Andrew Goodman
From:
Texas
ANDREW GOODMAN, 97, was born a slave of the Goodman family, near
Birmingham, Alabama. His master moved to Smith County, Texas, when
Andrew was three years old. Andrew is a frail, kindly old man, who
lives in his memories. He lives at 2607 Canton St., Dallas, Texas.
"I was born in slavery and I think them days was better for the niggers
than the days we see now. One thing was, I never was cold and hongry
when my old master lived, and I has been plenty hongry and cold a lot of
times since he is gone. But sometimes I think Marse Goodman was the
bestes' man Gawd made in a long time.
"My mother, Martha Goodman, 'longed to Marse Bob Goodman when she was
born, but my paw come from Tennessee and Marse Bob heired him from some
of his kinfolks what died over there. The Goodmans must have been fine
folks all-a-way round, 'cause my paw said them that raised him was good
to they niggers.
"Old Marse never 'lowed none of his nigger families separated. He 'lowed
he thought it right and fittin' that folks stay together, though I heard
tell of some that didn't think so.
"My Missus was just as good as Marse Bob. My maw was a puny little woman
that wasn't able to do work in the fields, and she puttered round the
house for the Missus, doin' little odd jobs. I played round with little
Miss Sallie and little Mr. Bob, and I ate with them and slept with them.
I used to sweep off the steps and do things, and she'd brag on me and
many is the time I'd git to noddin' and go to sleep, and she'd pick me
up and put me in bed with her chillun.
"Marse Bob didn't put his little niggers in the fields till they's big
'nough to work, and the mammies was give time off from the fields to
come back to the nursin' home to suck the babies. He didn't never put
the niggers out in bad weather. He give us something to do, in out of
the weather, like shellin' corn and the women could spin and knit. They
made us plenty of good clothes. In summer we wore long shirts, split up
the sides, made out of lowerings--that's same as cotton sacks was made
out of. In winter we had good jeans and knitted sweaters and knitted
socks.
"My paw was a shoemaker. He'd take a calfhide and make shoes with the
hairy sides turned in, and they was warm and kept your feet dry. My maw
spent a lot of time cardin' and spinnin' wool, and I allus had plenty
things.
"Life was purty fine with Marse Bob. He was a man of plenty. He had a
lot of land and he built him a big log house when he come to Texas. He
had sev'ral hundred head of cattle and more than that many hawgs. We
raised cotton and grain and chickens and vegetables, and most anything
anybody could ask for. Some places the masters give out a peck of meal
and so many pounds of meat to a family for them a week's rations, and if
they et it up that was all they got. But Marse Bob allus give out
plenty, and said, 'If you need more you can have it, 'cause ain't any
going to suffer on my place.'
"He built us a church, and a old man, Kenneth Lyons, who was a slave of
the Lyon's family nearby, used to git a pass every Sunday mornin' and
come preach to us. He was a man of good learnin' and the best preacher I
ever heard. He baptised in a little old mudhole down back of our place.
Nearly all the boys and gals gits converted when they's 'bout twelve or
fifteen year old. Then on Sunday afternoon, Marse Bob larned us to read
and write. He told us we oughta git all the learnin' we could.
"Once a week the slaves could have any night they want for a dance or
frolic. Mance McQueen was a slave 'longing on the Dewberry place, what
could play a fiddle, and his master give him a pass to come play for us.
Marse Bob give us chickens or kilt a fresh beef or let us make 'lasses
candy. We could choose any night, 'cept in the fall of the year. Then we
worked awful hard and didn't have the time. We had a gin run by
horsepower and after sundown, when we left the fields, we used to gin a
bale of cotton every night. Marse allus give us from Christmas Eve
through New Year's Day off, to make up for the hard work in the fall.
"Christmas time everybody got a present and Marse Bob give a big hawg to
every four families. We had money to buy whiskey with. In spare time
we'd make cornshuck horse collars and all kinds of baskets, and Marse
bought them off us. What he couldn't use, he sold for us. We'd take post
oak and split it thin with drawin' knives and let it git tough in the
sun, and then weave it into cotton baskets and fish baskets and little
fancy baskets. The men spent they money on whiskey, 'cause everything
else was furnished. We raised our own tobacco and hung it in the barn to
season, and a'body could go git it when they wanted it.
"We allus got Saturday afternoons off to fish and hunt. We used to have
fish fries and plenty game in them days.
"Course, we used to hear 'bout other places where they had nigger
drivers and beat the slaves. But I never did see or hear tell of one of
master's slaves gittin' a beatin'. We had a overseer, but didn't know
what a nigger driver was. Marse Bob had some nigger dogs like other
places, and used to train them for fun. He'd git some the boys to run
for a hour or so and then put the dogs on the trail. He'd say, 'If you
hear them gittin' near, take to a tree.' But Marse Bob never had no
niggers to run off.
