A lineup of Clowns waiting to drive their kids a few blocks home from school, on a beautiful Hawaiian afternoon during my vacation (January 2013).
One of the weirdest things about this country is the way people use their cars.
I mean, it takes some serious effort to find a spot in our Three Million Square Mile land area, where you will not see endless lines of seated humans trundling meaninglessly back and forth in these giant and stupendously inefficient machines. Whether you’re on a rocky rural road in the desert, in a deep blizzard high atop the Continental Divide, walking up to the elementary school on a Friday afternoon to retrieve your son, or sitting with your feet in the sand on the Windward shores of Oahu, those fuckin’ cars are right there with you – roaring, stinking, crashing, and impoverishing their owners.
All this would be excusable if all these cars were providing an essential service. If every car trip delivered great rewards to its driver, and by extension to society as a whole, I’d gladly toss down this keyboard and stand up so I could cheer on the heroic drivers as they passed by. Just as I solemnly accept that digging up a 27 kilometre tunnel of solid rock beneath Switzerland to build the Large Hadron Collider was a worthwhile wound to inflict on our planet because of the expected advancements to science, I could accept that paving over most of our cities to accommodate cars is Good.
But unfortunately, that’s not the case. After years of careful study, observations, and interviews with real car drivers, I have come to the conclusion that about 90% of the car use that occurs in the United States is Pure Bullshit. But don’t get out your boxing gloves and start knocking out motorists just yet, because the ridiculousness is baked right into our culture. Our people are victims rather than perpetrators, even if their suffering is rather comical and clown-like.
Luckily, today I’ll present a cure for the problem.
My home town of Longmont, Colorado represents the ultimate laboratory for studying Car Clown disease, as it is sufficiently small and bike-friendly that car trips within town are completely unnecessary. Since groceries and kids are , the only reason to drive would be physical impairment, transporting items too large for a trailer, or driving to another city.
Yet these intra-city trips are commonplace. When I see a car ease into a parking spot, I always run to assist the driver with getting out into their wheelchair, but I am stunned to find that they usually have working legs after all! People drive to the school to pick up and drop off kids. To the grocery store. To the restaurants. To the gym. To each other’s houses. Back and forth on Main Street to show off. Every road sees plenty of cars and personal trucks, some of them in dangerous numbers. And inside, every vehicle is equipped with a La-Z-boy recliner, upon which a tragic clown sits, pushing the soft-touch pedals, turning the power-assisted wheel, and talking on some sort of Clownophone.
The clowns have to wait in line when the traffic light turns red. They have to bumble though the parking lots and wait for each other to back out of parking spaces, because their machines are so bulky that two cannot pass each other in a space less than 20 feet wide. They line up at special events and fight for places to park on the streets. Then they line up at the gas station and the car wash and the oil change shop. And the machines make them fatter and poorer every time they use them.
And we haven’t even addressed the most clown-like invention of them all: the drive-through (or ‘drive-thru’ as it they spell it here, which is suitable because “thru” is not even a word, just as drive-through services should not exist). The clowns actually sit for several minutes in a self-imposed traffic jam, engines idling, just so somebody can hand them some shit through the window of their car! Mustachians like you and I view an idling engine like a bleeding wound or an overflowing toilet. It’s something to be alarmed at, and to correct immediately. But Car Clowns actually idle deliberately, sometimes to get something as ridiculous as a cup of expensive coffee in a disposable paper cup. When I see these lines of Drive-Thru Clowns, I find the urge to get off my bike and walk down the lineup systematically PUNCHING EACH DRIVER IN THE FACE through their open window to be almost overwhelming.
It sounds like a terrible fate when I describe it like that, but yet for almost everyone in the country, this is reality. Most Car Clowns will acknowledge that their lives are pretty inconvenient, but then claim that a car is necessary to prevent the even greater inconveniences of public transit, walking, or not going anywhere at all.
Well, here’s the good news: Car Clown Disease is not an unavoidable thing. It’s simply the product of bad habits. If you can reprogram the bad habits you’ve built around cars, you can slide into the cool camp of Conscious Car Users instead. It’s a land where traffic is sparse, the view out your window is breathtaking, and cost is negligible.
To cure the disease, you just need to change the way you feel about driving. Right now, you probably feel that it’s just something you do because it’s necessary. Maybe you even find it pleasant at times (hell, I sure do). You have the cozy seats, the climate control, the stereo, lights, knobs and buttons, and all that power. You can go anywhere with that thing.
But there’s more to it than that. When you use a 3500-pound car to transport your 150-pound self around, 96 percent of the weight of that clump of matter is the car. You’re moving 25 times more junk around than you need to, and thus using 25 times more energy to do it.
Imagine that you’re hungry for lunch, so you go to a restaurant. But you don’t just order yourself a blackened salmon salad for $15.00. You order twenty five salads for $375.00! Then, you eat one of them, and leave the other 24 blackened salmon salads, $360.00 worth of food, to get collected by the waiter and slopped unceremoniously into a big black garbage bag. All that fine wild-caught Alaskan Salmon, lovingly seasoned and grilled. All the fine crumbles of feta cheese, the mango salsa, diced green onion, shaved peppers, rich zingy dressing, and everything else the chef worked on for hours – plopped into the slimy garbage bag. This is exactly what you are doing, every time you drive!
And you’re not just wasting your own money, of course. You are wasting the gasoline that the rest of the world , puncturing seabeds and spilling stadium-loads of oil into pristine wilderness areas as a necessary byproduct. Destroying coral reefs and flooding coastlines with your carbon emissions. Clogging roads and creating demand for roadway expansion, indirectly raising your own taxes. It’s a whole lot of badness we’re doing, every time we drive. It’s not just a matter of “Hey, it’ll only cost me ten bucks for the gas”. It’s a matter of choosing to be an asshole. I fully admit that I drive plenty of miles in cars too, and I too am being an asshole every time I do it. Other people think you’re being an asshole when you drive too, and you should be just a little bit embarrassed every time you are seen driving. I sure am.
The goal here is not to create negative stress in your life. Just acknowledge that whenever you turn the key, you need to say, “Here we go. I’m being an asshole again”. It’s a subtle change, but a powerful one once you embrace it. And of course, your assholism scales with the size and weight of the vehicle. If you’re considering driving a pickup truck or large SUV for personal transport, the asshole factor should be so overwhelming that you feel like running inside to cower in a closet every time you even look out at your driveway. Feel the pain. Embrace it. Over time, work to reduce it.
On top of that, every time you drive on a local trip that could be handled by bike, you are telling both the world and yourself, “I am already so physically fit and healthy, that I could not possibly benefit from an extra few miles of biking”. Occasionally this is true, like if you just returned from a mountain century ride and have raw butt cheeks, blistered hands, and absolutely no energy left to crank the pedals. In this situation, sure, go ahead and take the car out to get groceries. You deserve it. For the rest of us, what is your excuse? Unless you just rode 60 miles, you will probably benefit greatly by leaving the car at home.
So there you have it: 3 simple steps to automotive habit change. With every potential car trip, think of the 24 plates of wasted salmon. Ask yourself if it’s worth being a deliberate asshole, and ask yourself if you have any possible use for a bit more health and physical fitness. Do it every time, so it becomes a habit.
You may find your automobile travel being greatly reduced, which of course has massive financial benefits as well. And for those remaining trips that pass the Triple Anti-Car-Clown Gauntlet: well, those are probably some hella good car trips, so you will have such a good time that it will be worth the consequences.
Epilogue, 1 day later: As usual, this article has gathered its share of complaints from new readers. “Waah, Waah, don’t call me a clown”, “Biking is dangerous where I live”, etc.
Instead of continuing my usual bossy insensitive life coach routine, I’ll take a rare moment to remind those people what I’m really trying to accomplish with this article: It’s not to make you feel bad or to try to make myself feel good. It is just to raise awareness about how there really is an alternative to a nothing-but-cars lifestyle if you think about it when making future decisions.
Sure, you might have trapped yourself into a car-dependent lifestyle for now. But remember, you created that trap yourself. If you get in the habit of lightheartedly calling yourself a clown every time you drive, and imagining those 24 plates of wasted food, you’ll start thinking, “hey, maybe there’s another way”.
Then, you might try walking or biking (or hell, even taking the train) on a fair-weather basis. Just do it when it’s easy. Then, it will get easier, which means that soon enough, it will be easy most of the time.
Next time you move to a new house or a new job, suddenly the consideration of “I’d rather not be a car clown” will be in your mind. You will make more balanced decisions. The reason I took the job in Boulder instead of Petaluma way back in 1999 was because I could afford a house within biking distance of work here, but I couldn’t out there. Even if you live in the center of a NASCAR oval right now, and work 67 miles away, you don’t have to do that forever. You, too, have a choice of where you live and work in the future. I’m just planting a seed in your mind.
