John N Booth
From:
Georgia
PLANTATION LIFE
NEAL UPSON, Age 81
450 4th Street
Athens, Georgia
Written by:
Miss Grace McCune [HW: (White)]
Athens
Edited by:
Mrs. Sarah H. Hall
Athens
and
John N. Booth
District Supervisor
Federal Writers' Project
Residencies 6 & 7
Augusta, Ga.
August 5, 1938
Alternate rain and sunshine had continued for about 10 days and the
ditches half filled with water, slippery banks of red clay, and the
swollen river necessitating a detour, added to the various difficulties
that beset the interviewer as she trudged through East Athens in search
of Neal Upson's shabby, three-room, frame house. A magnificent water oak
shaded the vine-covered porch where a rocking chair and swing offered a
comfortable place to rest.
"Good mornin', Miss," was the smiling greeting of the aged Negro man who
answered a knock on the front door. "How is you? Won't you come in? I
would ax you to have a cheer on the porch, but I has to stay in de house
cause de light hurts my eyes." He had hastily removed a battered old
felt hat, several sizes too large for him, and as he shuffled down the
hall his hair appeared almost white as it framed his black face. His
clean, but faded blue overalls and shirt were patched in several places
and heavy brogans completed his costume. The day was hot and humid and
he carefully placed two chairs where they would have the advantage of
any breeze that might find its way through the open hallway.
"Miss, I'se mighty glad you come today," he began, "cause I does git so
lonesome here by myself. My old 'oman wuks up to de court'ouse, cookin'
for de folkses in jail, and it's allus late when she gits back home.
'Scuse me for puttin' my old hat back on, but dese old eyes jus' can't
stand de light even here in the hall, less I shades 'em."
When asked to tell the story of his life, he chuckled. "Lawsy, Missy,"
he said. "Does you mean dat you is willin' to set here and listen to old
Neal talk? 'Tain't many folkses what wants to hear us old Niggers talk
no more. I jus' loves to think back on dem days 'cause dem was happy
times, so much better'n times is now. Folkses was better den. Dey was
allus ready to holp one another, but jus' look how dey is now!
"I was borned on Marster Frank Upson's place down in Oglethorpe County,
nigh Lexin'ton, Georgy. Marster had a plantation, but us never lived dar
for us stayed at de home place what never had more'n 'bout 80 acres of
land 'round it. Us never had to be trottin' to de sto' evvy time us
started to cook, 'cause what warn't raised on de home place, Marster had
'em raise out on de big plantation. Evvything us needed t'eat and wear
was growed on Marse Frank's land.
"Harold and Jane Upson was my Daddy and Mammy; only folkses jus' called
Daddy 'Hal.' Both of 'em was raised right der on de Upson place whar dey
played together whilst dey was chillun. Mammy said she had washed and
sewed for Daddy ever since she was big enough, and when dey got grown
dey jus' up and got married. I was deir only boy and I was de baby
chile, but dey had four gals older'n me. Dey was: Cordelia, Anna,
Parthene, and Ella. Ella was named for Marse Frank's onliest chile,
little Miss Ellen, and our little Miss was sho a good little chile.
"Daddy made de shoes for all de slaves on de plantation and Mammy was
called de house 'oman. She done de cookin' up at de big 'ouse, and made
de cloth for her own fambly's clothes, and she was so smart us allus had
plenty t'eat and wear. I was little and stayed wid Mammy up at de big
'ouse and jus' played all over it and all de folkses up der petted me.
Aunt Tama was a old slave too old to wuk. She was all de time cookin'
gingerbread and hidin' it in a little trunk what sot by de fireplace in
her room. When us chillun was good Aunt Tama give us gingerbread, but if
us didn't mind what she said, us didn't git none. Aunt Tama had de
rheumatiz and walked wid a stick and I could git in dat trunk jus' 'bout
anytime I wanted to. I sho' did git 'bout evvything dem other chillun
had, swappin' Aunt Tama's gingerbread. When our white folkses went off,
Aunt Tama toted de keys, and she evermore did make dem Niggers stand
'round. Marse Frank jus' laughed when dey made complaints 'bout her.
