Chapter 3

"Sundays the slaves would wash out their clothes. It was the only time they had to themselves. Some of the old men worked in their tobacco patches. We never observed Christmas. We never had no holidays, son, _no, sir_! We didn't know what the word was.

"I never saw any slave funerals. Some slaves died, but I never saw any of them buried. I didn't see any funerals at all.

"The white folks would come down to the cabins to marry the slaves. The master or mistress would read a little out of a book. That's all there was to it.

"We used to play a game called 'Hulgul'. We'd play it in the cabins and sometimes with the white children. We'd hold hazelnuts in our hands. I'd say 'Hulgul' How many? You'd guess. If you hit it right, you'd get them all and it would be your turn to say 'Hulgul'. If you'd say 'Three!' and I only had two, you'd have to give me another to make three.

"The kids nowadays can go right to the store and buy a ball to play with. We'd have to make a ball out of yarn and put a sock around it for a cover. Six of us would stay on one side of a house and six on the other side. Then we'd throw the ball over the roof and say 'Catch!' If you'd catch it you'd run around to the; other side and hit somebody, then start over. We worked so hard we couldn't play long on Sunday evenings.

"School? We never seen the inside of a schoolhouse. Mistress used to read the Bible to us every Sunday morning.

"We say two songs I still remember.

"I think when I read that sweet story of old, When Jesus was here among men, How he called little children like lambs to his fold, I should like to have been with them then.

"I wish that his hands had been placed on my head, That his arms had been thrown around me, That I might have seen his kind face when he said 'Let the little ones come unto me.'

"Yet still to his footstool in prayer I nay go And ask for a share of his love, And that I might earnestly seek Him below And see Him and hear Him above.

"Then there was another:

"I want to be an angel And with the angels stand With a crown upon my Forehead And a harp within my hand.

"And there before my Saviour, So glorious and so bright, I'd make the sweetest music And praise him day and night.

"And as soon as we got through singing those songs, we had to get right out to work. I was always glad when they called us in the house to Sunday school. It was the only chance we'd get to rest.

"When the slaves got sick, they'd take and look after themselves. My master had a whole wall of his house for medicine, just like a store. They made their own medicines and pills. My mistress's brother, Dr. Jim Taylor, was a doctor. They done their own doctoring. I still have the mark where I was vaccinated by my master.

"People was lousy in them days. I always had to pick louses from the heads of the white children. You don't find children like that nowadays.

"My mistress had a little roan horse. She went all through the war on that horse. Us little kids never went around the big folks. We didn't watch folks faces to learn, like children do now. They wouldn't let us. All I know about the Civil War was that it was goin' on. I heard talk about killin' and so on, but I didn't know no thin' about it.

"My mother was the last slave to get off the plantation. She travelled across the plantation all night with us children. It was pouring rain. The white folks surrounded her and took away us children, and gave her so many minutes to get off the plantation. We never saw her again. She died away from us.

"My brother came to see us once when slavery was over. He was grown up. My master wasn't going to let him see us and he took up his gun. My mistress said he should let him see us. My brother gave me a little coral ring. I thought it was the prettiest thing I ever saw.

"I made my sister leave. I took a rolling pin to make her go and she finally left. They didn't have any more business with us than you have right now.

"I remember when Yankee soldiers came riding through the yard. I was scared and ran away crying. I can see them now. Their swords hung at their sides and their horses walked proud, as if they walked on their hind legs. The master was in the field trying to hide his money and guns and things. The soldiers said, 'We won't hurt you, child.' It made me feel wonderful.

"What I call the Ku Klux were those people who met at night and if they heard anybody saying you was free, they would take you out at night and whip you. They were the plantation owners. I never saw them ride, but I heard about them and what they did. My master used to tell us he wished he knew who the Ku Kluxers were. But he knew, all right, I used to wait on table and I heard them talking. 'Gonna lynch another nigger tonight!'

"The slaves tried to get schools, but they didn't get any. Finally they started a few schools in little log cabins. But we children, my sister and I, never went to school.

"I married William L. Davison, when I was thirty-two years old. That was after I left the plantation. I never had company there. I had to _work_. I have only one grandchild still living, Willa May Reynolds. She taught school in City Grove, Tennessee. She's married now.

