Interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden
Person interviewed: Emma Moore
3715 Short West Second, Pine Bluff, Arkansas
Age: 80
Occupation: Laundry work
"I'se born in slavery times. When my daddy come back from the War, he
said I was gwine on seven or eight.
"He stayed in the War three years and six months. I know that's what he
always told us. He went with his master, Joe Horton. Looks like I can
see old Marse Joe now. Had long sandy whiskers. The las' time I seed him
he come to my uncle's house. We was all livin' in a row of houses.
Called em the quarters. I never will fergit it.
"I was born on Horton's Island here in Arkansas. That's what they told
me.
"I know when my daddy went to war and when he come back, he put on his
crudiments (accoutrements) to let us see how he looked.
"I seed the soldiers gwine to war and comin' back. Look like to me I was
glad to see em till I seed too many of em.
"Yankees used to come down and take provisions. Yes, 'twas the Yankees!
"My granddaddy was the whippin' boss. Had a white boss too named Massa
Fred.
"Massa Joe used to come down and play with us chillun. His name was Joe
Horton. Ever'body can tell you that was his name. Old missis named Miss
Mary. She didn't play with us much.
"Yes ma'am, they sure did take us to Texas durin' of the War--in a ox
wagon. Stayed down there a long time.
"We didn't have plenty to eat but we had to eat what we did. I member
they wouldn't give us chillun no meat, jus' grease my mouf and make my
mother think we had meat.
"Now my mother told me, at night some of the folks used to steal one of
old massa's shoats and cook it at night. I know when that pot was on the
rack but you better not say nothin' bout it.
"All us chillun stayed in a big long log house. Dar is where us chillun
stayed in the daytime, right close to Miss Mary.
"I used to sit on the lever at the gin. You know that was glory to me to
ride. I whipped the old mule. Ever' now and then I'd give him a tap.
"When they pressed the cotton, they wet the press and I member one time
they wet it too much. I don't say they sont it back but I think they
made em pay for it. And they used to put chunks in the bale to make it
weigh heavy. Right there on that lake where I was born.
"Used to work in the field. These white folks can tell you I loved to
work. I used to get as much as the men. My mammy was a worker and as the
sayin' is, I was a chip off the old block.
"The first teacher I went to school to was named Mr. Cushman. Didn't go
only on rainy days. That was the first school and you might say the las'
one cause I had to nuss them chillun.
"You know old massa used to keep all our ages and my daddy said I was
nineteen when I married, but I don't know what year 'twas--honest I
don't.
"I been married three times.
"I member one time I was goin' to a buryin'. I was hurryin' to get
dressed. I wanted to be ready when they come by for me cause they say
it's bad luck to stop a corpse. If you don't know that I do--you know if
they had done started from the house.
"My mama and daddy said they was born in Tennessee and was bought and
brought here.
"I been goin' to one of these gov'ment schools and got my eyes so weak I
can't hardly see to thread a needle. I'se crazy bout it I'm tellin' you.
I sit up here till God knows how long. They give me a copy to practice
and they'd brag on me and that turned me foolish. I jus' thought I was
the teacher herself almos'. That's the truf now.
"I can't read much. I don't fool with no newspaper. I wish I could,
woman--I sure do.
"I keep tellin' these young folks they better learn somethin'. I tell em
they better take this chance. This young generation--I don't know much
bout the whites--I'm tellin' you these colored is a sight.
"Well, I'm gwine away from here d'rectly--ain't gwine be here much
longer. If I don't see you again I'll meet you in heaven."
Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson
Person interviewed: Patsy Moore, Madison, Arkansas
Age: 74
"My mother was sold in Jamestown, Virginia to Daphney Hull. Her white
folks got in debt. My papa was born in Georgia. Folks named Williams
owned him. Ma never seen her ma no more but William Hull went to
Virginia and bought her two sisters.
"I was named Patsy after grandma in Virginia. She had twenty-one
children to ma's knowing. Ma was a light color. Pa was a Molly Glaspy
man. That means he was Indian and African. Molly Glaspy folks was nearly
always free folks. Ma was named Mattie. If they would have no children
they got trafficked about.
