Liza Mention
From:
Georgia
INTERVIEW WITH LIZA MENTION
BEECH ISLAND, S.C.
Written and Edited By:
Leila Harris
and
John N. Booth
Federal Writers' Project
Augusta, Georgia
March 25, 1938
"Come right in. Have a seat. I'll be glad to tell you anything I can
'bout dem early days", said Liza Mention. "Course I warn't born till de
second year atter freedom, so I don't 'member nothin' 'bout all dat
fightin' durin' de war. I'se sho' glad I warn't born in slavery from
what I heared 'em tell 'bout dem patterollers ketchin' and beatin' up
folks." Liza's house, a 2-room hut with a narrow front porch, stands in
a peaceful spot on the edge of the Wilson plantation at Beech Island,
South Carolina. A metal sign on the door which revealed that the
property is protected by a theft insurance service aroused wonder as to
what Liza had that could attract a burglar. The bedroom was in extreme
disorder with clothing, shoes, bric-a-brac, and just plain junk
scattered about. The old Negress had been walking about the sunshiny
yard and apologized for the mess by saying that she lived alone and did
as she pleased. "Folks says I oughtn't to stay here by myself," she
remarked, "but I laks to be independent. I cooked 25 years for de Wilson
fambly and dey is gonna let me have dis house free 'til I die 'cause I
ain't able to do no work."
Liza's close-fitting hat pinned her ears to her head. She wore a dress
that was soiled and copiously patched and her worn out brogans were
several sizes too large. Ill health probably accounts for this
untidiness for, as she expressed it, "when I gits up I hate to set down
and when I sets down, I hates to git up, my knees hurts me so," however,
her face broke into a toothless grin on the slightest provocation.
"I wuz born up on de Reese's place in McDuffie County near Thomson,
Georgia. When I wuz chillun us didn't know nothin' 'bout no wuk," she
volunteered. "My ma wuz a invalis (invalid) so when I wuz 6 years old
she give me to her sister over here at Mr. Ed McElmurray's place to
raise. I ain't never knowed who my pa wuz. Us chaps played all de time
wid white chillun jus' lak dey had all been Niggers. Chillun den didn't
have sense lak dey got now; us wuz satisfied jus' to play all de time. I
'members on Sundays us used to take leaves and pin 'em together wid
thorns to make usselves dresses and hats to play in. I never did go to
school none so I don't know nothin' 'bout readin' and writin' and
spellin'. I can't spell my own name, but I think it begins wid a M.
Hit's too late to study 'bout all dat now 'cause my old brain couldn't
learn nothin'. Hit's done lost most all of what little I did know.
"Back in dem times, folkses cooked on open fireplaces in winter time and
in summer dey built cook stands out in de yard to set de spiders on, so
us could cook and eat outdoors. Dere warn't no stoves nowhar. When us
wuz hard up for sompin' green to bile 'fore de gyardens got goin' good,
us used to go out and git wild mustard, poke salad, or pepper grass. Us
et 'em satisfactory and dey never kilt us. I have et heaps of kinds of
diffunt weeds and I still eats a mess of poke salad once or twice a year
'cause it's good for you. Us cooked a naked hunk of fat meat in a pot
wid some corn dumplin's.
"De grown folks would eat de meat and de chilluns would sit around on de
floor and eat de potlikker and dumplin's out of tin pans. Us enjoyed dat
stuff jus' lak it had been pound cake.
"Dances in dem days warn't dese here huggin' kind of dances lak dey has
now. Dere warn't no Big Apple nor no Little Apple neither. Us had a
house wid a raised flatform (platform) at one end whar de music-makers
sot. Dey had a string band wid a fiddle, a trumpet, and a banjo, but
dere warn't no guitars lak dey has in dis day. One man called de sets
and us danced de cardrille (quadrille) de virginia reel, and de 16-hand
cortillion. When us made syrup on de farm dere would always be a candy
pullin'. Dat homemade syrup made real good candy. Den us would have a
big time at corn shuckin's too.
"I don't believe in no conjuration. Ain't nobody never done nothin' to
me but I have seed people dat other folks said had been hurt. If
somebody done somethin' to me I wouldn't know whar to find a root-worker
to take it off and anyways I wouldn't trust dem sort of folks 'cause if
dey can cyore you dey can kill you too.
"I'se a member of de Silver Bluff Baptist Church, and I been goin' to
Sunday School dar nearly ever since I can 'member. You know dey say
dat's de oldest Nigger church in de country. At fust a white man come
from Savannah and de church wuz built for his family and dey slaves.
Later dere wuz so many colored members de white folks come out and built
another house so de niggers could have de old one. When dat ole church
wuz tore down, de colored folks worshipped for a long time in a goat
house and den in a brush arbor.
"Some folks calls it de Dead River Church 'cause it used to be near Dead
River and de baptisin' wuz done dar for a long time. I wuz baptised dar
myself and I loves de old spot of ground. I has tried to be a good
church member all my life but it's hard fer me to get a nickel or a dime
for preacher money now."
When asked if people in the old days got married by jumping over a broom
she made a chuckling sound and replied: "No, us had de preacher but us
didn't have to buy no license and I can't see no sense in buyin' a
license nohow, 'cause when dey gits ready to quit, dey just quits."
Liza brought an old Bible from the other room in which she said she kept
the history of the old church. There were also pictures from some of her
"white folks" who had moved to North Carolina. "My husband has been daid
for 40 years," she asserted, "and I hasn't a chile to my name, nobody to
move nothin' when I lays it down and nobody to pick nothin' up. I gets
along pretty well most of de time though, but I wishes I could work so I
would feel more independent."
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Emily Mays
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