Slave Narratives: A Folk History of Slavery in the United States From Interviews with Former Slaves: The Ohio Narratives written by Work Projects Administration
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Work Projects Administration >> Slave Narratives: A Folk History of Slavery in the United States From Interviews with Former Slaves: The Ohio Narratives
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8 [TR: ***] = Transcriber Note
[HW: ***] = Handwritten Note
SLAVE NARRATIVES
A Folk History of Slavery in the United States
From Interviews with Former Slaves
TYPEWRITTEN RECORDS PREPARED BY
THE FEDERAL WRITERS' PROJECT
1936-1938
ASSEMBLED BY
THE LIBRARY OF CONGRESS PROJECT
WORK PROJECTS ADMINISTRATION
FOR THE DISTRICT OF COLUMBIA
SPONSORED BY THE LIBRARY OF CONGRESS
Illustrated with Photographs
WASHINGTON 1941
VOLUME XII
OHIO NARRATIVES
Prepared by
the Federal Writers' Project of
the Works Progress Administration
for the State of Ohio
INFORMANTS
Anderson, Charles H.
Barden, Melissa
Bledsoe, Susan
Bost, Phoebe
Brown, Ben
Burke, Sarah Woods
Campbell, James
Clark, Fleming
Davidson, Hannah
Dempsey, Mary Belle
East, Nancy
Glenn, Wade
Hall, David A.
Henderson, Celia
Jackson, George
Jemison, Rev. Perry Sid [TR: Name also appears as Jamison]
King, Julia
Lester, Angeline
McKimm, Kisey
McMillan, Thomas
Mann, Sarah
Matheus, John William
Nelson, William
Slim, Catherine
Small, Jennie
Smith, Anna
Stewart, Nan
Sutton, Samuel
Toler, Richard
Williams, Julia
Williams, Rev.
Williams, William
ILLUSTRATIONS
Charles H. Anderson
Melissa Barden
Phoebe Bost
James Campbell
Angeline Lester
Richard Toler
Ruth Thompson, Interviewing
Graff, Editing
Ex-Slave Interview
Cincinnati
CHARLES H. ANDERSON
3122 Fredonia St.,
Cincinnati, Ohio
[Illustration: Charles H. Anderson]
"Life experience excels all reading. Every place you go, you learn
something from every class of people. Books are just for a memory, to
keep history and the like, but I don't have to go huntin' in libraries,
I got one in my own head, for you can't forget what you learn from
experience."
The old man speaking is a living example of his theory, and, judging
from his bearing, his experience has given him a philosophical outlook
which comprehends love, gentleness and wisdom. Charles H. Anderson, 3122
Fredonia Street, was born December 23, 1845, in Richmond, Virginia, as a
slave belonging to J.L. Woodson, grocer, "an exceedingly good owner--not
cruel to anyone".
With his mother, father, and 15 brothers and sisters, he lived at the
Woodson home in the city, some of the time in a cabin in the rear, but
mostly in the "big house". Favored of all the slaves, he was trusted to
go to the cash drawer for spending money, and permitted to help himself
to candy and all he wanted to eat. With the help of the mistress, his
mother made all his clothes, and he was "about as well dressed as
anybody".
"I always associated with high-class folks, but I never went to church
then, or to school a day in my life. My owner never sent me or my
brothers, and then when free schools came in, education wasn't on my
mind. I just didn't think about education. Now, I read a few words, and
I can write my name. But experience is what counts most."
Tapping the porch floor with his cane for emphasis, the old fellow's
softly slurred words fell rapidly but clearly. Sometimes his tongue got
twisted, and he had to repeat. Often he had to switch his pipe from one
side of his mouth to the other; for, as he explained, "there ain't many
tooth-es left in there". Mr. Anderson is rather slight of build, and his
features are fine, his bald head shiny, and his eyes bright and eager.
Though he says he "ain't much good anymore", he seems half a century old
instead of "92 next December, if I can make it".
"I have been having some sick spells lately, snapped three or four ribs
out of place several years ago, and was in bed for six weeks after my
wife died ten year ago. But my step-daughter here nursed me through it.
