Owns two houses in among white people.
Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson
Person interviewed: William Gant
Forrest City, Arkansas
Age: 101
"I was one hundred and one years old last Saturday (1938). I was born in
Bedford County, middle Tennessee. My parents' names was Judy and Abraham
Gant. They had the same master. They had three boys and two girls. Our
owners was Jim Gant and Elizabeth Gant. Ma had seven children, four gals
and three boys. We called her Miss Betsy. Jim Gant owned seven hundred
acres of good land in one body and some more land summers else. My young
masters and mistresses was: Malindy, Jennie, Betsy, Mary, Jim, John,
Andy. They had twenty-five or thirty slaves I knowed. He was pretty good
to his slaves. He didn't whoop much. Give 'em three or four licks. He
fed 'em all well. We had warm clothes in winter.
"I never seen nobody sold. My brothers and sisters was divided out. Miss
Betsy was my young mistress. I could go to see all my folks. I never
seen no hard times in my life. I had to work or be called lazy. I loved
to work. I been in the field when the sun come up and got part my
ploughing done. Go back to the house and eat and feed my mule, rest
around in the shade. Folks didn't used to dread work so bad like they do
now. I lay down and rest in the heat of the day. They had big shade
trees for us niggers to rest under, eat under, spring water to drink.
I'd plough till smack dark I couldn't see to get to the barn. We had
lighted knots to feed by. The feed be in the troughs and water in the
big trough in the lot ready. My supper would be hot too. It would be all
I could eat too. Yes, I'd be tired but I could sleep till next morning.
"We had big todoos along over the country. White and black could go
sometimes. Picnics and preachings mostly what I went to. Sometimes it
was to a house covering, a corn shucking, a corn shelling, or log
rolling. We went on hunts at night some.
"Sassy (saucy) Negroes got the most licks. I never was sassy. I never
got but a mighty few licks from nobody. We was slaves and that is about
all to say.
"I learned to fiddle after the fiddler on the place. Uncle Jim was the
fiddler. Andy Jackson, a white boy, raised him. He learned him to read
and write in slavery. After slavery I went to learn from a Negro man at
night. I learned a little bit. My master wouldn't cared if we had
learned to read and write but the white folks had tuition school. Some
had a teacher hired to teach a few of them about. I could learned if I'd
had or been 'round somebody knowed something. He read to us some. He
read places in his Bible. Anything we have and ask him. We didn't have
books and papers. I loved to play my fiddle, call figures, and tell
every one what to do. I didn't take stock in reading and writing after
the War.
"My parents had the name of being a good set of Negroes. She was raised
by folks named Morrow and pa by folks named Strahorn. When ma was a
little gal the Morrows brought her to Tennessee. My parents both raised
in South Carolina by the Morrows and Strahorns. I was twenty years old
in the War.
"They had a big battle seven or eight miles from our homes. It started
at daylight Sunday morning and lasted till Monday evening. I think it
was Bragg and Buel. The North whooped. It was a roar and shake and we
could hear the big guns plain. It was in Hardin County close to
Savannah, Tennessee. It was times to be scared. We was all distressed.
"My master died, left her a widow.
"We farmed, made thirty or forty acres of wheat, seventy-five acres of
oats, some rye. I pulled fodder all day and take it down at night while
the dew would keep it in the bundle. Haul it up. We was divided out when
the War was on.
"Somebody killed Master Jim Gant. He was murdered in his own house. They
never did know who done it. They had two boys at home. One went
visiting. They knocked her and the boy senseless. It was at night. They
was all knocked in the head.
"Will Strahorn owned my wife. He was tolerable good to his Negroes.
Edmond Gant was a black preacher in slavery. He married us. He married
us in white folks' yard. They come out and looked at us marry. I had to
ask my master and had to go ask for her then. Our children was to be
Strahorn by name. Will would own them 'cause my wife belong to him. My
first wife had five girls and three boys. My wife died. I left both my
two last wives. I never had no more children but them eight.
