"Our own folks is about the worst enemies we have. They will come and
sweet talk you and then work against you. I had a fellow in here not
long ago who came here for a dollar, and I never did hear from him again
after he got it. He couldn't get another favor from me. No man can fool
me more than one time. I have been beat out of lots of money and I have
got hurt trying to help people.
"The young folks now is just gone astray. I tell you the truth, I
wouldn't give you forty cents a dozen for these young folks. They are
sassy and disrespectful. Don't respect themselves and nobody else. When
they get off from home, they'll respect somebody else better 'n they
will their own mothers.
"If they would do away with this stock law, they would do better
everywhere. If you would say fence up your place and raise what you
want, I could get along. But you have to keep somebody to watch your
stock. If you don't, you'll have to pay something out. It's a bad old
thing this stock law. It's detrimental to the welfare of man."
Interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden
Person interviewed: Lewis Mann
1501 Bell Street, Pine Bluff, Arkansas
Age: 81
"As nigh as I can come at it, I was bout five or six time of the war. I
remember when the war ceasted. I was a good-sized chap.
"Durin' the war my mother's master sent us to Texas; western Texas is
whar they stopped me. We stayed there two years and then they brought us
back after surrender.
"I remember when the war ceasted and remember the soldiers refugeein'
through the country. I'm somewhar round eighty-one. I'm tellin' you the
truf. I ain't just now come here.
"I was born right here in Arkansas. My mother's master was old B.D.
Williams of Tennessee and we worked for his son Mac H. Williams here in
Arkansas. They was good to my mother. Always had nurses for the colored
childrun while the old folks was in the field.
"After the war I used to work in the house for my white folks--for Dr.
Bob Williams way up there in the country on the river. I stayed with his
brother Mac Williams might near twenty-five or thirty years. Worked
around the house servin' and doin' arrands different places.
"I went to school a little bit a good piece after the war and learned to
read and write.
"I've heard too much of the Ku Klux. I remember when they was Ku Kluxin'
all round through here.
"Lord! I don't know how many times I ever voted. I used to vote every
time they had an election. I voted before I could read. The white man
showed me how to vote and asked me who I wanted to vote for. Oh Lord, I
was might near grown when I learned to read.
"I been married just one time in my life and my wife's been dead
thirteen years.
"I tell you, Miss, I don't know hardly what to think of things now.
Everything so changeable I can't bring nothin' to remembrance to hold
it.
"I didn't do nothin' when I was young but just knock around with the
white folks. Oh Lord, when I was young I delighted in parties. Don't
nothin' like that worry me now. Don't go to no parades or nothin'. Don't
have that on my brain like I did when I was young. I goes to church all
the place I does go.
"I ain't never had no accident. Don't get in the way to have no accident
cause I know the age I is if I injure these bones there ain't anything
more to me.
"My mother had eight childrun and just my sister and me left. I can't do
a whole day's work to save my life. I own this place and my
sister-in-law gives me a little somethin' to eat. I used to be on the
bureau but they took me off that."
Interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden
Person interviewed: Angeline Martin, Kansas City, Missouri
Visiting at 1105 Louisiana St., Pine Bluff, Arkansas
Age 80
"Well, I was livin' then. I was born in Georgia. Honey, I don't know
what year. I was born before the war. I was about ten when freedom come.
I don't remember when it started but I remember when it ended. I think
I'm in the 80's--that's the way I count it.
"My master was dead and my mistress was a widow--Miss Sarah Childs. She
had a guardeen.
"When the war come, old mistress and her daughter refugeed to
Mississippi. The guardeen wouldn't let me go, said I was too young.
"My parents stayed on the plantation. My white folks' house was vacant
and the Yankees come and used it for headquarters. They never had put
shoes on me and when the Yankees shot the chickens I'd run and get em.
They didn't burn up nothin', just kill the hogs and chickens and give us
plenty.
"I didn't know what the war was about. You know chillun in them days
didn't have as much sense as they got now.
"After freedom, my folks stayed on the place and worked on the shares. I
want to school right after the war. I went every year till we left
there. We come to this country in seventy something. We come here and
stopped at the Cummins place. I worked in the field till I come to town
bout fifty years ago. Since then I cooked some and done laundry work.
"I married when I was seventeen. Had six children. I been livin' in
Kansas City twenty-three years. Followed my boy up there. I like it up
there a lot better than I do here. Oh lord, yes, there are a lot of
colored people in Kansas City."
Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson
Person interviewed: Josie Martin
R.F.D., Madison, Arkansas
Age: 86
"I was born up near Cotton Plant but took down near Helena to live. My
parents named Sallie and Bob Martin. They had seven children. I heard
mother say she was sold on a block in Mississippi when she was twelve
years old. My father was a Creek Indian; he was dark. Mother was a
Choctaw Indian; she was bright. Mother died when I was but a girl and
left a family on my hands. I sent my baby brother and sister to school
and I cooked on a boarding train. The railroad hands working on the
tracks roomed and et on the train. They are all dead now and I'm 'lone
in the world.
"My greatest pleasure was independence--make my money, go and spend it
as I see fit. I wasn't popular with men. I never danced. I did sell
herbs for diarrhea and piles and 'what ails you.' I don't sell no more.
Folks too close to drug stores now. I had long straight hair nearly to
my knees. It come out after a spell of typhoid fever. It never come in
to do no good." (Baldheaded like a man and she shaves. She is a
hermaphrodite, reason for never marrying.) "I made and saved up at one
time twenty-three thousand dollars cooking and field work. I let it slip
out from me in dribs.
"I used to run from the Yankees. I've seen them go in droves along the
road. They found old colored couple, went out, took their hog and made
them barbecue it. They drove up a stob, nailed a piece to a tree stacked
their guns. They rested around till everything was ready. They et at one
o'clock at night and after the feast drove on. They wasn't so good to
Negroes. They was good to their own feelings. They et up all that old
couple had to eat in their house and the pig they raised. I reckon their
owners give them more to eat. They lived off alone and the soldiers
stopped there and worked the old man and woman nearly to death.