Doctor says he doesn't see how I keep on living. But they take good care
of me, my sons and step-daughter. They live here with me, and we're
comfortable."
And comfortable, neat, and clean they are in the trimmest little frame
house on the street, painted grey with green trim, having a square of
green lawn in front and another in back enclosed with a rail fence, gay
flowers in the corners, rubber plants in pots on the porch, and grape
arbor down one side of the back yard. Inside, rust-colored mohair
overstuffed chairs and davenport look prim with white, crocheted
doilies, a big clock with weights stands in one corner on an ornately
carved table, and several enlarged framed photographs hang on the wall.
The other two rooms are the combined kitchen and dining room, and a
bedroom with a heatrola in it "to warm an old man's bones". Additional
bedrooms are upstairs.
Pointing to one of the pictures, he remarked, "That was me at 37. Had it
taken for my boss where I worked. It was a post card, and then I had it
enlarged for myself. That was just before I married Helen".
Helen Comer, nee Cruitt, was a widow with four youngsters when he met
her 54 years ago. One year later they were married and had two boys,
Charles, now 47, employed as an auto repair man, and Samuel, 43, a
sorter in the Post Office, both bachelors.
"Yes sir, I sure was healthy-looking them days. Always was strong, never
took a dollars worth of medicine in fifty year or more till I had these
last sick spells. But we had good living in slave days. In one sense we
were better off then than after the war, 'cause we had plenty to eat.
Nowadays, everybody has to fen' for himself, and they'd kill a man for a
dime.
"Whip the slaves? Oh, my God! Don't mention it, don't mention it! Lots
of 'em in Old Dominion got beatings for punishment. They didn't have no
jail for slaves, but the owners used a whip and lash on 'em. I've seen
'am on a chain gang, too, up at the penitentiary. But I never got a
whipping in my life. Used to help around the grocery, and deliver
groceries. Used to go up to Jeff Davis' house every day. He was a fine
man. Always was good to me. But then I never quarreled with anybody,
always minded my own business. And I never was scared of nothing. Most
folks was superstitious, but I never believed in ghosts nor anything I
didn't see. Never wore a charm. Never took much stock in that kind of
business. The old people used to carry potatoes to keep off rheumatism.
Yes, sir. They had to steal an Irish potato, and carry it till it was
hard as a rock; then they'd say they never get rheumatism.
"Saturday was our busy day at the store; but after work, I used to go to
the drag downs. Some people say 'hoe down' or 'dig down', I guess 'cause
they'd dig right into it, and give it all they got. I was a great hand
at fiddlin'. Got one in there now that is 107-year old, but I haven't
played for years. Since I broke my shoulder bone, I can't handle the
bow. But I used to play at all the drag downs. Anything I heard played
once, I could play. Used to play two steps, one of 'em called 'Devil's
Dream', and three or four good German waltzes, and 'Turkey in the
Straw'--but we didn't call it that then. It was the same piece, but I
forget what we called it. They don't play the same nowadays. Playin' now
is just a time-consumer, that's all; they got it all tore to pieces, no
top or bottom to it.
"We used to play games, too. Ring games at play parties--'Ring Around
the Rosie', 'Chase the Squirrel', and 'Holly Golly'. Never hear of Holly
Golly? Well, they'd pass around the peanuts, and whoever'd get three
nuts in one shell had to give that one to the one who had started the
game. Then they'd pass 'em around again. Just a peanut-eating contest,
sorta.
"Abraham Lincoln? Well, they's people born in this world for every
occupation and Lincoln was a natural born man for the job he completed.
Just check it back to Pharoah' time: There was Moses born to deliver the
children of Israel. And John Brown, he was born for a purpose. But they
said he was cruel all the way th'ough, and they hung him in February,
1859. That created a great sensation. And he said, 'Go ahead. Do your
work. I done mine'. Then they whipped around till they got the war
started. And that was the start of the Civil War.
