin' in washin' and livin' all right. Dey
laughed at him too, and den anudder one axed her sompin' and she called
his name when she answered him too. Den de leader say, 'Boys, us better
git out of here. These here hoods and robes ain't doin' a bit of good
here. She knows ev'ry one of us and can tell our names.' Den dey went
out laughin' fit to kill, and dat wuz de onliest time de Ku Kluxers ever
wuz at our house, leastways us s'posed dey wuz Ku Kluxers.
"I don't 'member much 'bout no wuk atter freedom 'ceppin' de wash tub.
Maw larned me how to wash and iron. She said: 'Some day I'll be gone
f'um dis world, and you won't know nuffin' 'bout takin' keer of yo'self,
lessen you larn right now.' I wuz mighty proud when I could do up a
weeks washin' and take it back to my white folkses and git sho' 'nuff
money for my wuk. I felt like I wuz a grown 'oman den. It wuz in dis
same yard dat Ma larned me to wash. At fust Ma rented dis place. There
wuz another house here den. Us saved our washin' money and bought de
place, and dis is de last of three houses on dis spot. Evvy cent spent
on dis place wuz made by takin' in washin' and de most of it wuz made
washin' for Mister Eddie Lumpkin's family.
"Heaps of udder Negroes wuz smart like Ma, and dey got along all right.
Dese days de young folkses don't try so hard. Things comes lots easier
for 'em, and dey got lots better chances dan us had, but dey don't pay
no 'tention to nuffin' but spendin' all dey got, evvy day. Boys is
wuss'en gals. Long time ago I done give all I got to my daughter. She
takes keer of me. Effen de roof leaks, she has it looked atter. She wuks
and meks our livin'. I didn't want nobody to show up here atter I die
and take nuffin' away f'um her.
"I ain' never had no hard times. I allus been treated good and had a
good livin'. Course de rheumatiz done got me right bad, but I is still
able to git about and tend to de house while my gal is off at wuk. I
wanted to wash today, but I couldn't find no soap. My gal done hid de
soap, kaze she say I'se too old to do my own washin' and she wanter wash
my clo'es herse'f."
In parting, the old woman said rather apologetically, "I couldn't tell
you 'bout no sho' 'nuff hard times. Atter de War I wukked hard, but I
ain't never had no hard times".
[HW: Dist. 5
Ex-Slave #83]
"A TALK WITH
G.W. PATTILLO--EX-SLAVE"
[HW: age 78]
Submitted by
Minnie B. Ross
Typed by:
J.C. Russell
1-22-37
[Date Stamp: MAY 8 1937]
[TR: In Informants List, G.W. Pattillio]
In the shelter provided by the Department of Public Welfare, lives an
old Negro, G.W. Pattillo, who was born in Spaulding County, Griffin,
Ga., in the year 1852. His parents, Harriett and Jake Pattillo, had
twelve children, of whom he was the second youngest. Their master was
Mr. T.J. Ingram. However, they kept the name of their old master, Mr.
Pattillo.
Master Ingram, as he was affectionately called by his slaves, was
considered a "middle class man," who owned 100 acres of land, with one
family of slaves, and was more of a truck farmer than a plantation
owner. He raised enough cotton to supply the needs of his family and his
slaves and enough cattle to furnish food, but his main crops were corn,
wheat, potatoes and truck.
With a few slaves and a small farm, Master Ingram was very lenient and
kind to his slaves and usually worked with them in the fields. "We had
no special time to begin or end the work for the day. If he got tired he
would say, 'Alright, boys, let's stop and rest,' and sometimes we didn't
start working until late in the day."
Pattillo's mother was cook and general house servant, so well thought of
by the Ingram family that she managed the house as she saw fit and
planned the meals likewise. Young Pattillo was considered a pet by
everyone and hung around the mistress, since she did not have any
children of her own. His job was to hand her the scissors and thread her
needles. "I was her special pet," said Pattillo, "and my youngest
brother was the master's special pet." Mr. and Mrs. Ingram never
punished the children, nor allowed anyone but their parents to do so.
If the boy became unruly, Mrs. Ingram would call his mother and say,
"Harriett, I think G.W. needs to be taken down a button hole lower."
The master's house, called the "Big House," was a two-story frame
structure consisting of 10 rooms. Although not a mansion, it was fairly
comfortable. The home provided for Pattillo's family was a three-room
frame house furnished comfortably with good home-made furniture.
Pattillo declared that he had never seen anyone on the Ingram Plantation
punished by the owner, who never allowed the "paterrollers" to punish
them either.
