Chapter IV: Part 4

"I can 'member when this used to be a Injun place. I've seen old Injun mounds. White folks come and run 'em out and give 'em Injun Territory.

"I heered the guns in the war and seed the folks comin' home when the war broke. They said they was fitin' 'bout freedom, tryin' to free the people. I 'member when they was fitin' at Marks Mill. I know some of the people said that was where they was sot free.

"I don't know as I seed any Ku Klux when they was goin' round. Hearin' 'bout 'em scared me. I have a good recollection. I can remember the first dream I ever had and the first time I whistled. I can remember when I was two or three years old. Remember when they had a big old conch shell. Old master would blow it at twelve o'clock for 'em to come in.

"Old master was good to us but I 'member he had a leather strap and if we chillun had done anything he'd make us younguns put our head 'tween his legs and put that strap on us. My goodness! He called me Pat and called his own son Bug--his own son Junie. We played together. Old master had nicknames for everybody.

"My first mistress was named Miss Mary but she died. I 'member when old master married and brought Miss Becky home.

"Marse John (he was old master's oldest son) he used to tote me about in his saddle bags. He was the overseer.

"I 'member old master's ridin' hoss--a little old bay pony--called him Hardy. I never remember nobody else bein' on it--that was his ridin' hoss.

"Old master had dogs. One was Gus and one named Brute (he was a red bone hound). And one little dog they called Trigger. Old master's head as white as cotton.

"I do remember the day they said the people was free--after the war broke. My father come and got me.

"Now I'm givin' you a true statement. I've been stayin' by myself twenty-three years. I been here in Pine Bluff--well I jest had got here when the people was comin' back from that German war.

"My God, we had the finest time when we killed hogs--make sausage. We'd eat cracklin's--oh, we thought they wasn't nothin' like cracklin's. The Lord have mercy, there was an old beech tree set there in my master's yard. You could hear that old tree pop ever' day bout the same time, bout twelve o'clock. We used to eat beech mass. Good? Yes ma'm! I think about it often and wonder why it was right in old master's yard.

"I've cast a many a vote. Not a bit of trouble in the world. Hope elect most all the old officers here in town. I had a brother was a constable under Squire Gaines. Well of course, Miss, I don't think it's right when they disfranchised the colored people. I tell you, Miss, I read the Bible and the Bible says every man has his rights--the poor and the free and the bound. I got good sense from the time I leaped in this world. I 'member well I used to go and cast my vote just that quick but they got so they wouldn't let you vote unless you could read.

"I've had 'em to offer me money to vote the Democrat ticket. I told him, no. I didn't think that was principle. The colored man ain't got no representive now. Colored men used to be elected to the legislature and they'd go and sell out. Some of 'em used to vote the Democrat ticket. God wants every man to have his birthright.

"I tell you one thing they did. This here no fence law was one of the lowest things they ever did. I don't know what the governor was studyin' 'bout. If they would let the old people raise meat, they wouldn't have to get so much help from the government. God don't like that, God wants the people to raise things. I could make a livin' but they won't let me.

"The first thing I remember bout studyin' was Junie, old master's son, studyin' his book and I heard 'em spell the word 'baker'. That was when they used the old Blue Back Speller.

"I went to school. I'm goin' tell you as nearly as I can. That was, madam, let me see, that was in sixty-nine as near as I can come at it. Miss, I don't know how long I went. My father wouldn't let me. I didn't know nothin' but work. I weighed cotton ever since I was a little boy. I always wanted to be weighin'. Looked like it was my gift--weighin' cotton.

"I'm a Missionary Baptist preacher. Got a license to preach. You go down and try to preach without a license and they put you up.

"Madam, you asked me a question I think I can answer with knowledge and understanding. The young people is goin' too fast. The people is growin' weaker and wiser. You take my folks--goin' to school but not doin' anything. I don't think there's much to the younger generation. Don't think they're doin' much good. I was brought up with what they called fireside teachin'."

Circumstances of Interview STATE--Arkansas NAME OF WORKER--Bernice Bowden ADDRESS--1006 Oak Street, Pine Bluff, Arkansas DATE--November 2, 1938 SUBJECT--Exslaves [TR: Repetitive information deleted from subsequent pages.]