"Freedom--my young master come riding up behind us. We was going in
dragging our ploughs. He told us it was freedom. The Yankees took
everything. We went to Murray County to get my horse. I went off the
next day. The Yankees stayed in Lawrence County. The Yankees burnt Tom
Greenfield out. Tom and Jim had joining farms. They took everything he
had. Took his darkies all but two girls. He left. Jim was good and they
never went 'bout him. Jim stayed at home. I went over there. He put me
on his brother's place.
"I come to Arkansas by train. I come to Jackson, Tennessee, then to
Forrest City, brought my famlee. My baby child is grown and married.
"The Ku Klux never bothered me. It was a mighty little I ever seen of
them.
"I never have had a hard time. I have worked hard. I been ploughing,
hoeing, cradling grain, picking cotton all my life. I love to plough and
cradle grain. I love to work.
"There is a big difference now and the way I was raised up. They used to
be whooped and made mind. They learned how to work. Now the times run
away from the people. They used to buy what they couldn't raise in
barrels. Now they buy it in little dabs. I ain't used to it. White folks
do as they pleases and the darkies do as they can. Everybody greedy as
he can be it seem like to me. Laziness coming on more and more every
year as they grow up. I ain't got a lazy bone in me. I'm serving and
praising my Lord every day, getting ready to go over in the next
world."
JAN 14 1938
Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson
Person interviewed: Mike Genes
Holly Grove, Ark.
Age: 72
"I heard folks talk is all I know bout slavery. I was born in Arkansas.
My mother was Sara Jane Whitley. My father was ____ Genes. My mother
came here from Tennessee wid Henderson Sanders. I was raised on the
Duncan place. My mother raised us a heap like old times. I got fire
tongs now she had. She made ash cakes and we had plenty milk. I got her
old pot hooks too. She cooked cracklin' bread in the winter and black
walnut bread the same way. We made palings and boards for the houses and
barns. Jes gradually we gittin' away from all that. Times is changing so
fast.
"I heard 'em say in slavery they got 'em up fore day and they worked all
day. Some didn't have much clothes. I can remember three men twisting
plow lines. They made plow lines.
"I vote if I have a chance, but I really don't care bout it. I don't
know how to keep up to vote like it ought to be.
"This young generation may change but if they don't they air a knock
out. They do jes anyway and everyway. They don't save and cain't save it
look like, way we got things now. Folks don't raise nothin' and have to
buy so much livin' is hard. Folks all doin fine long as the cotton is to
pick. This is two reconstructions I been through. Folks got used to
work after that other one and I guess they have to get used to work
this time till it get better. I don't know what causes this spell of
hard times after the wars."
#653
Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson
Person interviewed: Jennie Wormly Gibson
Biscoe, Arkansas
Age: 49
"Gran'ma was Phoebe West. Mama was Jennie West. Mama was a little girl
when the Civil War come on. She told how scared her uncle was. He didn't
want to go to war. When they would be coming if he know it or get
glimpse of the Yankee soldiers, he'd pick up my mama. She was a baby.
He'd run for a quarter of a mile to a great big tree down in the field
way back of the place off the road. He never had to go to war. Ma said
she was little but she was scared at the sight of them clothes they
wore. Mama's and grandma's owners lived at Vicksburg a lot of the time
but where that was at Washington County, Mississippi. They had lots of
slaves.
"Grandma was a midwife and doctored all the babies on the place. She
said they had a big room where they was and a old woman kept them. They
et milk for breakfast and buttermilk and clabber for supper. They always
had bread. For dinner they had meat boiled and one other thing like
cabbage, and the children got the pot-liquor. It was brought in a cart
and poured in wooden troughs. They had gourds to dip it out with. They
had gourds to drink their cool spring water with.
"Daylight would find the hands in the field at work. Grandma said they
had meat and bread and coffee till the war come on. They had to have a
regular meal to work on in the morning.
"Grandma said their something to eat got mighty slim in war times and
kept getting slimmer and slimmer. They had plenty sorghum all the time.
Them troughs was hewed out of a log and was washed and hung in the sun
till next mealtime. They cooked in iron pots and skillets on the fire.
Grandma worked where they put her but her main trade was seeing after
the sick on that place.
