Part 2

"When the war was over, Mr. Parks was still in the South and gave to each one of his slaves who did not want to come back to Arkansas so much money. My uncle George came back with Mr. Parks and was given a good mountain farm of forty acres, which he put in cultivation and one of my uncle's descendants still lives on the place. My mother did not return to Arkansas but went on to Joplin, Missouri, and for more than fifty years, neither one of us knew where the other one was until one day a man from Fayetteville went into a restaurant in Joplin and ordered his breakfast, and my mother who was in there heard him say he lived in Fayetteville, Arkansas. He lived just below the Hudgens home and when my mother enquired about the family he told her I was still alive and was with the family. While neither of us could read nor write we corresponded through different people. But I never saw her after I was eleven years old. Later Mr. Hudgens went to Joplin to see if she was well taken care of. She owned her own little place and when she died there was enough money for her to be buried.

"Civil War days are vivid to me. The Courthouse which was then in the middle of the Square was burned one night by a crazy Confederate soldier. The old men in the town saved him and then put him in the county jail to keep him from burning other houses. Each family was to take food to him and they furnished bedding. The morning I was to take his breakfast, he had ripped open his feather bed and crawled inside to get warm. The room was so full of feathers when I got there that his food nearly choked him. I had carried him ham, hot biscuits and a pot of coffee.

"After the War many soldiers came to my mistress, Mrs. Blakely, trying to make her free me. I told them I was free but I did not want to go anywhere, that I wanted to stay in the only home that I had ever known. In a way that placed me in a wrong attitude. I was pointed out as different. Sometimes I was threatened for not leaving but I stayed on.

"I had always been well treated by my master's folks. While we lived at the old Kidd place, there was a church a few miles from our home. My uncle George was coachman and drove my master's family in great splendor in a fine barouche to church. After the war, when he went to his own place, Mr. Parks gave him the old carriage and bought a new one for the family.

"I can remember the days of slavery as happy ones. We always had an abundance of food. Old Aunt Martha cooked and there was always plenty prepared for all the white folks as well as the colored folks. There was a long table at the end of the big kitchen for the colored folks. The vegetables were all prepared of an evening by Aunt Martha with someone to help her.

"My mother seemed to have a gift of telling fortunes. She had a brass ring about the size of a dollar with a handwoven knotted string that she used. I remember that she told many of the young people in the neighborhood many strange things. They would come to her with their premonitions.

"Yes, we were afraid of the patyroles. All colored folks were. They said that any Negroes that were caught away from their master's premises without a permit would be whipped by the patyroles. They used to sing a song:

'Run nigger run, The patyroles Will get you.'

"Yes'm, the War separated lots of families. Mr. Parks' son, John C. Parks, enlisted in Colonel W.H. Brooks' regiment at Fayetteville as third lieutenant. Mr. Jim Parks was killed at the Battle of Getysburg.

"I do remember it was my mistress, Mrs. Blakely, who kept the Masonic Building from being burned. The soldiers came to set it on fire. Mrs. Blakely knew that if it burned, our home would burn as it was just across the street. Mrs. Blakely had two small children who were very ill in upstairs rooms. She told the soldiers if they burned the Masonic Building that her house would burn and she would be unable to save her little children. They went away."

While Aunt Adeline is nearing ninety, she is still active, goes shopping and also tends to the many crepe myrtle bushes as well as many other flowers at the Hudgens place.

She attends to the renting of the apartment house, as caretaker, and is taken care of by members of the Blakely-Hudgens families.

Aunt Adeline talks "white folks language," as they say, and seldom associates with the colored people of the town.

[Footnote 1: This statement can be verified by the will made by John P.A. Parks, and filed in Probate Court in the clerk's office in Washington County.]

Interviewer: Mrs. Bernice Bowden Person interviewed: Rose Adway 405 W. Pullen, Pine Bluff, Arkansas Age: 76

"I was born three years 'fore surrender. That's what my people told me. Born in Mississippi. Let me see what county I come out of. Smith County--that's where I was bred and born.

"I know I seen the Yankees but I didn't know what they was. My mama and papa and all of 'em talked about the War.

"My papa was a water toter in durin' the War. No, he didn't serve the army--just on the farm.

"Mama was the cook for her missis in slavery times.

"I think my folks went off after freedom and then come back. That was after they had done been sot free. I can remember dat all right.