"Our master told us about freedom. His name was Master Martin. He come
here from Mississippi. I don't recollect his family.
"I get help from the Welfare. I had paralysis. I never got over my
stroke. I ain't no 'count to work."
Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson
Person interviewed: Bess Mathis, Hazen, Arkansas
Age: 82
"I was born in De Sota County, Mississippi. My parents' owners was Mars
Hancock. Mama was a cook and field hand. Papa milked and worked in the
field. Mama had jes' one child, that me. I had six childern. I got five
livin'. They knowed they free. It went round from mouth to mouth. Mama
said Mars Hancock was good er slave holder as ever lived she recken. I
heard her come over that er good many times. But they wanted to be free.
I jes' heard em talk bout the Ku Klux. They said the Ku Klux made lot of
em roamin' round go get a place to live and start workin'. They tell how
they would ride at night and how scarry lookin' they was. I heard em say
if Mars Hancock didn't want to give em meat they got tree a coon or
possum. Cut the tree down or climb it and then come home and cook it.
They had no guns. They had dogs or could get one. Game helps out lots.
"The women chewed for their children after they weaned em. They don't
none of em do that way now. Women wouldn't cut the baby's finger nails.
They bite em off. They said if you cut its nails off he would steal.
They bite its toe nails off, too. And if they wanted the children to
have long pretty hair, they would trim the ends off on the new of the
moon. That would cause the hair to grow long. White folks and darkies
both done them things.
"I been doin' whatever come to hand--farmin', cookin', washin', ironin'.
"I never expects to vote neither. I sure ain't voted.
"Conditions pretty bad sometimes. I don't know what cause it. You got
beyond me now. I don't know what going become of the young folks, and
they ain't studyin' it. They ain't kind. Got no raisin' I call it. I
tried to raise em to work and behave. They work some. My son is takin'
care of me now."
Interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden
Person interviewed: Caroline Matthews
812 Spruce Street, Pine Bluff, Arkansas
Age: 79
"Yes'm, I was born in slavery times in Mississippi. Now, the only thing
I remember was some soldiers come along on some mules. I remember my
mother and father was sittin' on the gallery and they say, 'Look a
there, them's soldiers.'
"And I remember when my parents run off. I was with 'em and I cried for
'em to tote me.
"My mother's first owner was named Armstrong. She said she was about
eleven years old when he bought her. I heard her say they just changed
around a lot.
"Freedom was comin' and her last owners had carried her to a state where
it hadn't come yet. That's right--it was Texas.
"Her first owners was good. She said they wouldn't 'low the overseer to
'buke the women at all.
"But her last owners was cruel. She said one day old missis was out in
the yard and backed up and fell into a pan of hot water and when her
husband come she told him and he tried to 'buke my mother. You know if
somebody tryin' to get the best of you and you can help yourself, you
gwine do it. So mama throwed up her arm and old master hit it with a
stick and cut it bad. So my parents run off. That was in Texas.
"She said we was a year comin' back and I know they stopped at the
Dillard place and made a crop. And they lost one child on the way--that
was Kittie.
"I heard mama say they got back here to Arkansas and got to the bureau
and they freed 'em. I know the War wasn't over yet 'cause I know I heard
mama say, 'Just listen to them guns at Vicksburg.'
"When I was little, I was so sickly. I took down with the whoopin' cough
and I was sick so long. But mama say to the old woman what stayed with
me, 'This gal gwine be here to see many a winter 'cause she so stout in
the jaws I can't give her no medicine.'
"When I commenced to remember anything, I heered 'em talkin' 'bout Grant
and Colfax. Used to wear buttons with Grant and Colfax.
"But I was livin' in Abraham Lincoln's time. Chillun them days didn't
know nothin'. Why, woman, I was twelve years old 'fore I knowed babies
didn't come out a holler log. I used to go 'round lookin' in logs for a
baby.
"I had seven sisters and three brothers and they all dead but me. Had
three younger than me. They was what they called freeborn chillun.
"After freedom my parents worked for Major Ross. I know when mama fixed
us up to go to Sunday-school we'd go by Major Ross for him to see us. I
know we'd go so early, sometimes he'd still be in his drawers.
"I know one thing--when I was about sixteen years old things was good
here. Ever'body had a good living."
Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson
Person interviewed: Malindy Maxwell, Madison, Arkansas
Age: Up in 80's
"I was born close to Como and Sardis, Mississippi. My master and
mistress was Sam Shans and Miss Cornelia Shans. I was born a slave. They
owned mama and Master Rube Sanders owned pa. Neither owner wouldn't sell
but they agreed to let ma and pa marry. They had a white preacher and
they married out in the yard and had a big table full of weddin' supper,
and the white folks et in the house. They had a big supper too. Ma said
they had a big crowd. The preacher read the ceremony. Miss Cornelia give
her a white dress and white shoes and Miss Cloe Wilburn give her a veil.
Miss Cloe was some connection of Rube Sanders.
"They had seven children. I'm the oldest--three of us living.
"After 'mancipation pa went to see about marrying ma over agen and they
told him that marriage would stand long as ever he lived.
"Mama was sold at twelve years old in Atlanta, Georgia. Ma and pa was
always field hands. Grandma got to be one of John Sanders' leading hands
to work mong the women folks. They said John Sanders was meanest man
ever lived or died. According to pa's saying, Mars Ruben was a good
sorter man. Pa said John Sanders was too mean a man to have a wife. He
was mean to Miss Sarah. They said he beat her, his wife, like he beat a
nigger woman.