"They had a fiddler on the place and had big dances now and then.
"This young generation won't be advised no way you can fix it. I don't
know what in the world the folks is looking about. The folks ain't good
as they used to be. They shoots craps and drinks and does low-down
things all the time. I ain't got no time with the young generation.
Times gone to pieces pretty bad if you axing me."
#728
Interviewer: Watt McKinney
Person interviewed: James Gill
R.F.D. Marvell, Arkansas
Age: 86
Occupation: Farmer
"Uncle Jim" Gill, an ex-slave eighty-six years of age, owns a nice two
hundred acre farm five miles north of Marvell where he has lived for the
past thirty-five years. "Uncle Jim" is an excellent citizen, prosperous
and conservative and highly respected by both white and colored. This is
molasses making time in the South and I found "Uncle Jim" busily engaged
in superintending the process of cooking the extracted juice from a
large quantity of sorghum cane. The familiar type of horse-power mill in
which the cane is crushed was in full operation, a roaring fire was
blazing in the crudely constructed furnace beneath the long pan that
contained the furiously foaming, boiling juice and that "Uncle Jim"
informed me was "nigh 'bout done" and ready to drain off into the huge
black pot that stood by the side of the furnace. The purpose of my visit
was explained and "Uncle Jim" leaving the molasses making to some
younger Negro accompanied me to the shade of a large oak tree that stood
near-by and told me the following story:
"My ole mars, he was name Tom White and my young mars what claimed me,
he was name Jeff. Young mars an' me was just 'bout same age. Us played
together from time I fust riccolect till us left de ole home place back
in Alabama and lit out for over here in Arkansas.
"Ole mars, he owned a heap of niggers back dere where us all lived on de
big place but de lan', it was gittin' poor an' red and mought near wore
out; so ole mars, he 'quired a big lot of lan' here in Arkansas in
Phillips County, but you know it was all in de woods den 'bout fifteen
miles down de ribber from Helena and just thick wid canebrakes. So he
sont 'bout twenty famblies ober here end dats how us happened to come
'cause my pappy, he was a extra blacksmith and carpenter and ole mars
knowed he gwine to haf to hab him to 'sist in buildin' de houses and
sich like.
"Though I was just 'bout seben year ole den, howsomeever, I 'member it
well an' I sure did hate to leave de ole home where I was borned and I
didn' want leave Mars Jeff either and when Mars Jeff foun' it out 'bout
'em gwine take me he cut up awful and just went on, sayin' I his nigger
and wasn't gwine 'way off to Arkansas.
"Ole mars, he knowed my mammy and pappy, dey wasn't gwine be satisfied
widout all dere chillun wid 'em, so en course I was brung on too. You
see, ole mars and he fambly, dey didn' come and we was sont under de
oberseer what was name Jim Lynch and us come on de train to Memphis and
dat was when I got so skeered 'cause I hadn' nebber seen no train 'fore
den an' I just hollered an' cried an' went on so dat my mammy say if I
didn' hush up she gwine give me to de paddy rollers.
"Dey put us on de steamboat at Memphis and de nex' I 'member was us
gittin' off at de landin'. It was in de winter time 'bout las' of
January us git here and de han's was put right to work clearin' lan' and
buildin' cabins. It was sure rich lan' den, boss, and dey jus' slashed
de cane and deaden de timber and when cotton plantin' time come de cane
was layin' dere on de groun' crisp dry and day sot fire to it and burned
it off clean and den planted de crops.
"Ole mars, he would come from Alabama to see 'bout de bizness two an'
three times every year and on some of dem 'casions he would bring Mars
Jeff wid him and Mars Jeff, he allus nebber failed to hab somethin' for
me, candy and sich like, and dem times when Mars Jeff come was when we
had de fun. Us just run wild playin' and iffen it was in de summer time
we was in de bayou swimmin' or fishin' continual but all dem good times
ceasted atter a while when de War come and de Yankees started all dere
debbilment. Us was Confedrits all de while, leastwise I means my mammy
an' my pappy and me an' all de res' of de chillun 'cause ole mars was
and Mars Jeff would er fit 'em too and me wid him iffen we had been ole
enough.