Only once this seed grows into the fruit of independence, can you wean yourself from the Poisonous Teat of the Automobile.
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Slave narratives, a folk history of slavery in the United States from interviews with former slaves. Alabama Narratives, Volume I: a machine-readable transcription.
Born In Slavery: Ex-Slave Narratives from the Federal Writers' Projectmesn
Selected and converted.American Memory, Library of Congress.
Washington, DC, 2000.
Preceding element provides place and date of transcription only.
For more information about this text and this American Memory collection, refer to accompanying matter.
General Collections, Library of Congress.
Copyright s refer to accompanying matter.
The National Digital Library Program at the Library of Congress makes digitized historical materials available for education and scholarship.
This transcription captured with optical character recognition technology is not intended to reproduce the appearance of the original work. The accompanying images provide a facsimile of this work and represent the appearance of the original.
Untitled Section
AlABAMA NARRATIVES
Prepared by
the Federal Writers
Project of
the Works Progress Administration for the State of Alabama
INFORMA~fl~S . l~7 144 145 148 154 15? 165 168 171
174 176 178 181 185 188 190,195 201 211
220 224 227 231 233 236 238 241 242
251 255 258
268 272 275 278 282 286 Aarons, Charlie Abercrornbie
Anthony Arr~nond (Arnrriond~), Molly Anderson, Charity Askew, G-us
Baker, Torn Barnes, Henry Beauchamp, Nathan Bell, Oliver Birdsong, Nelson Bishop, Ank Bonner, Siney Bowen, Jennie Bradfield, Nannie Bradley, Martha Brown, Allen Brown, Gus
Galloway, Walter Casey, Esther King Cha~vian, Amy Cha~nan, Emma Cheatam, Henry Clark, Laura Clayton, Hattie Clemons, ;~adley (Shorty) Colbert
William Collins, Tildy Colq.uitt, Sara Cosby, Mandy McCullough Crockett, Emma Cross, Cheney
Matilda Pugh Davis, Carrie Davis, Clara Dillard, George Dullard, Ella Dirt, Rufus
Eppes, Katherine
Fi tzpatrick
Reuben Ford, Hey Wood Frederick, Bert
Garlic, Delia Garrett, Angie Garry, Henry
9 GIbson, Fannie
12 Gill, Frank
15 Gillard, Jim Grandberry, Mary Ella Green, Esther Green, Jake Grigsby, Charity
Hayes, Charles Hill, Lizzie Hines, Gabe Hodges, Adeline Holland, Caroline Holloway, Jane Holmes, Joseph Horn, Josh Howard, Emma L.
Ingram, Everett Irwin, Hannah
Jackson, Martha Jane Johnson, Hilliard Johnson, Randolph Jones, Abraham Jones, Enirna Jones, Hannah Josephine, Aunt Jurdon, Lucindy Lawrence
Kimball, Lucy King, Ellen
Leslie, Mandy Lewis, Dellie Lightnin
Longslaughter, Billy Abraham Louis, Uncle
MeAlpin, Tom Maddox, Anne Mandy Menefee, Frank Morgan, Isaarn Mo rgan
Tony 17 20 25 27 33 35 39 42 44 46 48 49
51 55 58 62 66 72 76 78 81 83 87 90 92 95
103 105 109 111 113 117
122 123 126
Mose, Uncle Murphy, Sally Stewart, Theodore Fontaine 356 Strickland, George . 359
Taylor, Cull Taylor, Daniel Taylor, George Tellis, Aniaiida Thomas, Ellen Thomas, Elizabeth Tiliman, Mollie Toombs, Alonza Fantroy Towns, Williar~i Henry Underv~ood, Stepney 394 Van Dyke, Charlie 39 ?
Walker, Lilah Walker, Simon ~ashington, Cindy White, Eliza White, Mingo Whitess, Abe Williams, Caille Witherspoon, Silvia Nettles, Hattie Anne
Northcross, Rev. W. E.
Owen5, Rev. Wade 306
Parker, Molly Patton, Lindy Phillips, Simon Pitts, Roxy Pollard, Carrie Poole, Irene Pugh, Nicey Reynolds, Salue 326 Rice, Mary Robinson
Cornel la Rogers, Gus (Jabbo)
Scott, Janie Shepherd, Maugan Suas, Allen Smith, Frank Smith, John Stanton, Annie 289 294 29? 299 363 36 ? 3 ?O 374 376 380 381 383 385 309 311 312 316 318 320 323 329 331 334 401 404 407 411 413 423 425 429 33? 340 342 345 349 353 Young, George 432
Facing page
Frontispiece
92 ILLUSTRATIONS A Slave Cabin in Barbour County near Eufaula
Molly Arninond (A~nmonds)
Charity Anderson
Nathan Beauchamp
Oliver Bell
Ank Bishop
Siney Bonner
Jennie Bowen
Martha Bradley
Allen Brown
Waiter Calloway
Esther King Casey
Aniy Chapman
Henry Cheatam
Laura Clark
Laura Clark s House
Wadley (Shorty) Cleions
William Colbert
Sara Colqultt
Emma Crockett
:~nma Crockett s House
Fac ing page
282 Matilda Pugh Daniel
Carrie Davis
George Dillard
Bert Frederick
Delia Garlic
Angie Garrett
Henry Garry
Jake Green
Charity Grigsby
Charity Grigsby s House
Lizzie Hill
Gabe Hines
Jane Holloway
Emma L . Howard
Evex~ tt Ingram
Hannah Irwin
Martha Jackson
Abraham Jones
Abraham Jonesr Back Yard
Abraham Jones
Lucindy Lawrence Jurdon
Torn McA.lpin
Anne ~addox
Frank i~~ene fee
Isaam Morgan
Facing page
432 Hattie Anne Nettles
Rev. Wade Owens
Molly Parker
Lind.y Patton
Simon Phillips
Carrie Pollard
Nicey Pugh
Cornelia Robinson
Maugan Shepherd
Allen Sims
Frank Smith
Theodore Fontaine Stewart
George Strickland
Daniel Taylor
Ellen Thomas
A.lonza Fantroy Toombs
William Henry Towns
Stepney Underwood
Simon Walker
Cindy Washington
Abe Whitess
George Young
Charlie Aarons, ex-slave, says he loved young Marster John.
~ ~ -.-~ .~ -~ ~ . ~- ~-~-~ Week ending Aug.6,
93~7. ~ ~ ~ooie,
s-~26O ~ ~ \ Identification No. S-200 ~ Federal Writers
Project,Dlst.2. . ~ WPA Project 3609,Mobile, Ala. CHARLIE AARONS
SAYS HE LOVED
YOUNG MARSTER JOHN.
(Written by Mary A. Poole.)
Some friends driving to Oak Grove, Ala., gave the writer the opportunity on August 4th to Interview ~n old ex-slave, Charlie Aarons, who is quite venerable in appearance, and who, when asked his age, replied:
Madazu I dont know but I sure been
round here long tiiue , and when asked how old he was at the tine of the Surrender he answered:
I was a man able to do a man s work so I
speots I was eigh~een or twenty years old.
Uncle Charlie as he is known ~nong his ~n color and the v~1 ite people who knows him, told the writer he was born at Petersburg Va., and his parente, Aaron and Louisa, were owned by a Mr. ~J.H.White, who had a store in the city, but no plantation. His parents had three children, two boys and o~ girl, and when Uncle Charlie was about ten years of age, he waa sold by Mr. White to a speculator named J~ones who brought hini to Mobile. He recalled being placed on the block, at the slave mart on Royal and State streets, and the anxiety of hearing the different people bidding for him, and being finally sold to a Mr. ~ason Harris, who lived near Newton Station in Jasper County, Miss.
Uncle Charlie never saw or heard of his parents or brother end sister again and never knew what became of thexa.
Uncle Charlie sai d Mr. Harri s was a pretty rough master, and s iewhat close, kil rations Were wei~ied out and limited. He
Week ending Aug.6, 1937.
Mary A. Poole, 2 2 S-260
Identification No.O149~4366 S-200
Federal Writers
Project,Dlat.2.
Project 3609,.Mobile, Ala.
CHARLIE AkRONS
SAYS HE LOVED
YOUNG MARSTER JOHN.
(Written by Mary ~L Poole.)
had. a white overseer and a negro driver, who was the riieanest of ail. Mr. Jason Harris had about sixty slaves, and a large
plantation of a hundred acres, the n~n and ~n~n worked in the fields from six to six, except on Saturday, ~en they had half day holiday to clean up generally.
The home of t1~ Harris family was a large two story house and the quarters were the regular log cabins with clay chimneys. They cooked in their cabins, but during the busy season in the tields ~heir dinners were sent out to them each slave having his own tin pail n~rked with his na~
Water would be sent out in a barrel mounted on an ox cart.