"Miss Sarah say, 'Come get your rations early Saturday morning, clean up
your house, wash and iron, and we'll go to preaching tomorrow--Sunday. I
want you to all come out clean Monday morning.' They go ask Mars John
Sanders if they could go to preaching. I recken from what they said they
walked. Mars John, when they git their best clothes on, make them turn
round and go to the field and work all day long. He was just that mean.
Work all day long Sunday.
"Miss Sarah was a Primitive Baptist and that is what I am till this day.
Some folks call us Hardshell Baptist. The colored folks set in the back
of the church. The women all set on one side and the men on the other.
If they had a middle row, there was a railing dividing mens' seats from
the womens' seats on the very same benches.
"Miss Cloe, Miss Cornelia, and Miss Sarah cook up a whole lot of good
things to eat and go to camp meeting. Sometimes they would stay a week
and longer. They would take time bout letting the colored folks go long.
We had big times. My grandpa took a gingercake cutter with him and sold
gingercakes when they come out of the church. He could keep that money
his own. I don't know how he sold them. My sister has the cutter now I
expect. My girl has seen it. It was a foot long, this wide (5 inches),
and fluted all around the edges, and had a handle like a biscuit cutter.
They was about an inch thick. He made good ones and he sold all he could
ever make. Grandpa took carpet sacks to carry his gingercakes in to sell
them. I remember that mighty well. (The shape of the cutter was like
this: [Illustration].) He purt nigh always got to go to all the camp
meetings. Folks got happy and shouted in them days. It would be when
somebody got religion. At some big meetings they didn't shout.
"When I was born they had a white mid-wife, Miss Martin. My mistress was
in the cabin when I was born. I was born foot foremost and had a veil on
my face and down on my body a piece. They call it a 'caul.' Sometimes I
see forms and they vanish. I can see some out of one eye now. But I've
always seen things when my sight was good. It is like when you are
dreaming at night but I see them at times that plain in day.
"I don't know how old I am but I was a good size girl when 'mancipation
come on. Miss Cornelia had my age in her Bible. They done took me from
the cabin and I was staying at the house. I slept on a trundle bed under
Miss Cornelia's bed. Her bed was a teaster--way high up, had a big stool
to step on to go up in there and she had it curtained off. I had a good
cotton bed and I slept good up under there. Her bed was corded with sea
grass rope. It didn't have no slats like beds do now.
"Colored folks slept on cotton beds and white folks--some of em at
least--picked geese and made feather beds and down pillows. They carded
and washed sheep's wool and put in their quilts. Some of them, they'd be
light and warm. Colored folks' bed had one leg. Then it was holes hewed
in the wall on the other three sides and wooden slats across it. Now
that wasn't no bad bed. Some of them was big enough for three to sleep
on good. When the children was small four could sleep easy cross ways,
and they slept that way.
"They had shelves and tables and chairs. They made chests and put things
in there and set on top of it too. White folks had fine chests to keep
their bed clothes in. Some of them was made of oak, and pine, and
cypress. They would cook walnut hulls and bark and paint them dark with
the tea.
"I recollect a right smart of the Civil War. We was close nough to hear
the roar and ramble and the big cannons shake the things in the house. I
don't know where they was fighting--a long ways off I guess.
"I saw the soldiers scouting. They come most any time. They go in and
take every drop of milk out of the churn. They took anything they could
find and went away with it. I seen the cavalry come through. I thought
they looked so pretty. Their canteens was shining in the sun. Miss
Cornelia told me to hide, the soldiers might take me on with them. I
didn't want to go. I was very well pleased there at Miss Cornelia's.
"I seen the cavalry come through that raised the 'white sheet.' I know
now it must have been a white flag but they called it a white sheet to
quit fighting. It was raised a short time after they passed and they
said they was the ones raised it. I don't know where it was. I reckon it
was a big white flag they rared up. It was so they would stop fighting.
"Mars Sam Shan didn't go to no war; he hid out. He said it was a useless
war, he wasn't going to get shot up for no use a tall, and he never went
a step. He hid out. I don't know where. I know Charles would take the
baskets off. Charles tended to the stock and the carriage. He drove the
wagon and carriage. He fetched water and wood. He was a black boy. Mars
Sam Shan said he wasn't goiner loose his life for nothing.
"Miss Cornelia would cook corn light bread and muffins and anything else
they had to cook. Rations got down mighty scarce before it was done wid.
They put the big round basket nearly big as a split cotton basket out on
the back portico. Charles come and disappear with it.
"Chess and Charles was colored overseers. He didn't have white
overseers. Miss Cornelia and Miss Cloe would walk the floor and cry and
I would walk between. I would cry feeling sorry for them, but I didn't
know why they cried so much. I know now it was squally times. War is
horrible.
"Mars Sam Shan come home, went down to the cabins--they was scattered
over the fields--and told them the War was over, they was free but that
they could stay. Then come some runners, white men. They was Yankee men.
I know that now. They say you must get pay or go off. We stayed that
year. Another man went to pa and said he would give him half of what he
made. He got us all up and we went to Pleasant Hill. We done tolerable
well.
"Then he tried to buy a house and five acres and got beat out of it. The
minor heirs come and took it. I never learnt in books till I went to
school. Seem like things was in a confusion after I got big nough for
that. I'd sweep and rake and cook and wash the dishes, card, spin, hoe,
scour the floors and tables. I would knit at night heap of times. We'd
sing some at night.
"Colored folks couldn't read so they couldn't sing at church lessen they
learnt the songs by hearing them at home. Colored folks would meet and
sing and pray and preach at the cabins.
"My first teacher was a white man, Mr. Babe Willroy. I went to him
several short sessions and on rainy days and cold days I couldn't work
in the field. I worked in the field all my life. Cook out in the winter,
back to the field in the spring till fall again.
"Well, I jes' had this one girl. I carried her along with me. She would
play round and then she was a heap of help. She is mighty good to me
now.
"I never seen a Ku Klux in my life. Now, I couldn't tell you about them.