Master Ingram placed signs at different points on his plantation which
read thus: "Paterrollers, Fishing and Hunting Prohibited on this
Plantation." It soon became known by all that the Ingram slaves were not
given passes by their owner to go any place, consequently they were
known as "Old Ingram's Free Niggers."
Master Ingram could not write, but would tell his slaves to inform
anyone who wished to know, that they belonged to J.D. Ingram. "Once,"
said Pattillo, "my brother Willis, who was known for his gambling and
drinking, left our plantation and no one knew where he had gone. As we
sat around a big open fire cracking walnuts, Willis came up, jumped
off his horse and fell to the ground. Directly behind him rode a
'paterroller.' The master jumped up and commanded him to turn around and
leave his premises. The 'Paterroller' ignored his warning and advanced
still further. The master then took his rifle and shot him. He fell to
the ground dead and Master Ingram said to his wife, 'Well, Lucy, I guess
the next time I speak to that scoundrel he will take heed.' The master
then saddled his horse and rode into town. Very soon a wagon came back
and moved the body."
The cotton raised was woven into cloth from which their clothing was
made. "We had plenty of good clothing and food," Pattillo continued.
"The smokehouse was never locked and we had free access to the whole
house. We never knew the meaning of a key."
Master Ingram was very strict about religion and attending Church. It
was customary for everyone to attend the 9 o'clock prayer services at
his home every night. The Bible was read by the mistress, after which
the master would conduct prayer. Children as well as grownups were
expected to attend. On Sundays, everybody attended church. Separate
Churches were provided for the Negroes, with White and Colored preachers
conducting the services. White Deacons were also the Deacons of the
Colored Churches and a colored man was never appointed deacon of a
Church. Only white ministers were priviliged to give the sacrament and
do the baptizing. Their sermons were of a strictly religious nature.
When a preacher was unable to read, someone was appointed to read the
text. The preacher would then build his sermon from it. Of course,
during the conference period, colored as well as white ministers were
privileged to make the appointments. The Negroes never took up
collections but placed their money in an envelope and passed it in. It
was their own money, earned with the master's consent, by selling
apples, eggs, chickens, etc.
Concerning marriages, Pattillo believes in marriages as they were in the
olden days. "Ef two people felt they wuz made for each other, they wuz
united within themselves when they done git the master's 'greement, then
live together as man and wife, an' that was all. Now, you got to buy a
license and pay the preacher."
Loss of life among slaves was a calamity and if a doctor earned a
reputation for losing his patients, he might as well seek a new
community. Often his downfall would begin by some such comment as, "Dr.
Brown lost old man Ingram's nigger John. He's no good and I don't intend
to use him." The value of slaves varied, from $500 to $10,000, depending
on his or her special qualifications. Tradesmen such as blacksmiths,
shoe makers, carpenters, etc., were seldom sold under $10,000. Rather
than sell a tradesman slave, owners kept them in order to make money by
hiring them out to other owners for a set sum per season. However,
before the deal was closed the lessee would have to sign a contract
which assured the slave's owner that the slave would receive the best of
treatment while in possession.
Pattillo remembers hearing his parents say the North and South had
disagreed and Abraham Lincoln was going to free the slaves. Although he
never saw a battle fought, there were days when he sat and watched the
long line of soldiers passing, miles and miles of them. Master Ingram
did not enlist but remained at home to take care of his family and his
possessions.
After the war ended, Master Ingram called his slaves together and told
them of their freedom, saying, "Mr. Lincoln whipped the South and we are
going back to the Union. You are as free as I am and if you wish to
remain here you may. If not, you may go any place you wish. I am not
rich but we can work together here for both our families, sharing
everything we raise equally." Pattillo's family remained there until
1870. Some owners kept their slaves in ignorance of their freedom.
Others were kind enough to offer them homes and help them to get a
start.
After emancipation, politics began to play a part in the lives of
ex-slaves, and many were approached by candidates who wanted to buy
their votes. Pattillo tells of an old ex-slave owner named Greeley
living in Upson County who bought an ex-slaves vote by giving him as
payment a ham, a sack of flour and a place to stay on his plantation.
After election, he ordered the ex-slave to get the wagon, load it with
his possessions and move away from his plantation. Astonished, the old
Negro asked why. "Because," replied old Greeley, "If you allow anyone to
buy your vote and rob you of your rights as a free citizen, someone
could hire you to set my house on fire."
Pattillo remebers slavery gratefully and says he almost wishes these
days were back again.