Chapter XI: Part 11

"I don't think nothing 'bout these young folks. When they was turned loose a lot of them went wild and the young folks followed their leaders. But mine followed me and my daddy.

"My grandmother had a big old bay horse and she was midwife for the white and the colored folks. She would put her side saddle on the old horse and get up and go, bless her heart; and me and my cousin had to stay there and take care of things. She's gone now. The Lord left me here for some reason. And I'm enjoyin' it too. I have got my first cussin' to do. I don't like to hear nobody cuss. I belong to the church. I belong to the Baptist church and I go to the Arch Street Church."

Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson Person interviewed: Mary Poe, Forrest City, Arkansas Age: 60

"My papa used to tell about two men he knowd stealing a hog. He was Wyatt Alexander. He was feeding one evening and the master was out there too that evening. They overheard two colored men inside the crib lot house. They was looking at the hogs. They planned to come back after dark and get a hog. The way it turned out master dressed up ragged and got inside that night. The first man come. They got a shoat and killed it, knocked it in the head. The master took it on his back to the log cabin. When he knocked, his wife opened the door. She seen who it was. She nearly fell out and when he seen who it was he run off. The master throwed the hog down. They all got the hot water and went to work. He left a third there and took part to the other man. He done gone to bed and he took a third on home. He said he wanted to see if they needed meat or wanted to keep in stealing practice. He didn't want them to waste his big hog meat neither. Said that man never come home for two weeks, 'fraid he'd get a whooping. No, they said he never got a whooping but the meat was near by gone.

"Seem lack hog stealing was common in North Carolina in them days from the way he talked.

"Papa said he went down in the pasture one night to get a shoat. He said they had a fine big drove. He got one knocked over an' was carrying it out across the fence to the field. He seen another man. He couldn't see. It was dark. He throwed the hog over on him. The man took the shoat on to his house and papa was afraid to say much about it. He said way 'long towards day this man come bringing about half of that hog cleaned and ready to salt away. They got up and packed it away out of sight.

"My mother was named Lucy Alexander, too."

Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson Person interviewed: W.L. Pollacks Brinkley, Arkansas Age: 68

"I was born in Shelby County Tennessee. My folks all come from Richmond, Virginia. They come to Kentucky and then on to Tennessee. I am 68 years old. My father's master was Joe Rollacks and Mrs. Chicky they called his wife. My mother's master was Joe Ricks and they all called his wife Miss Fee. I guess it was Pheobe or Josephine but they never called her by them names. Seemed like they was all kin folks. I heard my mother say she dress up in some of the white folks dresses and hitch up the buggy, take dinner and carry two girls nearly grown out to church and to big picnics. She liked that. The servants would set the table and help the white folks plates at the table. Said they had a heap good eating. She had a plenty work to do but she got to take the girls places where the parents didn't want to go. She said they didn't know what to do wid freedom. She said it was like weening a child what never learned to eat yet. I forgot what they did do. She said work was hard to find and money scarce. They find some white folks feed em to do a little work. She said a nickle looked big as a dollar now. They couldn't buy a little bit. They like never get nough money to buy a barrel of flour. It was so high. Seem like she say I was walking when they got a barrel of flour. So many colored folks died right after freedom. They caught consumption. My mother said they was exposed mo than they been used to and mixing up in living quarters too much what caused it. My father voted a Republican ticket. I ain't voted much since I come to Arkansas. I been here 32 years. My farm failed over in Tennessee. I was out lookin' round for farmin' land, lookin' round for good work. I farmed then I worked seven or eight years on the section, then I helped do brick work till now I can't do but a mighty little. I had three children but they all dead. I got sugar dibeates.

"The present times are tough on sick people. It is hard for me to get a living. I find the young folks all for their own selves. If I was well I could get by easy. If a man is strong he can get a little work along.

"The times and young generation both bout to run away wid themselves, and the rest of the folks can't stop em 'pears to me like."

Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson Person interviewed: "Doc" John Pope, Biscoe, Arkansas Age: 87

I am 87 years old for a fact. I was born in De Soto County, Mississippi, eight miles south of Memphis, Tennessee. No I didn't serve in de War but my father Gus Pope did. He served in de War three years and never came home. He served in 63rd Regiment Infantry of de Yankee army. He died right at the surrender. I stayed on de farm till the surrender. We scattered around den. My father was promised $300.00 bounty and 160 acres of land. Dey was promised dat by the Constitution of the United States. Every soldier was promised dat. No he never got nary penny nor nary acre of land. We ain't got nuthin. De masters down in Mississippi did help 'em where they stayed on. I never stayed on. I left soon as de fightin was gone. I was roamin round in Memphis and man asked me if I wanted to go to college. He sent a train load to Fitz (Fisk) University. I stayed there till I graduated. I studied medicine generally. Sandy Odom, the preacher at Brinkley, was there same time as I was. He show is old. He's up in ninety now. He had a brother here till he died. He was a fine doctor. He got more practice around here than any white doctor in this portion of de county. Fitz University was a fine college. It was run by rich folks up north. I don't know how long I stayed there. It was a good while. I went to Isaac Pope, my uncle. He was farming. Briscoe owned the Pope niggers at my first recollection. He brought my uncle and a lot more over here where he owned a heap of dis land. It was all woods. Dats how I come here.