"I enlisted April 10, 1865, and was sent to San Diego, Texas; but I
never was in a battle. And they was only one time when I felt anyways
skittish. That was when I was a new recruit on picket duty. And it was
pitch dark, and I heard something comin' th'ough the bushes, and I
thought, 'Let 'em come, whoever it is'. And I got my bayonet all ready,
and waited. I'se gittin' sorta nervous, and purty soon the bushes
opened, and what you think come out? A great big ole hog!
"In June '65, I got a cold one night, and contracted this throat trouble
I get--never did get rid of it. Still carry it from the war. Got my
first pension on that--$6 a month. Ain't many of us left to get pensions
now. They's only 11 veterans left in Cincinnati.
"They used to be the Ku Klux Klan organization. That was the
pat-rollers, then they called them the Night Riders, and at one time the
Regulators. The 'Ole Dragon', his name was Simons, he had control of it,
and that continued on for 50 year till after the war when Garfield was
president. Then it sprung up again, now the King Bee is in prison.
"Well, after the war I was free. But it didn't make much difference to
me; I just had to work for myself instead of somebody else. And I just
rambled around. Sort of a floater. But I always worked, and I always eat
regular, and had regular rest. Work never hurt nobody. I lived so many
places, Cleveland, and ever'place, but I made it here longer than
anyplace--53 year. I worked on the railroad, bossin'. Always had men
under me. When the Chesapeake and Ohio put th'ough that extension to
White Sulphur, we cut tracks th'ough a tunnel 7 mile long. And I handled
men in '83 when they put the C & O th'ough here. But since I was 71, I
been doin' handy work--just general handy man. Used to do a lot of
carving, too, till I broke my shoulder bone. Carved that ol' pipe of
mine 25 year ago out of an ol' umbrella handle, and carved this monkey
watch charm. But the last three year I ain't done much of anything.
"Go to church sometimes, over here to the Corinthian Baptis' Church of
Walnut Hills. But church don't do much good nowadays. They got too much
education for church. This new-fangled education is just a bunch of
ignoramacy. Everybody's just looking for a string to pull to get
something--not to help others. About one-third goes to see what everbody
else is wearing, and who's got the nicest clothes. And they sit back,
and they say, 'What she think she look like with that thing on her
haid?'. The other two-thirds? Why, they just go for nonsense, I guess.
Those who go for religion are scarce as chicken teeth. Yes sir, they go
more for sight-seein' than soul-savin'.
"They's so much gingerbread work goin' on now. Our most prominent people
come from the eastern part of the United States. All wise people come
from the East, just as the wise men did when the Star of Bethlehem
appeared when Christ was born. And the farther east you go, the more
common knowledge a person's got. That ain't no Dream Boat. Nowadays,
people are gettin' crazier everyday. We got too much liberty; it's all
'little you, and big me'. Everybody's got a right to his own opinion,
and the old fashioned way was good enough for my father, and it's good
enough for me.
"If your back trail is clean, you don't need to worry about the future.
Your future life is your past conduct. It's a trailer behind you. And I
ain't quite dead yet, efn I do smell bad!"
Story and Photo by Frank M. Smith
Ex-Slaves
Mahoning County, District #5
Youngstown, Ohio
The Story of MRS. MELISSA (LOWE) BARDEN, Youngstown, Ohio.
[Illustration: Melissa Barden]
Mrs. Melissa (Lowe) Barden of 1671 Jacobs Road, was "bred and born" on
the plantation of David Lowe, near Summersville, Georgia, Chattooga
County, and when asked how old she was said "I's way up yonder
somewheres maybe 80 or 90 years."
Melissa assumed her master's name Lowe, and says he was very good to her
and that she loved him. Only once did she feel ill towards him and that
was when he sold her mother. She and her sister were left alone. Later
he gave her sister and several other slaves to his newly married
daughter as a wedding present. This sister was sold and re-sold and when
the slaves were given their freedom her mother came to claim her
children, but Melissa was the only one of the four she could find. Her
mother took her to a plantation in Newton County, where they worked
until coming north. The mother died here and Melissa married a man named
Barden.
Melissa says she was very happy on the plantation where they danced and
sang folk songs of the South, such as _"Sho' Fly Go 'Way From Me"_, and
others after their days work was done.