"But de Yankees, dey didn' know dat we was Confedrits, dey jus' reckon
we like most all de res' of de niggers. Us was skeered of dem Yankees
though 'cause us chillun cose didn' know what dey was and de oberseer,
Jim Lynch, dey done tole us little uns dat a Yankee was somepin what had
one great big horn on he haid and just one eye and dat right in de
middle of he breast and, boss, I sure was s'prized when I seen a sure
'nough Yankee and see he was a man just like any er de res' of de folks.
"De war tore up things right sharp yit an' still it wasn't so bad here
in Arkansas as I hear folks tell it was back in de yolder states like
Tennessee, Alabama, and Georgia. De bes' I riccolect de Yankees come in
here 'bout July of de year and dey had a big scrap in Helena wid 'em and
us could hear de cannons fifteen miles off and den dey would make dere
trips out foragin' for stuff, corn and sich, and dey would take all de
cotton dey could fin', but our mens, dey would hide de cotton in de
thickets an' canebrakes iffen dey had time or either dey would burn it
up 'fore de Yankees come if dey could. I 'member one day we had on han'
'bout hundred bales at de gin and a white man come wid orders to de
oberseer to git rid of it, so dey started to haulin' it off to de woods
and dey hauled off 'bout fifty bales and den dey see dey wasn't goin' to
hab time to git de res' to de woods and den dey commenced cuttin' de
ties on de bales so dey could set fire to dem dat dey hadn' hid yit and
'bout dat time here come one of Mr. Tom Casteel's niggers just a flyin'
on a mule wid a letter to de white man. Mr. Tom Casteel, he had he place
just up de ribber from us, on de island, and when he gived de letter to
de man an de man read it, he said de Yankees is comin' and he lit out
for de ribber where de boat was waitin' for him and got 'way and dere
was all dat loose cotton on de groun' and us was skeered to sit fire to
de cotton den and 'bout dat time de Yankees arive and say don' you burn
dat cotton and dey looked all ober de place and find de bales dat was
hid in de woods and de nex' day dey come and haul it off and dey say us
niggers can hab dat what de ties been cut on and my mammy, she set to
work and likewise de odder women what de Yankees say can had de loose
cotton and tie up all dey can in bags and atter dat us sold it to de
Yankees in Helena for a dollar a poun' and dat was all de money us had
for a long time.
"How-some-ever us all lived good 'cause dere was heap of wild hogs an'
'possums and sich and we had hid a heap of corn and us did fine.
Sometimes de war boats, dey would pass on de ribber--dat is de Yankee
boats--and us would hide 'hind de trees and bushes and see dem pass. We
wouldn't let dem see us though 'cause we thought dey would shoot. Heap
en heap er times sojers would come by us place. When de Yankees ud come
dey would ax my mammy, 'Aunt Mary, is you seen any Se-cesh today?' and
mammy, she ud say 'Naw suh' eben iffen she had seen some of us mens, but
when our sojers ud come and say, 'Aunt Mary, is you seen ary Yankee
'round here recent?' she ud allus tell dem de truf. Dey was a bunch of
us sojers, dat is de Confedrits, what used to stay 'round in de
community constant, dat we knowed, but dey allus had to be on de dodge
'cause dere was so many more Yankees dan dem.
"Some of dese men I 'member good 'cause dey was us closest neighbors and
some of dem libed on 'j'ining places. Dere was Mr. Lum Shell, Mr. Tom
Stoneham, Mr. Bob Yabee, Mr. Henry Rabb and Mr. Tom Casteel. Dem I
'member well 'cause dey come to us cabin right of'en and mammy, she ud
cook for 'em and den atter de niggers git dey freedom dey could leave de
place any time dey choose and every so of'en mammy ud go to Helena and
gin'rally she took me wid her to help tote de things she get dere. Ole
Mr. Cooledge, he had de biggest and 'bout de onliest store dat dere was
in Helena at dat time. Mr. Cooledge, he was a ole like gentleman and had
everything most in he store--boots, shoes, tobacco, medicine en so on.