The old men and wc~nen looked after the children of the slaves ~iile their parents worked In the fields.
When the writer asked Uncle Charlie, it his master or mistress ever taught hirn. to read or writes he aulled and said:
~No, Mada~i, only to work .
. When asked if they had. any special festivities at Christmas or any other holiday, he replied:
No, ~ had. no special jolifications .
Sat~urday nights they could sing and dance in the quarters end have prayer meetings, then on soi~ Sundays, they could2hitch up the mules to a big wagon and aU go to the v~iite folks church:
and again there would be eeinp meetings held and the slaves from all the surrounding plantations would attend, going to saine in
Weekending Aug.G, 1937. Mary A. Poole, 3. 3 S .260 : Identification No. S~2QQ
Federal Writers
Project,Diat.2.
. WPA Project 3609, Mobile, Ala.
CHARLIE J~ARONS
LOVED YOUNG MARSTER JDHN .
(Coinp i .e d by Mary A
these l8r~e wagons
sone tizne~ having four mules to a wagon. They then would have a jolly time alone the way, singing and. calling to ox~ another, and n~king friends.
Uncle Charlie, said, he drove i~ieny a load o~ cotton In the 1ar~e mule wagons from Newton Station to Enterprise
Miasissippi
When asked if that wasn
t a chance to ruii away
he replied:
Git away, why Madam, those nigger dogs would track you and all you got was a beating.
Uncle Charlie seemed to look off in the distance and said, you know, Madam, I never saw a slave rebuked until I caine to &ississippi, and I just couldn t understand at first, but he grinned end said:
Lordy, Madam, sont of those niggers were onery, too, and a nigger driver was a driver sure anough.
When the Master s son John Harris went to war, Charlie went with his as his body guard, and when asked what his duties were, he replied:
I looked after Iviarster ~Tohn, tended the horses end the tents. I recalls well, Madam the siege of Vlcksburg.
The writer then asked him if he wasn t afraid of the sliot end shell all around him.
he repl le d
I ke pt way In t he ba ek w1~ re the ce~nip was, far I didn t like to feel the earth trembling
neath my feet
but you see
I loved young Marster John
and he loved
Week e ndin g Aug
1937 . Mary L. Po oie, S~26O Identification No
S 200 Federal Writers
Project,Dlst.2.
.WPA Project 3609,. Mobile, Ala.
OEIARLi~ ~ R0NS
LOVED YOUNG MARSTER JDB~N.
(Compiled by Mary A. Poole.)
end I juat had to watch over that boy, and be caine through ~1l right.
Uncle Charlie said. when they were told the Yankees were coining tI~rough from their headquarters In Meridian, Mississippi, and warned of their raids, they ail made to the SWamps and staid until they had passed on, but that the Yankeea did not disturb t1~ Jason Harris plantation.
After the Surrender Charlie cane to Mobile and worked at the Yankee Camp, 1ivix~g in the quarters located in Hollyls Garden. Ee drove their wagons and was paid ~l4.0O a month and his keep. ~fter his discharge he worked on steamboats and followed different lines of work, bein
employed for several years at Mr. M.L.Davis
saw mill, end is at present living on the Davis.p .ace at Oak Grove, ~.1a,, an old Southern hori~, with quarters originally built for the eraployees of the null and still known as the
quarters , and like other ante-beilu, homes they have their private burying ground on the place.
Uncle Charlie was married four times, but now a widow~. He had four children, two boys who are dead, and two girls, one Carrie Johnson, a widow, living in Kushla, Ala., and the other, Ella s~arons, a gr~s widow, living in Mobile
Uncle Charlie says he saw Jeff. Davis as &i old man, after the war at Mississippi City Miss.
and then his face lit up,
Wait a minute, Madam I saw another president, ie4e
Week ending Aug.6, 1937. Mary A. Poole, 5. S-260 ~ Identification No. S-200
Federal Writers
Project,Dist.2.
~~ Project 3609, Mobile, Ala.
CHARLiE A&RONS
LOVED YOUNG MARSTER JOIU~T.
(Conipiled by Mary 4LPoole. )
Madam saw President Grant.
He cerne through Mobile from New One an s
and. my~ there was a big parade t hat day .
When asked about Abrah~n Lincoln, Uncle Charlie thought awh 11e
an d a~were d:
According to what was issued out in the Bible
there was a ~ in~ f or s lave ry
pa ople h ad to be puni shed for the ir s in
and then there was a time for it not to be, and the Lord. had opened a good view to Mr. Lincoln, and he prc*noted a good Idea.
When he was asked about Booker T. Washington he replied:
It was traversed out to him until the white folks took part with him and helped him carry on.
Uncle Charlie thinks the present day folks are bad. an~ wicked, and dont realize anything like the old folks.
Charlie Is a Baptist, becanie o
when he sought the Lord and thinks all people should be religious~.
BIBLIOGRkPhrY: Personal contact with Uncle Charlie Aarons, Oak Grove, Ala.
Old Joe can keep his two bits.
6 Alabama ~
10234 Susie R. O Brien, . : Uniontown, Aiaoama. w. s. Jordan~ Editor.
OLD JOE CAN KEEP
HIS TWO bITS.
ANTHONY BI~, EX-~SLAVE.
Uncle Ant nv sat dozinE~ in the early morning sunshine on his f:~. c~ety front i~orch. He is a thin little old man with patches of white ~ool :~T.ere and tiere on his bald head, and an. er:)ression of hIndness and ~e:~tleness on :is wrin :led old face.
As J~ went cautiously up the steps, which aire~red none too ~ i1i~S cane ~hich had been leanin~ a~air~st his c~ air, fell to the ~Thor ~~ith a clatter. He av~ohe with a start and be~an fUflhhl % arq nd :~or it With his trembling: and bony hands.
Uncle Ant~ny, yOU don t see so well, do yo~?~I I ashed as I re~
cDvered the stick for him.
No ma am, I sho
he replied.
rii~~ t seed none outen one of my eyes in near
bout sixty years, and de
~ctor say I ~ot E~ cata1~c on de~ but I hnows you is whIte
..~ hs. I always is been PUn:T, but ~ reckon 1 does nurty well considerin
L~ ~ a hundred years old.
H~~ do you know you are ti:at old?
I in~red of hin. Without
~ ~itation 1~e answered, 1~ ~ hnows Is dat old
c~e rw mistis put it down
i. , de Bible. I w~s born on de fourth day and I w~.s a full growed. ~ian
. en de vr~r~ue on in
II~:rassu::;, :~y ~~nd hinder comes and r~oes, but I can always
member I~ )T)~ slave
:r time . lits de t~in~s what ha7ren in ciese da~rs tht
~ 7.~r for : C tO diSre~eL~ber. I b lori~ed to :.~rstei~ Jim Abercronihie. His
:~t~tion ~
bout si~teen miles north of
~rion in 3ihb county. When ~ c: ~on
~ ~oun~ Jir~~, ~
led, old ~-arse J~
c4ve me to Mm and he fotcbed
to Perr~y count~,r.
~ old :2~irster didn t ~o~oD war
c~~se ~Te W25 te
bof~ ~ears and OOUidfl ~&
see good nuth~r., ~
ut. ~ care~ ~
caze I was puny. .Iik~e ~.fl~ afl~ Warfl1t~mucht~Ouflt~ ~in~e
Y 1~i~ti8~
JLiSSLOU, was ra~sin 4# UP to~~be a~8 X~8~ ~ driver,
she was jes
as good to rue as she could .be. ~ up.
castoroil, jims.Qn
~1~oot, md dogwoodtea when 11d be feelin
~rid she d always take up ~or ~ 1~ars~ Jiluget ifl behi.nd me
%~o~ep fl. I ~ though I was apirtyworrisome.nigger in~. ai-
v r~~ g gettin
in some kifldOf mischief.
IQ ~ I usetag. to meetin . Us niggers didn t haveno
house on de plantation, but 1~arse Jim. 1lowed1~~ bu~ld a bresh~
~ Denb~ro years atterk~ surrender I took consIderation and fined up ri~ de Lawd. Dat s1ow~me I live so lone. De Lawd done tpidme, l~fl~flly,~yQ~ gotahuridred and twenty miles toirabel. Dat mean you swine to live
a hundred and twenty ~
i~ you stay on de
straight ari~ narrow ro~. ~~ti1 you ~ ~QU gotter go jes
de same as alide yuthers
tTell me something about your master s slaves and his overseers,
I ~~ed of him.
Marse Jim had
and he ~N:~ one mighty.had overseers But he ~got killed down on de bank of de Cree ~ one night. Dey never did. f~nd outvho killed~ him, but k~arse Jim ~1~ ra~5 b lieved. de field han s done it.
