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1808 Valentine Street, Little Rock, Arkansas
Age 79?
"I was born in Alabama, Russell County, on a place called Sand Ridge, about seven miles out from Columbus,
Georgia. Bred and born in Alabama. Come out here a young gal. Wasn't married when I come out here. Married
when a boy from Alabama met me though. Got his picture. Lula Williams! That was my name before I married.
How many sisters do you have? That's another question they ask all the time; I suppose you want to know, too.
Two. Where are they? That's another one of them questions they always askin' me. You want to know it, too? I got
one in Clarksdale. Mississippi. And the other one is in Philadelphia; no, I mean in Philipp city, Tallahatchie
(county). Her name is Bertha Owens and she lives in Philipp city. What state is Philipp city in? That'll be the next
question. It is in Mississippi, sir. Now is thar anything else you'd like to know?
"My mother's name was Bertha Williams and my father's name was Fred Williams. I don't know nothing 'bout
mama's mother. Yes, her name was Crecie. My father's mother was named Sarah. She got killed by lightning.
Crecie's husband was named John Oliver. Sarah's husband was named William Daniel. Karly Hurt was mama's
master. He had an awful name and he was an awful man. He whipped you till he'd bloodied you and blistered you.
Then he would cut open the blisters and drop sealing-wax in then and in the open wounds made by the whips.
"When the Yankees come in, his wife run in and got in the bed between the mattresses. I don't see why it didn't kill
her. I don't know how she stood it. Karly died when the Yankees come in. He was already sick. The Yankees come
in and said, 'Did you know you are on the Yankee line?'
"He said, 'No, by God, when did that happen?'
"They said, 'It happened tonight, G--D-- you.'
"And he turned right on over and done everything on hisself and died. He had a eatin' cancer on his shoulder.
"My mother had so many children that I didn't get to go to school much. She had nineteen children, and I had to stay
home and work to help take care of them. I can't write at all.
"I went to school in Alabama, 'round on a colored man's place--Mr. Winters. That was near a little town called Fort
Mitchall and Silver Rim where they put the men in jail. I was a child. Mrs. Smith, a white woman from the North,
was the second teacher that I had. The first was Mr. Croler. My third teacher was a man named Mr. Nelson. All of
these was white. They wasn't colored teachers. After the War, that was. I have the book I used when I went to
school. Here is the little Arithmetic I used. Here is the Blue Back Speller. I have a McGuffy's Primer too. I didn't
use that. I got that out of the trash basket at the white people's house where I work. One day they throwed it out.
That is what they use now, ain't it?
"Here is a book my husband give me. He bought it for me because I told him I wanted a second reader. He said,
'Well, I'll go up to the store and git you one.' Plantation store, you know. He had that charged to his account.
"I used to study my lesson. I turned the whole class down once. It was a class in spelling. I turned the class down on
'Publication'--p-u-b-l-i-c-a-t-i-o-n. They couldn't spell that. But I'll tell the world they could spell it the next day.
"My teacher had a great big crocus sack, and when she got tired of whipping them, she would put them in the sack.
She never did put me in that sack one time. I got a whipping mos' every day. I used to fight, and when I wasn't
fightin' for myself, I'd be fighting for other children that would be scared to fight for theirselves, and I'd do their
fighting for them.
"That whippin' in your hand is the worst thing you ever got. Brother, it hurts. I put a teacher in jail that'd whip one
of my children in the hand.
"My mama said I was six years old when the War ended and that I was born on the first day of October. During the
War, I run up and down the yard and played, and run up and down the street and played; and when I would make
too much noise, they'd whip me and send me back to my mother and tell her not to whip me no more, because they
had already done it. I would help look after my mother's children. There were five children younger than I was.
Everywhere she went, the white people would want me to nurse their children, because they said, 'That little
rawboneded one is goin' to be the martest one you got. I want her.' And my ma would say:
"'You ain't goin' to git 'er.' She had two other girls--Martha and Sarah. They was older than me, and she would hire
them out to do nursing. They worked for their master during slave time, and they worked for money after slavery.
"My mama's first husband was killed in a rasslin' (wrestling) match. It used to be that one man would walk up to
another and say, 'You ain't no good.' And the other one would say, 'All right, le's see.' And they would rassle.
"My mother's first husband was pretty old. His name was Myers. A young man come up to him one Sunday
morning when they were gettin' commodities. They got sorghum, meat, meal, and flour; if what they got wasn't
enough, then they would go out and steal a hog. Sometime they'd steal it anyhow; they got tired of eatin' the same
thing all the time. Hurt would whip them for it. Wouldn't let the overseer whip them. Whip them hisself. 'Fraid the
overseer wouldn't give them enough. They never could find my grandfather's meat. That was Grandfather William
Down. They couldn't find his meat because he kept it hidden in a hole in the ground. It was under the floor of the
cabin.
"Old Myers made this young man rassle with him. The young fellow didn't want to rassle with him; he said Myers
was too old. Myers wasn't my father; he was my mother's first husband. The young man threw him. Myers wasn't
satisfied with that. He wanted to rassle again. The young man didn't want to rassle again. But Myers made him. And
the second time, the young man threw him so hard that he broke his collar-bone. My mother was in a family way at
the time. He lived about a week after that, and died before the baby was born.
