John H Logan
From:
Arkansas
Mary D. Hudgins
107 Palm Street,
Hot Springs, Ark.
Interviewer: Mary D. Hudgins
Person interviewed: John H. Logan
Aged: c. 89
Home: 449 Gaines Avenue.
[Date Stamp: MAY 11 1938]
Gaines Avenue was once a "Quality Street". It runs on a diagonal from
Malvern Avenue, a one-time first class residential thorofare to the
Missouri Pacific Tracks. Time was when Gaines led almost to the gates
of the fashionable Combes Racetrack.
Built up during the days of bay windows Gaines Avenue has preserved
half a dozen land marks of former genteelity. Long stretches between
are filled "shot gun" houses, unaquainted for many years with a
paintbrush.
Within half a block of the streetcar line on Malvern an early spring
had encouraged plowing of a 200 foot square garden. Signs such as
"Hand Laundry" appear frequently. But by far the most frequent placard
is "FOR SALE" a study in black and white, the insignia of a local real
estate firm specializing in foreclosures.
The street number sought proved to be two doors beyond the red brick
church. A third knock brought a slight, wrinkled face to the door, its
features aquiline, in coloring only the mildest of mocha. Its owner
Laura Burton Logan, after satisfying herself that the visitor wasn't
just an intruder, opened the door wide and invited her to come inside.
"Logan, oh Logan, come on here, come on in here," she called to an old
man in the next room. "Law, I don't know whether he can tell you
anything or not. He's getting pretty feeble. Now five or six years ago
he could have told you lots of things. But now----I don't know."
Into the "front room" hobbled the old fellow. His back was bent, his
eyes dimmed with age. His face was the sort often called "good"--not
good in the sense stupid acquiescence--but rather evidence of an
intelligent, non-preditory meeting of the problems of life.
A quarter, handed the old fellow at the beginning of the interview
remained clutched in his hand throughout the entire conversation.
Because of events during the talk the interviewer reached for her
change purse to find and offer another quarter. It was not in her
purse. Getting up from her chair she looked on the floor about her. It
wasn't there. Mrs. Logan, who had gone back to bed, wanted to know
what the trouble was, and was worried when she found what was missing.
By manner the interviewer put over the idea that she wasn't suspecting
either of the two. But Logan, not having heard the entire conversation
got to his feet and extended his hand--the one holding the quarter,
offering it back to the interviewer.
When he rose, there was the purse as it had slipped down on the seat
of the rocker which the interviewer had almost taken and in which she
had probably carelessly tossed her purse. A second quarter, added to
his first, brought a beaming smile from the old man. But for the rest
of the afternoon there was a lump in the interviewer's throat. Here
was a man, evidently terribly in need of money, ready, without even a
tiny protest, to return a gift of cash which must have meant so much
to him--on the barest notion in his mind that the interviewer wanted
it back.
"Be patient with me ma'am," Logan began, "I can't remember so good.
And I want to get it all right. I don't want to spoil my record now. I
been honest all my life, always stood up and told the truth, done what
was right. I don't want to spoil things and lie in my mouth now. Give
me time to think.
I was born, on----December----December 15. It was in 1848----I think.
I was born in the house of Mrs. Cozine. She was living on Third Street
in Little Rock. It was near the old Catholic Church. Was only a little
ways from the State House. Mrs. Cozine, she was my first mistress.
Then she sold me, me and my mother and a couple of brothers.
It was Governor Roane she sold me to. Don't know just how old I
was----good sized boy, though. Guess I was five--maybe six years old.
He was a fine man, Governor Roane was--a mighty fine man. He always
treated me good. Raised me up to be a good man.
I remember when he gives us a free-pass. That was during the war. He
said, 'Now boys, you be good. You stand for what is right, and don't
you tell any stories. I've raised you up to do right.'
When he wasn't governor any more he went back to Pine Bluff. We lived
there a long time. I was with Governor Roane right up until I was
grown. I can't right correct things in my mind altogether, but I think
I was with him until I was about 20.
When the war come on, Governor Roane helped to gather up troops. He
called us in out of the fields and asked us if we wanted to go. I did.
Right today I should be getting a pension. I was truly in the army.
Ought to be getting a pension. Once a white man, Mr. Williams, I
believe his name was, tried to get me to go with him to Little Rock.
Getting me a pension would be easy he said. But somehow we never did
go.
I worked in the powder factory for a while. Then they set me to
hauling things----mostly food from the Brazos river to Tyler, Texas.
We had hard times then----we had a time----and don't you let anybody
tell you we didn't. Sometimes we didn't have any bread. And even
sometimes we didn't have any water. I wasn't so old, but I was a
pretty good man----pretty well grown up.
After the war I went back with my pappy. While I'd belonged to
Governor Roane, Roane was my name. But when I went back with father, I
took his name. We farmed for a while and later I went to Little Rock.
I did lots of things there. Worked in a cabinet maker's shop for one
thing. Was classed as a good workman, too. I worked the lathes. Did a
good job of it. I never was the sort that had to walk around looking
for work. Folks used to come and get me and ask me to work for them.
How'd I happen to come to Hot Springs? They got me to come to work on
the water mains. Worked for the water works a long time. Then I worked
for a Mr. Smith in the bath house. I fired the furnace for him. Then
for about 15 years I kept the yard at the Kingsway----the Eastman it
was then. I kept the lawn clean at the Eastman Hotel. That was about
the last steady work I did.
Yes and in between I used to haul things. Had me an express wagon.
Used to build rock walls too. Built good walls.
Who did you say you was, Miss? Your father was Jack Hudgins--Law,
child, law----"
A feeble hand reached for the hand of the white woman and took it. The
old eyes filled with tears and the face distorted in weaping. For a
few minutes he sat, then he rose, and the young woman rose with him.
For a moment she put a comforting arm around him and soon he was
quieter.
"Law, so your father was Jack Hudgins. How well I does remember him.
Whatever did become of that fine boy? Dead did you say? I remembers
now. He was a fine man, a mighty--mighty fine man. Jack Hudgins girl!
Yes, Miss, I guess you has seen me around a lot. Lots of folks know
me. They'll come along the street and they'll say, 'Hello Logan!' and
sometimes I won't know who they are, but they'll know me.
I remember once, it's been years and years ago, a man come along
Central Avenue--a white man. I was going along the street and suddenly
he grabbed me and hugged me. It scared me at first. 'Logan,' he says,
'Logan' he says again. 'Logan, I'd know you anywhere. How glad I am to
see you.' But I didn't recognize him. 'Wife,' he says 'wife, come on
over and speak to Logan, he saved my life once.' Invited me to come
and see him too, he did.
Things have been mighty hard for the last few years. Seems like we
could get the pension. First they had a rule that we'd have to sign
away the home if we got $9.00 a month. Well, my wife's daughter was
taking care of us. Even if we got the $9 she'd still have to help. She
wasn't making much, but she was dividing everything--going without
shoes and everything. So we thought it wasn't fair to her to sign away
our home after all she'd done for us----so that they'd just kick her
out when we was dead--she'd been too good to us. So we says 'No!' We
been told that they done changed that rule, but we can't seem to get
help at all. Maybe, Miss, there's somthing you can do. We sure would
be thankful, if you could help us get on.
All my folks is dead, my mother and my father and all my brothers, my
first and my second wives and both my children. My wife's daughter
helps us all she can. She's mighty good to us. Don't know what we'd do
without her. Thank you, glad you come to see us. Glad to know you. If
you can talk to them over at the Court House, we'd be glad. Good-bye.
Come to see us ag in."
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Elvie Lomack
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Robert Lofton
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