"My parents' names was Lou Sanders and Anthony Sanders. Ma's mother was
a Rockmore and her husband was a Cherokee Indian. I recollect them well.
He was a free man and was fixing to buy her freedom. Her young mistress
married Mr. Joe Bues and she heired her. Mr. Joe Bues drunk her up and
they come and got her and took her off. They run her to Memphis before
his wife could write to her pa. He was Mars Rockmore.
"Grandma was put on a block and sold fore grandpa could cumerlate nough
cash to buy her for his wife. Grandma never seen her ma no more. Grandpa
followed her and Mr. Sam Shans bought her and took her to Mississippi
with a lot more he bought.
"My pa's ma b'long to John Sanders and grandpa b'long to Rube Sanders.
They was brothers. Rube Sanders bought grandpa from Enoch Bobo down in
Mississippi. The Bobo's had a heap of slaves and land. Now, he was the
one that sold gingercakes. He was a blacksmith too. Both my grandpas was
blacksmiths but my Indian grandpa could make wagons, trays, bowls,
shoes, and things out of wood too. Him being a free man made his living
that way. But he never could cumolate enough to buy grandma.
"My other grandma was blacker than I am and grandpa too. When grandpa
died he was carried back to the Bobo graveyard and buried on Enoch
Bobo's place. It was his request all his slaves be brought back and
buried on his land. I went to the burying. I recollect that but ma and
pa had to ask could we go. We all got to go--all who wanted to go. It
was a big crowd. It was John Sanders let us go mean as he was.
"Miss Cornelia had the cistern cleaned out and they packed up their
pretty china dishes and silver in a big flat sorter box. Charles took
them down a ladder to the bottom of the dark cistern and put dirt over
it all and then scattered some old rubbish round, took the ladder out.
The Yankees never much as peared to see that old open cistern. I don't
know if they buried money or not. They packed up a lot of nice things.
It wasn't touched till after the War was over.
"I been farming and cooking all my life. I worked for Major Black, Mr.
Ben Tolbert, Mr. Williams at Pleasant Hill, Mississippi. I married and
long time after come to Arkansas. They said you could raise stock
here--no fence law.
"I get $8 and commodities because I am blind. I live with my daughter
here."
Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson
Person interviewed: Nellie Maxwell, Biscoe, Arkansas
Age: 63
"Mama was Harriett Baldwin. She was born in Virginia. Her owners was
Mistress Mollie Fisher and Master Coon Fisher. It was so cold one winter
that they burned up their furniture keeping a fire. Said seemed like
they would freeze in spite of what all they could do.
"Grandpa was sold away from grandma and three children. He didn't want
to be sold nary bit. When they would be talking about selling him he go
hide under the house. They go on off. He'd come out. When he was sold he
went under there. He come out and went on off when they found him and
told him he was sold to this man. Grandma said he was obedient. They
never hit him. He was her best husband. They never sold grandma and she
couldn't 'count for him being let go. Grandma had another husband after
freedom and two more children. They left there in a crowd and all come
to Arkansas. Grandma was a cook for the field hands. She had charge of
ringing a big dinner-bell hung up in a tree. She was black as charcoal.
Mama and grandma said Master Coon and old Mistress Mollie was good to
them. That the reason grandpa would go under the house. He didn't want
to be sold. He never was seen no more by them.
"Grandma said sometimes the meals was carried to the fields and they fed
the children out of troughs. They took all the children to the spring
set them in a row. They had a tubful of water and they washed them dried
them and put on their clean clothes. They used homemade lye soap and
greased them with tallow and mutton suet. That made them shine. They
kept them greased so their knees and knuckles would ruff up and bleed.
"Grandma and mama stopped at Fourche Dam. They was so glad to be free
and go about. Then it scared them to hear talk of being sold. It divided
them and some owners was mean.
"In my time if I done wrong most any grown person whoop me. Then mama
find it out, she give me another one. I got a double whooping.
"Times is powerful bad to raise up a family. Drinking and gambling, and
it takes too much to feed a family now. Times is so much harder that way
then when I was growing."
Interviewer: Miss Sallie C. Miller
Person interviewed: Ann May, Clarksville, Arkansas
Age: 82
"I was born at Cabin Creek (Lamar now, but I still call it Cabin Creek.
I can't call it anything else). I was sold with my mother when I was a
little girl and lived with our white folks until after the war and was
freed. We lived on a farm. My father belong to another family, a
neighbor of ours. We all lived with the white folks. My mother took care
of all of them. They was always as good as they could be to us and after
the war we stayed on with the white folks who owned my father and worked
on the farm for him. His master gave us half of everything we made until
we could get started our selves, then our white folks told my father to
homestead a place near him, and he did. We lived there until after
father died. We paid taxes and lived just like the white folks. We did
what the white folks told us to do and never lost a thing by doing it.
After I married my husband worked at the mill for your father and made a
living for me and I worked for the white folks. Now I am too old to cook
but I have a few washin's for the white folks and am getting my old age
pension that helps me a lot.
"I don't know what I think about the young generation. I aim at my
stopping place.
"The songs we sang were
'Come ye that love the Lord and let your Joys be known'
'When You and I Were Young, Maggie'
'Juanita'
'Just Before the Battle, Mother'
'Darling Nellie Gray'
'Carry Me Back to Old Virginia'
'Old Black Joe'
Of course we sang 'Dixie.' We had to sing that, it was the leading
song."
Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson
Person interviewed: Joe Mayes, Madison, Arkansas
Age: ?
"I was born a slave two years. I never will forget man come and told
mother she was free. She cooked. She never worked in the field till
after freedom. In a few days another man come and made them leave. They
couldn't hold them in Kentucky. The owners give her provisions, meat,
lasses, etc. They give her her clothes. She had four children and I was
her youngest. The two oldest was girls. Father was dead. I don't
remember him. Mother finally made arrangements to go to Will Bennett's
place.