"Daphney Hull was good but William Hull and his wife was both mean. They
lived on the main road to Holly Springs. Daphney Hull was a Methodist
man, kind-hearted and good. He was a bachelor I think. He kept a woman
to cook and keep his house. Auntie said the Yankees was mean to Mr.
William Hull's wife. They took all their money and meat. They had their
money hid and some of the black folks let the Yankees find out where it
was. They got it.
"Papa was a soldier. He sent for us. We come to Memphis, Tennessee in a
wagon. We lived there five or six years. Pa got a pension till he died.
Both my parents was field hands in slavery. Ma took in washing and
ironing in Memphis.
"I was born in De Sota County, Mississippi. I remember Forrest's battle
in Memphis. I didn't have sense to be scared. I seen black and white
dead in the streets and alleys. We went to the magazine house for
protection, and we played and stayed there. They tried to open the
magazine house but couldn't.
"When freedom come, folks left home, out in the streets, crying,
praying, singing, shouting, yelling, and knocking down everything. Some
shot off big guns. Den come the calm. It was sad then. So many folks
done dead, things tore up and nowheres to go and nothing to eat, nothing
to do. It got squally. Folks got sick, so hungry. Some folks starved
nearly to death. Times got hard. We went to the washtub onliest way we
all could live. Ma was a cripple woman. Pa couldn't find work for so
long when he mustered out.
"I do recollect the Civil War well.
"I live with my daughter. I have a cough since I had flu and now I have
chills and fever. My daughter helps me all I get. She lives with me.
"Some of the young folks is mighty good. I reckon some is too loose
acting. Times is hard. Harder in the winter than in summer time. We has
our garden and chickens to help us out in summer."
Interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden
Person interviewed: Ada Moorehead
2300 E. Barraque, Pine Bluff, Arkansas
Age: 82?
"I was here in slavery times, honey, but I don't know exactly how old I
am. I was born in Huntsville, Alabama but you know in them days old
folks didn't tell the young folks no thin' and I was so small when they
brought me here. I don't know what year I was born but I believe I'm
about eighty-two. You know when a person ain't able to work and dabble
out his own clothes, you know he's gone a long ways.
"My white folks was Ad White what owned me. Called him Marse Ad. Don't
call folks marse much now-days.
"My father was sold away from us in Alabama and we heard he was here in
Pine Bluff so Aunt Fanny brought us here. She just had a road full of us
and brought us here to Arkansas. We walked. We was a week on the road. I
know we started here on Monday morning and we got here to the courthouse
on the next Monday round about noon. That was that old courthouse. I
reckon that ground is in the river now.
"When we got here I saw my father. He took me to his sister--that was my
Aunt Savannah--and dropped me down.
"Mrs. Reynolds raised me. She come to Aunt Savannah's house and hired me
the very same day I got here. I nursed Miss Katie. She was bout a month
old. You know--a little long dress baby. Don't wear then long dresses
now--gettin' wiser.
"Mrs. Reynolds she was good to me. And since she's gone looks like I'm
gone too--gone to the dogs. Cause when Mrs. Reynolds got a dress for
Miss Katie--got one for me too.
"My father was a soldier in the war. Last time I heard from him I know
he was hauling salt to the breastworks. Yes, I was here in the war. That
was all right to me but I wished a many a time I wasn't here.
"I went to school two or three days in a week for about a term. But I
didn't learn to read much. Had to hire out and help raise my brother and
sister. I'm goin' to this here government school now. I goes every
afternoon.
"Since I got old I can think bout the old times. It comes to me. I
didn't pay attention to nothin' much when I was young.
"Oh Lord, I don't know what's goin' to become of us old folks. Wasn't
for the Welfare, I don't know what I'd do.
"I was sixteen when I married. I sure did marry young. I married young
so I could see my chillun grown. I never married but once and I stayed a
married woman forty-nine years to the very day my old man died. Lived
with one man forty-nine years. I had my hand and heart full. I had a
home of my own. How many chillun? Me? I had nine of my own and I raised
other folks' chillun. Oh, I been over this world right smart--first one
thing and then another. I know a lot of white folks. They all been
pretty good to me."
Interviewer: Mary D. Hudgins
Person Interviewed: Mrs. Mary Jane (Mattie) Mooreman
Home: with son
Age: 90
"Yes, ma'am. I've been in Hot Springs, been in Hot Springs 57 years.