When asked if she objected to having her picture taken she said, "all
right, but don't you-all poke fun at me because I am just as God made
me."
Melissa lives with her daughter, Nany Hardie, in a neat bungalow on the
Sharon Line, a Negro district. Melissa's health is good with the
exception of cataracts over her eyes which have caused her to be totally
blind.
Ohio Guide
Ex-Slave Stories
Aug 15, 1937
SUSAN BLEDSOE
462-12th St. S.E., Canton, Ohio.
"I was born on a plantation in Gilee County, near the town of Elkton, in
Tennessee, on August 15, 1845. My father's name was Shedrick Daley and
he was owned by Tom Daley and my mother's name was Rhedia Jenkins and
her master's name was Silas Jenkins. I was owned by my mother's master
but some of my brothers and sisters--I had six brothers and six
sisters--were owned by Tom Daley.
I always worked in the fields with the men except when I was called to
the house to do work there. 'Masse' Jenkins was good and kind to all us
slaves and we had good times in the evening after work. We got in groups
in front of the cabins and sang and danced to the music of banjoes until
the overseer would come along and make us go to bed. No, I don't
remember what the songs were, nothing in particular, I guess, just some
we made up and we would sing a line or two over and over again.
We were not allowed to work on Sunday but we could go to church if we
wanted to. There wasn't any colored church but we could go to the white
folks church if we went with our overseer. His name was Charlie Bull and
he was good to all of us.
Yes, they had to whip a slave sometimes, but only the bad ones, and they
deserved it. No, there wasn't any jail on the plantation.
We all had to get up at sunup and work till sundown and we always had
good food and plenty of it; you see they had to feed us well so we would
be strong. I got better food when I was a slave than I have ever had
since.
Our beds were home made, they made them out of poplar wood and gave us
straw ticks to sleep on. I got two calico dresses a year and these were
my Sunday dresses and I was only allowed to wear them on week days after
they were almost worn out. Our shoes were made right on the plantation.
When any slaves got sick, Mr. Bull, the overseer, got a regular doctor
and when a slave died we kept right on working until it was time for the
funeral, then we were called in but had to go right back to work as soon
as it was over. Coffins were made by the slaves out of poplar lumber.
We didn't play many games, the only ones I can remember are 'ball' and
'marbles'. No, they would not let us play 'cards'.
One day I was sent out to clean the hen house and to burn the straw. I
cleaned the hen house, pushed the straw up on a pile and set fire to it
and burned the hen house down and I sure thought I was going to get
whipped, but I didn't, for I had a good 'masse'.
We always got along fine with the children of the slave owners but none
of the colored people would have anything to do with the 'poor white
trash' who were too poor to own slaves and had to do their own work.
There was never any uprisings on our plantations and I never heard about
any around where I lived. We were all happy and contented and had good
times.
Yes, I can remember when we were set free. Mr. Bull told us and we cut
long poles and fastened balls of cotton on the ends and set fire to
them. Then, we run around with them burning, a-singin' and a-dancin'.
No, we did not try to run away and never left the plantation until Mr.
Bull said we could go.
After the war, I worked for Mr. Bull for about a year on the old
plantation and was treated like one of the family. After that I worked
for my brother on a little farm near the old home place. He was buying
his farm from his master, Mr. Tom Daley.
I was married on my brother's place to Wade Bledsoe in 1870. He has been
dead now about 15 years. His master had given him a small farm but I do
not remember his master's name. Yes, I lived in Tennessee until after my
husband died. I came to Canton in 1929 to live with my granddaughter,
Mrs. Algie Clark.
I had three children; they are all dead but I have 6 grandchildren, 8
great-grandchildren and 9 great-great-grandchildren, all living. No, I
don't think the children today are as good as they used to be, they are
just not raised like we were and do too much as they please.
I can't read or write as none of we slaves ever went to school but I
used to listen to the white folks talk and copied after them as much as
I could."
NOTE: The above is almost exactly as Mrs. Bledsoe talked to our
interviewer. Although she is a woman of no schooling she talks well and
uses the common negro dialect very little. She is 92 years of age but
her mind is clear and she is very entertaining. She receives an Old Age
Pension. (Interviewed by Chas. McCullough.)