"In summertime dey cooked peas and other veg'tables for us chillun in a
washpot out in de yard in de shade, and us et out of de pot wid our
wooden spoons. Dey jus' give us wooden bowls full of bread and milk for
supper.
"Marse Frank said he wanted 'em to larn me how to wait on de white
folkses' table up at de big 'ouse, and dey started me off wid de job of
fannin' de flies away. Mist'ess Serena, Marse Frank's wife, made me a
white coat to wear in de dinin' room. Missy, dat little old white coat
made me git de onliest whuppin' Marse Frank ever did give me." Here old
Neal paused for a hearty laugh. "Us had comp'ny for dinner dat day and I
felt so big showin' off 'fore 'em in dat white coat dat I jus' couldn't
make dat turkey wing fan do right. Dem turkey wings was fastened on long
handles and atter Marster had done warned me a time or two to mind what
I was 'bout, the old turkey wing went down in de gravy bowl and when I
jerked it out it splattered all over de preacher's best Sunday suit.
Marse Frank got up and tuk me right out to de kitchen and when he got
through brushin' me off I never did have no more trouble wid dem turkey
wings.
"Evvybody cooked on open fireplaces dem days. Dey had swingin' racks
what dey called cranes to hang de pots on for bilin'. Dere was ovens for
bakin' and de heavy iron skillets had long handles. One of dem old
skillets was so big dat Mammy could cook 30 biscuits in it at one time.
I allus did love biscuits, and I would go out in de yard and trade Aunt
Tama's gingerbread to de other chilluns for deir sheer of biscuits. Den
dey would be skeered to eat de gingerbread 'cause I told 'em I'd tell on
'em. Aunt Tama thought dey was sick and told Marse Frank de chilluns
warn't eatin' nothin'. He axed 'em what was de matter and dey told him
dey had done traded all deir bread to me. Marse Frank den axed me if I
warn't gittin' enough t'eat, 'cause he 'lowed dere was enough dar for
all. Den Aunt Tama had to go and tell on me. She said I was wuss dan a
hog atter biscuits, so our good Marster ordered her to see dat li'l Neal
had enough t'eat.
"I ain't never gwine to forgit dat whuppin' my own daddy give me. He had
jus' sharpened up a fine new axe for hisself, and I traded it off to a
white boy named Roar what lived nigh us when I seed him out tryin' to
cut wood wid a sorry old dull axe. I sold him my daddy's fine new axe
for 5 biscuits. When he found out 'bout dat, he 'lowed he was gwine to
give me somepin to make me think 'fore I done any more tradin' of his
things. Mist'eas, let me tell you, dat beatin' he give me evermore was
a-layin' on of de rod.
"One day Miss Serena put me in de cherry tree to pick cherries for her,
and she told me not to eat none 'til I finished; den I could have all I
wanted, but I didn't mind her and I et so many cherries I got sick and
fell out of de tree. Mist'ess was skeered, but Marse Frank said: 'It's
good enough for him, 'cause he didn't mind.'
"Mammy never did give me but one whuppin' neither. Daddy was gwine to de
circus and I jus' cut up 'bout it 'cause I wanted to go so bad. Mist'ess
give me some cake and I hushed long as I was eatin', but soon as de last
cake crumb was swallowed I started bawlin' again. She give me a stick of
candy and soon as I et dat I was squallin' wuss dan ever. Mammy told
Mist'ess den det she knowed how to quiet me and she retch under de bed
for a shoe. When she had done finished layin' dat shoe on me and put it
back whar she got it, I was sho willin' to shet my mouth and let 'em all
go to de circus widout no more racket from me.
"De fust school I went to was in a little one-room 'ouse in our white
folkses' back yard. Us had a white teacher and all he larnt slave
chillun was jus' plain readin' and writin'. I had to pass Dr.