After de Civil War? Dey had to "Root hog or die". From 1860-1870 the times was mighty hard. People rode through the county and killed both white and black. De carpet bagger was bout as bad as de Ku Kluck.

I came here I said wid John Briscoe. They all called him Jack Briscoe, in 1881. I been here ever since cept W.T. Edmonds and P.H. Conn sent me back home to get hands. I wrote 'em how many I had. They wired tickets to Memphis. I fetched 52 families back. I been farmin and practicin all my life put near.

I show do vote. I voted the last time for President Hoover. The first time I voted was at the General Grant election. I am a Republican, because it is handed down to me. That's the party of my race. I ain't going to change. That's my party till I dies. We has our leader what instructs us how to vote.

Dey say dey goiner pay 60 cents a hundred but I ain't able to pick no cotton. No I don't get no help from de relief. I think the pore class of folks in a mighty bad fix. Is what I think. The nigger is hard hit and the pore trash dey call 'em is too. I don't know what de cause is. It's been jess this way ever since I can recollect. No times show ain't one bit better. I owns dis house and dats all. I got one daughter.

I went to Fitz (Fisk) University in 1872. The folks I told you about was there then too. Their names was Dr. E.B. Odom of Biscoe and his brother Sandy Odom. He preaches at Brinkley now. Doc Odom is dead. He served on the Biscoe School Board a long time wid two white men.

I don't know much about the young generation. They done got too smart for me to advise. The young ones is gettin fine educations but it ain't doin 'em no good. Some go north and cook. It don't do the balance of 'em no good. If they got education they don't lack de farm. De sun too hot. No times ain't no better an de nigger ain't no better off en he used to be. A little salary dun run 'em wild.

Interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden Person interviewed: William Porter 1818 Louisiana Street, Pine Bluff, Arkansas Age: 81 Occupation: Janitor of church

"Yes'm I lived in slavery times. I was born in 1856. I was borned in Tennessee but the most of my life has been in Arkansas.

"I remember when Hood's raid was. That was the last fight of the war. I recollect seein' the soldiers marchin' night and day for two days. I saw the cavalry men and the infant men walking. I heard em say the North was fightin' the South. They called the North Yankees and the South Rebels.

"Some of the Tennessee niggers was called free niggers. There was a colored man in Pulaski, Tennessee who owned slaves.

"My father was workin' to buy his freedom and had just one more year to work when peace come. His master gave him a chance to buy his freedom. He worked for old master in the daytime and at night he worked for himself. He split rails and raised watermelons.

"My father's master was named Tom Gray at that time. Considering the times he was a very fair man.

"When the war broke up I was workin' around a barber shop in Nashville, Tennessee.

"The Queen of England offered to buy the slaves and raise them till they were grown, then give them a horse, a plow and so many acres of ground but the South wouldn't accept this offer.

"It was the rule of the South to keep the people as ignorant as possible, but my mother had a little advantage over some. The white children learned her to read and write, and when freedom came she could write her name and even scribble out a letter. She gave me my first lesson, and I started to school in '67. The North sent teachers down here after the war. They were government schools.

"I was pretty apt in figgers--studied Bay's Arithmetic through the third book. I was getting along in school, but I slipped away from my people and was goin' to get a pocket full of money and then go back. First man I worked for was a colored man and I kept his books for him and was to get one-fourth of the crop. The first year he settled with me I had $165 clear after I paid all my debts. I done very well. I farmed one more year, then I come to Pine Bluff and did government work along the Arkansas River.

"I've done carpenter work and concrete work. I learned it by doing it. I followed concrete work for a long time. I've hoped to build several houses here in Pine Bluff and a lot of these streets.

"I have a brother and sister who graduated from Fisk University.

"I think one thing about the younger generation is they need to be more educated in the way of manners and to have race pride and to be subject to the laws."

Interviewer: Thomas Elmore Lacy Person interviewed: Bob Potter, Russellville, Arkansas Age: 65

"Sure, you oughter remember me--Bob Potter. Used to know you when you was a boy passin' de house every day go in' down to de old Democrat printin' office. Knowed yo' brother and all yo' folks. Knowed yo' pappy mighty well. Is yo' ma and pa livin' now? No suh, I reckin not.

"I was born de seventeenth of September, 1873 right here in Russellville. Daddy's name was Dick, and mudder's was Ann Potter. Daddy died before I was born, and I never seed him. Mudder's been dead about eighteen years. Dey master was named Hale, and he lived up around Dover somewheres on his farm, but I dunno how dey come by de name Potter. Well, now, lemme see--oh, yes, dey was freed at Dover after dey come dere from North Ca'liny. I think my ma was born in West Virginia, and den dey went to North Ca'liny and den to South Ca'liny, and den come to Arkansas.