That's a long time. Lots of changes have come--I've seen lots of changes
here--changed from wooden sidewalks and little wood buildings.
"Your name's Hudgins? I knew the Hudginses--knew Miss Nora well. What's
that? Did I know Adeline? Did I know Adeline! Do you mean to tell me
she's still alive? Adeline! Why Miss Maud," (addressing Mrs. Eisele, for
whom she works--and who sat nearby to help in the interview) "Miss
Maude, I tell you Adeline's WHITE, she's white clean through!" (see
interview with Adeline Blakeley, who incidentally is as black as "the
ace of spades"--in pigmentation.) "Miss Maude, you never knew anybody
like Adeline. She bossed those children and made them mind--just like
they was hers. She took good care of them." (Turning to the interviewer)
"You know how the Hudgins always was about their children. Adeline
thought every one of 'em was made out of gold---made out of pure GOLD.
"She made 'em mind. I remember once, she was down on Central Avenue with
Ross and he did southing or other that, wasn't nice. She walked over to
the umbrella stand, you remember how they used to have umbrellas for
sale out in front of the stores. She grabbed an umbrella and she whipped
Ross with it--she didn't hurt him. Then she put it back in the stand
and said to the man who ran the store, 'If that umbrella's hurt, just
charge it to Harve Hudgins.' That's the way Adeline was. So she's still
alive. Law how I'd like to see her. Bring me a picture of her. Oh Miss
Mary, I'd love to have it.
"Me? I was born on Green river near Hartford, Kentucky. Guess I was
about a year and a half, from what they told me when my mistress
married. Don't know how she ever met my master. She was raised in a
convent and his folks lived a long way from hers. But anyhow she did.
She was just 13 when she married. The man she married was named Charles
Mooreman M-O-O-R-E-M-A-N. They had a son called Charles Wycliff
Mooreman. He was named for his mother's people. I got a son I called
Charles Wycliff too. He works at the Arlington. He's a waiter. They say
he looks just like me. Mr. Charles Wycliff Mooreman--back in Kentucky.
I still gets letters from him.
"Miss Mary I guess I had a pretty easy time in slavery days. They was
good to us. Besides I was a house niggah." (Those who have been "house
niggahs" never quibble at the word slave or negro. A subtle social
distinction brewed in the black race to separate house servants from
field hands as far as wealthy planters from "poor white trash.".) "Once
I heard a man say of my mother, 'You could put on a white boiled shirt
and lie flat down on the floor in her kitchen and not get dirty.'"
"Cook? No, ma'am!" (with dignity and indignation) "I never cooked until
after I was married, and I never washed, never washed so much as a rag.
All I washed was the babies and maybe my mistress's feet. I was a lady's
maid. I'd wait on my mistress and I'd knit sox for all the folks. When
they would sleep it was our duty--us maids--to fan 'em with feathers
made out of turkey feathers--feather fans. Part of it was to keep 'em
cool. Then they didn't have screens like we have today. So part of it
was to keep the flies off. I remember how we couldn't stomp our feet to
keep the flies from biting for fear of waking 'em up.
"No, Miss Mary, we didn't get such, good food. Nobody had all the kinds
of things we have today. We had mostly buttermilk and cornbread and fat
meat. Cake? 'Deed we didn't. I remember once they baked a cake and Mr.
Charles Wycliff--he was just a little boy--he got in and took a whole
fistful out of the cake. When Miss found out about it, she give us all
doses of salts--enough to make us all throw up. She gave it to all the
niggahs and the children--the white children. And what did she find out?
It was her own child who had done it.
"Yes ma'am we learned to read and write. Oh, Miss Maude now--I don't
want to recite. I don't want to." (But she did "Twinkle, Twinkle Little
Star" and "The Playful Kitten"--the latter all of 40 lines.) "I think, I
think they both come out of McGuffey's second Reader. Yes ma'am I
remember's McGuffey's and the Blueback speller too.
"No, Miss Mary, there wasn't so much of the war that was fought around
us. I remember that old Master used to go out in the front yard and
stand by a locust tree and put his ear against it. He said that way he
could hear the cannon down to Bowling Green. No, I didn't never hear any
shooting from the war myself.