F. ore~.t usztggers~seta go 5~orrn to de creek to wash ourselves, but atter de overseer got kill d down
~m.,n dar, us jes
leave off dat washin ,
cause some of
em seed de over
r~t down dar f b at
ov er de cre ek . .
Dar was another ha nt on de plantation, too. Marse Jim had some ~r~uble wid a big double-j ~nted nigger named doe. One day he turn on 4~rse Jim wid a fence rail, and i~arse Jto pull his gun an
~ Well, dat happen in a skirt of woods what I get my lightwood what ~: Alabama
8! -3-. I u~e to start a fire. One ~ay I went to dem same woode to get eome elmiaone. M~other nigger went wi d. me
and he dumb d.e tree to ehake de
elamone down ~hi18t ~L be pickin
Fore long I heared another tree ihakin
every Urne U~ shake our tree, dat other tree shake too, and down corne de ~ from it. I !ay to myeelt,
cauee he likee
elmaone too,
Den I grab up my basket and holler to de boy In de tree,
nigger turn looee and drap ~down from dar, and ketch up wid me if you can. I
e leavin ~ flere rlg it flow,
cause Old ~oe j~ over dar gettiI~
~imaone too.
Den another time
~ wae In de woods choppin
llghtwood. It wae
sundown, and every tiiae my ax go
on de lightwood knot, I hear another
~aok ~sidee mine. I itopa and Iieene and dont hear nothin . Den i etarts
in I bears de yuther whacke . By dat tliie my houn
dog was crouchixi
wid de hair etandin
up on hi a back and I cou ldn
t make him
~1t up nor budge. .
etop for nothin . I jee
drap my ax right dar, ~n
rae and dat houn
dog tore out for home lickety eplit. When ue got dar ~ar~e Jiji wae aettin
on de porch, an
Nigger, you been up to O~ep~n you got no bueineee. You le all outen breath. Who you runnln
Maree Jim, somebody
eides me le choppin
in yo woods, an
I an t ~ee h1m~ And Maree JIm, he eay
h~ dat ain t nobody but Oie doe. i~ he owe you anythin
Yaeeafl, he owe me two bite for helpin
~ shuck corn.
~aree Jim say,
don t pay him no mind it jee
Old. ~e come back yo pay you.
Anyhow, i~ didn
go back to dem woods no mo . ~ .d Joe can jee
e twO...bit5 what he owe me,
cause ~ don t want him follerin
e. When he do I an
t keep my mind on my bue i nee e
ash, Copy,
"Jesus has my chillun counted."
ertha Couric,
~ ~ J~h~ Morgan Smith, 9
j~US~~HAS I&Y .
~ ~ ~ ! ~ ~
\~ ~ ~ CHILLUN COUNTED.
. ___ __________
I walked along a dusty road under the blazing sun. In the shade ~ of a w llow tree a Negro man was seated with his legs drawn up and his ar~S crossed upon his knees. His head rested face downward upon his arms, ~s he had the aspect of one in deep slumber. Beside him munching on a fe~7 straggly weeds, a cantankerous mule took little notice of his sur
roundings.
~Cafl ~fOU tell me where Aunt Molly Aramond lives? 1 I asked in a loud v.Jice. The Negro stirred slowly, finally
~aising his head, and display
~ three rabbit teeth, he accompanied his an$wer with a slight gesture of his hand.
Yassuh, dar her house
de house wid. de ciirabin1 roses on hit.
was the drawled response, and the Negro quickly resumed
~ hi~s former posture.
Aunt kolly Amrnonds is as gentle as a little child. Her voice is soft and each phrase measured to the slow functionings of her aged mind.
you ain t gw neter believe dis,
out I is de :~a::~y of thirty chilluns. Jesus got
em counted an
so is me. CE~fl ifl a log cabin dat had a loft, ant it~ on Marse Lee Cato s plan
:&t~on five miles wes
of Eufaula. My pappy s name
~J)T0~~ Cato afl
:a:i~y s ~z~Sophia. I had one sister, Marthy, an
two brothers, ~ ~ a~d Toge. My pappy made all de furniture dat went in our house an
it rere rnight~ good furniture too. Us useta cook on de fi~place. Us would ~cook ash cakes. Dey wuz made outen meal, water and a little pinch of i1ar~ on Sundays dey wuz made outen flour, buttermilk an
lard. Mammy ~~ould rake all de ashes out de fi~p1ace, den kivver de cake wid ~ ia oama ~ ~1 4
Alabama ~e hot ashes an
let it cool till lt ~~ done.
Yas M1~5y,
she continued,~ I recoilects dat I ~
bout twelve or~fo teen when de s render come, kaze a little atter dat I ma ied Pastor Ammonds. We walked ober to G-eorgetown an
it ~ de fus
time I eber had shoes, and 1 got dem furn oie Massa. I remember~dat I ma ied in a striped calico dress.
Aunt Idolly,
you re getting a little ahead of your storyQtell me something about your plantation life before the war.
Well, honey, Massa Lee s place was
bout three miles long ant two miles wIde, and we raised cotton, cawn,
taters and all sorts of ve~etab1es. We had a mean ~berseer dat always wanted to whup us, but :qassa wouldn~t ~Liow no whuppin . Sometimes de massa would ride over ~e place on a hoss, an
when he corne up on de oberseer a4ussin
at a nigger, Massa say,
Don t talk rough to dat nigger when he dom
My pappy had a little garden of his own back of his cabin, ant he raised some chickens for us to eat, an
we had algs nearly ev y
~iornin ~ . ~ I
~De only work I done on de plantation w~z to nussorne little
n~c:~ers when dere mammy an
pappy wuz in de fiel s. Twarn t hard.
Nawsuh! I ain t never seed no slave in chaIns. Lassa Lee
:1~z a good man. He had a church built called de brush house, dat I:~a~ a f~Q~ and some seats, an
a top madeorten pine boughs, an
Lir . Cat o
would preach eve
y Sunday . We sung songs lak 6 ~eere~
~ ~e Voice ~ 3esus s~,
n~i se Gwine Hone to Die rio LO~( ~Te ~
~ ail babtized in de creek, but none of us ~ taught to read or write.
~ ~ ain t never seed no slave run away. Us ~ treated
~ sine. Our folks ~ quality. We had plenty som n t eat, but dem
~ S18ve8 hadcla work powerful hard though. Atter dey come home furn de
wbAJ fiel s dey ~ so tired dat dey go raght to sleep, except when d~ massa
vvz~J w~QJ .:~ad oarbecues. Chr~strnas ~ dere --~-- several days to res
make merryin
lote of dem no count ni~ggers got drunk.
Vlhen Us slaves ~ sick, Liassa Lee would send to Eufaula to fetch Dra Thornton to give us eome medlc ne. We had de bes1 treatment ever.
Yassuh, white folks, dem days is long ago. All my chilluns done cUed or wandered away an
my oie man been dead goi& on twenty ~ears. I been here a long time by myself.
: Aunt I~tolly,
I Interrupted.
There s one thing I ve always been wanting to ask one of you ex slaves, and that is: what you thought ~of ~eopie like Abraham Ljncoln,Jefferson Davis and cooker T. Washing
~ . A puzzled expression came over the face of the old Negro.
White ~folks~,
she said after a moments deliberation,
~I don t believes I is ~:.ad de pleasure of meetin
dein gent mens.
! lash. Copy,
~ 5/25/37.
"Aunt" Charity Anderson. (Ex-slave).
4 . ~ Alabama ~ ~i.JL ~7) .
fla B. Prine. . ~
. Ira~S, ~fordan
Aunts CharityAnderso.n. (!~~ay!)
Charity Anderson, who believes s}ie is 101 years old, was born
~t Bell s Landing on the Alabama River, vthere her owner, Leslie
Tohnson, operated a wood yard, which supplied fuelto the river
steaniers, and e tavern where travelers whiled away. the delays of
~ dubious riverboat schedule. ~
Rheumat I o and weak
she no longer ventures from her . house
~n Touirninville, on the outskirts of Mobile, but sits with her
turbaned head and bespectacled eyes,~rooking the long hours away
~.n a creaky old che ir ~nd kni.tti. rig or sewing
or Just gazing into
E~ east p~dnted by the crackling flames in the fireplace.
I has So much trouble gittin
up and down de steps and ober ~ ~roun , I ~Tist makes myself happy heah, c~3use,~thank de Lawd~ r?se on Zionts March,
is her resIgned conmient.
Missy, re and niggers ain t got no ~nners
know nothin
bout weit in
on folks ~ I kIn
remember de days w~ n I was one of de houseservaiits. Dare was
~x of us in de oie Massa s house~ne, Saral, Lou, Hester, Jerry
~ JOC. Us clid n
know nothin
but good tir~s den. My job was
atter d e corriertable whar nothint but de desserts set.