Cose couldn't no pusson go in an' outen Helena at dat time--dat is
durin' war days--outen dey had a pass and de Yankee sojer dat writ de
passes was named Buford en he is de one what us allus git our passes
from for to git in en out and 'twasn't so long 'fore Mr. Buford, he git
to know my mammy right well and call her by her name. He, just like all
de white mens, knowed her as 'Aunt Mary', but him nor none of de Yankees
knowed dat mammy was a Confedrit and dats somepin I will tell you, boss.
"Dese sojers dat I is just named and dat was us neighbors, dey ud come
to our cabin sometimes en say, 'Aunt Mary, we want you to go to Helena
for us and git some tobacco, and mebbe some medicine, and so on, and we
gwine write ole man Cooledge er note for you to take wid you'; and mammy,
she ud git off for town walking and ud git de note to ole man Cooledge.
Ole man Cooledge, you see, boss, he sided wid de Confedrites too but he
didn' let on dat he did but all de Confedrit sojers 'round dar in de
county, dey knowed dey could 'pend on him and when my mammy ud take de
note in ole man Cooledge, he ud fix mammy up in some of dem big, wide
hoop skirts and hide de things 'neath de skirts dat de men sont for. Den
she and sometimes me wid her, us would light out for home and cose we
allus had our pass and dey knowed us and we easy git by de pickets and
git home wid de goods for those sojer men what sont us.
"Speakin' from my own pussonal 'sperience, boss, de niggers was treated
good in slavery times, dat is dat was de case wid my mars' peoples. Our
mars wouldn't hab no mistreatment of his niggers but I'ze heered tell
dat some of de mars was pretty mean to dere niggers, but twasn't so wid
us 'cause us had good houses and plenty somepin to eat outen de same pot
what de white folks' victuals cooked in and de same victuals dat dey
had. You see dat ole kittle settin' ober dar by de lasses pan right now?
Well, I is et many a meal outen dat kittle in slavery times 'cause dat
is de very same kittle dat dey used to cook us victuals in when us
belonged to ole mars, Tom White, and lived on he place down on de
ribber. It was den, boss, just same wid white men as 'tis in dis day and
time. Dere is heap of good white folks now and dere is a heap of dem
what ain't so good. You know dat's so, boss, don't you?
"When de niggers been made free, de oberseer, he called all de peoples
up and he says, 'You all is free now and you can do like you please. You
can stay on here and make de crops ur you can leave which-some-ever you
want to do.' And wid dat de niggers, dat is most of dem, lef' like when
you leave de lot gate open where is a big litter of shotes and dey just
hit de road and commenced to ramble. Most of 'em, dey go on to Helena
and gits dey grub from de Yankees and stay dar till de Yankees lef'.
"But us, we stay on de place and some more, dey stay too and you know,
boss, some of dem niggers what belonged to old mars and what he was so
good to, dey stole mighty nigh all de mules and rode dem off and mars,
he never git he mules back. Naw suh, dat he didn'. De war, it broke ole
mars up and atter de surrender he jus' let he Arkansas farm go an'
never come back no more. Some of de older peoples, dey went back to
Alabama time er two and seen ole mars but I nebber did git to see him
since us was sot free. But Mars Jeff, he comed here all de way from de
home in Alabama way atter he was growed. It's been 'bout fifty year now
since de time he was here and I sure was proud to see him, dat I was,
boss, 'cause I sure did love Mars Jeff and I loves him yit to dis day
iffen he still lives and iffen he daid which I ain't never heered er
not, den I loves and 'spects he memory.
"Yas suh, boss, times is changed sure 'nough but like I 'splained 'bout
white folks and it's de same wid niggers, some is good and trys to lib
right en some don' keer and jus' turns loose en don' restrain demselves.
"You know, boss, dere is heaps of niggers wid white blood in 'em and dat
mess was started way back yonder I reckon 'fore I was ever borned.