"I registered down here at the Welfare and I had to git my license from Mississippi and I didn't remember which courthouse I got my license, but I sent letters over there till I got it up. I got all my papers now, but I ain't never got no pension.

"I been through so much I can't git much in my remembrance, but I was _here_--that ain't no joke--I _been_ here.

"My folks said their owners was all right. You know they was 'cause they come back. I remember dat all right.

"I been farmin' till I got disabled. After I married I went to farmin'. And I birthed fourteen head of chillun by dat one man! Fourteen head by dat one man! Stayed at home and took care of 'em till I got 'em up some size, too. All dead but five out of the fourteen head.

"My missis' name was Miss Catherine and her husband named Abe Carr.

"I went to school a little bit--mighty little. I could read but I never could write.

"And I'm about to go blind in my old age. I need help and I need it bad. Chillun ain't able to help me none 'cept give me a little bread and give me some medicine once in a while. But I'm thankful to the Lord I can get outdoors.

"I don't know what to think of this young race. That baby there knows more than I do now, nearly. Back there when I was born, I didn't know nothin'.

"I know they said it was bad luck to bring a hoe or a ax in the house on your shoulder. I heard the old folks tell dat--sure did.

"And I was told dat on old Christmas night the cows gets down on their knees and gives thanks to the Lord.

"I 'member one song:

'I am climbin' Jacob's ladder I am climbin' Jacob's ladder I am climbin' Jacob's ladder For the work is almost done.

'Every round goes higher and higher Every round goes higher and higher Every round goes higher and higher For my work is almost done.

'Sister, now don't you get worried Sister, now don't you get worried Sister, now don't you get worried For the work is almost done.'

My mother used to sing dat when she was spinnin' and cardin'. They'd spin and dye the thread with some kind of indigo. Oh, I 'member dat all right."

Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson Person interviewed: Liddie Aiken, Wheatley, Arkansas Age: 62

"My mother was born in southwest Georgia close to the Alabama line. Her mother come from Virginia. She was sold with her mother and two little brothers. Her mother had been sold and come in a wagon to southwest Georgia. They was all field hands. They cleaned out new ground. They was afraid of hoop-snakes. She said they look like a hoop rolling and whatever they stuck a horn or their tail in it died. They killed trees.

"Mama said she druther plough than chop. She was a big woman and they let her plough right along by her two little brothers, Henry and Will Keller. Will et so many sweet potatoes they called him 'Tater Keller.' After he got grown we come out here. Folks called him 'Tate Keller.' Henry died. I recollect Uncle Tate.

"I was born close to Mobile, Alabama. Mama was named Sarah Keller. Grandma was called Mariah. Banks Tillman sold her the first time. Bill Keller bought them all the last time. His wife was named Ada Keller. They had a great big family but I forgot what they said about them. Mack clem up in a persimmon tree one day and the old man hollered at him, 'Get out of that tree 'fore you fall.' 'Bout then the boy turned 'loose and fell. It knocked the breath out him. It didn't kill him. Three or four of Miss Ada's children died with congestive chills. Mama said the reason they had them chills they played down at the gin pond all the time. It was shady and a pretty place and they was allowed to play in the pond. Three or four of them died nearly in a heap.

"One of the boys had a pet billy-goat. It got up on top mama's house one time. It would bleat and look down at them. They was afraid it would jump down on them if they went out. It chewed up things Aunt Beanie washed. She had them put out on bushes and might had a line too. They fattened it and killed it. Mama said Mr. Bill Keller never had nothing too good to divide with his niggers. I reckon by that they got some of the goat.

"They lived like we live now. Every family done his own cooking. I don't know how many families lived on the place.

"I know about the Yankees. They come by and every one of the men and boys went with them but Uncle Cal. He was cripple and they advised him not to start. Didn't none of the women go. Mama said she never seen but one ever come back. She thought they got killed or went on some place else.

"Mr. Keller died and Miss Ada went back to her folks. They left everything in our care that they didn't move. She took all her house things. They sold or took all their stock. They left us a few cows and pigs. I don't know how long they stayed after the old man died. His children was young; he might not been so old.

"I recollect grandma. She smoked a pipe nearly all the time. My papa was a livery stable man. He was a fine man with stock. He was a little black man. Mama was too big. Grandma was taller but she was slick black. He lived at Mobile, Alabama. I was the onliest child mama had. Uncle 'Tate Keller' took grandma and mama to Mobile. He never went to the War. He was a good carpenter and he worked out when he didn't have a lot to do in the field. He was off at work when all the black men and boys left Mr. Bill. He never went back after they left till freedom.