"I thought Abe Lincoln was a great man. What little I know about him, I always thought he was a great man. He did a lot of good.

"Us kids always used to sing a song, 'Gonna hang Jeff Davis to a sour apple tree as we go marchin' home.' I didn't know what it meant at the time.

"I never knew much about Booker T. Washington, but I heard about him. Frederick Douglass was a great man, too. He did lots of good, like Abe Lincoln.

"Well, slavery's over and I think that's a grand thing. A white lady recently asked me, 'Don't you think you were better off under the white people?' I said 'What you talkin' about? The birds of the air have their freedom'. I don't know why she should ask me that anyway.

"I belong to the Third Baptist Church. I think all people should be religious. Christ was a missionary. He went about doing good to people. You should be clean, honest, and do everything good for people. I first turn the searchlight on myself. To be a true Christian, you must do as Christ said: 'Love one another'. You know, that's why I said I didn't want to tell about my life and the terrible things that I and my sister Mary suffered. I want to forgive those people. Some people tell me those people are in hell now. But I don't think that. I believe we should all do good to everybody."

Betty Lugabell, Reporter [TR: also reported as Lugabill] Harold Pugh, Editor R.S. Drum, Supervisor Jun 9, 1937

Folklore: Ex-Slaves Paulding Co., District 10

MARY BELLE DEMPSEY Ex-Slave, 87 years

"I was only two years old when my family moved here, from _Wilford_ county, Kentucky. 'Course I don't remember anything of our slave days, but my mother told me all about it."

"My mother and father were named Sidney Jane and William Booker. I had one brother named George William Booker."

"The man who owned my father and mother was a good man." He was good to them and never 'bused them. He had quite a large plantation and owned 26 slaves. Each slave family had a house of their own and the women of each family prepared the meals, in their cabins. These cabins were warm and in good shape."

"The master farmed his land and the men folks helped in the fields but the women took care of their homes."

"We had our churches, too. Sometimes the white folks would try to cause trouble when the negroes were holding their meetings, then a night the men of the church would place chunks and matches on the white folks gate post. In the morning the white folks would find them and know that it was a warning if they din't quit causing trouble their buildings would be burned."

"There was a farm that joined my parents' master's place and the owner was about ready to sell the mother slave with her five small children. The children carried on so much because they were to be separated that the mistress bought them back although she had very little money to spare."

"I don't know any more slave stories, but now I am getting old, and I know that I do not have long to live, but I'm not sorry, I am, ready to go. I have lived as the Lord wants us to live and I know that when I die I shall join many of my friends and relatives in the Lord's place. Religion is the finest thing on earth. It is the one and only thing that matters."

Former Slave Interview, Special Aug 16, 1937

Butler County, District #2 Middletown

MRS. NANCE EAST 809 Seventeenth Ave., Middletown, Ohio

"Mammy" East, 809 Seventeenth Ave., Middletown, Ohio, rules a four-room bungalow in the negro district set aside by the American Rolling Mill Corporation. She lives there with her sons, workers in the mill, and keeps them an immaculate home in the manner which she was taught on a Southern plantation. Her house is furnished with modern electrical appliances and furniture, but she herself is an anachronism, a personage with no faith in modern methods of living, one who belongs in that vague period designated as "befo' de wah."

"I 'membahs all 'bout de slave time. I was powerful small but my mother and daddy done tole me all 'bout it. Mother and daddy bofe come from Vaginny; mother's mama did too. She was a weaver and made all our clothes and de white folks clothes. Dat's all she ever did; just weave and spin. Gran'mama and her chilluns was _sold_ to the Lett fambly, two brothers from Monroe County, Alabama. _Sole_ jist like cows, honey, right off the block, jist like cows. But they was good to they slaves.

"My mother's last name was Lett, after the white folks, and my daddy's name was Harris Mosley, after his master. After mother and daddy married, the Mosleys done bought her from the Letts so they could be together. They was brother-in-laws. Den I was named after Miss Nancy. Dey was Miss Nancy and Miss Hattie and two boys in the Mosleys. Land, honey, they had a big (waving her hands in the air) plantation; a whole section; and de biggest home you done ever see. We darkies had cabins. Jist as clean and nice. Them Mosleys, they had a grist mill and a gin. They like my daddy and he worked in de mill for them. Dey sure was good to us. My mother worked on de place for Miss Nancy."