Willingham's office lots and he was all de time pesterin' me 'bout
spellin'. One day he stopped me and axed me if I could spell 'bumble bee
widout its tail,' and he said dat when I larnt to spell it, he would
gimme some candy. Mr. Sanders, at Lexin'ton, gimme a dime onct. It was
de fust money I ever had. I was plumb rich and I never let my Daddy have
no peace 'til he fetched me to town to do my tradin'. I was all sot to
buy myself a hat, a sto-bought suit of clothes, and some shoes what
warn't brogans, but Missy, I wound up wid a gingercake and a nickel's
wuth of candy. I used to cry and holler evvy time Miss Serena went off
and left me. Whenever I seed 'em gittin' out de carriage to hitch it up,
I started beggin' to go. Sometimes she laughed and said; 'All right
Neal.' But when she said, 'No Neal,' I snuck out and hid under de
high-up carrigge seat and went along jus' de same. Mist'ess allus found
me 'fore us got back home, but she jus' laughed and said: 'Well, Neal's
my little nigger anyhow.'
"Dem old cord beds was a sight to look at, but dey slept good. Us
cyarded lint cotton into bats for mattresses and put 'em in a tick what
us tacked so it wouldn't git lumpy. Us never seed no iron springs dem
days. Dem cords, criss-crossed from one side of de bed to de other, was
our springs and us had keys to tighten 'em wid. If us didn't tighten 'em
evvy few days dem beds was apt to fall down wid us. De cheers was
homemade too and de easiest-settin' ones had bottoms made out of rye
splits. Dem oak-split cheers was all right, and sometimes us used cane
to bottom de cheers but evvybody laked to set in dem cheers what had
bottoms wove out of rye splits.
"Marster had one of dem old cotton gins what didn't have no engines. It
was wuked by mules. Dem old mules was hitched to a long pole what dey
pulled 'round and 'round to make de gin do its wuk. Dey had some gins in
dem days what had treadmills for de mules to walk in. Dem old treadmills
looked sorter lak stairs, but most of 'em was turned by long poles what
de mules pulled. You had to feed de cotton by hand to dem old gins and
you sho had to be keerful or you was gwine to lose a hand and maybe a
arm. You had to jump in dem old cotton presses and tread de cotton down
by hand. It tuk most all day long to gin two bales of cotton and if dere
was three bales to be ginned us had to wuk most all night to finish up.
"Dey mixed wool wid de lint cotton to spin thread to make cloth for our
winter clothes. Mammy wove a lot of dat cloth and de clothes made out of
it sho would keep out de cold. Most of our stockin's and socks was knit
at home, but now and den somebody would git hold of a sto-bought pair
for Sunday-go-to-meetin' wear.
"Colored folkses went to church wid deir own white folkses and sot in de
gallery. One Sunday us was all settin' in dat church listenin' to de
white preacher, Mr. Hansford, tellin' how de old debbil was gwine to git
dem what didn't do right." Here Neal burst into uncontrollable laughter.
His sides shook and tears ran down his face. Finally he began his story
again: "Missy, I jus' got to tell you 'bout dat day in de meetin' 'ouse.
A Nigger had done run off from his marster and was hidin' out from one
place to another. At night he would go steal his somepin t'eat. He had
done stole some chickens and had 'em wid him up in de church steeple
whar he was hidin' dat day. When daytime come he went off to sleep lak
Niggers will do when dey ain't got to hustle, and when he woke up
Preacher Hansford was tellin' 'em 'bout de debbil was gwine to git de
sinners. Right den a old rooster what he had stole up and crowed so loud
it seemed lak Gabriel's trumpet on Judment Day. Dat runaway Nigger was
skeered 'cause he knowed dey was gwine to find him sho, but he warn't
skeered nuffin' compared to dem Niggers settin' in de gallery. Dey jus'
knowed dat was de voice of de debbil what had done come atter 'em. Dem
Niggers never stopped prayin' and testifyin' to de Lord, 'til de white
folkses had done got dat runaway slave and de rooster out of de steeple.
His marster was der and tuk him home and give him a good, sound
thrashin'.
"Slaves was 'lowed to have prayermeetin' on Chuesday (Tuesday) and
Friday 'round at de diffunt plantations whar deir marsters didn't keer,
and dere warn't many what objected. De good marsters all give deir
slaves prayermeetin' passes on dem nights so de patterollers wouldn't
git 'em and beat 'em up for bein' off deir marster's lands. Dey 'most
nigh kilt some slaves what dey cotch out when dey didn't have no pass.