1. Name and address of informant--Gracie Mitchell

2. Date and time of interview--November 1, 1938, 3:00 p.m.

3. Place of interview--117 Worthen Street

4. Name and address of person, if any, who put you in touch with informant--Bernice Wilburn, 101 Miller Street, Pine Bluff, Arkansas

5. Name and address of person, if any, accompanying you--None

6. Description of room, house, surroundings, etc.--A frame house (rented), bare floors, no window shades; a bed and some boxes and three straight chairs. In an adjoining room were another bed, heating stove, two trunks, one straight chair, one rocking chair. A third room the kitchen, contained cookstove and table and chairs.

Text of Interview

"They said I was born in Alabama. My mother's name was Sallie and my father was Andrew Wheeler. I couldn't tell when I was born--my folks never did tell me that. Belonged to Dr. Moore and when his daughter married he give my mother to her and she went to Mobile. They said I wasn't weaned yet. My grandmother told me that. She is dead now. Don't know nothin' bout nary one o' my white folks. I don't recollect nothin' bout a one of 'em 'cept my old boss. He took us to Texas and stayed till the niggers was all free and then he went back. Good to me? No ma'm--no good there. And if you didn't work he'd see what was the matter. Lived near Coffeyville in Upshaw county. That's whar my husband found me. I was living with my aunt and uncle. They said the reason I had such a good gift makin' quilts was cause my mother was a seamstress.

"I cooked 'fore I married and I could make my own dresses, piece quilts and quilt. That's mostly what I done. No laundry work. I never did farm till I was married. After we went to Chicago in 1922, I took care of other folks chillun, colored folks, while they was working in laundries and factories. I sure has worked. I ain't nobody to what I was when I was first married. I knowed how to turn, but I don't know whar to turn now--I ain't able.

"I use to could plow just as good as any man. I could put that dirt up against that cotton and corn. I'd mold it up. Lay it by? Yes ma'm I'd lay it by, too.

"They didn't send me to school but they learned me how to work.

"I had a quilt book with a lot o' different patterns but I loaned it to a woman and she carried it to Oklahoma. Mighty few people you can put confidence in nowdays.

"I don't go out much 'cept to church--folks is so critical.

"You have to mind how you walk on the cross;
If you don't, your foot will slip,
And your soul will be lost."

"I was a motherless chile but the Lord made up for it by givin' me a good husband and I don't want for anything."

Interviewer's Comment

According to her husband, Gracie spends every spare moment piecing quilts. He said they use to go fishing and that Gracie always took her quilt pieces along and if the fish were not biting she would sew. She showed me twenty-two finished quilt tops, each of a different design and several of the same design, or about thirty quilts in all. Two were entirely of silk, two of applique design which called "laid work". They were folded up in a trunk and as she took them out and spread them on the bed for me to see she told me the name of the design. The following are the names of the designs:

1. Breakfast Dish 2. Sawtooth (silk) 3. Tulip design (Laid work) 4. "Prickle" Pear 5. Little Boy's Breeches 6. Birds All Over the Elements 7. Drunkard's Path 8. Railroad Crossing 9. Cocoanut Leaf ("That's Laid Work") 10. Cotton Leaf 11. Half an Orange 12. Tree of Paradise 13. Sunflower 14. Ocean Wave (silk) 15. Double Star 16. Swan's Nest 17. Log Cabin in the Lane 18. Reel 19. Lily in de Valley (Silk) 20. Feathered Star 21. Fish Tail 22. Whirligig

Gracie showed me her winter coat bought in Chicago of fur fabric called moleskin, and with fur collar and cuffs.

She sells the quilt tops whenever she can. Many are made of new material which they buy.

Personal History of Informant

1. Ancestry--Father, Andrew Wheeler; Sallie Wheeler, mother.

2. Place and date of birth--Alabama. No date known, about 80 years old.

3. Family--Husband and one grown son.

4. Places lived in, with dates--Alabama, Texas till 1897, Arkansas 1897-1922, Chicago, 1922 to 1930. Arkansas 1930 to date.

5. Education, with dates--No education.

6. Occupations and accomplishments, with dates--Cooked before marriage at 16; farmed after marriage; home sewing.

7. Special skills and interests--Quilt making and knitting.

8. Community and religious activities--Assisted husband in ministry.

9. Description of informant--Hair divided into many pigtails and wrapped with rags. Skin, dark. Medium height, slender, clothing soiled.