Mammy East, in a neat, voile dress and little pig-tails all over her head, is a tall, light-skinned Negro, who admits that she would much rather care for children than attend to the other duties of the little house she owns; but the white spreads on the beds and the spotless kitchen is no indication of this fact. She has a passion for the good old times when the Negroes had security with no responsibility. Her tall, statuesque appearance is in direct contrast to the present-day conception of old southern "mammmies."

"De wah, honey? Why, when dem Yankees come through our county mother and Miss Nancy and de rest hid de hosses in de swamps and hid other things in the house, but dey got all the cattle and hogs. Killed 'em, but only took the hams. Killed all de chickens and things, too. But dey didn't hurt the house.

"After de wah, everybody jist went on working same as ever. Then one day a white mans come riding through the county and tole us we was free. _Free!_ Honey, did yo' hear _that_? Why we always had been free. He didn't know what he was talking 'bout. He kept telling us we was free and dat we oughtn't to work for no white folks 'less'n we got paid for it. Well Miss Nancy took care of us then. We got our cabin and a piece of ground for a garden and a share of de crops. Daddy worked in de mill. Miss Nancy saw to it that we always had nice clothes too.

"Ku Klux, honey? Why, we nevah did hear tell of no sich thing where we was. Nevah heered nothin' 'bout dat atall until we come up here, and dey had em here. Law, honey, folks don't know when dey's well off. My daddy worked in de mill and save his money, and twelve yeahs aftah de wah he bought two hundred and twenty acres of land, 'bout ten miles away. Den latah on daddy bought de mill from de Mosleys too. Yas'm, my daddy was well off.

"My, you had to be somebody to votes. I sure do 'membahs all 'bout dat. You had to be edicated and have money to votes. But I don' 'membahs no trouble 'bout de votin'. Not where we come from, no how.

"I was married down dere. Mah husband's fust name was Monroe after the county we lived in. My chilluns was named aftah some of the Mosleys. I got a Ed and Hattie. Aftah my daddy died we each got forty acahs. I sold mine and come up here to live with my boys.

"But honey dis ain't no way to raise chilluns. Not lak dey raised now. All dis dishonesty and stealin' and laziness. _No mam!_ Look here at my gran'sons. Eatin' offen dey daddy. No place for 'em. Got edication, and caint git no jobs outside cuttin' grass and de like. Down on de plantation ev'body worked. No laziness er 'oneriness, er nothin! I tells yo' honey, I sure do wish these chilluns had de chances we had. Not much learnin', but we had up-bringin'! Look at dem chilluns across de street. Jist had a big fight ovah dere, and dey mothah's too lazy to do any thing 'bout it. No'm, nevah did see none o' dat when we was young. Gittin' in de folkeses hen houses and stealing, and de carryins on at night. _No mam!_ I sure do wish de old times was here.

"I went back two-three yeahs ago, to de old home place, and dere it was, jist same as when I was livin' with Miss Nancy. Co'se, theys all dead and gone now, but some of the gran'chilluns was around. Yas'm, I membahs heap bout dem times."

Miriam Logan, Reporter Lebanon, Ohio

Warren County, District 21

Story of WADE GLENN from Winston-Salem North Carolina: (doesn't know his age)

"Yes Madam, I were a slave--I'm old enough to have been born into slavery, but I was only a baby slave, for I do not remember about slavery, I've just heard them tell about it. My Mammy were Lydia Glenn, and father were Caesar Glenn, for they belonged to old Glenn. I've heard tell he were a mean man too. My birthday is October 30th--but what year--I don't know. There were eight brothers and two sisters. We lived on John Beck's farm--a big farm, and the first work for me to do was picking up chips o' wood, and lookin' after hogs.

"In those days they'd all kinds of work by hand on the farm. No Madam, no cotton to speak of, or tobacco _then_. Just farmin' corn, hogs, wheat fruit,--like here. Yes Madam, that was all on John Beck's farm except the flax and the big wooley sheep. Plenty of nice clean flax-cloth suits we all had.