Shucks, I knowed it was long afore den but it wasn't my kine er white
folks what 'sponsible for dat, it was de low class like some of de
oberseers and den some of de yother folks like for instance de furriners
what used to come in de country and work at jobs de mars ud give 'em to
do on the places like carpentrying an' sich. I knowed one bad case,
boss, dat happened right dere by us place and dat was de oberseer who
'sponsible for dat and he was de oberseer for a widow oman what lived in
Helena and dis white man runned de place an' he hab he nigger oman and
she de mama of 'bout six chillun by dis man I tellin' you 'bout, three
gals and three boys, and dem chillun nigh 'bout white and look just like
him and den he move off to some yother part of de county and he git
married dere to a white oman but he take he nigger fambly wid him just
de same and he built dem a house in de middle of de place he done bought
and he keep 'em dere eben though he done got him a white wife who he lib
wid also and, boss, since I done told you he name don't tell I said so
'cause de chillun, dey is livin' dere yet and some of dem is gettin' old
deyselves now but, boss, I don't 'spect I is tellin' you much you don't
already know 'bout dat bunch."
Interviewer: Beulah Sherwood Hagg
Person interviewed: Mrs. Cora Gillam
1023 Arch Street, Little Rock, Arkansas
Age: 86
[HW: [Scratching Pacified Master.]]
"I have never been entirely sure of my age. I have kept it since I was
married and they called me fifteen. That was in '66 or '67. Anyhow, I'm
about 86, and what difference does one year make, one way or another. I
lived with master and mistress in Greenville, Mississippi. They didn't
have children and kept me in the house with them all the time. Master
was always having a bad spell and take to his bed. It always made him
sick to hear that freedom was coming closer. He just couldn't stand to
hear about that. I always remember the day he died. It was the fall of
Vicksburg. When he took a spell, I had to stand by the bed and scratch
his head for him, and fan him with the other hand. He said that
scratching pacified him.
"No ma'am, oh no indeedy, my father was not a slave. Can't you tell by
me that he was white? My brother and one sister were free folks because
their white father claimed them. Brother was in college in Cincinnati
and sister was in Oberlin college. My father was Mr. McCarroll from
Ohio. He came to Mississippi to be overseer on the plantation of the
Warren family where my mother lived. My grandmother--on mother's side,
was full blood Cherokee. She came from North Carolina. In early days my
mother and her brothers and sisters were stolen from their home in North
Carolina and taken to Mississippi and sold for slaves. You know the
Indians could follow trails better than other kind of folks, and she
tracked her children down and stayed in the south. My mother was only
part Negro; so was her brother, my uncle Tom. He seemed all Indian. You
know, the Cherokees were peaceable Indians, until you got them mad. Then
they was the fiercest fighters of any tribes.
"Wait a minute, lady. I want to tell you first why I didn't get educated
up north like my white brother and sister. Just about time for me to be
born my papa went to see how they was getting along in school. He left
my education money with mama. He sure did want all his children
educated. I never saw my father. He died that trip. After awhile mama
married a colored man name Lee. He took my school money and put me in
the cotton patch. It was still during the war time when my white folks
moved to Arkansas; it was Desha county where they settle. Now I want to
tell you about my uncle Tom. Like I said, he was half Indian. But the
Negro part didn't show hardly any. There was something about uncle Tom
that made both white and black be afraid of him. His master was young,
like him. He was name Tom Johnson, too.
"You see, the Warrens, what own my mother, and the Johnsons, were all
sort of one family. Mistress Warren and Mistress Johnson were sisters,
and owned everything together. The Johnsons lived in Kentucky, but came
to Arkansas to farm. Master Tom taught his slaves to read. They say
uncle Tom was the best reader, white or black, for miles. That was what
got him in trouble. Slaves was not allowed to read. They didn't want
them to know that freedom was coming. No ma'am! Any time a crowd of
slaves gathered, overseers and bushwhackers come and chased them; broke
up the crowd. That Indian in uncle Tom made him not scared of anybody.