"Another thing I remember: Frank Hayes sold mother to Isaac Tremble
after she was free. She didn't know she was free. Neither did Isaac
Tremble. I don't know whether Frank Mayes was honest or not. The part I
remember was that us boys stood on the block and never was parted from
her. We had to leave our sisters. One was sold to Miss Margaret Moxley,
the other to Miss Almyra Winder. (He said "Miss" but they may have been
widows. He didn't seem to know--ed.) Father belong to a Master Mills.
All our family got together after we found out we had been freed.
"The Ku Klux: I went to the well little after dark. It was a good piece
from our house. I looked up and saw a man with a robe and cap on. It
scared me nearly to death. I nearly fell out. I had heard about the
'booger man' and learned better then. But there he was. I had heard a
lot about Ku Klux.
"There was a big gourd hanging up by the well. We kept it there. There
was a bucket full up. He said, 'Give me water.' I handed over the gourd
full. He done something with it. He kept me handing him water. He said,
'Hold my crown and draw me up another bucket full.' I was so scared I
lit out hard as I could run. It was dark enough to hide me when I got a
piece out of his way.
"The owners was pretty good to mother to be slavery. She had clothes and
enough to eat all the time. I used to go back to see all our white folks
in Kentucky. They are about all dead now I expect. Mother was glad to be
free but for a long time her life was harder.
"After we got up larger she got along better. I worked on a steamboat
twelve or thirteen years. I was a roustabout and freight picker. I was
on passenger boats mostly but they carried freight. I went to school
some. I always had colored teachers. I farmed at Hughes and Madison ever
since excepting one year in Mississippi.
"I live alone. I get $8 and commodities from the Sociable Welfare.
"The young folks would do better, work better, if they could get work
all time. It is hard at times to get work right now. The times is all
right. Better everything but work. I know colored folks is bad managers.
That has been bad on us always.
"I worked on boats from Evansville, St. Louis, Memphis to New Orleans
mostly. It was hard work but a fine living. I was stout then."
Interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden
Person interviewed: Jesse Meeks
707 Elm Street, Pine Bluff, Arkansas
Age: 76
Occupation: Minister
"I am seventy-six. 'Course I was young in slavery times, but I can
remember some things. I remember how they used to feed us. Put milk and
bread or poke salad and corn-meal dumplin's in a trough and give you a
wooden spoon and all the children eat together.
"We stayed with our old master fourteen years. They were good folks and
treated us right. My old master's name was Sam Meeks--in Longview, Drew
County, Arkansas, down here below Monticello.
"I got a letter here about a month ago from the daughter of my young
mistress. I wrote to my young mistress and she was dead, so her daughter
got the letter. She answered it and sent me a dollar and asked me was I
on the Old Age Pension list.
"As far as I know, I am the onliest one of the old darkies living that
belonged to Sam Meeks.
"I remember when the Ku Klux run in on my old master. That was after the
War. He was at the breakfast table with his wife. You know in them days
they didn't have locks and keys. Had a hole bored through a board and
put a peg in it, and I know the Ku Klux come up and stuck a gun through
the auger hole and shot at old master but missed him. He run to the door
and shot at the Ku Klux. I know us children found one of 'em down at the
spring bathin' his leg where old master had shot him.
"Oh! they were good folks and treated us right."
FOLKLORE SUBJECTS
Name of Interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden
Subject: Superstitions
Story:--Information
This information given by: Jesse Meeks
Place of residence: 707 Elm Street, Pine Bluff, Arkansas
Occupation: Minister
Age: 76
[TR: Information moved from bottom of first page.]
"I remember there was on old man called Billy Mann lived down here at
Noble lake. He said he could 'give you a hand.' If you and your wife
wasn't gettin' along very well and you wanted to get somebody else, he
said he could 'give you a hand' and that would enable you to get anybody
you wanted. That's what he said.
"And I've heard 'em say they could make a ring around you and you
couldn't get out.
"I don't believe in that though 'cause I'm in the ministerial work and
it don't pay me to believe in things like that. That is the work of the
devil."
Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson
Person interviewed: Jeff Metcalf
R.F.D., Brinkley, Arkansas
Age: 73
"My mother's name was Julia Metcalf and my father's name was Jim
Metcalf. They belong to an old bachelor named Bill Metcalf. I think I
was born in Lee County, Mississippi. They did not leave when the war was
over. They stayed on the Bill Metcalf place till they died. I reckon I
do remember him.
"I can't tell you 'bout the war nor slavery. I don't know a thing 'bout
it. I heard but I couldn't tell you it been so long ago. They didn't
expect nothing but freedom. They got along in the Reconstruction days
about like they had been getting along. Seemed like they didn't know
much about the war. They heard they was free. I don't remember the Ku
Klux Klan. I heard old folks talk 'bout it.
"I don't know if my father ever voted but I guess he did. I have voted
but I don't vote now. In part I 'proves of the women votin'. I think the
men outer vote and support his family fur as he can.
"I come here in 1914 from Mississippi. I got busted farmin'. I knowed a
heap o' people said they was doing so well I come too. I come on the
train.
"I ain't got no home, no land. I got a hog. No garden. Two times in the
year now is hard--winter and simmer. In some ways times is better. In
some ways they is worser. When a trade used to be made to let you have
provisions, you know you would not starve. Now if you can't get work you
'bout starve and can't get no credit. Crops been good last few years and
prices fair fur it. But money won't buy nothin' now. Everything is so
high. Meat is so high. Working man have to eat meat. If he don't he get
weak.
"The young folks do work. They can't save much farmin'. If they could do
public work between times it be better. I had a hard time in July and
August. I got six children, they grown and gone. My wife is 72 years
old. She ain't no 'count for work no more. The Government give me an'
her $10 a month between us two. Her name is Hannah Metcalf.