Story and Photo by Frank Smith
Topic: Ex-slaves
Mahoning County, District #5
Youngstown, Ohio
The Story of MRS. PHOEBE BOST, of Youngstown, Ohio.
[Illustration: Phoebe Bost]
Mrs. Phoebe Bost, was born on a plantation in Louisiana, near New
Orleans. She does not know her exact age but says she was told, when
given her freedom that she was about 15 years of age. Phoebe's first
master was a man named Simons, who took her to a slave auction in
Baltimore, where she was sold to Vaul Mooney (this name is spelled as
pronounced, the correct spelling not known.) When Phoebe was given her
freedom she assummed the name of Mooney, and went to Stanley County,
North Carolina, where she worked for wages until she came north and
married to Peter Bost. Phoebe claims both her masters were very mean and
would administer a whipping at the slightest provocation.
Phoebe's duties were that of a nurse maid. "I had to hol' the baby all
de time she slept" she said "and sometimes I got so sleepy myself I had
to prop ma' eyes open with pieces of whisks from a broom."
She claims there was not any recreation, such as singing and dancing
permitted at this plantation.
Phoebe, who is now widowed, lives with her daughter, in part of a double
house, at 3461 Wilson Avenue, Campbell, Ohio. Their home is fairly well
furnished and clean in appearance. Phoebe is of slender stature, and is
quite active in spite of the fact that she is nearing her nineties.
WPA in Ohio
By Albert I. Dugan [TR: also reported as Dugen]
Jun 9, 1937
Topic: Ex-slaves
Muskingum County, District #2
BEN BROWN
Ex-slave, 100 years
Keen St., Zanesville, Ohio
Yes suh I wuz a slave in Vaginyah, Alvamaul (Albermarle) county an' I
didn't have any good life, I'm tellin' you dat! It wuz a tough life. I
don't know how old I am, dey never told me down dere, but the folks here
say I'm a hunderd yeah old an' I spect dats about right. My fathah's
name wuz Jack Brown and' my mammy's Nellie Brown. Dey wuz six of us
chillun, one sistah Hannah an' three brothers, Jim, Harrison, an' Spot.
Jim wuz de oldes an' I wuz next. We wuz born on a very lauge plantation
an dey wuz lots an' lots of other slaves, I don't know how many. De log
cabins what we live in[HW:?] on both sides de path make it look like a
town. Mastah's house wuz a big, big one an' had big brick chimneys on de
outside. It wuz a frame house, brown, an' set way back from de road, an'
behind dat wuz de slaves' quarters. De mastah, he wuz Fleming Moon an'
dey say he wuz cap'n in de wah of 1812. De missy wuz Parley Moon and dey
had one son an fouh daughters.
All us chillun an mammy live in a log cabin dat wuz lauge enuf foh us an
we sleep in good beds, tall ones an' low ones dat went undaneath,
trundles dey call 'em, and de covahs wuz comfohtable. De mammies did de
cookin. We et cohn bread, beans, soup, cabbage an' some othah vegtubles,
an a little meat an fish, not much. Cohn cake wuz baked in de ashes,
ash-cake we call 'em an' dey wuz good and sweet. Sometimes we got wheat
bread, we call dat "seldom bread" an' cohn bread wuz called "common"
becos we had it ev'ry day. A boss mammy, she looked aftah de eatins' and
believe me nobuddy got too much.
De meat house wuz full of smoked po'k, but we only got a little piece
now an' den. At hog killin' time we built a big fiah an put on stones
an' when dey git hot we throw 'em in a hogshead dat has watah in it. Den
moah hot stones till de watah is jus right for takin' de hair off de
hogs, lots of 'em. Salt herrin' fish in barls cum to our place an we put
em in watah to soak an den string em on pointed sticks an' hang up to
dry so dey wont be so salty. A little wuz given us with de other food.