"They didn't know when freedom took place. They was all scattering for two years about to get work and something to eat. Tate come and got them. They went off in a wagon that Tate made for his master, Bill Keller. We come to Tupelo, Mississippi from Mobile when I was a little bit of a girl. Then we made one crop and come to Helena. Uncle Tate died there and mama died at Crocketts Bluff. My papa died back in Mobile, Alabama. He was breaking a young horse and got throwed up side a tree. He didn't live long then.

"I got three boys now and I had seben--all boys. They farms and do public work. Tom is in Memphis. Pete is in Helena and I live wid Macon between here (Wheatley) and Cotton Plant. We farm. I done everything could be thought of on a farm. I ploughed some less than five year ago. I liked to plough. My boy ploughs all he can now and we do the chopping. We all pick cotton and get in the corn. We work day laborers now.

"If I was young the times wouldn't stand in my way. I could make it. I don't know what is the trouble lessen some wants too much. They can't get it. We has a living and thankful for it. I never 'plied for no help yet.

"I still knits my winter stockings. I got knitting needles and cards my own mother had and used. I got use for them. I wears clothes on my body in cold weather. One reason you young folks ain't no 'count you don't wear enough clothes when it is cold. I wear flannel clothes if I can get holt of them.

"Education done ruint the world. I learnt to read a little. I never went to school. I learnt to work. I learnt my boys to go with me to the field and not to be ashamed to sweat. It's healthy. They all works."

Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson Person Interviewed: Mattie Aldridge Age: 60? Hazen, Arkansas

"My mother's old owner named Master Sanders. She born somewhere in Tennessee. I heard her say she lived in Mississippi. I was born in Tennessee. My pa was born in Mississippi. I know he belong to the Duncans. His name George Washington Duncan. There ain't nary drap white blood in none us. I got four brothers. I do remembers grandma. She set and tell us tales bout old times like you want to know. Been so long I forgotten. Ma was a house girl and pa a field hand. Way grandma talked it must of been hard to find out what white folks wanted em to do, cause she couldn't tell what you say some times. She never did talk plain.

"They was glad when freedom declared. They said they was hard on em. Whoop em. Pa was killed in Crittenden County in Arkansas. He was clearin' new ground. A storm come up and a limb hit him. It killed him. Grandma and ma allus say like if you build a house you want to put all the winders in you ever goin' to want. It bad luck to cut in and put in nother one. Sign of a death. I ain't got no business tellin' you bout that. White folks don't believe in signs.

"I been raisin' up childern--'dopted childern, washin', ironin', scourin', hoein', gatherin' corn, pickin' cotton, patchin', cookin'. They ain't nothin' what I ain't done.

"No'm, I sure ain't voted. I don't believe in women votin'. They don't know who to vote for. The men don't know neither. If folks visited they would care more bout the other an wouldn't be so much devilment goin' on."

Interviewer: Samuel S. Taylor. Person Interviewed: Amsy O. Alexander 2422 Center Street, Little Rock, Arkansas Age: 74

[HW: Helps Build Railroad]

"I was born in the country several miles from Charlotte in Macklenberg, County, North Carolina in 1864.

"My father's name was John Alexander and my mother was Esther McColley. That was her maiden name of course.

"My father's master was named Silas Alexander and my mother belonged to Hugh Reed. I don't know just how she and my father happened to meet. These two slaveholders were adjoining neighbors, you might say.

"My father and my mother married during the war. I was the first child. I had three half brothers and three half sisters from the father's side. I didn't have no whole brothers and sisters. I am the only one on my mother's side. My father was not in the war.

"I don't know that the pateroles bothered him very much. My father and mother were well treated by our master and then both she and my father were quiet and their masters were good to them naturally.

"During slavery times, my father was a farmer. My mother farmed too. She was a hand in the field. They lived in a little log cabin, one room. They had a bed in there, a few chairs and a homemade table. They had a plank floor. I only know what I heard my people speak of. I don't know what was what for myself because I was too young.

"From what I can understand they had a big room at the house and the slaves came there and ate there. They had a colored woman who prepared their meals. The children mostly were raised on pot liquor. While the old folk were working the larger young uns mongst the children would take care of the little ones.