10. Other points gained in interview--Spends all her time piecing quilts, aside from housework.

Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson Person interviewed: Hettie Mitchell (mulatto) Brinkley, Arkansas Age: 69

"I am sixty-nine years old. I was raised in Dyersburg, Tennessee. I can tell you a few things mother told us. My own grandma on mother's side was in South Carolina. She was stole when a child and brought to Tennessee in a covered wagon. Her mother died from the grief of it. She was hired out to nurse for these people. The people that stole her was named Spence. She was a house woman for them till freedom. She was never sold. Spences was not cruel people. Mother was never sold. She was the mother of twelve and raised nine to a good age--more than grown. The Spences seemed to always care for her children. When I go to Dyersburg they always want us to come to see them and they treat us mighty well.

"Mother was light. She said she had Indian strain (blood) but father was very light and it was white blood but he never discussed it before his children. So I can't tell you excepting he said he was owned by the Brittians in South Carolina. He said his mother died soon after he was sold. He was sold to a nigger trader and come in the gang to Memphis, Tennessee and was put on the block and auctioned off to the highest bidder. He was a farm hand.

"Mother married father when she was nineteen years old. She was a house girl. She lived close to her old mistress. She was very, very old before she died she nearly stayed at my mother's house. Her mind wasn't right and mother understood how to take care of her and was kind to her. The Spences heard about grandma. They wrote and visited years after when mother was a girl.

"The way that father found out about his kin folks was this: One day a creek was named and he told the white man, 'I was born close to that creek and played there in the white sand and water when I was a little boy.' The white man asked his name, said he knew the creek well too. Father told him he never was named till he was sold and they named him Sam--Sam Barnett. He was sold to Barnett in Memphis. But his dear own mother called him 'Candy.' The white man found out about his people for him and they found out his own dear mother died that same year he was taken from South Carolina from grief. He heard from some of his people from that time on till he died.

"I worked on the farm in Tennessee till I married. I ironed, washed, and have kept my own house and done the work that goes along with raising a small family. We own our home. We have saved all we could along. I have never had a real hard time like some I know. I guess my time is at hand now. I don't know which way to turn since my husband got down sick.

"I don't vote. Seem like it used to not be a nice place for women to go where voting was taking place. Now they go mix up and vote. That is one big change. Time is changing and changing the people. Maybe it is the people is changing up the world as time goes by. We colored folks look to the white folks to know the way to do. We have always done it."

Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson Person interviewed: Mary Mitchell, Hazen, Arkansas Age: 60

"I was born in Trenton, Tennessee. My parents had five children. They were named William and Charlotte Wells. My father ran away and left my mother with all the children to raise. By birth mother was a Mississippian. She had been a nurse and my father was a timber man and farmer. My mother said she had her hardest time raising her little children. She was taken from her parents when a small girl and put on a block and sold. She never said if her owners was bad to her, but she said they was rough on Uncle Peter. He would fight. She said they would tie Uncle Peter and whoop him with a strap. From what she said there was a gang of slaves on Mr. Wade's place. He owned her. I never heard her mention freedom but she said they had a big farm bell on a tall post in the back yard and they had a horn to blow. It was a whistle made of a cow's horn.

"She said they was all afraid of the Ku Klux. They would ride across the field and they could see that they was around, but they never come up close to them."

Circumstances of Interview STATE--Arkansas NAME OF WORKER--Bernice Bowden ADDRESS--1006 Oak Street, Pine Bluff, Arkansas DATE--November 3, 1938 SUBJECT--Exslaves [TR: Repetitive information deleted from subsequent pages.]

1. Name and address of informant--Moses Mitchell, 117 Worthen Street

2. Date and time of interview--November 1, 1938, 1:00 p.m.

3. Place of interview--117 Worthen Street, Pine Bluff, Arkansas

4. Place and address of person, if any, who put you in touch with informant--Bernice Wilburn, 101 Miller Street, Pine Bluff, Arkansas

5. Name and address of person, if any, accompanying you--None

6. Description of room, house, surroundings, etc.--A frame house (rented), bare floors, no window shades; a bed and some boxes and three straight chairs. In an adjoining room were another bed, heating stove, two trunks, one straight chair, one rocking chair. A third room, the kitchen, contained cookstove and table and chairs.