"I raised seven boys and lost five chillen. Dere was three girls and nine boys. All dat's livin' is here except one in Fresno, California. My old woman here, she tells fortunes for de white folks and belongs to de Holiness church but I don't belong to none; I let her look after de religion for de fambly." (Interjection from Mrs. Potter: "Yes suh, you bet I belongs to de Holiness chu'ch. You got to walk in de light to be saved, and if you do walk in de light you can't sin. I been saved for a good many yeahs and am goin' on in de faith. Praise de Lawd!")

"My mudder was sold once for a hundud dollahs and once ag'in for thirty-eight hundud dollahs. Perhaps dis was jist before dey left West Virginia and was shipped to North Ca'liny. De master put her upon a box, she said, made her jump up and pop her heels together three times and den turn around and pop her heels again to show how strong she was. She sure was strong and a hard worker. She could cut wood, tote logs, plow, hoe cotton, and do ever'thing on de place, and lived to be about ninety-five yeahs old. Yas suh, she was as old or older dan Aunt Joan is when she died.

"No suh, I used to vote but I quit votin', for votin' never did git me nothin'; I quit two yeahs ago. You see, my politics didn't suit em. Maybe I shouldn't be tellin' you but I was a Socialist, and I was runnin' a mine and wo'kin' fifteen men, and dey was all Socialists, and de Republicans and Democrats sure put me out of business--dey put me to de bad.

"Dat was about twelve yeahs ago when I run de mine. I been tryin' to git me a pension but maybe dat's one reason I can't git it. Oh yes, I owns my home--dat is, I did own it, but----

"Oh Lawd, yes, I knows a lot of dem old songs like 'Let Our Light Shine,' and 'De Good Old Gospel Way,' and 'Hark From de Tomb.' Listen, you oughter hear Elder Beam sing dat one. He's de pastor of de Baptis' Chu'ch at Fort Smith. He can sure make it ring!

"De young folks of today compa'ed to dem when we was boys? Huh! You jist can't compaih em--can't be done. Why, a fo'-yeah-old young'un knows mo' today dan our grandmammies knowed. And in dem days de boys and gals could go out and play and swing togedder and behave deyselves. We went in our shu'ttails and hit was all right; we had two shu'ts to weah--one for every day and one for Sunday--and went in our shu'ttails both every day and Sunday and was respected. And if you didn't behave you sure got whupped. Dey didn't put dey arms around you and hug you and den put you off to sleep. Dey whupped you, and it was real whuppin'.

"Used to hear my mudder talk about de Ku Klux Klan puttin' cotton between her toes and whuppin' her, and dat's de way dey done us young'uns when we didn't behave. And we used to have manners den, both whites and blacks. I wish times was like dem days, but dey's gone.

"Yes, we used to have our tasks to do befo' goin' to bed. We'd have a little basket of cotton and had to pick de seeds all out of dat cotton befo' we went to bed. And we could all ca'd and spin--yes suh--make dat old spinnin' wheel go Z-z-z-z as you walked back and fo'f a-drawin' out de spool of ya'n. And you could weave cloth and make all yo' own britches, too. (Here his wife interpolated a homely illustration of the movement of "de shettle" in the loom weaving--ed.)

"Yes, I mind my mudder tellin' many a time about dem Klan-men, and how dey whupped white women to make em give up de money dey had hid, and how dey used to burn dey feet. Yes suh, ain't no times like dem old days, and I wish we had times like em now. Yes suh, I'll sure come to see you in town one of dese days. Good mornin'."

NOTE: Bob Potter is a most interesting Negro character--one of the most genial personalities of the Old South that the interviewer has met anywhere. His humor is infectious, his voice boisterous, but delightful, and his uproarious laugh just such as one delights to listen to. And his narrations seem to ring with veracity.

Interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden Person interviewed: Louise Prayer 3401 Short West Third, Pine Bluff, Arkansas Age: 80

"I can member seein' the Yankees. My mother died when I was a baby and my grandmother raised me. I'se goin' on eighty.

"When the Yankees come we piled boxes and trunks in front of the doors and windows. She'd say, 'You chillun get in the house; the Yankees are comin'.' I didn't know what 'twas about--I sure didn't.

"I'm honest in mind. You know the Yankees used to come in and whip the folks. I know they come in and whipped my grandma and when they come in we chillun went under the bed. Didn't know no better. Why did they whip her? Oh my God, I don't know bout dat. You know when we chillun saw em ridin' in a hurry we went in the house and under the bed. I specks they'd a killed me if they come up to me cause they'd a scared me to death.

"We lived on the Williams' place. All belonged to the same people. They give us plenty to eat such as 'twas. But in them days they fed the chillun mostly on bread and syrup. Sometimes we had greens and dumplin's. Jus' scald some meal and roll up in a ball and drop in with the greens. Just a very few chickens we had. I don't love chicken though. If I can jus' get the liver I'm through with the chicken.

"When I got big enough my grandmother had me in the field. I went to school a little bit but I didn't learn nothin'. Didn't go long enough. That I didn't cause the old man had us in the field.

"If we chillun in them days had had the sense these got now, I could remember more bout things.

"I was a young missy when I married.

"I told you the best I could--that's all I know. I been treated pretty good."