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(Macon County, AL. Rhussus L. Perry)
On the bright November day of my visit the fields were bare, the trees all adorned in their autumn colors. Despite the barren acres in the neighborhood, there were lovely flowers in Father and Mother Baker's clean and well-kept yard. Marigold, bachelor buttons and winter pinks made little spots of welcome color. Cotton had been planted close up to the small yard, and around the house were several chickens of various sizes and ancestry, a turkey gobbler and two turkey hens. These live things added a pleasant note of contentment and of homeyness to the scene. Asked who owned the cotton patch Mother Baker replied proudly, "It's ours; me and Baker's, yes dis is ours."
Father Baker interrupted, "Yes ma'am it sho is and I kin pick 'bout twenty-five pounds a day, too; can't pick mor'n dat cause my back gits so tired." He placed a hand on the "small" of his back as he added plaintively, "I ain't what I use' to be, an' its terrible how my feets keeps cold winter and summer; I dunno why."
By this time we had reached the rickety steps. Mother Baker said, "Go right in our shack. 'Tain't much, but yo' sho is welcome; I'm so glad yo' come." The rickety steps had large holes worn in them, and she ascended them fully bending down, and using her hands to help herself. She wore a print dress pretty and clean and her hair was neatly done. She gets about splendidly to be eighty-three years old.
As she and I sat on the clean, worn old porch, talking and watching the turkeys strut among the flowers which adorned the yard, Father Baker, who had gone into the house, came out presently with a good juicy baked sweet potato. Smiling and bowing, he offered me the potato, saying, "We ain't got any dinner fitten to offer yo', but here's a good ol' yeller yam, if yo' likes 'em."
Mother Baker began talking about Tuskegee Institute, which gives them a satisfaction almost equal to that they get from their religion. Mother Baker began by saying, "I've been goin' ter dat skule fer over fifty years. I jes' love it an' all dem teachers up dar." Then she folded her hands in her lap and shook her head. "Lawd I loved Booker T. I hated ter see 'm go. I 'member once he wus talkin' in de chapel and it wus crowded plum full. Lawd I jus' hates ter talk erbout it. He was tellin' us how we otter live and love one 'nuther and have intrus' in each udder."
She gestured with palms downward to help explain the great emotion that she felt, and swaying her frail body she continued, "I wanted to cry so bad, but I was shame ter cry dar in de chapel, so I took my hanchuf and crammed in my mouf. I put my head in my lap. I done fust one thing an' another. I was jes' 'bout ter holler."
When she began again tears were shining in her eyes. "I wanted to hug Booker T. Washington in his coffin. I patted his face. I rubbed it. I jes' didn't want ter give 'm up."
I attempted to get her mind off Mr. Washington, asking, "Mother Baker, do you remember when you were a little girl?" Her face beamed, "Yes, chile, I was a little girl in slavery time but I didn't have no hard time lak most niggers. My folks belonged ter old man James Greese, and Master Greese didn't low nobody ter beat his niggers an' he didn't
'low white folks pullin' his little nigger chilluns' years lak de res' did. Why, he niver hit one of us a lick. And thegood thing 'bout it all, he 'lowed de mothers all ter keep de chillun t'gether. He wouldn't sell chillun from de mas andpas. Mos' Greese got sick, en he sent for all his Niggers an' tole dem 'meet me in heben.'
Father Baker interrupted here saying, "'Twertin' (it wasn't) dat way wid me. My mother died when I was two weeksold, and dey was a woman what nursed me til' I could eat an' git about. Den I was 'lowed ter stay in de white folkshouse and help roun' de place and hunt turkey nesses en sich as dat. Old Ben Mott was his name. Dey was right kin'ter me. Dey give me one quilt to sleep on and one to kiver wid. But Old Master had a son-in-law name Tony, andoh, my stars, he hated niggers. You know, dey jus' give little boys a shirt, no pants, and many times dey would twistmy shirt over my head and beat me fer nothin'. When boss Tony come fer ter live wid Mos' Ben I had ter git out. He'lowed he didn't want no nigger ter live in de same house wid him.
"So den I had ter git down ter de quarter to live whar de other niggers lived. I had ter go fum house ter house an' begum ter let lil' Henry come in. And honey, do yo' know, some of 'em 'ould holler at me fo' I c'u'd git ter de steps,'doncha come in here; no room in here fer yo'. Den it would be almos' dark 'n' I had nowheres to stay."
I interrupted here by saying, "You can well appreciate a home of your own, can't you?"
A smile played over his face as he said, "Yas child, das reason ol' Baker worked so hard when he young. Workingto git all my chillun a home. I got eight, an' all eight of dem got forty acres of land."
As he continued he leaned back in his chair like one confident of security. "President Roosevelt, he's a fine man, hebelieves in giving a man a chance. I b'lieves dat de Congress should be de fines' an' greatest church in de world, yassir honest, upright, looking down on de poor wid a eye of pity. Jes' lak Mr. Roosevelt try ter get dem ter do, honey;dat's de way. Yas sir, de President he wants us ter even be able ter read, us old folks. Way back yonder in slavery depaderole would git a nigger fer tryin' ter learn ter read."
"Paderole?" I asked. "What was that?"
He burst into laughter as he began to explain. "Chile, de paderole was ter keep bad niggers from gittin' worse, andter keep dem from running away. Dey was unmerciful white folks. Sometimes dey tie you on a log and whip 'til deblood jes' run down." He laughed again and continued. "We use ter sing a song 'bout dem." He raised a hand as hebegan, in a quavering treble:
"Please ol' Master don't whip me! Whip dat nigger behin' de tree.O, run nigger run, paderole ketch-you O, run nigger run, jes' 'fore day.I run, I run, I run my bes'. I run right close ter dat hornets' nes'.Paderole run, dey run dey bes' Dey run right in dat hornets' nes'.
As I started to leave, Mother Baker said to Father Baker, "Give her some our sugar cane. She got good teeth. Chewit, chile, and thank God the paderole won't getcha."