Text of Interview

"I was born down here on White River near Arkansas Post, August, 1849. I belonged to Thomas Mitchel and when they (Yankees) took Arkansas Post, our owners gathered us up and my young master took us to Texas and he sold me to an Irishman named John McInish in Marshall for $1500. $500 in gold and the rest in Confederate money. They called it the new issue.

"I was twelve years old then and I stayed in Texas till I was forty-eight. I was at Tyler, Texas when they freed us. When they took us to Texas they left my mother and baby sister here in Arkansas, down here on Oak Log Bayou. I never saw her again and when I came back here to Arkansas, they said she had been dead twenty-eight years. Never did hear of my father again.

"I'm supposed to be part Creek Indian. Don't know how much. We have one son, a farmer, lives across the river. Married this wife in 1873.

"My wife and I left Texas forty-one years ago and came back here to Arkansas and stayed till 1922. Then we went to Chicago and stayed till 1930, and then came back here. I'd like to go back up there, but I guess I'm gettin' too old. While I was there I preached and I worked all the time. I worked on the streets and the driveways in Lincoln Park. I was in the brick and block department. Then I went from there to the asphalt department. There's where I coined the money. Made $6.60 in the brick and block and $7.20 a day in the asphalt. Down here they don't know no more about asphalt than a pig does about a holiday. _A man that's from the South and never been nowhere, don't know nothin', a woman either_.

"Yes ma'm, I'm a preacher. Just a local preacher, wasn't ordained. The reason for that was, in Texas a man over forty-five couldn't join the traveling connection. I was licensed, but of course I couldn't perform marriage ceremonies. I was just within one step of that.

"I went to school two days in my life. I was privileged to go to the first free school in Texas. Had a teacher named Goldman. Don't know what year that was but they found out me and another fellow was too old so they wouldn't let us go no more. But I caught my alphabet in them two days. So I just caught what education I've got, here and there. I can read well--best on my Bible and Testament and I read the newspapers. I can sorta scribble my name.

"I've been a farmer most of my life and a preacher for fifty-five years. I can repair shoes and use to do common carpenter work. I can help build a house. I only preach occasionally now, here and there. I belong to the Allen Temple in Hoboken (East Pine Bluff).

"I think the young generation is gone to naught. They're a different cut to what they was in my comin' up."

Interviewer's Comment

This man and his wife live in the outskirts of West pine Bluff. They receive a small sum of money and commodities from the County Welfare Department. He has a very pleasant personality, a good memory and intelligence above the ordinary. Reads the Daily Graphic and Arkansas Gazette. Age 89. He said, "_Here's the idea, freedom is worth it all_."

Personal History of Informant

1. Ancestry--Father, Lewis Mitchell; Mother, Rhoda Mitchell

2. Place and date of birth--Oak Log Bayou, White River, near Arkansas Post, Ark.

3. Family--Wife and one grown son.

4. Places lived in, with dates--Taken to Texas by his young master and sold in Marshall during the war. Lived in Tyler, Texas until forty-eight years of age; came back to Arkansas in 1897 and stayed until 1922; went to Chicago and lived until 1930; back to Jefferson County, Arkansas.

5. Education, with dates--Two days after twenty-one years of age. No date.

6. Occupations and accomplishments, with dates--Farmer, preacher, common carpenter, cobbler, public work on streets in Chicago, farmed and preached until he went to Chicago in 1922. The he worked in the maintenance department of city streets of Chicago and of Lincoln Park, Chicago.

7. Special skills and interests--Asphalt worker

8. Community and religious activities--Licensed Methodist Preacher. No assignment now.

9. Description of informant--Five feet eight inches tall; weight, 165 pounds, nearly bald. Very prominent cheek bones. Keen intelligence. Neatly dressed.

10. Other points gained in interview--Reads daily papers; knowledge of world affairs.

Pine Bluff District FOLKLORE SUBJECTS Name of Interviewer: Martin - Barker Subject: Negro Customs

Information by: Ben Moon [TR: Information moved from bottom of second page.]

I was born on the Walker place, in 1869. My father was a slave to Mr. Bob. I used to drive Miss Lelia (Eulalie) to the Catholic church here in Pine Bluff. She used to let me go barefooted, and bare headed.