White preachers done de talkin' at de meetin'houses, but at dem Chuesday
and Friday night prayermeetin's, it was all done by Niggers. I was too
little to 'member much 'bout dem meetin's, but my older sisters used to
talk lots 'bout 'em long atter de war had brung our freedom. Dere warn't
many slaves what could read, so dey jus' talked 'bout what dey had done
heared de white preachers say on Sunday. One of de fav'rite texties was
de third chapter of John, and most of 'em jus' 'membered a line or two
from dat. Missy, from what folkses said 'bout dem meetin's, dere was sho
a lot of good prayin' and testifyin', 'cause so many sinners repented
and was saved. Sometimes at dem Sunday meetin's at de white folkses'
church dey would have two or three preachers de same dey. De fust one
would give de text and preach for at least a hour, den another one would
give a text and do his preachin', and 'bout dat time another one would
rise up and say dat dem fust two brudders had done preached enough to
save 3,000 souls, but dat he was gwine to try to double dat number. Den
he would do his preachin' and atter dat one of dem others would git up
and say: 'Brudders and Sisters, us is all here for de same and only
purpose--dat of savin' souls. Dese other good brudders is done preached,
talked, and prayed, and let the gap down; now I'm gwine to raise it. Us
is gwine to git 'ligion enough to take us straight through dem pearly
gates. Now, let us sing whilst us gives de new brudders and sisters de
right hand of fellowship. One of dem old songs went sort of lak dis:
'Must I be born to die
And lay dis body down?'
"When dey had done finished all de verses and choruses of dat dey
started:
'Amazin' Grace, How sweet de sound
Dat saved a wretch lak me.'
"'Fore dey stopped dey usually got 'round to singin':
'On Jordan's stormy banks I stand,
And cast a wishful eye,
To Canaan's fair and happy land
Whar my possessions lie.'
"Dey could keep dat up for hours and it was sho' good singin', for dat's
one thing Niggers was born to do--to sing when dey gits 'ligion.
"When old Aunt Flora come up and wanted to jine de church she told 'bout
how she had done seed de Hebenly light and changed her way of livin'.
Folkses testified den 'bout de goodness of de Lord and His many
blessin's what He give to saints and sinners, but dey is done stopped
givin' Him much thanks any more. Dem days, dey 'zamined folkses 'fore
dey let 'em jine up wid de church. When dey started 'zaminin' Aunt
Flora, de preacher axed her: 'Is you done been borned again and does you
believe dat Jesus Christ done died to save sinners?' Aunt Flora she
started to cry; and she said: 'Lordy, Is He daid? Us didn't know dat. If
my old man had done 'scribed for de paper lak I told him to, us would
have knowed when Jesus died?" Neal giggled. "Missy," he said, "ain't dat
jus' lak one of dem old-time Niggers? Dey jus' tuk dat for ign'ance and
let her come on into de church.
"Dem days it was de custom for marsters to hire out what slaves dey had
dat warn't needed to wuk on deir own land, so our marster hired out two
of my sisters. Sis' Anna hired to a fambly 'bout 16 miles from our
place. She didn't lak it dar so she run away and I found her hid out in
our 'tater 'ouse. One day when us was playin' she called to me right low
and soft lak and told me she was hongry and for me to git her somepin
t'eat but not to tell nobody she was dar. She said she had been dar
widout nothin' t'eat for several days. She was skeered Marster might
whup her. She looked so thin and bad I thought she was gwine to die, so
I told Mammy. Her and Marster went and brung Anna to de 'ouse and fed
her. Dat pore chile was starved most to death. Marster kept her at home
for 3 weeks and fed her up good, den he carried her back and told dem
folkses what had hired her dat dey had better treat Anna good and see
dat she had plenty t'eat. Marster was drivin' a fast hoss dat day, but
bless your heart, Anna beat him back home dat day. She cried and tuk on
so, beggin' him not to take her back dar no more dat he told her she
could stay home. My other sister stayed on whar she was hired out 'til
de war was over and dey give us our freedom.
