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(Daphne L. E. Curtis, Fairhope, AL. Demps A. Oden, Editor)
In the suburbs of Fairhope, in a rough but neatly-kept cottage of two rooms, lives Mandy Leslie, a hard-working Negro woman whose energy belies the seventy-seven years to which she credibly lays claim. Twice widowed and her children scattered to the winds, Mandy is a pillar of strength and comfort to several white households, where she makes weekly calls to care for the laundy work, "wash and iron," as she calls it. The washing is done in the back yards, where a hot fire under an iron pot boils the garments to a state that permits Mandy's rubbing over a fluted wash-board to make them spotless. Strung on lines in the sun, the clothes are ready for ironing next day.
Using old-fashioned sadirons, heated at an open fire, Mandy turns many "done-up" product that any modern laundry might envy. During the ironing process, which takes place in the hall or a spare room, the mistress of the house is entertained with a steady stream of biography and information from the lonely old woman who relishes this opportunity to talk to somebody, especially if there happens to be a visitor who is not familiar with her story. A typical episode runs like this:
"Yassum, I 'members de war, but I don't lak no wars. Dey give folks trouble and dey's full of evil doings. When de Yankees come through here, dey took my mammy off in a wagon, and lef' me right side de road, and when she try to git out de wagon to fetch me, dey hit her on de head and she fell back in de wagon and didn't holler no more. Dey jes' drive off up de big road wid Mammy lying down in de wagon - she done been dead, 'cause I ain't never seed her no mo'.
"Unker John Leslie and Aunt Josie and all dey chillun come along in de wagon, gwine up North, dey said, and dey said dey found ne standing der side de road crying for my mammy. Aunt Josie, she say: 'Pore little lad, you gwine wid us. Us ain't got much, but us can't let you die.' And Unker John, he say: 'Poor chile, us mustn't leave her disaway.' He lift me up in de wagon and us drive 'til de mule gin plum' out, and den us stop and took up on a place not fur from Mon 'gomery, on Mr. Willis Biles' place. Us live dar 'til I was grown woman, and Mr. Biles sho' was a good man to live wid and he treat us right every year.
"Den I married Taylor and us kep' on living wid Mr. Biles and all of us's chillun was borned dere. Den Taylor died wid de fever, and insho'ance what us pay a dollar a mont' for de longest and he take care me and de chillun when he gone. Bless God, dat money didn't take care nobody 'cept de doctor and de burying-man. Dey bofe got and lef' me jes' two dollar and seventy cents, dat's all. Mr. Biles say dey ought to be whipped for chargin' me lak dey did. Den he went ter see 'em, and cussed 'em out, and dey sont back twenty dollar. I ain't spendin no more money on insho'ance, no ma'am!
"I had a hard time keeping my chillun and working de crap too; but Mr. Biles, he 'low me a mule, jes' lak he do Taylor 'fore he died, and us made four layg of cotton de fust year and five bags de nex' year, I pick Lock of it myself
- jes' me and dem little chilluns.
"Den Rufus he come along and he thought us had all de insho'ance and he court me so hard and so reg'lar dat I act a fool and married him and he turn out to be de no-countest nigger dat ever lived. 'Stead of courting me, us had to support him for nigh 'bout ten year, me and de chillun.' He had a misery in he back, and couldn't do no hard work lak hoeing. It hurt he back to pick cotton and pull fodder, and he' set 'roun' and make a few baskets and eat lak a hoss.
"Mr. Willis Biles he died, and he boy, Mr. Joe, he took de place and run it for he ma. Mr. Joe told Rufus 'twan't nothing de matter wid him but damn lazy, and if he don't git out and he'p me work, he gonna set de Ku Klux on him. Den us got scared and moved nigh 'bout to Uniontown, and us live wid Mr. Bob Simmons for seben years hand-running, and he treat us night every fall 'bout de settlement. Mr. Bob he say 'tain't nothing de marster wid Rufus jes' lak Mr. Joe say, and Rufus say he gwine moverto town whar he kin git work to suit him.
"Us move to town, and Rufus he gone all day looking for a job and don't find nothing to suit him. I has to take in washing from de white folks to feed us and dey charge two dollars rent for de little shack us live in. 'twan't right to do dat; 'cause I ain't never paid no house rent in all my bo'n days, 'til den. And de fust t'ing I know, dat triffle Rufus he done sell de mule and wagon and got drunk and lost de res' of de money. Us was sho' in a bad fix. Why didn't I quit Rufus? Yassum, I's spects I ought to done dat; but he so humble when he sober up and pray hard. He say de Lord done call him outen he meanness and he gwine preach Jesus. He make lak he need dem preacher clothes, and us skimped and saved 'nougn to buy Rufus de suit of clothes wid a long-tail. He got a high-up hat and a Bible, and he sho did look gran'. Us was proud to see him all fix up and going out to labor in de vineyard of de Lord.
"Us give Rufus de las' t'ree dollars us could scrape up and he got on de train and went to Mon'gomery, but us ain't seen hair nor hide of him sence. In 'bout a year us got a letter from him in Juliet, He been in Illinois, wharever dat is, and he say he in de pen'tenshry for robbery, 'cause dey 'scuse him stealing a woman's jew'lry, and would I better. Hiles and Mr. Simmons to do what dey can to get him out. He returned been washed in de blood of de Lamb sence he been in jail. And if anybody write me dat he runned off from Mon'gomery wid 'nother woman and dat he got a wife in Chicago, it's a lie.
"Dat fix me wid dat triflin' nigger, and Mr. Sam Broady, what's a lawyer, he got me a 'vorcement and gin me back my fust name, Leslie. Now I's t'rough wid marrying. My chillun done all gone and got married, and I come back here whar I come from. 'Twix' here and Brantley, is de place.
"How old I is? I was five year old, come de Surrender- how old dat make me? Sebenty-seben? Dat's right and I be sebenty-seben dis time nex' year. How I know I be living dis time nex' year? 'Cose, I will be living! I always notice dat when I lives t'rough March, I lives de res' de year, and ain't March jes' now gone, huh? How de way wais' ironed suit you, Missy?"
(Wash. Copy, 4/3, L. H.)