He had a newspaper with latest war news and gathered a crowd of slaves
to read them when peace was coming. White men say it done to get
uprising among slaves. A crowd of white gather and take uncle Tom to
jail. Twenty of them say they would beat him, each man, till they so
tired they can't lay on one more lick. If he still alive, then they hang
him. Wasn't that awful? Hang a man just because he could read? They had
him in jail overnight. His young master got wind of it, and went to save
his man. The Indian in uncle Tom rose. Strength--big extra strength
seemed to come to him. First man what opened that door, he leaped on him
and laid him out. No white men could stand against him in that Indian
fighting spirit. They was scared of him. He almost tore that jailhouse
down, lady. Yes he did. His young master took him that night, but next
day the white mob was after him and had him in jail. Then listen what
happened. The Yankees took Helena, and opened up the jails. Everybody so
scared they forgot all about hangings and things like that. Then uncle
Tom join the Union army; was in the 54th Regiment, U. S. volunteers
(colored) and went to Little Rock. My mama come up here. You see, so
many white folks loaned their slaves to the cessioners (Cecessionists)
to help build forts all over the state. Mama was needed to help cook.
They was building forts to protect Little Rock. Steele was coming. The
mistress was kind; she took care of me and my sister while mama was
gone.
"It was while she was in Little Rock that mama married Lee. After peace
they went back to Helena and stayed two years with old mistress. She let
them have the use of the farm tools and mules; she put up the cotton
and seed corn and food for us. She told us we could work on shares, half
and half. You see, ma'am, when slaves got free, they didn't have nothing
but their two hands to start out with. I never heard of any master
giving a slave money or land. Most went back to farming on shares. For
many years all they got was their food. Some white folks was so mean. I
know what they told us every time when crops would be put by. They said
'Why didn't you work harder? Look. When the seed is paid for, and all
your food and everything, what food you had just squares the account.'
Then they take all the cotton we raise, all the hogs, corn, everything.
We was just about where we was in slave days.
"When we see we never going to make anything share cropping, mother and
I went picking. Yes ma'am, they paid pretty good; got $1.50 a hundred.
So we saved enough to take us to Little Rock. Went on a boat, I
remember, and it took a whole week to make the trip. Just think of that.
A whole week between here and Helena. I was married by then. Gillam was
a blacksmith by trade and had a good business. But in a little while he
got into politics in Little Rock. Yes, lady. If you would look over the
old records you would see where he was made the keeper of the jail. I
don't know how many times he was elected to city council. He was the
only colored coroner Pulaski county ever had. He was in the legislature,
too. I used to dress up and go out to hear him make speeches. Wait a
minute and I will get my scrap book and show you all the things I cut
from the papers printed about him in those days....
"Even after the colored folks got put out of public office, they still
kept my husband for a policeman. It was during those days he bought this
home. Sixty-seven years we been living right in this place--I
guess--when did you say the war had its wind up? It was the only house
in a big forest. All my nine children was born right in this house. No
ma'am, I never have worked since I came here. My husband always made a
good living. I had all I could do caring for those nine children. When
the Democrats came in power, of course all colored men were let out of
office. Then my husband went back to his blacksmith trade. He was always
interested in breeding fine horses. Kept two fine stallions; one was
named 'Judge Hill', the other 'Pinchback'. White folks from Kentucky,
even, used to come here to buy his colts. Race people in Texas took our
colts as fast as they got born. Only recently we heard that stock from
our stable was among the best in Texas.
"The Ku Kluxers never bothered us in the least. I think they worked
mostly out in the country. We used to hear terrible tales of how they
whipped and killed both white and black, for no reason at all. Everybody
was afraid of them and scared to go out after dark. They were a strong
organization, and secret. I'll tell you, lady, if the rough element from
the north had stayed out of the south the trouble of reconstruction
would not happened. Yes ma'am, that's right. You see, after great
disasters like fires and earthquakes and such, always reckless criminal
class people come in its wake to rob and pillage. It was like that in
the war days. It was that bad element of the north what made the
trouble. They tried to excite (incite) the colored against their white
friends. The white folks was still kind to them what had been their
slaves. They would have helped them get started. I know that. I always
say that if the south could of been left to adjust itself, both white
and colored would been better off.