"Daddy had done hid all Old Marster's hosses when de yankees got to our
plantation. Two of de ridin' hosses was in de smokehouse and another
good trotter was in de hen 'ouse. Old Jake was a slave what warn't right
bright. He slep' in de kitchen, and he knowed whar Daddy had hid dem
hosses, but dat was all he knowed. Marster had give Daddy his money to
hide too, and he tuk some of de plasterin' off de wall in Marster's room
and put de box of money inside de wall. Den he fixed dat plasterin' back
so nice you couldn't tell it had ever been tore off. De night dem
yankees come, Daddy had gone out to de wuk 'ouse to git some pegs to fix
somepin (us didn't have no nails dem days). When de yankees rid up to de
kitchen door and found Old Jake right by hisself, dat pore old fool was
skeered so bad he jus' started right off babblin' 'bout two hosses in de
smoke'ouse and one in de hen 'ouse, but he was tremblin' so he couldn't
talk plain. Old Marster heared de fuss dey made and he come down to de
kitchen to see what was de matter. De yankees den ordered Marster to git
'em his hosses. Marster called Daddy and told him to git de hosses, but
Daddy, he played foolish lak and stalled 'round lak he didn't have good
sense. Dem sojers raved and fussed all night long 'bout dem hosses, but
dey never thought 'bout lookin' in de smoke'ouse and hen 'ouse for 'em
and 'bout daybreak dey left widout takin' nothin'. Marster said he was
sho proud of my Daddy for savin' dem good hosses for him.
[TR: 'Horses saved' written in margin.]
"Marster had a long pocketbook what fastened at one end wid a ring. One
day when he went to git out some money he dropped a roll of bills dat he
never seed, but Daddy picked it up and handed it back to him right away.
Now my Daddy could have kept dat money jus' as easy, but he was a
'ceptional man and believed evvbody ought to do right.
"Aunt Tama's old man, Uncle Griff, come to live wid her on our place
atter de war was over. 'Fore den he had belonged to a man named
Colquitt.[HW: !!] Marster pervided a home for him and Aunt Tama 'til dey
was both daid. When dey was buildin' de fust colored Methodist church in
dat section Uncle Griff give a whole hundred dollars to de buildin'
fund. Now it tuk a heap of scrimpin' for him to save dat much money
'cause he never had made over $10 a month. Aunt Tama had done gone to
Glory a long time when Uncle Griff died. Atter dey buried him dey come
back and was 'rangin' de things in his little cabin. When dey moved dat
little trunk what Aunt Tama used to keep gingerbread in, dey found jus'
lots of money in it. Marster tuk keer of dat money 'til he found Uncle
Griff's own sister and den he give it all to her.
"One time Marster missed some of his money and he didn't want to 'cuse
nobody, so he 'cided he would find out who had done de debbilment. He
put a big rooster in a coop wid his haid stickin' out. Den he called all
de Niggers up to de yard and told 'em somebody had been stealin' his
money, and dat evvybody must git in line and march 'round dat coop and
tetch it. He said dat when de guilty ones tetched it de old rooster
would crow. Evvybody tetched it 'cept one old man and his wife; dey jus'
wouldn't come nigh dat coop whar dat rooster was a-lookin' at evvybody
out of his little red eyes. Marster had dat old man and 'oman sarched
and found all de money what had been stole.
"Mammy died about a year atter de war, and I never will forgit how
Mist'ess cried and said: 'Neal, your mammy is done gone, and I don't
know what I'll do widout her.' Not long atter dat, Daddy bid for de
contract to carry de mail and he got de place, but it made de white
folkses mighty mad, 'cause some white folkses had put in bids for dat
contract. Dey 'lowed dat Daddy better not never start out wid dat mail,
'cause if he did he was gwine to be sorry. Marster begged Daddy not to
risk it and told him if he would stay dar wid him he would let him have
a plantation for as long as he lived, and so us stayed on dar 'til Daddy
died, and a long time atter dat us kept on wukin' for Old Marster.