I worked about de place doin' chores an takin' care of de younger
chillun, when mammy wuz out in de fields at harvest time, an' I worked
in de fields too sometimes. De mastah sent me sometimes with young
recruits goin' to de army headquartahs at Charlottesville to take care
of de horses an show de way. We all worked hard an' when supper wuz ovah
I wuz too tired to do anything but go to bed. It wuz jus work, eat an
sleep foh most of us, dere wuz no time foh play. Some of em tried to
sing or tell stories or pray but dey soon went to bed. Sometimes I heard
some of de stories about hants and speerits an devils that skeered me so
I ran to bed an' covered mah head.
Mastah died an' den missie, she and a son-in-law took charge of de
place. Mah sistah Hannah wuz sold on de auction block at Richmon to
Mastah Frank Maxie (Massie?) an' taken to de plantation near
Charlottesville. I missed mah sistah terrible an ran away to see her,
ran away three times, but ev'ry time dey cum on horseback an git me jus
befoh I got to Maxies. The missie wuz with dem on a horse and she ax
where I goin an' I told her. Mah hands wuz tied crossways in front with
a big rope so hard it hurt. Den I wuz left on de groun foh a long time
while missie visited Missie Maxie. Dey start home on horses pulling de
rope tied to mah hands. I had to run or fall down an' be dragged on de
groun'. It wuz terrible. When we got home de missie whipped me with a
thick hickory switch an' she wasn't a bit lenient. I wuz whipped ev'ry
time I ran away to see mah sister.
When dere wuz talk of Yankies cumin' de missie told me to git a box an
she filled it with gold an' silver, lots of it, she wuz rich, an I dug a
hole near de hen house an put in de box an' covered it with dirt an'
smoothed it down an scattered some leaves an twigs ovah it. She told me
nevah, nevah to tell about it and I nevah did until now. She showed me a
big white card with writin' on it an' said it say "This is a Union
Plantation" an' put it on a tree so the Yankies wouldn't try to find de
gold and silvers. But I never saw any Yankie squads cum around. When de
wah wuz ovah, de missie nevah tell me dat I wuz free an' I kep' on
workin' same as befoh. I couldn't read or write an' to me all money
coins wuz a cent, big copper cents, dey wuz all alike to me. De slaves
wuz not allowed any learnin an' if any books, papers or pictures wuz
foun' among us we wuz whipped if we couldn't explain where dey cum from.
Mah sistah an' brother cum foh me an tell me I am free and take me with
them to Mastah Maxies' place where dey workin. Dey had a big dinnah
ready foh me, but I wuz too excited to eat. I worked foh Mastah Maxie
too, helpin' with de horses an' doin' chores. Mammy cum' an wuz de cook.
I got some clothes and a few cents an' travelers give me small coins foh
tending dere horses an' I done done odd jobs here an dere.
I wanted some learnin but dere wuz no way to git it until a white man
cleared a place in de woods an' put up branches to make shade. He read
books to us foh a while an' den gave it up. A lovly white woman, Missy
Holstottle, her husband's name wuz Dave, read a book to me an' I
remember de stories to dis day. It wuz called "White an' Black." Some of
de stories made me cry.
After wanderin about doin work where I could git it I got a job on de C
an O Railroad workin' on de tracks. In Middleport, dat's near Pomeroy,
Ohio, I wuz married to Gertie Nutter, a widow with two chillun, an dere
wuz no moah chilluns. After mah wife died I wandered about workin' on
railroads an' in coal mines an' I wuz hurt in a mine near Zanesville.
Felt like mah spine wuz pulled out an I couldn't work any moah an' I cum
to mah neice's home here in Zanesville. I got some compensation at
first, but not now. I get some old age pension, a little, not much, but
I'm thankful foh dat.
Mah life wuz hard an' sad, but now I'm comfortable here with kind
friens. I can't read or write, but I surely enjoy de radio. Some nights
I dream about de old slave times an' I hear dem cryin' an' prayin', "Oh,
Mastah, pray Oh, mastah, mercy!" when dey are bein' whipped, an' I wake
up cryin.' I set here in dis room and can remember mos' all of de old
life, can see it as plain as day, de hard work, de plantation, de
whippings, an' de misery. I'm sure glad it's all over.
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