"Beck wasn't so good--but we had enough to eat, wear, and could have our Saturday afternoon to go to town, and Sunday for church. We sho did have church, large meetin'--camp meetin'--with lot of singin' an shoutin' and it was fine! Nevah was no singer, but I was a good dancer in my day, yes--yes Madam I were a good dancer. I went to dances and to church with my folks. My father played a violin. He played well, so did my brother, but I never did play or sing. Mammy sang a lot when she was spinning and weaving. She sing an' that big wheel a turnin.'

"When I can read my title clear, Up Yonder, Up Yonder, Up Yonder!

and another of her spinnin' songs was a humin:--

"The Promise of God Salvation free to give..."

"Besides helpin' on the farm, father was ferryman on the Yadkin River for Beck. He had a boat for hire. Sometimes passengers would want to go a mile, sometimes 30. Father died at thirty-five. He played the violin fine. My brother played for dances, and he used to sing lots of songs:--

"Ol' Aunt Katy, fine ol' soul, She's beatin' her batter, In a brand new bowl...

--that was a fetchin' tune, but you see I can't even carry it. Maybe I could think up the words of a lot of those ol' tunes but they ought to pay well for them, for they make money out of them. I liked to go to church and to dances both. For a big church to sing I like 'Nearer My God to Thee'--there isn't anything so good for a big crowd to sing out big!

"Father died when he was thirty-five of typhoid. We all had to work hard. I came up here in 1892--and I don't know why I should have, for Winston-Salem was a big place. I've worked on farm and roads. My wife died ten years ago. We adopted a girl in Tennennesee years ago, and she takes a care of me now. She was always good to us--a good girl. Yes, Madam."

Wade Glenn proved to be not nearly so interesting as his appearance promised. He is short; wears gold rimmed glasses; a Southern Colonel's Mustache and Goatee--and capitals are need to describe the style! He had his comical-serious little countenance topped off with a soft felt hat worn at the most rakish angle. He can't carry a tune, and really is not musical. His adopted daughter with whom he lives is rated the town's best colored cook.

Ohio Guide, Special Ex-Slave Stories August 16, 1937

DAVID A. HALL

"I was born at Goldsboro, N.C., July 25, 1847. I never knew who owned my father, but my mother's master's name was Lifich Pamer. My mother did not live on the plantation but had a little cabin in town. You see, she worked as a cook in the hotel and her master wanted her to live close to her work. I was born in the cabin in town.

"No, I never went to school, but I was taught a little by my master's daughter, and can read and write a little. As a slave boy I had to work in the military school in Goldsboro. I waited on tables and washed dishes, but my wages went to my master the sane as my mother's.

"I was about fourteen when the war broke out, and remember when the Yankees came through our town. There was a Yankee soldier by the name of Kuhns who took charge of a Government Store. He would sell tobacco and such like to the soldiers. He was the man who told me I was free and then give me a job working in the store.

"I had some brothers and sisters but I do not remember them--can't tell you anything about them.

"Our beds were homemade out of poplar lumber and we slept on straw ticks. We had good things to eat and a lot of corn cakes and sweet potatoes. I had pretty good clothes, shoes, pants and a shirt, the same winter and summer.

"I don't know anything about the plantation as I had to work in town and did not go out there very much. No, I don't know how big it was or how many slaves there was. I never heard of any uprisings either.

"Our overseer was 'poor white-trash', hired by the master. I remember the master lived in a big white house and he was always kind to his slaves, so was his wife and children, but we didn't like the overseer. I heard of some slaves being whipped, but I never was and I did not see any of the others get punished. Yes, there was a jail on the plantation where slaves had to go if they wouldn't behave. I never saw a slave in chains but I have seen colored men in the chain gang since the war.

"We had a negro church in town and slaves that could be trusted could go to church. It was a Methodist Church and we sang negro spirituals.

"We could go to the funeral of a relative and quit work until it was over and then went back to work. There was a graveyard on the plantation.

"A lot of slaves ran away and if they were caught they were brought back and put in the stocks until they were sold. The master would never keep a runaway slave. We used to have fights with the 'white trash' sometimes and once I was hit by a rock throwed by a white boy and that's what this lump on my head is.

