*Interview with Mandy Leslie*
--_Daphne L.E. Curtis, Fairhope, Alabama_
_THE ORPHAN SLAVE-GIRL_
In the suburbs of Fairhope, in a rough but neatly-kept cottage of two
rooms, lives Mandy Leslie, a hard-working Negro woman whose energy
belies the seventy-seven years to which she credibly lays claim. Twice
widowed and her children scattered to the winds, Mandy is a pillar of
strength and comfort to several white households, where she makes weekly
calls to care for the laundry work, "wash and iron," as she calls it.
The washing is done in the back yards, where a hot fire under an iron
pot boils the garments to a state that permits Mandy's rubbing over a
fluted wash-board to make them spotless. Strung on lines in the sun, the
clothes are ready for ironing next day.
Using old-fashioned sadirons, heated at an open fire, Mandy turns out a
"done-up" product that any modern laundry might envy. During the ironing
process, which takes place in the hall or a spare room, the mistress of
the house is entertained with a steady stream of biography, comment, and
information from the lonely old woman who relishes this opportunity to
talk to somebody, especially if there happens to be a visitor who is not
familiar with her story. A typical episode runs like this:
"Yassum, I 'members de war, but I don't lak no wars. Dey give folks
trouble and dey's full of evil doings. When de Yankees come t'rough
here, dey took my mammy off in a wagon, and lef' me right side de road,
and when she try to git out de wagon to fetch me, dey hit her on de head
and she fell back in de wagon and didn't holler no more. Dey jes' driv'
off up de big road wid Mammy lying down in de wagon--she mount a been
dead, 'cause I ain't never seed her no mo'.
"Unker John Leslie and Aunt Josie and all dey chillun come along in a
wagon, gwine up North, dey said, and dey said dey found me standing dar
side de road crying for my mammy. Aunt Josie, she say: 'Pore little
lamb, you gwine wid us. Us ain't got much, but us can't let you die.'
And Unker John, he say: 'Poor chile, us mustn't leave her disaway.' He
lift me up in de wagon and drive twell de mule gin plum' out, and den us
stop and took up on a place not fur from Mon'gomery, on Mr. Willis
Biles' place. Us live dar twell I was grown woman, and Mr. Biles sho'
was a good man to live wid and he treat us right every year.
"Den I married Taylor and us kep' on living wid Mr. Biles and all t'ree
of us's chillun was borned dere. Den Taylor died wid de fever, and he
had insho'ance whet us pay a dollar a mont' for de longest and he say it
take care me and de chillun when he gone. Bless God, dat money didn't
take care nobody 'cept de doctor and de burying-man. Dey bofe got dey
part and lef' me jes' two dollar and seventy cents, dat's all. Mr. Biles
say dey ought to be whupped for chargin' me lak dey did. Den he went to
see 'em, and cussed 'em out, and dey sont back twenty dollar. I ain't
waste no more money on insho'ance, no ma'am!
"I had a hard time keeping my chillun and working de crop too; but Mr.
Biles, he 'low me a mule, jes' lak he do Taylor 'fore he died, and us
made four bags of cotton de fust year and five bags de nex' year. I pick
every lock of it myself--jes' me and dem little chilluns.
"Den Rufus he come along and he thought us had all de insho'ance money,
and he court me so hard and so reg'lar dat I act a fool and married him,
and he turn out to be de no-countest nigger dat ever lived. 'Stead of
him supporting me, us had to support him for nigh 'bout ten year, me and
de chillun. He had misery in he back, and couldn't do no hard work lak
plowing and hoeing. It hurt he back to pick cotton and pull fodder, and
he jes' set 'roun' and make a few baskets and eat lak a hoss.
"Mr. Willis Biles he died, and he boy, Mr. Joe, he took de place and run
it for he ma. Mr. Joe told Rufus 'twan't nothing de matter wid him but
damn lazy, and if he don't git out and he'p me work, he gonna set de Ku
Klux on him. Den us got scared and moved nigh 'bout to Uniontown, and us
live wid Mr. Bob Simmons for seben years hand-running, and he treat us
right every fall 'bout de settlement. Mr. Bob he say 'tain't nothing de
matter wid Rufus jes' lak Mr. Joe say, and Rufus say he gwine move to
town whar he kin git work to suit him.
"Us move to town, and Rufus he gone all day looking for a job and don't
find nothing to suit him. I has to take in washing from de white folks
to feed us and dey charge two dollars rent for de little shack us live
in. 'Twan't right to do dat; 'cause I ain't never paid no house-rent in
all my bo'n days, twell den. And de fust t'ing I know, dat trifling
Rufus he done sell de mule and wagon and got drunk and lost de res' of
de money. Us was sho' in a bad fix. Why didn't I quit Rufus? Yassum, I
'spects I ought to done dat; but he' so humble when he sober up and pray
so strong. He say de Lord done call him outen he meanness and he gwine
preach Jesus. He make lak he need dem preacher clothes, and us skimped
along and saved 'nough to buy Rufus de suit of clothes wid a long-tail
coat. He got a high-up hat and a Bible, and he sho did look gran'. Us
was proud to see him all fix up and going out to labor in de vineyard of
de Lord.
"Us give Rufus de las' t'ree dollars us could scrape up and he got on de
train and went to Mon'gomery, but us ain't seen hair nor hide of dat
nigger sence. In 'bout a year us got a letter from him in Juliet, wayup
in Illinois, wharever dat is, and he say he in de pen'tenshry for ten
year, 'cause dey 'scuse him stealing a woman's jew'lry, and would I get
Mr. Biles and Mr. Simmons to do what dey can to get him out. He repent
and been washed in de blood of de Lamb sence he been in jail. And he say
if anybody write me dat he runned off from Mon'gomery wid 'nother woman
and dat he got a wife in Chicago, it's a lie.
"Dat fix me wid dat triflin' nigger, and Mr. Sam Broady, what's a
lawyer, he got me a 'vorcement and gin me back my fust name, Leslie. Now
I's t'rough wid marrying. My chillun done all gone and got married, and
I come back here whar I come from. 'Twix' here and Brantley, is de
place.
"How old I is? I was five year old, come de Surrender--how old dat make
me? Sebenty-seben? Dat's right and I be sebenty-eight dis time nex'
year. How I know I be living dis time nex' year? 'Cose, I will be
living! I always notice dat when I lives t'rough March, I lives de res'
of de year, and ain't March jes' now gone, huh?
"How de way wais' ironed suit you, Missy?"