"My mother's second husband was named Fred Williams, and he was my father. All this was in slavery time. I am
his oldest child. He raised all his children and all his stepchildren too. He and my mother lived together for over
forty years, until she was more than seventy. He was much younger than she was--just eighteen years old when he
married her.
And she was a woman with five children. But she was a real wife to him. Him and her would fight, too. She was
jealous of him. Wouldn't be none of that with me. Honey, when you hit me once, I'm gone. Ain't no beatin' on me
and then sleepin' in the same bed with you. But they fit and then they lived together right on. No matter what
happened, his clean clothes were ready whenever he got ready to go out of the house--even if it was just to go to
work. His meals were ready whenever he got ready to eat. They were happy together till she died.
"But when she died, he killed hisself courtin'. He was a young preacher. He died of pneumonia. He was visiting his
daughter and got exposed to the weather and didn't take care of hisself.
"Right after the War, I was hired as a half-a-hand. After that I got larger and was hired as a whole hand, me and the
oldest girl. I worked on one farm and then another for years. I married the first time when I was fifteen years old.
That was almost right after slave time. Four couples of us were married at the same time. They lived close to me. I
didn't want my husband to git in the bed with me when I married the first time. I didn't have no sense. I was a
Christian girl.
"Frank Sampson was his name. It rained the day we married. I got my feet wet. My husband brought me home and
then he turned 'round and want back to where the wedding was. They had a reception, and they danced and had a
good time. Sampson could dance, too, but I didn't. A little before day, he come back and said to me--I was layin' in
the middle of the bed--'Git over.' I called to mother and told her he wanted to git in the bed with me. She said, 'Well,
let him git in. He's yo'r husband now.'
"Frank Sampson and me lived together about twenty years before be got killed, and then I married Andrew Jackson.
He had children and grandchildren.
I don't know what was the matter with old man Jackson. He was head deacon of the church. We only stayed
together a year or more.
"I have been single ever since 1923, jus' bumming 'round white folks and tryin' to work for them and makin' them
give me somethin' to eat. I ain't been tryin' to fin' no man. When I can't fin' no cookin' and washin' and ironin' to do,
I used to farm, I can't farm now, and ' course I can't git no work to do to amount to nothin'. They say I'm too old to
work.
"The Welfare helps me. Don't know what I'd do if it wasn't for them. I git some commodities too, but I don't git any
wood. Some people says they pay house rent, but they never paid none of mine. I had to go to Marianna and git my
application straight before I could git any help. They charged me half a dollar to fix out the application. The
Welfare wanted to know how I got the money to pay for the application if I didn't have money to live on. I had to git
it, and I had to git the money to go to Marianna, too. If I hadn't, I never would have got no help.
"I told you my first husband got killed. The mule run away with his plow and throwed him a summerset. His head
was where his heels should have been, he said, and the mule dragged him. His chest was crushed, and mashed. His
face was cut and dirtied. He lived nine days and a half after he was hurt and couldn't eat one grain of rice. I never
left his bedside 'cept to cook a little broth for him. That's all he would eat--just a little broth.
"He said to his friend, 'See this little woman of mine? I hate to leave her. She's just such a good little woman. She
ain't got no business in this world without a husband.' "And his friend said to him, 'Well, you might as well make up
your mind you got to leave her, 'cause you goin' to do it.'
"He got hurt on Thursday and I couldn't git a doctor till Friday. Dr. Harper, the plantation doctor, had got his house
burned and his hands hurt. So he couldn't come out to help us. Finally Dr. Hodges come. He come from Sunnyside,
Mississippi, and he charge me fourteen dollars. He just made two trips and he didn't do nothin'.
"Bowls and pitchers were in style then. And I always kept a pitcher of clean water in the house. I looked up and
there was a bunch of man comin' in the house. It was near dark then. They brought Sampson in and carried him to
the bed and put him down. I said, 'What's the matter with Frank?' And they said, 'The mule drug him.' And they put
him on the bed and went on out. I dipped a handkerchief in the water and wet it and put it in his mouth and took out
great gobs of dust where the mule had drug him in the dirt. They didn't nobody help me with him then; I was there
alone with him.
"I started to go for the doctor but he called me back and said it wasn't no use for me to go. Couldn't git the doctor
then, and if I could, he'd charge too much and wouldn't be able to help him none nohow. So we wasn't able to git the
doctor till the next day, and then it wasn't the plantation doctor. We had planted fifteen acres in cotton, and we had
ordered five hundred pounds of meat for our winter supply and laid it up. But Frank never got to eat none of it.
They sent three or four hands over to git their meals with me, and they et up all the meat and all the other supplies
we had. I didn't want it. It wasn't no use to me when Frank was gone. After they paid the doctor's bill and took out
for the supplies we was supposed to git, they handed me thirty-three dollars and thirty-five cents. That was all I got
out of fifteen acres of cotton.