"Now about this voting business. I guess you don't find any colored
folks what think they get a fair deal. I don't, either. I don't think it
is right that any tax payer should be deprived of the right to vote.
Why, lady, even my children that pay poll tax can't vote. One of my
daughters is a teacher in the public school. She tells me they send out
notices that if teachers don't pay a poll tax they may lose their place.
But still they can't use it and vote in the primary. My husband always
believed in using your voting privilege. He has been dead over 30 years.
He had been appointed on the Grand Jury; had bought a new suit of
clothes for that. He died on the day he was to go, so we used his new
suit to bury him in. I have been getting his soldier's pension ever
since. Yes ma'am, I have not had it hard like lots of ex-slaves.
"Before you go I'd like you to look at the bedspread I knit last year.
My daughters was trying to learn to knit. This craze for knitting has
got everybody, it looks like. I heard them fussing about they could not
cast on the stitches. 'For land's sakes,' I said, 'hand me them
needles.' So I fussed around a little, and it all came back. What's
funny about it is, I had not knitted a stitch since I was about ten. Old
mistress used to make me knit socks for the soldiers. I remember I knit
ten pair out of coarse yarn, while she was doing a couple for the
officer out of fine wool and silk mixed. I used to knit pulse warmers,
and 'half-handers',--I bet you don't know what they was. Yes, that's
right; gloves without any fingers, 'cepting a thumb and it didn't have
any end. I could even knit on four needles when I was little. We used to
make our needles out of bones, wire, smooth, straight sticks,--anything
that would slip the yarn. Well, let me get back to this spread. In a few
minutes it all came back. I began knitting washrags. Got faster and
faster. Didn't need to look at the stitches. The girls are so scared
something will happen to me, they won't let me do any work. Now I had
found something I could do. When they saw how fast I work, they say:
'Mother, why don't you make something worth while? Why make so many
washrags?' So I started the bedspread. I guess it took me six months, at
odd times. I got it done in time to take to Ft. Worth to the big exhibit
of the National Federation of Colored Women's Clubs. My daughter
was the national president that year. If you'll believe it, this spread
took first prize. Look, here's the blue ribbon pinned on yet. What they
thought was so wonderful was that I knit every stitch of it without
glasses. But that is not so funny, because I have never worn glasses in
my life. I guess that is some more of my Indian blood telling.
"Sometimes I have to laugh at some of these young people. I call them
young because I knew them when they were babies. But they are already
all broken down old men and women. I still feel young inside. I feel
that I have had a good life."
--- 11 1938
Interviewer: Samuel S. Taylor
Person interviewed: J. N. Gillespie
1112 Park Street, Little Rock, Arkansas
Age: 75
"I was born near Galveston, in Texas, January 19, 1863, so they tell me.
I been in this town and been living right here at 1112 Park Street for
fifty-three years and ain't never had no trouble with anybody.
"My grandparents were Gillespie's. My grandma was an Indian woman. She
was stolen off the reservation--her and her daughter. The daughter was
about twelve years old and big enough to wait table. Both of them were
full blooded Cherokee Indians. My grandma married a slave, and when she
growed up, my mother married a slave; but my mother's parents were both
Indians, and one of my father's parents was white, so you see about
three-fourths of me is something else. My grandmother's name before her
first marriage was Courtney and my mother's first name was Parthenia.
"When they were stolen, they were made slaves. Nick Toliver bought 'em.
He was their first master, far as I heard 'em say. After old man Nick
Toliver died, Tom Brewer bought my mother. Toliver and Brewer were the
only two masters she had.
"After freedom came, my grandma took back her own name, Gillespie.
Grandma's second husband was named Berry Green. She was free and in the
Indian reservation when she married Gillespie, but she was a slave when
she married Berry Green.
"After my mother came to be of age, she married a man named Willis. He
was a slave. That is why I am like I am now. If my grandma had stayed
in the nation, I never would have been a slave, and I wouldn't need to
be beatin' around here trying to get just bread and meat.
"After freedom, she taken her mother's name by her free husband,
Gillespie, and she made her husband take it too. That how I got the name
of Gillespie."