"Yes ma'am, the Confederates used to come through lots. I remember how
we used to go to the spring for water for 'em. Then we'd stand with the
buckets on our heads while they drank--drank out of a big gourd. When
the buckets was empty we'd go back to the spring for more water.
"Once the Yankees come by the place. It was at night. They went out to
the quarters and they tried to get 'em to rise up. Told 'em to come on
in the big house and take what they wanted. Told 'em to take anything
they wanted to take, take Master's silver spoons and Miss' silk dress.
'If they don't like it, we'll shoot their brains out,' they said. Next
morning they told Master. He got scared and moved. At that time we was
living at Cloverport.
"It was near the end of the war and we was already free, only we didn't
know it. He moved on up to Stephensport. That's on the Ohio too. He took
me and a brother of mine and another black boy. While we was there I
remember he took me to a circus. I remember how the lady--she was
dressed in pink come walking down a wire--straight on down to the
ground. She was carrying a long pole. I won't never forget that.
"Not long afterwards I was married. We was all free then. My husband
asked my master if he could marry me. He told him 'You're a good man.
You can come and live on my farm and work for me, but you can't have
Mattie.' So we moved off to his Master's farm.
"A little while after that his Master bought a big farm in Arkansas. He
wanted to hire as many people as he could. So we went with him. He
started out well, but the first summer he died. So everything had to be
sold. A man what come down to bid on some of the farm tools and
stock--come to the auction, he told us to come on up to Woodruff county
and work for him. We was there 7 years and he worked the farm and I took
care of myself and my babies. Then he went off and left me.
"I went in to Cotton Plant and started working there. Finally he wrote
me and tried to get me to say we hadn't never been married. Said he
wanted to marry another woman. The white folks I worked for wouldn't let
me. I'd been married right and they wouldn't let me disgrace myself by
writing such a letter.
"Finally I came on to Hot Springs. For a while I cooked and washed. Then
I started working for folks, regular. For 9 years, tho, I mostly washed
and ironed.
"I came to Hot Springs on the 7th of February--I think it was 57 years
ago. You remember Miss Maud--it was just before that big hail storm. You
was here, don't you remember--that hail storm that took all the windows
out of all the houses, tore off roofs and swept dishes and table-cloths
right off the tables. Can't nobody forget that who's seen it.
"Miss Mary, do you know Miss Julia Huggins? I worked for her a long
time. Worked for her before she went away and after she came back.
Between times I cooked for Mrs. Button (Burton--but called Button by
everyone) Housley. When Miss Julia come back she marches right down to
Mrs. Housley's and tells me she wants me to work for her again. 'Can't
get her now,' says Mrs. Housley, 'Mattie's done found out she's black.'
But anyhow I went to see her, and I went back to work for her, pretty
foxy Miss Julia was.
"I been working for Mrs. Eisele pretty near twenty five years. Saw her
children grow up and the grand children. Lancing, he's my heart. Once
when Mr. and Mrs. Eisele went to see Mrs. Brown, Lancing's mother, they
took me with them. All the way to Watertown, Wisconsin. There wasn't any
more niggas in the town and all the children thought I was somthing to
look at. They'd come to see me and they'd bring their friends with 'em.
Once while we was there, a circus come to town. The children wanted me
to see it. Told me there was a negro boy in it. Guess they thought it
would be a treat to me to see another niggah. I told 'em, 'Law, don't
you think I see lots, lots more than I wants, everyday when I is at
home?'
"It used to scare me. The folks would go off to a party or a show and
leave me alone with the baby. No, Miss Mary, I wasn't scared for myself.
I thought somebody might come in and kidnap that baby. No matter how
late they was I'd sit on the top step of the stairs leading
upstairs--just outside the door where Lansing was asleep. No matter what
time they come home they'd find me there. 'Why don't you go on in your
bedroom and lie down?' they'd ask me. 'No,' I'd tell 'em, 'somebody
might come in, and they would have to get that baby over my dead body.'
"Jonnie, that's my daughter" (Mrs. D.G. Murphy, 338 Walnut Street, a
large stucco house with well cared for lawn) "she wants me to quit work.
I told her, 'You put that over on Mrs. Murphy--you made her quit work
and took care of her. What happened to her? She died! You're not going
to make me old.'