~~oe and rerry, dey was ~e table boys. Dey neber tetched nothin
~d dere hen s, but used de waiter to pass things wid.
My oie Massa was a good man. He treated eU his sieves
kind, and took g od kere of
em. But, honey, all de white folks 1,yrnvt good to dere slaves. I s seen po
tore up by
~ end whupped teli deybledw en dey did n
do lak de ~friite
13 Al ~bama
folks say. B~t, thank de Lawd, I Md good white folks ~nd dey sho
me, too~ I had charge of ~11 de ~ys to d
house~ and I ~&~a1ted on de M1ssi.s ~ and de ohillun. I laid out all de: elo se on Sat ~dy night, and den &unday mawnin s I d pick up all de dirty things. Dey did n
h~ve a thing to do~ Us house servants h~d a hahd job keepin
de pickaninnies out ~ r de dinin
rooruwbar oie ~assa et, cause w en dey would slip in and stan
by his cheer, w en he finished eatin
he would fix e plate for
em and let
ein set on the hearth~ .
No main, Missy, I
~1n t neber worked~ in de fields. 01e ~!assa . -V he neber planted no cotton, and I ain t seen,none pl~nted tefl,
9fter I was free. Bat, honey, I could sho~ nuff wash, iron and ~ .
knit and weave. ~onietinies I weaved six or seven yahds of
cloth, ~ ~ ~ - . ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ -~ ~
r~nd do my house work too. I larnt the chill~nho~ to weave, and
wash, and iron, and knit too, and l s waited o~de fo th generation of our fambly. I J s
wish I could tell dese young c1~1llun how to ~o. Iffen dey w~u1d only suffer me to talk todem: I d tell dem to be more
spectful to dere tn~mm1es and to dere white
folks and say
no mam , instid of
lak dey do
All d1~ generationthinkso~j~s~ment. I neber had seen ~ show in my whole life
yeah when one ~f dem ~rn1val things wid de swings, and lichts, and ~ll de dein s dey h~ve stop ri~ht in front of our house heah~
~ nd I ~n t neber been th no trouble in all my life.~ain t been in no lawsuits, ~nd I ain t been no witness eben. I allus treat ebrybody as good es I kin, and I uses my manners as good as I knows how, and de Lawd sho
h~s took good keer of me.~ ~Vhy, w en
labama my house burnt up, de white folks helped me ~o~dat in no time you couldri ~t tell I ebber los
But, honey, de good oie days is now gone ~oreber~ De oie
~ys wa~ railly de good ti~es0 How I wish I could go back to
~e deys w en we lived at J~ohnson s landing on de riber, when de
folks would come to ketch de steaithoats and we neber knowed how
~1i~ny to put on breakfas , dinner or supper to , ca~e de boats
mought. be behin
times . I a th t rieber had to pey. a fare to ride
q steamboat needer. I was a good looklntyalier gal in dem days
~d rid free wherever I wanted to go.
But whut s de use dreaaln
bout de oie times? Dey s gone, ~nd de world is gettin
w.icked er and wlcked. er, sin grows bolder ~nd bolder, and
liglon colder and eolder~ ~ ~ ~ Copy R.L,D. ... 4~.~23-~37
Gus Askew, ex-slave of Eufaula.
:~ r 15 ~ 1 abama ~ ~. ~. ~ .
~2~-4 \~ ~ Gertha C our I c _Lt .~ . Pettersen L Iarzoni
~ c*~~P q~T ~ ~ ~i~r (~T ~ (~-~ ~ ~ ~
~ ~ ~ - ~ ~JL ~UJ.~L).Li~
Dat was one time when de ban
was playmn
and flags was flyin
dat us lii
niggers didn t get no joy outen it,
Gus .L~skew smiled Lt the thought of the occasion as he sat on the sunny steps of his comfortable house in Eufaula. Gus was telling about the investment of ~ufaula during the ~dar between the States.
?t(~1pntl Grierson and his men marched right through tovm,
~:ent on ~:rith nis story of his boyhood.
~r Lincoln done said we
~ free, but us T~il
ni~gers was too skeered to lissen to any ban
~1isic, even iffen the so jers had come to set us free.
Pears like us was ailus gittin
in somebody s way in dem days and gittin
skeered of mi
. But we went on away from the so
jers and had ~ good. time raongst ourselves like we always done when there wasn t ?fly cotton pickin . Cotton pickin
time was when we didn t have ~ny chance to do any playin .
~fter the surrender I didn t have to do any more cotton oickin
:flU I went blacksinithin
for ~Toe Sturgis. He was the first black~riith in dis here tOWfl. I ;A as the second. ~ow my son done took on i.e work. rj7~~y ain t so nUCh sence all dese here automobiles done
:ot so plentiful and might
nigh ruint de business. But for seventy l1ears I riz wid de sun and went to dat blacksmith shop. i~S enjoy
~ng a little misery now~ so I s taJ~:in
G~s ~skew was born a slave of the Edwards family in Henry ~cunty in 1853. He was brought to EUfaula just before the close of ~ war and stayed on as a blacksmith after he was freed. In his ~ venty years of hard work he saved enough to buy his home and some ~o~ p~rty which maintains him and his wife since age and infirmity
~Iabama ~ 2 ~ 16
forced hi~a to turn over.the work to his ~son. 11e has been married 54 years, numbers his white friends by the hundreds and isheld in rreat resDect by his own race.
Uncle Tom Baker.
1 (1 T:~~ )~~9 Susie R. O
13rien~ ~ ~ ~ ..
-~t- J~, I . J ohii Morgazi Sm! th, ~. ~
Uncle Tom Baker,~ ~
~ I recollects about de slabery days,
said. uncle Tom as ne whittled shavings from a soft piece of white pine.
I lived on a plantation down in Perry County an
I reniembers a story bout somp n dat happen to me a way back dar.~ III was a water boy for fifty fiel
han s dat worked in de ~-
- ~ -~ ) 4~iy~
sUn all day long, an
I ha da carry many a bucket 4~ de ~ p t~ ~ ~/ ~ ~ CI da4~-was one fiel
ober4~i w~ mos1~ of dein was workin
De spring run down between some willow trees an
it was powerful
cool down dere in de shad.e. I use I~lie on de moss an
let my bare belly git cool an
put my face in de outlet of de spring ~
let de water trickle over my haid. Jus
about de time I
~its a little rest one of denj n1~ers would caii:Twater ~oy~ Ering dat bucketi~ Den I grab up de bucket an
rw~ back out
S indehotsun. ~
One d8~~3T, on my las
trip, I was mighty tired an
I flop ~ I ~ ?~ ~
down on dat moss wid de swe&t a~dripoin
froni i~y body, an ~
I knowed lt I done fell slap to sleep. Then I woke up, it was a1nos~ ~rk, an
I couldn t hear de slaves a-sln~ln
in de fiel s, so I knowed dat dey had pone home. I shake my haid, an
look ~bout rue, an
my eyes came to res
on a little black bear cub a dri. He so was a cute little boo~ar an
I made up my mind. rl~ht den to try an
kotch him. I was jus
a little nigger
bout ten year old an
didn t have no sense, but I
Alabama ~2-. 18~
sh& wanted dat little bear. He ain t seed me a settln
~ so I snuck up real cautiou~ like, an~ afore he knowed it I had dat little debil a-.squealin
in ~ about to start home wid him, when I hears a rustlin
in de bushes an
afore I went
ten feets, here come a big, black bear a-lopin
aIon~ r1~ht outen dem willow trees. I drop ctat little critter ~aze I knowed dat wu~~iis mammy ~n
she was ravin
mad. When I let de little feller ~Lk~t~ fall it mustt hurt him sotnp n awful gaze he how1~ie4 dan eber, an
went a limpin
up to his mammy. Well, suh, dat oie woman she got
. ~1~)L~? ~~I/
made ~e4 me ~l~~~ two bolts of iightnin 1~ut dese here feets of mine be~1n a-~doin
dere stuff. I knowed she was a~gainin
on me so I lets out a whoop for help. S he chased rne~c~oss dat empty fiels an
bout dat time I seen big Jim a eo~nin
~ 4P~1~ ir
Hurry Big Jim,
a bear is ~4 e~ met
Big ~im was de biggest nigger on our place. He must have weighed as uuc~1 as a half a bale of cotton. ~ was jus
bout gittin
of de ~e ivn when dat bear ~ me. He give nie a slap wid. . ~
his paw an
I goes down wid. ray ~ i
. L~y back felt like somebod~y done put~ a. hot iron on it. Dat bear was a mean one. I was expectin
her to ehaw rae up an
I drawed my body up in a knot and. kivered. my haid wid. my hands an
waited. But dat bear neber touch me ~ . ~I kinda snuck my eye aroun
I saw big Jim havin
it out wid her. Jim, he had a long knife an
dey was a tumblin
in de dust, while I sot dere wid my eyes apoppin
outen my h~id. an
my back feelin
like it was broke. Jim he wrap hi s less un
dat bear an
1fore you knowed it he had. done stuck dat oie critter a dozen times wid. dat knife.