"White folkses owned us back in de days 'fore de war but our own white
folkses was mighty good to deir slaves. Dey had to larn us 'bedience
fust, how to live right, and how to treat evvybody else right; but de
best thing dey larned us was how to do useful wuk. De onliest time I
'member stealin' anything 'cept Aunt Tama's gingerbread was one time
when I went to town wid Daddy in de buggy. When us started back home a
man got in de seat wid Daddy and I had to ride down in de back of de
buggy whar Daddy had hid a jug of liquor. I could hear it slushin'
'round and so I got to wantin' to know how it tasted. I pulled out de
corncob stopper and tuk one taste. It was so good I jus' kep' on tastin'
'til I passed out, and didn't know when us got home or nuffin else 'til
I waked up in my own bed next day. Daddy give me a tannin' what I didn't
forgit for a long time, but dat was de wussest drunk I ever was. Lord,
but I did love to follow my Daddy.
"Folkses warn't sick much in dem days lak dey is now, but now us don't
eat strong victuals no more. Us raked out hot ashes den and cooked good
old ashcakes what was a heap better for us dan dis bread us buys from de
stores now. Marster fed us plenty ashcake, fresh meat, and ash roasted
'taters, and dere warn't nobody what could out wuk us.
"A death was somepin what didn't happen often on our plantation, but
when somebody did die folkses would go from miles and miles around to
set up and pray all night to comfort de fambly of de daid. Dey never
made up de coffins 'til atter somebody died. Den dey measured de corpse
and made de coffin to fit de body. Dem coffins was lined wid black
calico and painted wid lampblack on de outside. Sometimes dey kivvered
de outside wid black calico lak de linin'. Coffins for white folkses was
jus' lak what dey had made up for deir slaves, and dey was all buried in
de same graveyard on deir own plantations.
"When de war was over dey closed de little one-room school what our good
Marster had kept in his back yard for his slaves, but out young Miss
Ellen larnt my sister right on 'til she got whar she could teach school.
Daddy fixed up a room onto our house for her school and she soon had it
full of chillun. Dey made me study too, and I sho did hate to have to go
to school to my own aister for she evermore did take evvy chance to lay
dat stick on me, but I s'pects she had a right tough time wid me. When
time come 'round to celebrate school commencement, I was one proud
little Nigger 'cause I never had been so dressed up in my life before.
I had on a red waist, white pants, and a good pair of shoes; but de
grandest thing of all 'bout dat outfit was dat Daddy let me wear his
watch. Evvybody come for dat celebration. Dere was over 300 folks at dat
big dinner, and us had lots of barbecue and all sorts of good things
t'eat. Old Marster was dar, and when I stood up 'fore all dem folks and
said my little speech widout missin' a word, Marster sho did laugh and
clap his hands. He called me over to whar he was settin' and said: 'I
knowed you could larn if you wanted to.' Best of all, he give me a
whole dollar. [TR: 'for reciting a speech' written in margin.] I was
rich den, plumb rich. One of my sisters couldn't larn nothin'. De only
letters she could ever say was 'G-O-D.' No matter what you axed her to
spell she allus said 'G-O-D.' She was a good field hand though and a
good 'oman and she lived to be more dan 90 years old.
"Now, talkin' 'bout frolickin', us really used to dance. What I means,
is sho 'nough old-time break-downs. Sometimes us didn't have no music
'cept jus' beatin' time on tin pans and buckets but most times Old Elice
Hudson played his fiddle for us, and it had to be tuned again atter evvy
set us danced. He never knowed but one tune and he played dat over and
over. Sometimes dere was 10 or 15 couples on de floor at de same time
and us didn't think nothin' of dancin' all night long. Us had plenty of
old corn juice for refreshment, and atter Elice had two or three cups of
dat juice, he could git 'Turkey in de Straw' out of dat fiddle lak
nobody's business.
