*Interview with Bert Frederick*
--_Preston Klein_
_WANTS MY FRIENDS TO GO WID ME_
"Wants my friends to go wid me, New Jerusalem;
Wonder ef I'll ever git to heaven, New Jerusalem!"
Nappy-headed, humble little Bert Frederick sang the old song in a voice
that trembled and broke on the high notes. His black face beamed when he
had finished, and "de old times" came flooding back into his mind.
"Honey, Ol' Master us'ta sing dat good song to us niggers; an' he allus
could sing it so purty."
Uncle Frederick, like all the other gray-bearded Negroes of the Old
South, is occupied mostly these days with getting ready to meet "de
Sweet Jesus." As well as he can remember, he was around 12 years old
when "de hawn of freedom sounded."
He shook his white head when the interviewer asked his age, a slow smile
spreading over his face.
"Honey chile, you's axed me a riddle. I disremember 'bout dat. De bes' I
kin till you is dat I is eighty-odd--but as to 'zackness, I can't tell."
Some years ago, Uncle Frederick suffered a broken back in an accident.
Since then he has been unable to stand erect, but can straighten his
back when seated. Therefore, he politely asked to sit down when he was
asked to pose for a picture.
His first master, he says, was Dr. Rich Vernon, who lived in Chambers
County. Afterward, he was sold to William Frederick.
He chuckled as he recalled the old days.
"I was a shirt-tail nigger," he laughed. "Dat is, I wore jes' a long
shirt 'twel I was a big scamp more dan twelve year old. Honey, I was a
sight to look at!
"Whut did I do about de plantation? Well, I driv de cows an' sheep to
pasture an' seed dat no eagles kotched de lambs. Us had big eagles
'roun' den, an' us had to be keerful wid de small stock. Ef us warn't,
ol' eagle ud swoop down an' tote off a whole lamb.
"Us had a time in dem days. I 'members dat us had a pen to ketch wild
turkeys in. An' us kotched a few of dem, too."
Uncle Frederick's mother was Harriett Lumpkin, who lived below Opelika.
He had three sisters, Mary Dowdell, Anne Carlisle and Emma Boyd; but all
are dead.
[Illustration: _Bert Frederick, Opelika, Alabama_]
"When de Yankees come to Alabama," he recalled, "Ol' Master tol' de
niggers to hitch up all de wagons an' load all de food an' sech on 'em.
Us had 'bout forty acres of swamp land, so us hid de stuff dere.
"'Fore long I seed a long string of black an' white horses, wid mules
behin' dem. Dey had packs on dey back. In de packs was grub de Yankees
had tuk off'en de white peoples."
"Did you enjoy the old slavery days, Uncle?"
"Yes, chile, dey was good days. Some of de white peoples was bad to de
niggers, but my Ol' Master warn't dat kind. Dat de reason he would let
all de niggers sit aroun' whilst he was a singin'; an' he could sing."
Uncle Frederick putters about his tiny home in Opelika, managing to grow
a profusion of flowers and vegetables despite his bent back. He was
hoeing in his garden when the interviewer came upon him, but he eagerly
laid down the hoe when told what he sought.
"Uncle, I want to talk with you about the old times."
"Lordy me, chile," he beamed, his eyes twinkling, "you done foun' de
raght nigger!"