Miss Lelia was the daughter of Col. Creed Taylor. All during slavery time I drove her gins. We had eight mules. Eight at a time hitched to each lever, they would weave in an out but they was so hitched that they never got in any body's way. They just walked around and round like they did in those days. We had herds of sheep, we sheared them and wove yarn for socks. We raised wheat, when it was ripe we laid a canvas cloth on the ground and put wheat on it, then men and women on horse back rode over it, and thrashed it that way. They called it treading it. Then we took it to the mill and ground it and made it into flour. For breakfast, (we ate awful soon in the morning), about 4 AM, then we packed lunch in tin buckets and eat again at daylight. Fat meat, cornbread and molasses. Some would have turnip greens for breakfast.

Summertime, Miss Lelia would plant plenty of fruit, and we would have fried apples, stewed peaches and things.

Sunday mornings we would have biscuit, butter, molasses, chicken, etc.

For our work they paid us seventy-five cents a day and when come cotton picking time old rule, seventy five cents for pickin cotton. Christmas time, plenty of fireworks, plenty to eat, drink and everything. We would dance all Christmas.

All kind of game was plentiful, plenty of coon, possum, used up everything that grew in the woods. Plenty of corn, we took it to the grist mill every Saturday.

Ark. riv. boats passed the Walker place, and dey was a landing right at dere place, and one at the Wright place, that is where the airport is now.

All de white folks had plenty of cattle den and in de winter time dey was all turned in on the fields and with what us niggers had, that made a good many, and you know yorself dat was good for de ground.

Mother was a slave on the Merriweather place, her marster was Mick[TR: name not clear] Merriweather. My granma was Gusta Merriweather, my mother Lavina and lived on the Merriweather place in what was then Dorsey county, near Edinburg, now Cleveland Co. My grandfather was Louis Barnett, owned by Nick Barnett of Cleveland co., then Dorsey co. Fathers people was owned by Marse Bob Walker. Miss Lelia (Eulalie) was mistis. Miss Maggie Benton was young mistis.

I dont believe in ghosts or spirits.

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.

Patrollers

"I used to hear them all talk about the patrollers. I used to hear my mother talking about them. My ma said my master wouldn't let the patrollers come on his place. They could go on anybody else's place but he never did let them come on his place. Some of the slaves were treated very bad. But my ma said he didn't allow a patroller on the place and he didn't allow no other white man to touch his niggers. He was a big white man--a senator. He didn't know all his Negroes but he didn't allow nobody to impose on them. He didn't let no patroller and nobody else beat up his niggers.

How Freedom Came

"I don't know how freedom came. I know the Yankees came through and they'd pat we little niggers on the head and say, 'Nigger, you are just as free as I am.' And I would say, 'Yes'm.'

Right After Freedom

"Right after the War my mother and father moved off the place and went on another plantation somewheres--I don't know where. They share cropped. I don't know how long. Old mistress didn't want them to move at all. I never will forget that.

Present Occupation and Opinions

"I used to cook out all the time when I got grown. I couldn't tell you when I married. You got enough junk down there now. So I ain't giving you no more. My husband's been dead about seven years. I goes to the Methodist church on Ninth and Broadway. I ain't able to do no work now. I gets a little pension, and the Lord takes care of me. I have a hard time sometime.

"I ain't bothered about these young folks. They is _somethin' awful_. It would be wonderful to write a book from that. They ought to git a history of these young people. You could git a wonderful book out of that.

"The colored folks have come a long way since freedom. And if the white folks didn't pin 'em down they'd go further. Old Jeff Davis said when the niggers was turned loose, 'Dive up your knives and forks with them.' But they didn't do it.

"Some niggers was sharp and got something. And they lost it just like they got it. Look at Bush. I know two or three big niggers got a lot and ain't got nothin' left now. Well, I ain't got no time for no more junk. You got enough down there. You take that and go on."

Interviewer's Comment

During the interview, a little "pickaninny" came in with his mother. His grandmother and a forlorn little dog were also along. "Tell grandma what you want," his mother prompted. "Is that your grandson?" I interrupted. "No," she said, "He ain't no kin to me, but he calls me 'ma' and acts as if I was his grandma." The little fellow hung back. He was just about twenty-two months old, but large and mature for that age.

"Tell 'ma' what you want," his grandmother put in. Finally, he made up his mind and stood in front of her and said, "Buh--er." His mother explained, "I've done made him some corn bread, but he ain't got no butter to put on it and he wants you to give him some."