"Twice she's got me to quit work. Once, she told me it was against the
law. Told me there was a law old folks couldn't work. I believed her and
I quit. Then I come on down and I asked Mr. Eisele" (an important
business executive and prominent in civic affairs, [HW: aged 83]) "He
rared back and he said, 'I'd like to see anybody stop me from working.'
So I come on back.
"Another time, it was when the old age pensions come in. They tried to
stop me again. Told me I had to take it. I asked Mr. Eisele if I could
work just the same. 'No,' he says 'if you take it, you'll have to quit
work.' So I stamped my foot and I says, 'I won't take nobody's pension.'
"The other day Jonnie called up here and she started to crying. Lots of
folks write her notes and say she's bad to let me work. Somebody told
her that they had seen me going by to work at 4 o'clock in the morning.
It wasn't no such. I asked a man when I was on the way and it was 25
minutes until 5. Besides, my clock had stopped and I couldn't tell what
time it was. Yes, Miss Mary, I does get here sort of early, but then I
like it. I just sit in the kitchen until the folks get up.
"You see that picture over there, it's Mr. Eisele when he was 17. I'd
know that smiling face anywhere. He's always good to me. When they go
away to Florida I can go to the store and get money whenever I need it.
But it's always good to see them come back. Miss Maud says I'm sure to
go to Heaven, I'm such a good worker. No, Miss Mary, I'm not going to
quit work. Not until I get old."
Interviewer: Samuel S. Taylor
Person interviewed: Evelina Morgan
1317 W. Sixteenth Street, Little Rock, Arkansas
Age: App. 81
[TR: Original first page moved to follow second page per
HW: Insert this page before Par. 1, P. 3]
"I was born in Wedgeboro, North Carolina, on the plantation of--let me
see what that man's name was. He was an old lawyer. I done forgot that
old white man's name. Old Tom Ash! Senator Ash--that's his name. He was
good to his slaves. He had so many niggers he didn't know them all.
"My father's name was Alphonso Dorgens and my mother's name was Lizzie
Dorgens. Both of them dead. I don't know what her name was before she
married. My pa belonged to the Dorgens' and he married my ma. That is
how she come to be a Dorgen. Old Man Ash never did buy him. He just
visited my mother. They all was in the same neighborhood. Big
plantations. Both of them had masters that owned lots of land. I don't
know how often he visited my mother after he married her. He was over
there all the time. They were right adjoining plantations.
"I was born in a frame house. I don't know nothin' about it no more than
that. It was j'ined to the kitchen. My mother had two rooms j'ined to
the kitchen. She was the old mistress' cook. She could come right out of
the kitchen and go on in her room.
"My father worked on the farm. They fed the slaves meat and bread. That
is all I remember--meat and bread and potatoes. They made lots of
potatoes. They gave 'em what they raised. You could raise stuff for
yourself if you wanted to.
"My mother took care of her children. We children was on the place there
with her. She didn't have nobody's children to take care of but us.
"I was six years old during of the War. My ma told me my age, but I
forgot it; I never did have it put down. The only way I gits a pension,
I just tells 'em I was six years old during of the War, and they figures
out the age. Sorta like that. But I know I was six years old when the
Rebels and the Yankees was fighting.
"I seed the Yankees come through. I seed that. They come in the time old
master was gone. He run off--he run away. He didn't let 'em git him. I
was a little child. They stayed there all day breaking into
things--breaking into the molasses and all like that. Old mistress
stayed upstairs hiding. The soldiers went down in the basement and
throwed things around. Old master was a senator; they wanted to git him.
They sure did cuss him: 'The ----, ----, ----, old senator,' they would
say. He took his finest horses and all the gold and silver with him
somewheres. They couldn't git 'im. They was after senators and high-ups
like that.
"The soldiers tickled me. They sung. The white people's yard was jus'
full of them playing 'Yankee Doodle' and 'Hang Jeff Davis on a Sour
Apple Tree.'
"All the white people gone! Funny how they run away like that. They had
to save their selves. I 'member they took one old boss man and hung him
up in a tree across a drain of water, jus' let his foot touch--and
somebody cut him down after 'while. Those white folks had to run away.