"I wish I did know somethin' to tell you, lady, 'bout the Civil War and
the slavery times. I done forgot 'bout all I heard 'em talkin'. When you
see Hannah she might know somethin'."
Interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden
Person interviewed: Hardy Miller
702-1/2 W. Second Avenue, Pine Bluff, Arkansas
Age: 85
Occupation: Yardman
"Mistress, I'll tell you what my mother said. She said she birthed me on
Christmas morning in 1852 in Sumpter County, Georgia. It was on her old
master's place. Bright Herring was his name. Old mistress' name was Miss
Lizzie. My father belonged to a different owner.
"Mac McClendon and John Mourning was two nigger traders and they brought
my mother and sister Nancy and sister Liza and my sister Anna and Hardy
Miller--that's me--out here on the train from Americus, Georgia to
Memphis and put us on a steamboat and brought us here to Pine Bluff and
sold me to Dr. Pope. He was a poor white man and he wanted a pair of
niggers. He bought me and Laura Beckwith. In them days a doctor examined
you and if your heart was sound and your lungs was sound and you didn't
have no broken bones--have to pay one hundred dollars for every year you
was old. That was in 1862 and I was ten years old so they sold me for
one thousand dollars and one thousand dollars for Laura cause she was
sound too. Carried us down to Monticello and when I got free my mammy
come after me.
"Fore I left Georgia, my daddy belonged to a man named Bill Ramsey. You
see niggers used the name of their masters.
"I can remember when I was a boy Bill Ramsey set my father free and give
him a free pass and anybody hire him have to pay just like they pay a
nigger now. My daddy hired my mammy from her master. My mammy was her
master's daughter by a colored woman.
"My daddy had a hoss named Salem and had a cart and he would take me and
my mammy and my sister Liza and go to Americus and buy rations for the
next week.
"I member when the war started in 1861 my mammy hired me out to Mrs.
Brewer and she used to git after me and say, 'You better do that good or
I'll whip you. My husband gone to war now on account of you niggers and
it's a pity you niggers ever been cause he may get killed and I'll never
see him again.'
"I member seein' General Bragg's men and General Steele and General
Marmaduke. Had a fight down at Mark's Mill. We just lived six miles from
there. Seen the Yankees comin' by along the big public road. The Yankees
whipped and fought em so strong they didn't have time to bury the dead.
We could see the buzzards and carrion crows. I used to hear old mistress
say, 'There goes the buzzards, done et all the meat off.' I used to go
to mill and we could see the bones. Used to got out and look at their
teeth. No ma'm, I wasn't scared, the white boys was with me.
"Dr. Pope was good to me, better to me than he was to Master Walter and
Master Billy and my young Miss, Aurelia, cause me and Laura was scared
of em and we tried to do everything they wanted.
"When the war ended in 1865 we was out in the field gettin' pumpkins.
Old master come out and said, 'Hardy, you and Laura is free now. You can
stay or you can go and live with somebody else.' We stayed till 1868 and
then our mammies come after us. I was seventeen.
"After freedom my mammy sent me to school. Teacher's name was W.H.
Young. Name was William Young but he went under the head of W.H. Young.
"I went to school four years and then I got too old. I learned a whole
lot. Learned to read and spell and figger. I done pretty good. I learned
how to add and multiply and how to cancel and how to work square root.
"What I've been doin' all my life is farmin' down at Fairfield on the
Murphy place.
"Vote? Good lord! I done more votin'. Voted for all the Presidents.
Yankees wouldn't let us vote Democrat, had to vote Republican. They'd be
there agitatin'. Stand right there and tell me the ones to vote for. I
done quit votin'. I voted for Coolidge--we called him College--that's
the last votin' I did. One of my friends, Levi Hunter, he was a colored
magistrate down at Fairfield.
"Ku Klux? What you talkin' about? Ku Klux come to our house. My sister
Ellen's husband went to war on the Yankee side durin' the war--on the
Republican side and fought the Democrats.
"After the war the Ku Klux came and got the colored folks what fought
and killed em. I saw em kill a nigger right off his mule. Fell off on
his sack of corn and the old mule kep' on goin'.
"Ku Klux used to wear big old long robe with bunches of cotton sewed all
over it. I member one time we was havin' church and a Ku Klux was hid up
in the scaffold. The preacher was readin' the Bible and tellin' the
folks there was a man sent from God and say an angel be here directly.
Just then the Ku Klux fell down and the niggers all thought 'twas the
angel and they got up and flew.
"Ku Klux used to come to the church well and ask for a drink and say, 'I
ain't had a bit of water since I fought the battle of Shiloh.'
"Might as well tell the truth--had just as good a time when I was a
slave as when I was free. Had all the hog meat and milk and everything
else to eat.
"I member one time when old master wasn't at home the Yankees come and
say to old mistress, 'Madam, we is foragin'.' Old mistress say, 'My
husband ain't home; I can't let you.' Yankees say, 'Well, we're goin' to
anyway.' They say, 'Where you keep your milk and butter?' Old mistress
standin' up there, her face as red as blood and say, 'I haven't any milk
or butter to spare.' But the Yankees would hunt till they found it.
"After a battle when the dead soldiers was layin' around and didn't have
on no uniform cause some of the other soldiers took em, I've heard the
old folk what knowed say you could tell the Yankees from the Rebels
cause the Yankees had blue veins on their bellies and the Rebels didn't.
"Now you want me to tell you bout this young nigger generation? I never
thought I'd live to see this young generation come out and do as well as
they is doin'. I'm goin' tell you the truth. When I was young, boys and
girls used to wear long white shirt come down to their ankles, cause it
would shrink, with a hole cut out for their head. I think they is doin'
a whole lot better. Got better clothes. Almost look as well as the white
folks. I just say the niggers dressin' better than the white folks used
to.
"Then I see some niggers got automobiles. Just been free bout
seventy-two years and some of em actin' just like white folks now.
"Well, good-bye--if I don't see you again I'll meet you in Heaven."