"Old man Briscoll, who had a place next to ours, was vicious cruel. He
was mean to his own blood, beatin' his chillen. His slaves was afeared
all the time and hated him. Old Charlie, a good, old man who 'longed to
him, run away and stayed six months in the woods 'fore Briscoll cotched
him. The niggers used to help feed him, but one day a nigger 'trayed
him, and Briscoe put the dogs on him and cotched him. He made to Charlie
like he wasn't goin' to hurt him none, and got him to come peaceful.
When he took him home, he tied him and beat him for a turrible long
time. Then he took a big, pine torch and let burnin' pitch drop in spots
all over him. Old Charlie was sick 'bout four months and then he died.
"Marse Bob knowed me better'n most the slaves, 'cause I was round the
house more. One day he called all the slaves to the yard. He only had
sixty-six then, 'cause he had 'vided with his son and daughter when they
married. He made a little speech. He said, 'I'm going to a war, but I
don't think I'll be gone long, and I'm turnin' the overseer off and
leavin' Andrew in charge of the place, and I wants everything to go on,
just like I was here. Now, you all mind what Andrew says, 'cause if you
don't, I'll make it rough on you when I come back home.' He was jokin',
though, 'cause he wouldn't have done nothing to them.
"Then he said to me, 'Andrew, you is old 'nough to be a man and look
after things. Take care of Missus and see that none the niggers wants,
and try to keep the place going.'
"We didn't know what the war was 'bout, but master was gone four years.
When Old Missus heard from him, she'd call all the slaves and tell us
the news and read us his letters. Little parts of it she wouldn't read.
We never heard of him gittin' hurt none, but if he had, Old Missus
wouldn't tell us, 'cause the niggers used to cry and pray over him all
the time. We never heard tell what the war was 'bout.
"When Marse Bob come home, he sent for all the slaves. He was sittin' in
a yard chair, all tuckered out, and shuck hands all round, and said he's
glad to see us. Then he said, 'I got something to tell you. You is jus'
as free as I is. You don't 'long to nobody but you'selves. We went to
the war and fought, but the Yankees done whup us, and they say the
niggers is free. You can go where you wants to go, or you can stay here,
jus' as you likes.' He couldn't help but cry.
"The niggers cry and don't know much what Marse Bob means. They is sorry
'bout the freedom, 'cause they don't know where to go, and they's allus
'pend on Old Marse to look after them. Three families went to get farms
for theyselves, but the rest just stay on for hands on the old place.
"The Federals has been comin' by, even 'fore Old Marse come home. They
all come by, carryin' they little budgets, and if they was walkin'
they'd look in the stables for a horse or mule, and they jus' took what
they wanted of corn or livestock. They done the same after Marse Bob
come home. He jus' said, 'Let them go they way, 'cause that's what
they're going to do, anyway.' We was scareder of them than we was of the
debbil. But they spoke right kindly to us cullud folks. They said, 'If
you got a good master and want to stay, well, you can do that, but now
you can go where you want to, 'cause ain't nobody going to stop you.'
"The niggers can't hardly git used to the idea. When they wants to leave
the place, they still go up to the big house for a pass. They jus' can't
understand 'bout the freedom. Old Marse or Missus say, 'You don't need
no pass. All you got to do is jus' take you foot in you hand and go.'
"It seem like the war jus' plumb broke Old Marse up. It wasn't long till
he moved into Tyler and left my paw runnin' the farm on a halfance with
him and the niggers workers. He didn't live long, but I forgits jus' how
long. But when Mr. Bob heired the old place, he 'lowed we'd jus' go
'long the way his paw has made the trade with my paw.
"Young Mr. Bob 'parently done the first rascality I ever heard of a
Goodman doin'. The first year we worked for him we raised lots of grain
and other things and fifty-seven bales of cotton. Cotton was fifty-two
cents a pound and he shipped it all away, but all he ever gave us was a
box of candy and a sack of store tobacco and a sack of sugar. He said
the 'signment done got lost. Paw said to let it go, 'cause we had allus
lived by what the Goodman had said.
"I got married and lived on the old place till I was in my late fifties.
I had seven chillun, but if I got any livin' now, I don't know where
they is now. My paw and maw got to own a little piece of land not far
from the old place, and paw lived to be 102 and maw 106. I'm the last
one of any of my folks.
"For twenty years my health ain't been so good, and I can't work even
now, though my health is better'n in the past. I had hemorraghes. All my
folks died on me, and it's purty rough on a old man like me. My white
folks is all dead or I wouldn't be 'lowed to go hongry and cold like I
do, or have to pay rent.
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Mattie Gilmore