"I sew with rav'lin's. Here is some rev'lin's I use. I pull that out of tobacco sacks, flour sacks, anything, when I don't
have the money to buy a spool of thread, I sew right on just as good with the rav'lin's as if it was thread. Tobacco
sacks make the best rav'lin's. I got two bags full of tobacco sacks that I ain't unraveled yet. There is a man down
town who saves them for me. When a man pulls out a sack he says, 'Save that sack for me, I got an old colored lady
that makes thread out of tobacco sacks.' These is what he has give me. (She showed the interviewer a sack which
had fully a gallon of little tobacco sacks in it--ed.)
"They didn't use rav'lin's in slave time. They spun the thread. Then they balled it. Then they twisted it, and then they
sew with it. They didn't use rav'lin's then, but they used them right after the War.
"My mama used to say, 'Come here, Lugenia.' She and me would work together. She wanted me to reel for her.
Ain't you never seen these reals? They turn like a spinning-wheel, but it is made indifferent. You turn till the thing
pops, then you tie it; then it's ready to go to the loom. It is in hanks after it leaves the reel and it is pretty, too.
"I used to live in a four-room house. They charged me seven dollars and a half a month for it. They fixed it all up
and then they wanted to charge ten dollars, and it wouldn't have been long before they went up to fifteen. So I
moved. This place ain't so much. I pays five dollars and a half for it. When it rains, I have to go outside to keep
from gittin' too wet. But I cut down the weeds all around the place. I planted some flowers in the front yard, and
some vegetables in the back. That all helps me out.
When I go to git commodities, I walk to the place. I can't stand the way these people act on the cars. Of course,
when I have a bundle, I have to use the car to come back. I just put it on my head and walk down to the car line and
git on. Lord, my mother used to carry some bundles on her head."
According to the marriage license issued at the time of her last marriage in 1922, Andrew Jackson was sixty years
old, and sister Jackson was fifty-two. But Andrew Jackson was eighty when sister Jackson married him, she says.
Who can blame him for saying sixty to the clerk? Sister Jackson admits that she was six years old during the War
and states freely and accurately details of those times, but what wife whose husband puts only sixty in writing
would be willing to write down more than fifty-two for herself?
Right now at more than seventy-nine, she is spry and jaunty and witty and good humored. Her house is as clean as a
pin, and her yard is the same.
The McGuffy's Primer which she thinks is used now is a modernized MoGuffy printed in 1908. The book bought
for her by her first husband is an original McGuffy's Second Reader.
Interviewer Semuel S. Taylor"
Jackson, Lula -- Additional Interview
(supplement) Cf. 30600
1808 Valentine Street, Little Rock, Arkansas
Age 79 Occupation Field hand
"Karly Hurt had an overseer named Sanders. He tied my sister Crecie to a stump to whip her. Crecie was stout and
heavy. She was a grown young woman and big and strong. Sanders had two dogs with him in case he would have
trouble with anyone. When he started layin' that lash on Crecie's back, she pulled up that stump and whipped him
and the dogs both.
"Old Karly Hurt came up and whipped her hisself. Said, 'Oh, you're too bad for the overseer to whip, huh?'
"Wasn't no such things as lamps in them days. Jus' used pine knots. When we quilted, we jus' got a good knot and
lighted it. And when that one was nearly burnt out, we would light another one from it.
"We had a old lady named 'Aunt' Charlotte; she wasn't my aunt, we jus' called her that. She used to keep the
children when the hands were working. If she liked you she would treat your children well. If she didn't like you,
she wouldn't treat them so good. Her name was Charlotte Marley. She was too old to do any good in the field; and
she had to take care of the babies. If she didn't like the people, she would leave the babies' napkins on all day long,
wet and filthy.
"My papa's mama, Sarah, was killed by lightning. She was ironing and was in a hurry to get through and get the
supper on for her master, Karly Hurt. I was the oldest child, and I always was scared of lightning.
A dreadful storm was goin' on. I was under the bed and I heard the thunder bolt and the crash and the fall. I heard
mama scream. I crawled out from under the bed and they had grandma laid out in the middle of the floor. Mama
said, 'Child, all the friend you got in the world is deed.' Karly Hurt was standin' over her and pouring buckets of
water on her. When the doctor come, he said, 'You done killed her now. If you had jus' laid her out on the ground
and let the rain fall on her, she would have come to, but you done drownded her now.' She wouldn't have died if it
hadn't been for them buckets of water that Karly Hurt throwed in her face.
"Honey, they ain't nothin' as sweet to drink out of as a gourd. Take the seeds out. Boil the gourd. Scrape it and sun
it. There ain't no taste left. They don't use gourds now."
Violent death followed Lula Jackson's family like an implacable avenger. Her father's mother was struck and killed
by lightning. Her mother's first husband was thrown to his death in a wrestling match. Her own husband was
dragged and kicked to death by a mule. Her brother-in-law, Jerry Jackson, was killed by a horse. But Sister Jackson
is bright and cheery and full of faith in God and man, and utterly without bitterness.
Interviewer Thomas Elmore Lucy"