Interviewer: Beulah Sherwood Hagg
Person interviewed: [HW: Henry Kirk] H.K. Miller
1513 State Street, Little Rock, Arkansas
Age: 86
"No ma'am, it will not bother me one bit if you want to have a long
visit with me.... Yes, I was a little busy, but it can wait. I was
getting my dishes ready for a party tomorrow night.
"Yes ma'am, I was born during slavery. I was born at a little place
called Fort Valley in Georgia, July 25, 1851. Fort Valley is about 30
miles from Macon. I came to Little Rock in 1873. My old mistress was a
widow. As well as I can remember she did not have any slaves but my
father and mother and the six children. No ma'am, her name was not
Miller, it was Wade.... Where did I get my name, then? It came from my
grandfather on my father's side.... Well, now, Miss, I can't tell you
where he got that name. From some white master, I reckon.
"We got free in Georgia June 15, 1865. I'll never forget that date. What
I mean is, that was the day the big freedom came. But we didn't know it
and just worked on. My father was a shoemaker for old mistress. Only one
in town, far as I recollect. He made a lot of money for mistress. Mother
was houseworker for her. As fast as us children got big enough to hire
out, she leased us to anybody who would pay for our hire. I was put out
with another widow woman who lived about 20 miles. She worked me on her
cotton plantation. Old mistress sold one of my sisters; took cotton for
pay. I remember hearing them tell about the big price she brought
because cotton was so high. Old mistress got 15 bales of cotton for
sister, and it was only a few days till freedom came and the man who had
traded all them bales of cotton lost my sister, but old mistress kept
the cotton. She was smart, wasn't she? She knew freedom was right there.
Sister came right back to my parents.
"Just give me time, miss, and I'll tell you the whole story. This woman
what had me hired tried to run away and take all her slaves along. I
don't remember just how many, but a dozen or more. Lots of white folks
tried to run away and hide their slaves until after the Yankee soldiers
had been through the town searching for them what had not been set free.
She was trying to get to the woods country. But she got nervous and
scared and done the worst thing she could. She run right into a Yankee
camp. Course they asked where we all belonged and sent us where we
belonged. They had always taught us to be scared of the Yankees. I
remember just as well when I got back to where my mother was she asked
me: "Boy, why you come here? Don't you know old mistress got you rented
out? You're goin' be whipped for sure." I told her, no, now we got
freedom. That was the first they had heard. So then she had to tell my
father and mother. She tole them how they have no place to go, no
money,--nothing to start life on; they better stay on with her. So my
father and mother kept on with her; she let them have a part of what
they made; she took some for board, as was right. The white ladies what
had me between them fixed it up that I would serve out the time I was
rented out for. It was about six months more. My parents saved money and
we all went to a farm. I stayed with them till I was 19 years old. Of
course they got all the money I made. I married when I was 20, still
living in Georgia. We tried to farm on shares. A man from Arkansas came
there, getting up a colony of colored to go to Arkansas to farm. Told
big tales of fine land with nobody to work it. Not half as many Negroes
in Arkansas as in Georgia. Me and my wife joined up to go.
"Well, ma'am, I didn't get enough education to be what you call a
educated man. My father paid for a six months night course for me after
peace. I learned to read and write and figure a little. I have used my
tablespoon full of brains ever since, always adding to that start. I
learned everything I could from the many white friends I have had. Any
way, miss, I have known enough to make a good living all these years.
"Now I'll get on with the story. First work I got in Arkansas was
working on a farm; me and her both; we always tried to stay together. We
could not make anything on the Garner farm, and it was mighty unhealthy
down in Fourche bottoms. I carried her back to Little Rock and I got
work as house man in the Bunch home. From there I went to the home of
Dudley E. Jones and stayed there 28 years. That was the beginning of my
catering. I just naturally took to cooking and serving. White folks was
still used to having colored wait on them and they liked my style. Mr.
Jones was so kind. He told his friends about how I could plan big
dinners and banquets; then cook and serve them. Right soon I was
handling most of the big swell weddings for the society folks. Child, if
I could call off the names of the folks I have served, it would be
mighty near everybody of any consequence in Little Rock for more than 55
years. Yes ma'am, I'm now being called on to serve the grandchildren of
my first customers.
"During the 28 years I lived in Mr. Jones' family I was serving
banquets, big public dinners, all kinds of big affairs. I have had the
spring and fall banquets for the Scottish Rite Masons for more than 41
years. I have served nearly all the Governor's banquets, college
graduation and reunion parties; I took care of President Roosevelt--not
this one, but Teddy----. Served about 600 that day. Any big parties for
colored people?... Yes ma'am! Don't you remember when Booker T.
Washington was here?... No ma'am. White folks didn't have a thing to do
with it, excepting the city let us have the new fire station. It was
just finished but the fire engines ain't moved in yet. I served about
600 that time. Yes ma'am, there was a lot of white folks there. Then, I
have been called to other places to do the catering. Lonoke, Benton,
Malvern, Conway--a heap of places like that.
"No miss, I didn't always have all the catering business; oh, no. There
was Mr. Rossner. He was a fine man. White gentleman. I used to help him
a lot. But when he sold out to Bott, I got a lot of what business Mr.
Rossner had had, Mr. Bott was a Jew. All that time my wife was my best
helper. I took a young colored fellow named Freeling Alexander and
taught him the business. He never been able to make it go on his own,
but does fine working on salary. He has a cafeteria now.