About fifteen minutes later me an
Jim was a~walkin
Alabama 3 ~ j9
Ui~& . thi~ou~h de~&wn fiel
I r~uess we looked a sight,
daze I was
all tore up an
Jim he looked like he done niese up wid a farnbly of wildcats. He was bleedin
44m haid to foot. Then we walked into de big house to git s me treatments an
medicine for our hurts, ~.~istis was a standin
derer ~~t~ 1en she seed me an
Jjm, she almost faint. She say:
Thut done happen to my niggers?
~Atter me an
Jim got rixed up I was just as happy, kaze I done seed de bes
fight dere eber was)an
I had me a little orphan bearS cub.
7~?Tash. Copy
r- ~ _.1_ ~:L ~7
He misses dem "set-down hawgs."
Alabama :~uI/99 ~
~ , lia B e PMfl6, Mobile 20
Dernps A. Oden, Editor
HE MISSES D~V1
SET DOWN HAWG~S
In Prichard, a suburb of Mobile, lives an old, blind Negro, ~ UncIe Henry
Barnes, who says he was born in 1858, near Suggsville, Clarke County, Alabama. ~
Cose I was borned a slave, but I don t
member much
bout lilt, tcaze I was 11 l. Dere Is one t lng I does
member, an
dat was when dey cut w~ermelons at de oberseer s house an1 dey want us ~j,~ niggers run races to g t our piece. I ~es wouldn t run
my mammy she whup ni e ~ ~ z e I so ~tubbo rn an
when I gi t my L piece o~ melon, I fly down de Ian~ whar our log
cabins was. Dem
c ab ns was daubed wid cl~Cy, an
de chtmbleys wa~ built outten clay 9,fl
stick. Our beds was homemade an1 had t ree legs wid de yuther side nail to de wall. I
member atter I got a big boy, my thamrny had a bed made outten lumber an
in dat bed
twel I was ~. rowed ant ma ed.
members uss 01e Mistis, Miss Dell. lilss Dell was a good :~ st s ant she useter hab Sunday School ebher~ &md y morni~t
31g House an
all us li l niggers ~reflt up dar for her to teach us ~bout de Bible an
~ John was good to all he slaves an
he wouldn t stan
~iO rush er meanness tO h~S nigg~ers. Iffen d& oseer got mean, Cle Marster would turn him off. 01e Marster allus tuk good keer
)f he slaves,
caze when dey got sick, he hab de doctor, jes l~i~ ~~~hen de wh te follcs got sick. One c~ Marse John s boys, Marse 1iennie, was a doctor, an~ he was a good doctor, cep n
he gi~ri us
Alabama . ~2-.
bad med cin , but he cyured you.
Cose us hab our med cin
sich lak elderbush tea. Hit was red
~fl05 lak whiskey ant us used hit for feber. Den dere was red sassafrac tea fer spring feber, afl
dey made JerusaleTa oak candy
gib to de chilluns to eat so dey could git rid ~: ~2 o o ~Norms. Den us ~ad mullen an
pine~.-top tea f~r colds an
feber. ~ A
An when us had ~ swellin
dey made a
poultice o~ mullen leabes to take desvellin
~1Son~etimes I wishes dat I could be back to de cl
caze us did ha.b plenty to eat, &flt at hog~kil1in
tIme us had rnor n a olenty. 01e ~1arster kill eight orten set~down hawgs at one time, an1 de meat, an
de lard an
de hawgjowl an
de chi~ lth s ~ I kIn see ~ em now.
That a set-.down hawg? Hit s a hawg what done et so much corn ~ got so fat dat he feets can t bol
he jes set on he T~i~n
quarters an
tweli dey ~noc1~ hiu in de head.
Dem was sho
good times,
caze us had all us could eat den, ~nt plenty~~&r~ne to me~e
lasses outten. An
dey made up
jiscuits in de big wood trays. Dem trays was made outten tupelo ~um an
dey was lIght as a fedder. Us had plenty den, all de time,
an1 at Onrisrnus ant w~n de white folks get mated, dey k ~J. hawgs, tur1~eys, ant chickens an
sometimes a yearlint. En dey cook de
:iawgs whole, barbecue tern an
fix tern UI) wid a b1p~ apPle in he mouf. ~hen de big weddin
copie off, dey cook in big pots, s
nough for eber body. Cose us didntt hab eatin
lak dat all de ~:trne, tcaze de reg lar rations was t ree pound of meat an1 a peck
of mea1~ fer eber1 hant from 8at dn~ytwell Sat day. .
De niggers was
low~ed to hab a 11
I patch o f dey own, dat dey couldwuk at night an
at day ebenin .~
What dey makeon dis patch, was dey
O . Marster pay
em money for . Nobody didn ~..t
I make de niggers wuk dey patche~
iffen dey want de. grass to took
eu, dat s all right wid 01e MarsTter. 01e Marst r I~iab a big gyarden
most big as a fiel , whar dey raise greens an~ collard
turnups fer de whole place. .
My granpappy was a carp ent er an
01 e Marst er eont rac
him out tode yuther plantations to build dey houses. De grown niggers had to be up I day. De oberse.er blow he horn fust to ~ git up by an
time he blow dey hatter be ready to~go to de fiel . ~ ~
Dere was a ol
oman what kep
ailde liii niggers, whilst dey i~iammies was in de fiel . Dis ol
man cook. d fer de ii l uris an
em all day, an
dey maminies tuk
em at night.
s was made out ten osnaburg cloth an
sometime dey mix terbaccy an
peach4 ee leabes wid de dye. Us ~ad a big orchard wid apples an
peaches afl
pears, more n us an
de hawgs togedder could eat up.. ~ S ~
When a nigger died,dey was buried in de graveyard Isk dey do
dey shouted an
holleredan
sometime ~ toman she faint S ~ hab to be tote home. De song dey sing mos
at de fun ral was:
S ~rkf~ A~. ~oP~i~
did hab plenty singin.
at night in de cabins. Iffen de men want to break a night rest he go possum huntin
or rabbit huntin
jes! so he git pass from Oie Marster an
~T~8 at de fi
1 on time wid. de yuther han
s. Aia&tth~,
Aia~ai~a ~ ~ - 4 -. ~ ~ ~ . ~ ~ ~ .t
uI~ knowed 01e Marster went to de war, tcaze. I heer4 de folks. talUn
bout hit an
wonaer iff!en ~ Marster g wirle git kilt. ~ Den I heerd.
eni say de nigger~ was free, but us didn t leave 01e Marster for ~ bout a year atter de ~ render.
Den us went to lib- on de
young mi.sti~st place at
Barlow Bend, atter she mated..Mr. B b Flynn. Right dar I stayed twell I was grown and rna ed. Den de fust move to town, us corne up de Alabama Ribber to Jame~
Landin . I members aJ.1 de big boats on de ribb r. Dey. sho
rnembers atter I growed. up dey tel).
bout how de Yankees commt here ant how dey pester de white folks an
de niggers, too
~roke in dey smoke house s
burn ~ em up
1 ~ I row t
ings away an S lef
nobody flottin
to eat. I don t
member dat
caze I was too
ULady, you ax rite iffen us knowed. anyt ng
bout hoodoo? Yes, rna arn dere sho
was foI1~ses what could put speils on you. I sho
was skeered ot dem kin
too. Atter I wasnearly gro~*, dere was a gal name Penny what been down sick a long time ant. derewas a cun~ jer doctor wukkin
on her tryin
cyure~ her, but her~wan t
greeable, so he let her die. Den ~ boy, name Ed, he had a mis ry in he foot, ~n
hIt went ut he leg an? he cripple. Dere was a hoodoo doctor in d~e forT s o
Bigbee Ribber come tend on hirn, an
ebber body ~it outten de hou~ e
cep nt him an
Ed ant de Debil. Re cyured. Ed. smack well.