"Yes, we had to work every day but Sunday. The slaves did not have any holidays. I did not have time to play games but used to watch the slaves sing and dance after dark. I don't remember any stories.

"When the slaves heard they had been set free, I remember a lot of them were sorry and did not want to leave the plantation. No, I never heard of any in our section getting any mules or land.

"I do remember the 'night riders' that come through our country after the war. They put the horse shoes on the horses backwards and wrapped the horses feet in burlap so we couldn't hear them coming. The colored folks were deathly afraid of these men and would all run and hide when they heard they were coming. These 'night riders' used to steal everything the colored people had--even their beds and straw ticks.

"Right after the war I was brought north by Mr. Kuhns I spoke of, and for a short while I worked at the milling trade in Tiffin and came to Canton in 1866. Mr. Kuhns owned a part in the old flour mill here (now the Ohio Builders and Milling Co.) and he give me a job as a miller. I worked there until the end of last year, 70 years, and I am sure this is a record in Canton. No, I never worked any other place.

"I was married July 4, 1871 to Jennie Scott in Massillon. We had four children but they are all dead except one boy. Our first baby--a girl named Mary Jane, born February 21, 1872, was the first colored child born in Canton. My wife died in 1926. No, I do not know when she was born, but I do know she was not a slave.

"I started to vote after I came north but did not ever vote in the south. I do not like the way the young people of today live; they are too fast and drink too much. Yes, I think this is true of the white children the same as the colored.

"I saved my money when I worked and when I quit I had three properties. I sold one of these, gave one to my son, and I am living in the other. No, I have never had to ask for charity. I also get a pension check from, the mill where I worked so long.

"I joined church simply because I thought it would make me a better man and I think every one should belong. I have been a member of St. Paul's A.M.E. church here in Canton for 54 years. Yesterday (Sunday, August 15, 1937) our church celebrated by burning the mortgage. As I was the oldest member I was one of the three who lit it, the other two are the only living charter members. My church friends made me a present yesterday of $100.00 which was a birthday gift. I was 90 years old the 25th of last month."

Hall resides at 1225 High Ave., S.W., Canton, Ohio.

Miriam Logan Lebanon, Ohio

MRS. CELIA HENDERSON, aged 88. Born Hardin County, Kentucky in 1849

(drawing of Celia Henderson) [TR: no drawing found]

"Mah mammy were Julia Dittoe, an pappy, he were name Willis Dittoe. Dey live at Louieville till mammy were sold fo' her marster's debt. She were a powerful good cook, mammy were--an she were sol' fo to pay dat debt."

"She tuk us four chillen 'long wid her, an pappy an th' others staid back in Louieville. Dey tuk us all on a boat de Big Ribber--evah heah ob de big ribber? Mississippi its name--but we calls it de big ribber."

"_Natchez on de hill_--dats whaah de tuk us to. Nactchez-on-de-hill dis side of N' Or'leans. Mammy she have eleven chillen. No 'em, don't 'member all dem names no mo'. No 'em, nevah see pappy no moah. Im 'member mammy cryin' goin' down on de boat, and us chillen a cryin' too, but de place we got us was a nice place, nicer den what we left. Family 'o name of GROHAGEN it was dat got us. Yas'em dey was nice to mammy fo' she was a fine cook, mammy wus. A fine cook!"

"Me? Go'Long! I ain't no sech cook as my mammy was. But mah boy, he were a fine cook. I ain't nothin' of a cook. Yas'em, I cook fo Mis Gallagher, an fo 4 o' de sheriffs here, up at de jail. But de fancy cookin' I ain't much on, no'em I ain't. But mah boy an mammy now, dey was fine! Mah boy cook at hotels and wealthy homes in Louieville 'til he died."

"Dey was cotton down dere in Natchez, but no tobacco like up here. No 'em, I nevah wuk in cotton fields. I he'p mammy tote water, hunt chips, hunt pigs, get things outa de col' house. Dat way, I guess I went to wuk when I wuz about 7 or 8 yeahs ol'. Chillen is sma't now, an dey hafto be taught to wuk, but dem days us culled chillen wuk; an we had a good time wukin' fo dey wernt no shows, no playthings lak dey have now to takey up day time, no'em."