"Their masters never forced any breeding. I have heard of that happening in other places but I never heard them speak of it in connection with our master.

"When the master came back from the war, they told the slaves they were free. After slavery my people stayed on and worked on the old plantation. They didn't get much. Something like fifty cents a day and one meal. My folks didn't work on shares.

"Back there in North Carolina times got tight and it seemed that there wasn't much doing. Agents came from Arkansas trying to get laborers. So about seven or eight families of us emigrated from North Carolina. That is how my folks got here.

"The Ku Klux were bad in North Carolina too. My people didn't have any trouble with them in Arkansas, though. They weren't bothered so much in North Carolina because of their owners. But they would come around and see them. They came at night. We came to Arkansas in the winter of 1897.

"I went to public school after the war, in North Carolina. I didn't get any further than the eighth grade. My father and mother didn't get any schooling till after the war. They could read a little but they picked it up themselves during slavery. I suppose their Master's children learned it to them.

"My father never did see any army service. I have heard him speak of seeing soldiers come through though. They looted the place and took everything they wanted and could carry.

"When I first come to this state, I settled in Drew County and farmed. I farmed for three years. During the time I was there, I got down sick with slow fever. When I got over that I decided that I would move to higher ground. There was a man down there who recommended Little Rock and so I moved here. I have been here forty-nine years. That is quite a few days.

"I belong to the Presbyterian Church and have been a member of that church for fifty-five years. I have never gotten out publicly, but I even do my little preaching round in the house here.

"When I came to Little Rock, I came in a very dull season. There wasn't even a house to be rented. It was in the winter. I had to rent a room at "Jones" hall on Ninth and Gaines streets and paid one dollar a day for it. I stayed there about a month. Finally there was a vacant house over on Nineteenth street and Common and I moved there. Then I commenced to look for work and I walked the town over daily. No results whatever. Finally I struck a little job with the contractor here digging ditches, grubbing stumps, grading streets and so forth. I worked with him for three years and finally I got a job with the street car company, as laborer in the Parks. I worked at that job two years. Finally I got a job as track laborer. I worked there a year. Then I was promoted to track foreman. I held that seven years.

"I quit that then and went to the railroads. I helped to build the Choctaw Oklahoma and Gulf Railway. When the road was completed, I made the first trip over it as Porter. I remained there till August 9, 1928. During that time I was operated on for prostatitis and doctors rendered me unfit for work, totally disabled; so that is my condition today.

"I think the future looks bright. I think conditions will get better. I believe that all that is necessary for betterment is cooperation.

"I believe the younger generation--the way it looks--is pretty bad. I think we haven't done anything like as much as we could do in teaching the youngsters. We need to give them an idea of things. They don't know. Our future depends on our children If their minds aren't trained, the future will not be bright. Our leaders should lecture to these young people and teach them. We have young people who dodge voting because of the poll tax. That is not the right attitude. I don't know what will become of us if our children are not better instructed. The white people are doing more of this than we are.

"There was a time when children didn't know but what the foot was all there was of a chicken. The foot was all they had ever seen. But young folks nowaday should be taught everything."

Interviewer: Miss Irene Robertson Person interviewed: Diana Alexander, Brinkley, Arkansas Age: 74

"I was born in Mississippi close to Bihalia. Our owner was Myers(?) Bogan. He had a wife and children. Mama was a field woman. Her name was Sarah Bogan and papa's name was Hubberd Bogan.

"I heard them talk about setting the pot at the doors and having singing and prayer services. They all sung and prayed around the room. I forgot all the things they talked about. My parents lived on the same place after freedom a long time. They said he was good to them.

"Dr. Bogan in Forrest City, Arkansas always said I was his brother's child. He was dead years ago, so I didn't have no other way of knowing.

"The only thing I can recollect about the War was once my mistress took me and her own little girl upstairs in a kind of ceiling room (attic). They had their ham meat and jewelry locked up in there and other fine stuff. She told us to sit down and not move, not even grunt. Me and Fannie had to be locked up so long. It was dark. We both went to sleep but we was afraid to stir. The Yankees come then but I didn't get to see them. I didn't want to be took away by 'em. I was big enough to know that. I heard 'em say we was near 'bout eat out at the closing of the War. I thought it muster been the Yankees from what they was talking about, eating us out.