My mammy said I was borned wid a tzernjnt eye to see sperits, q~t ~ seed surnp n lak a cow wid no haid. So mammy made me stir de fresh lard when dey was rendin
caze dat cyures you of seem
de sperits. Atter I stirred de lard, I didn t see
em no mo .
tOne time I was splittin
rails wid a nigger what could do any~ thin
but he. was a bad man an
hirn. I toi
Alabama ~ 5
Iffen I had a pain or anyt1Ing hurt me, I sho
would kill him wid my ax. I wudda spilt da.t nigger wide open, jes
lak I split dem rails, Iffen he try dat hoodoo on me.
bout fishin , I
members when us would be plowin
down by de ribber, when hit corne dinner time an
whilst de mules
. e~ tln , us go down to de ribber an
fish. Den eb ry ~at day ebenln s us d fish, Us kotch trout, gyar, jack an
earp May was when de carp bite, Dey was so fat den d~t you cou1~6~ coo~ em by deyse
f widout no grease. Den us ketch turkeys ~n pole ~ns bsrited wid corn.
what s de use me talkin
thout &~m times. Dey all pas
gone, Sometlnes I gits to stwlytn
~ all de folks mos
Is deed, an
I is here ylt, libin
b~Un~ but I 8pec s hit won t be long twell I is ober de ribber wtd~de b1es~.N
~ iash. CoDy ~ ... : ~ ~ ~T ~ ~
6-il-~7 ~ ~ ~ ~ . ~
Nathan Beauchamp, half breed.
Alabama Gertha Couric, ~5 ~ Eufaula, Alabama. ~ ~ ~ ~ .~ John Morgan Smith,
~ ~ Birmingham
NATHAN BEAUCHAMP
HALF REED. ~
I walked up a little pat4bord redwtth small stones, an atmo~sphere of solitude surrounding me. In the sky, large, white cuniulous clouds like great boils of cotton, floated leisurely northward. Far down the road. a ramshackle buckboard disappeare directly in front the path ran at twenty yards into the dilapidated steps of a Negro cabin, while an old colored man in a vegetable garden to the left to the cabin broke the stillness with the intermitten~metallic sounds of his spade digging into thirsty soil. I knew at a glance that thi s was Nath~ Beau~hamp.
Hello, Uncle Nathan,
Mornin , white folks,
he answered, as he discontinued his spad~
ing and raised his hand. in a friendly gesture.
I walked over to where Uncle Nathan was standing and stopped in the little furrows of brown earth. Already a thick coat of dust had formed on my shoes.
Uncle Nathan,
I d like to have a brief chat with you about slavery days, if you can spare a few minutes from your garden hereV
Yassuh, boss,
he said, punctuating his reply with a spat of tOb&C~O that was soon nothing but a dark mark in the parched ground,
glad to be of any
We moved to the shade of a large oak where we sat down together. on a sturdy, home-~made bench.
Well, white folks,
he went on after taking a long turn at the ~~pper hanging on the tree which shades a well. ~I~ll tell you a story of my mammy an
pappy. Nathan Beauchamp, my pappy, belonged to Massa
Alabania 26 t~reen Beauchamp atWhite Oak ~pr1ngs, near Eufaula.
Massa Green was a member of de legislature when de capital wuz at Tuscaloosy. He had many a acre of land an
hund eds of slaves. Pappy use to dribe de wagon in to Eufaula to git supplies an
on de way he would meet up wid an Injun gal a~carryin1 big baskets dat she wuz a goin
to sell dere. He would ask her iffen she wanted to ride, an
~ always say yes. So one day pappy caine to de massa and. tel). him dat der~
~ wuz an Injun gal. on de St. Francis Indian Village dat he wanted fo
~ viife, an~ de boss say all right so pappy married de I~di~ gal. Her
~ naine wuz Mimi. So I is half nigger an half Injun. My mammy cUed
I~ five year atter freedom, but I can remembers dat she had. long black hair, and I remembers de way de sun sparkle on her teeth when she smile. Atter she married pappy, she still carried her pretty baskets to Eufaula to 1~ei1.
Sometime she walk all de way dere and back, twenty fo
miles. I been libin
here in Eufaula fifty year or mo
white fo ks, an~ I owns my lIttle cabin an
around it. T an t much, but Its enough to keep ~e a- goin , dis wid de little sto
~ash. Copy, 5/14/37.
De bes' friend a nigger ever had.
~1abama ~ ~ Ruby Pickens Tartt,
.~ Livingston,
~ j ~ ~ Jack Kytle, Editor.
NIGGER EVER HAD .
Oliver Bell says the first thing he remembers was seeing his ~other whipped. He was born in slavery, but most of his knowledge Of the evIls
as well as the joys of ante.~ bel1um days
is by hearsay only.
~eI was bornec3. cri de De Graf~ enreid Place,
nine miles
iest of Livingstor .~Boyd Road. My mother was Luella De Graffenreid ana my papoy was Edmund De Graffenreid. Den dey changed my name to Bell. I had orte brother, Nat, an
two sisters, Jestiriaan
Clara. I has
bout sixteen chilluns, all born on de same place an
most of dem1livin ~i~ dere ylt . My chillun by my firs
wife are Ed, Jack, Holly, Buck, Clarence, 5aiiy, Liza, Mag an
Luella. Dey ma was Mandy Powell, frum York. Den my ~ second wife, Bettie Borwn, gived me de res
of my chilluns. Le s see, dey is JImmy, J. W. Aifonso Wallace, Henry, Edna an
He hesitated, ~XrIa ned,
Dat s as many as I kin
member jest now.
s name was Cely De Graffenreid t my gran
s name ~as Peter. He was a shoemaker fur de place an
made plows, too. He was ~Viorker an
he learnt nie how to pull fodder an
chop corn an
cotton when ~ was jest a little scamp jes
a little black nigger.
Nus all b longed to Mr. Treevan De G raffenreid an
Mi~t~~ R ~ri
dey wag all good to us. Oi
Mistus read de Bible to us an
got us ~aptjzed in de river at Horn s bridge, but dat was atter de surrender. In iavery times dey didn t like for us to sing and play loud in de quarters. ~Ofl
members when us had de big prayer meetin s. Dey would shut de
~or so de voice won t git out, an~ dey would turn de washpot down de door. at Was to keep de voice inside, dey toit me.
Oliver mused a moment, recalling the old times.
IUB chilluns useta have a good time
28 Alabama saId. ~I
members one of our little verses run somethin
Shoo, shoo, 9h00 gander
way yander. 1
NUS had 01
corn hollers, too, hut I fergits urn flow. I does remember, though you could hear dem niggers holler a whole mile.
No m, it warn~t so bad wid us. De white folks was good to us niggers. Us had.
nough to eat, lak greens, frum de big house. U& had our peck o
meal, three pounds of
meat, half ga1ion~ of
lasses, made at
dat was for a week. An son~etimes, On a Sunday us had a little sugar, coffee an
flour. No m, Lis didn t know what rice was.
What I seed of slavery was a bad idea, I reckon, but ev ybody thought dey marster was de bes
in de lan . U5 didn t know no better. A man was growed plum
fo he knew de whole won
didn t belong to h1~s ci
NTis didn t have no bought
whut us got Cutta de woods lak slippery ellum fer fever an~ dey ~ie p a lot. An
May-apple root would he p you same as castor oil.
Didn t nobody he p us learn nothin
much, but moe
of my chilluns went to Booker T~s school. Dey say hes a mighty smart man, an
my chillUne thinks so, too. I I wish I
den I d tell you things you d lak to know.
Hj~ face clouded for the briefest moment.
II tell you de fust thing I
members, an
know whut started
it. One day my mammy done sumpin
rnarster macle her pull her ~-ress down
her waist ant made her lay down
crost de door. Den he taken a leather strop art
whooped her. .1
members dat I started cryin
Migt~~ Beckie said,
G o git dat boy a biskit.
11 reckerlecks my mammy wee a plow han
she d go to work
~1abaxna - 3 29
put me under de shade of a big ol
post~oak tree. Dere I sat all day, an
dat tree was my nurse.. It still standin
dere ylt, an
I won t let nobody out it down.
Mammy ~ay I nev jes
one day she sot me down under de oak, an
fust thing she knowed she look up an
dere I was walkin
down de middle of a cotton row.
NtNother thing I
members when I dat dey was
de corn atter de s render. Dr. DeGraffenreid measured de corn out to all of
em whut was share han s. He d take a bushel an
em a bushel. When he mos
through he d throw a ear of corn to dis one, an den he break a ear in two, an
he take part an
give dein part . Dat was close measurin
~ I t eli you.
Us lived in de third house frum de big house in de quarter, an
Ythen I was a boy it was my job to set out shade trees. An
one day de lu K1~~ come ridin
dey leader was Mister 5tSve Renfroe, (Alabama bandit of Reconstruction days). He wore long hair an
he call my pappy out an
ax him a heap of questions. WhIle he sittin
dere his horse pull up nigh
bout all de trees I done sot out.