"One time a houseboy from another plantation wanted to come to one of
our Saddy night dances, so his marster told him to shine his boots for
Sunday and fix his hoss for de night and den he could git off for de
frolic. Abraham shined his marster's boots 'till he could see hisself in
'em, and dey looked so grand he was tempted to try 'em on. Dey was a
little tight but he thought he could wear 'em, and he wanted to show
hisself off in 'em at de dance. Dey warn't so easy to walk in and he was
'fraid he might git 'em scratched up walkin' through de fields, so he
snuck his Marster's hoss out and rode to de dance. When Abraham rid up
dar in dem shiny boots, he got all de gals' 'tention. None of 'em wanted
to dance wid de other Niggers. Dat Abraham was sho sruttin' 'til
somebody run in and told him his hoss had done broke its neck. He had
tied it to a limb and sho 'nough, some way, dat hoss had done got
tangled up and hung its own self. Abraham begged de other Nigger boys to
help him take de deid hoss home, but he had done tuk deir gals and he
didn't git no help. He had to walk 12 long miles home in dem tight
shoes. De sun had done riz up when he got dar and it warn't long 'fore
his Marster was callin': 'Abraham, bring, me my boots.' Dat Nigger would
holler out: 'Yas sah! I'se a-comin'. But dem boots wouldn't come off
'cause his foots had done swelled up in 'em. His marster kept on callin'
and when Abraham seed he couldn't put it off no longer, he jus' cut dem
boots off his foots and went in and told what he had done. His marster
was awful mad and said he was a good mind to take de hide off Abraham's
back. 'Go git my hoss quick, Nigger, 'fore I most kills you,' he yelled.
Den Abraham told him: 'Marster I knows you is gwine to kill me now, but
your hoss is done daid.' Den pore Abraham had to out and tell de whole
story and his marster got to laughin' so 'bout how he tuk all de gals
away from de other boys and how dem boots hurt him dat it looked lak he
never would stop. When he finally did stop laughin' and shakin' his
sides he said: 'Dat's all right Abraham. Don't never let nobody beat
your time wid de gals.' And dat's all he ever said to Abraham 'bout it.
"When my sister got married, us sho did have a grand time. Us cooked a
pig whole wid a shiny red apple in its mouth and set it right in de
middle of de long table what us had built out in de yard. Us had
evvything good to go wid dat pig, and atter dat supper, us danced all
night long. My sister never had seed dat man but one time 'fore she
married him.
"My Daddy and his cousin Jim swore wid one another dat if one died 'fore
de other dat de one what was left would look atter de daid one's fambly
and see dat none of de chillun was bound out to wuk for nobody. It
warn't long atter dis dat Daddy died. I was jus' fourteen, and was
wukin' for a brick mason larnin' dat trade. Daddy had done been sick a
while, and one night de fambly woke me up and said he was dyin'. I run
fast as I could for a doctor but Daddy was done daid when I got back. Us
buried him right side of Mammy in de old graveyard. It was most a year
atter dat 'fore us had de funeral sermon preached. Dat was de way
folkses done den. Now Mammy and Daddy was both gone, but old Marster
said us chillun could live dar long as us wanted to. I went on back to
wuk, 'cause I was crazy to be as good a mason as my Daddy was. In
Lexin'ton dere is a rock wall still standin' 'round a whole square what
Daddy built in slavery time. Long as he lived he blowed his bugle evvy
mornin' to wake up all de folkses on Marse Frank's plantation. He never
failed to blow dat bugle at break of day 'cep on Sundays, and evvybody
on dat place 'pended on him to wake 'em up.
"I was jus' a-wukin' away one day when Cousin Jim sent for me to go to
town wid him. Missy, dat man brung ne right here to Athens to de old
courthouse and bound me out to a white man. He done dat very thing atter
swearin' to my Daddy he wouldn't never let dat happen. I didn't want to
wuk dat way, so I run away and went back home to wuk. De sheriff come
and got me and said I had to go back whar I was bound out or go to jail.
Pretty soon I runned away again and went to Atlanta, and dey never
bothered me 'bout dat no more.
"De onliest time I ever got 'rested was once when I come to town to see
'bout gittin' somebody to pick cotton for me and jus' as I got to a
certain Nigger's house de police come in and caught 'em in a crap game.
Mr. McCune, de policeman, said I would have to go 'long wid de others to
jail, but he would help me atter us got der and he did. He 'ranged it so
I could hurry back home.
"'Bout de best times us had in de plantation days was de corn shuckin's,
log rollin's and syrup cookin's. Us allus finished up dem syrup cookin's
wid a candy pullin'.