"Well thank you miss, speaking about my home like that. Yes ma'am, I
sure do own it. Fifty-two years I been living right here. First I bought
the lot; it took me two years to pay for it. Next I build a little
house. The big pin oak trees out front was only saplings when I set them
out. Come out in the back yard and see my pecan tree.... It is a giant,
ain't it? Yes ma'am, it was a tiny thing when I set it out fifty-two
years ago. Our only child was born in this house,--a dear daughter--and
her three babies were born here too. After my wife and daughter died, me
and the children kept on trying to keep the home together. I have taught
them the catering business. Both granddaughters are high school
graduates. The boy is in Mexico. Before he went he signed his name to a
check and said: "Here, grandpa. You ain't going to want for a thing
while I'm gone. If something happens to your catering business, or you
get so you can't work, fill this in for whatever you need." But thank
the good Lord, I'm still going strong. Nobody has ever had to take care
of H.K. Miller. Now let me tell you something else about this place. For
more than ten years I have been paying $64.64 every year for my part of
that asphalt paving you see out in front. Yes ma'am, the lot is 50 foot
front, and I am paying for only half of it; from my curb line to the
middle of the street. Maybe if I live long enough I'll get it paid for
sometime.
"I haven't tried to lay by much money. I don't suppose there is any
other colored man--uneducated like me--what has done more for his
community. I have given as high as $80 and $100 at one time to help out
on the church debt or when they wanted to build. I always help in times
of floods and things like that. I've helped many white persons in my
lifetime.
"Well, now, I'll tell you what I think about the voting system. I think
this. Of course we are still in subjection to the white people; they are
in the majority and have most of the government on their side. But I
think that, er,--er,--well I'll tell you, while it is all right for them
to be at the head of things, they ought to do what is right. Being
educated, they ought to know right from wrong. I believe in the Bible,
miss. Look here. This little book--Gospel of St. John--has been carried
in my pocket every day for years and years. And I never miss a day
reading it. I don't see how some people can be so unjust. I guess they
never read their Bible. The reason I been able to make my three-score
years and ten is because I obeys what the Good Book says.
"Now, let me see. I can remember that I been voting mighty near ever
since I been here. I never had any trouble voting. I have never been
objected from voting that I remember of.
"Now you ask about what I think of the young people. Well, I tell you. I
think really that the young people of today had better begin to check
up, a little. They are going too fast. They don't seem to have enough
consideration. When I see so many killed in automobile accidents, and
know that drinking is the cause of so many car accidents,--well, yes
ma'am, drinking sure does have a lot to do with it. I think they should
more consider the way they going to make a living. Make a rule to look
before they act. Another thing--the education being given them--they are
not taking advantage of it. If they would profit by what they learn they
could benefit theirselves. A lot of them now spend heap of time trying
to get to be doctors and lawyers and like that. That is a mistake. There
is not enough work among colored people to support them. I know. Negroes
do not have confidence in their race for this kind of business. No
ma'am. Colored will go for a white doctor and white lawyer 'cause they
think they know more about that kind of business. I would recommend as
the best means of making a living for colored young people is to select
some kind of work that is absolutely necessary to be done and then do it
honestly. The trades, carpentering, paper hanging, painting, garage
work. Some work that white people need to have done, and they just as
soon colored do it as white. White folks ain't never going to have Negro
doctors and lawyers, I reckon. That's the reason I took up
catering--even that long ago. Fifty-five years ago I knew to look around
and find some work that white folks would need done. There's where your
living comes from.
"Yes, miss, my business is slack--falling off, as you say. Catering is
not what it used to be. You see, 30 or 40 years ago, people's homes were
grand and big; big dining rooms, built for parties and banquets. But for
the big affairs with 500 or 600 guests, they went to the hotels. Even
the hotels had to rent my dishes, silver and linens.... Oh, lord, yes,
miss. I always had my own. It took me ten years to save enough money to
start out with my first 500 of everything.... You want to see them?...
Sure, I keep them here at home.... Look. Here's my silver chests, all
packed to go. I have them divided into different sizes. This one has
fifty of every kind of silver, so if fifty guests are to be provided
for. I keep my linens, plates of different sizes, glasses and everything
the same way. A 200-guest outfit is packed in those chests over there.
No, ma'am, I don't have much trouble of losing silver, because it all
has my initials on; look: H.K.M. on every piece. Heap of dishes are
broken every time I have a big catering. I found one plate
yesterday--the last of a full pattern I had fifteen years ago. About
every ten years is a complete turnover of china. Glassware goes faster,
and of course, the linen is the greatest overhead. Yes ma'am, as I was
telling you, catering is slack because of clubs. So many women take
their parties to clubs now. Another thing, the style of food has
changed. In those old days, the table was loaded with three four meats,
fish, half dozen vegetable dishes, entrees, different kinds of wine, and
an array of desserts. Now what do they have? Liquid punch, frozen punch
and cakes. In June I had a wedding party for 400, and that's all they
served. I had to have 30 punch bowls, but borrowed about half from my
white friends.
"You have got that wrong about me living with my grandchildren. No
ma'am! They are living with me. They make their home with me. I don't
expect ever to marry again. I'm 86. In my will I am leaving everything I
have to my three grandchildren.
"Well, miss, you're looking young and blooming. Guess your husband is
right proud of you? Say you're a widow? Well, now, my goodness. Some of
these days a fine man going to find you and then, er--er, lady, let me
cater for the wedding?"
Interviewer: Samuel S. Taylor
Person interviewed: Henry Kirk Miller [HW: Same as H.K. Miller]
1513 State Street, Little Rock, Arkansas
Age 87 [HW: 86]
"I am eighty-six years old-eighty-six years and six months. I was born
July 25, 1851. I was a slave. Didn't get free till June 1865. I was a
boy fifteen years old when I got free.
"I have been living in this house fifty years. I have been living in
Arkansas ever since 1873. That makes about sixty-five years.
"The engineer who got killed in that wreck the other day (a wreck which
occurred February 7, 1938, Monday morning at three and in which the
engineer and five other people were killed) came right from my town,
Fort Valley, Georgia. I came here from there in 1873. I don't know
anybody living in Fort Valley now unless it's my own folks. And I don't
'spect I'd know them now. When I got married and left there, I was only
twenty-one years old.