Atter talk n
to my pappy, he rode on
cross H~rn g bridge,
bout t?7O miles souf of here, an
dere he met 01
Man Enoch Sledge an
Frank Sledge Dey was darkies whut b longed. to Marsa Simmy Sledge s father, ~it Doctor Sledge. Slaves on dat plantation was
lowed pretty good pri
~1lIege atter de s rrender an
was workin
on halveris. Uncle Enock an
?r~nk was in town tradin
Mr. Renfroe d
ein to have ~r1Ything. When dey lef
town, dey pass de K~ Kiuxes raght on de slough bricl.ge. Mister Rerifroe ax Eriock to give hi1~ a piece of string to fix ht8 den shot him. Frank run to de river, but de Ku Kiuxes ~ ~tOched him an
shot him, too.
Alabama ~ 4 - 30
De niggers went down to de river dat night an
got de bodies an~ buried
em In de 01
Travis graveyard. My mammy an
daddy is buried dere, too.
nobody do nothin
bout Mister Renfroe
till he went on an
got to messin
wid Marga Sirnmy S stole a pair of mules ant de white folks rambled atter him
till dey Thun
him in Linden. Dey got so hot atter him dat he went to his camp in de flat woods down On Bear Creek. Dem was skeery times,
case dat man never had. no mercy for nobody.
Deyts a cave down by de burial grounds whut d~laves dug when dey run away, art
Mieter Renfroe stayed dere. It s on de river bank an
Its dug up, You digs an
starts low an~ pushes de dirt out an
digs up an
make a big room up so de water won t g t you. I knows whar dey s two of
my cow fell in one yestidy.
Marster Amos Travis come out here from Californy, he taken a lakin
to me an~ wanted me to leave t other side of de place an
move down dis side of de big house to take keer of di s SWSlflP an
100k atter de ha
S . But I wanted a big house wid four rooms an
two brick I an
I ii~.d. to talk five years to git it . I
~ got some rose~ bushes now dat was at de big house raglit atter de e rrender, an
dey s ~rowin
in my yard now.
bout graveyard, I was passin
dere one night, ridin
bout midnight, an
come draggirt
a chain by me lak a dog. I ~ot down off n my horse, but couldn t see nothin
wid no chain, so I ~ot back on de horse an
dere raght in front of me was a Jack~e$.ian~
~er~ wid. de brightes
light you ever seed. It was tryin
to lead me off, ar ev y time I d git back in de road it would lead meMf ag in. You ~ho
will git los
if you follow a Jack-Me-Lantern.
TMOne of dem led a man down to de creek b
said he foun
he Was travelin
in de wrong direction, gittin
frurn home ~tidder c1o~ster, so he jee
sit down under a tree an
light. I ain t skeered. of nothin
but dem Jack Me- Lanteens, but dey stirs you up in yo
tiii you can
an~ d.ey s so bright dey nigh
bout puts yo
eyes out. Dey is plenty of
em over by de graveyard raght over yonder whar all my white folks is buried, an~ mammy 9~I
pappy, too. Dey s all dere
cept Marsa ~ess T he was de flex! ~hut come in line for de place, an
he was de bee
dis here nigger ever had.
t was nigger . He &i
~ ~ag lived raght dere in de bigiD den dey move into town art
dat s Wlaar he died. Me an
Marsa Jess made a
greement an
he said. if he was de longes
liver, he d see me buried, an
if ~ be de longes
liver, I see hirn buried. So dat day I went to his office ~Y) de oo thouse an
he say he ~an1; to t alk wid me . He say,
members us
I say, ~hut
Marga Jess?
Den I say, gho , I
members dat.
Den he got up an
give me some papers
bout some Ian
I say, ~Thut do all dis here niean, Marge
nothin1 nigger,
cept I S jes
outta, business.
Den I say,
Goodbye, Marge Jess,
Goodbye, nigger,
I walked on
crost de street. Den Mr. Killian Sar,
Oliver, whut s happened over at de oo thouee?
as I knows of.
Den he say,
look at de peoples
~ ~V~lfle in a hurry.
Den I turn
run back an
dere lay Marge Jess. : ~ Smith was gettin
Marge Jeas say to me,
Well, nigger, I
~ 1td~ t do whut I I missed it.
Bogs, fer G~
9a Vii go wid you an
stay wid. you.
Mistus Mag,
~ ~he ast me to beg him, but he shuck his head an
If I bad a-wanted to
:~ ~1Ve I wouldn t of shot myself.
a minit, den say,
Nigger, write
6- 32 Miss Calline an~ tell her I says to always be good ~o you as long as you lives.
Yassum, I was raght d.ere, done jes
whut I toi
greement an
followed him to de grave. Co se dat last
~ arCe Jess ain t no slavery taie, but I thought you was ~atter hearth
all 1bout de family whut owned dis 01 an4 Marge ~ess was de bee
wh te frei dis nigger, anyhow.V
~ashington Copy,
Nelson Birdsong remembers his master.
~j. ~ ~~ \ lia B. Prine, 33
~ Mobile, Alabama.
NB~L~QN BIRDSONO
REMEMBERS HIS MASTER.
Nelson Blrdsong who lives on Front Street In the old. suburb of Summerville, about three rafles from MobIle, Alabama, was born a slave. A tall dark Negro man
with whit e hair and. whi skers
he says he was born at Montgomery Hill, Alabama in Baldwin County, and that his people and he were owned by Mr. Tom Adkins.
. Nelson said he was very small at the time of the Surrender, and. could not tell very much about slavery days. In fact, he adds,
You know, missie, old. folks in dem days did nt
low chillun to stan
when dey wuz talking. We chillun wuz lack a shot out of a gui~t when any~ body come in. We wuz glad. when folks come in
cause we c ud. run out an! play. Chillun now-a days knows as much as we did. when we wuz twenty
five years old.
Nelson does remember his
saying he neber wuz going to
let dat little nigger work.
He did not remember much about coming to Mobile, but
seemed lack his mammy worked for Mrs. Dunn on Monroe street, and later dey moved out in old. Napoleonvllle,
(whIch ~.s now Crichton, Alabama.a suburb of Mobile.) He said his
Pa and. Mammy den worked to
mill out dere, and also owned a big gris
mill in de fork whar de big fire station 1g now
(which is located at the intersection of St. Francis Street and Washington Avenue, the latter formerly Wilkinson street.) Thj~ grist mill was burned in the 1870 s.
Nelson says the first work he remembered doing was
nussing a baby boy of Mr. Bramwell Burden, a gran son of old. man Burden.
Nelson has owned his little farm and three room house until the pagt two or three years. He said he
scuffled and tried to pay de
caxe8,1~ but had. got so old and his knees had give out on him, and. I seed I wuz agoin
to lose mah place so I turned it over to a manS to keep up mah taxes, so I d hav ~ a place to lib. De relief gibes me a little he p now, an
my wife makes out de bee
The house is the familiar type of two-room Negro house, with a porch across the front, and a shed room on the back. The bedroom had been papered with scraps of wallpaper of varied designs and so old that most of it had fallen off. The mantel is covered with the colored comics section, cut in a fancy pattern of scallops. At the entrance of the house Is a sack nailed to the floor and used. for a foot mat, and at the two upper corners of the door are horse shoes for good luck. Nelson said he is a member of the African Methodist Episcopal ZIon Church, and has been a Me that he and. his wife Virginia, had only two chillun
and dey were befedead.
Nelson s wife, Virginia, came from a family of slaves, although she ~ was not one herself. She said her folks were owned by Mr. Joe Pickett of Camden, Wilcox County, Alabama. She said she just can remember Mr. Joe taking her in his buggy,and she called him
as she couldn ~ say his name plainly. She also said as she grew older she always spoke of Mr. Joe, as
instead of
my master,
was good to rue.
She remembers her mother being chambermaid on the
Old. Eleariora,
a boat on the Alabama river, and as a small child going back and forth on the boat with her. When they finally settled. in Mobile, her mother Worked for the family of Dr. Heustig who lived in the corner house now Occupied by the new Federal Court House and Custom House, at St. Louis and. St. Joseph streets.
BIBLIOGRAPHY: Personal interview with Nelson and Virginia Birdsong, Summerville, on Front Street.
~ ~ash. Copy, ~ 5/5/~57. ~ I ~ ~J,
Gabr'el blow sof'! Gabr'el blow loud!
- ~ - ~ ~ ~
. ~ ~ ~ . ~ . ~ .. ~ .~ ~ ~ .
. ~ . . ~ . ~.
~_~_*~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Alabama y~,( (4~ ~ Li flgstofl,Al~barna
iL ~ ~ ~ .
EL BLOW BOF
E~L BLOW LOU~ L (~th p~ot~ f Ank Bishop)
~ri~en (tGabr~el take his silver trump,
he is ~oin~ to blow soft for the saved and loud for the lOst souls, according to ~k Bishop who was born into slavery ei~hty~nine years ago, and lives in Livingston, Alabama. The days before the war were as ~od as the jresent, Ank believes. He tells of them in the following sto