"Atter he had all his corn gathered and put in big long piles, Marster
'vited de folkses from all 'round dem parts. Dat was de way it was done;
evvybody holped de others git de corn shucked. Nobody thought of hirin'
folkses and payin' out cash money for extra wuk lak dat. Dey 'lected a
gen'ral to lead off de singin' and atter he got 'em to keepin' time wid
de singin' de little brown jug was passed 'round. When it had gone de
rounds a time or two, it was a sight to see how fast dem Niggers could
keep time to dat singin'. Dey could do all sorts of double time den when
dey had swigged enough liquor. When de corn was all shucked dey feasted
and den drunk more liquor and danced as long as dey could stand up. De
logrollin's and candy pullin's ended de same way. Dey was sho grand good
times.
"I farmed wid de white folkses for 32 years and never had no trouble wid
nobody. Us allus settled up fair and square and in crop time dey never
bothered to come 'round to see what Neal was doin', 'cause dey knowed
dis Nigger was wukin' all right. Dey was all mighty good to me. Atter I
got so old I couldn't run a farm no more I wuked in de white folkses'
gyardens and tended deir flowers. I had done been wukin' out Mrs. Steve
Upson's flowers and when she 'come to pay, she axed what my name was.
When I told her it was Neal Upson she wanted to know how I got de Upson
name. I told her Mr. Frank Upson had done give it to me when I was his
slave. She called to Mr. Steve and dey lak to have talked me to death,
for my Marse Frank and Mr. Steve's daddy was close kinfolkses.
"Atter dat I wuked deir flowers long as I was able to walk way off up to
deir place, but old Neal can't wuk no more. Mr. Steve and his folkses
comes to see me sometimes and I'se allus powerful glad to see 'em.
"I used to wuk some for Miss Mary Bacon. She is a mighty good 'oman and
she knowed my Daddy and our good Old Marster. Miss Mary would talk to me
'bout dem old days and she allus said: 'Neal, let's pray,' 'fore I left.
Miss Mary never did git married. She's one of dem solitary ladies.
"Now, Missy, how come you wants to know 'bout my weddin'? I done been
married two times, but it was de fust time dat was de sho 'nough 'citin'
one. I courted dat gal for a long, long time while I was too skeered to
ax her Daddy for her. I went to see her evvy Sunday jus' 'termined to ax
him for her 'fore I left, and I would stay late atter supper, but jus'
couldn't git up nerve enough to do it. One Sunday I promised myself I
would ax him if it kilt me, so I went over to his house early dat
mornin' and told Lida, dat was my sweetheart's name--I says to her: 'I
sho is gwine to ax him today.' Well, dinnertime come, suppertime come,
and I was gittin' shaky in my jints when her Daddy went to feed his hogs
and I went along wid him. Missy, dis is de way I finally did ax him for
his gal. He said he was goin' to have some fine meat come winter. I axed
him if it would be enough for all of his fambly, and he said: 'How come
you ax dat, boy?' Den I jus' got a tight hold on dat old hog pen and
said: 'Well, Sir, I jus' thought if you didn't have enough for all of
'em, I could take Lida.' I felt myself goin' down. He started laughin'
fit to kill. 'Boy,' he says, 'Is you tryin' to ax for Lida? If so, I
don't keer 'cause she's got to git married sometime.' I was so happy I
left him right den and run back to tell Lida dat he said it was all
right.
"Us didn't have no big weddin'. Lida had on a new calico dress and I
wore new jeans pants. Marster heared us was gittin' married dat day and
he sont his new buggy wid a message for us to come right dar to him. I
told Lida us better go, so us got in dat buggy and driv off, and de rest
of de folkses followed in de wagon. Marster met us in front of old Salem
Church. He had de church open and Preacher John Gibson waitin' der to
marry us. Us warn't 'spectin' no church weddin', but Marster said dat
Neal had to git married right. He never did forgit his Niggers. Lida
she's done been daid a long time, and I'se married again, but dat warn't
lak de fust time."
By now, Neal was evidently tired out but as the interviewer prepared to
leave, Neal said: "Missy, I'se sho got somepin to tell my old 'oman when
she gits home. She don't lak to leave me here by myself. I wish dere was
somebody for me to talk to evvyday, for I'se had sich a good time today.
I don't s'pect it's gwine to be long 'fore old Neal goes to be wid dem I
done been tellin' you 'bout, so don't wait too long to come back to see
me again."
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John F Van Hook
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Phil Towns
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