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Aged 77
Home 618 Wade Street, Hot Springs, Ark.
For location of Wade Street, see interview with Emma Sanderson.
As the interviewer walked down Silver Street a saddle colored girl came out on a porch for a load of wood.
"I beg your pardon," she began, pausing, "can you tell me where I will find Emma Sanderson?"
"I sure can." The girl left the porch and came out to the street. "I'll walk down with you and show you. That way it'll
be easier. Kind of cold, ain't it?"
"It surely is," this from the interviewer. "Isn't it too cold for you, can't you just tell me? I think I can find it." The girl
had expected to be only on the porch and didn't have a coat.
"No, ma'am. It's all right. Now we're far enough for you to see. You see those two houses jam up against one and
'tother ? Well Miz Parkar lives in the one this way. I goes down to look after her most every day. That's where you'll
find her.--No ma'am--'twaren't no bother."
The gate sagged slightly at the house "this way" of the "two jam up against one and 'tother." A large slab from an
oak log in the front yard near a woodpile bore rute evidence of many an ax blow. (Stove wood is generally split in
the rural South --one end of the "stick" resting against the ground, the other atop a small log.)
Up a couple of rickety steps the interviewer climbed. She knocked three times. When she was bade to enter she
opened she door to find an old woman sitting near a wood stove combing her long , white hair.
Mrs. Parker was expecting the visit. A few days before the interviewer had had a visit from a couple of colored
women who had " heard tell how you is investigating the old people,-----been trying to get on old age pension for a
long time--glad you come to get us on.------No ? Oh, I see you is the Townsend woman." (An explanation of her
true capacity was almost impossible for the interviewer)
Mrs. Parker, however, seemed to comprehend the idea perfectly. She expected nothing save the chance to tell her
story. Eer joy at the gift of a quarter (the amount the interviewer set aside from her salery for each interviewer) was
pitiful. Evidently it had been a long time since she had possessed a similar sum to spend exactly as she pleased.
"I don't rightly know how old I is. My mother used to tell me that I was a little baby, six months old when our
master, Joe Potts was his name got ready to clear out of Florida. You see he had heard tell of the war scare. So he
started drifting out of the way. Bet it didn't take him long after he made up his mind. He was a right decided man,
Mister Joe was.
How did we like him ? Well, he was always good to us. He was well thought of. Seemed to be a pretty clever man,
Mr. Joe did." ( "Clever" in plantation language like "smart" refers more to muscular than mental activity. They
might almost be used as synonyms for "hard working" on the labor level.)
So Mr. Joe got re dy to go to Texas. Law, Miss, I don't rightly know whether he had a family or not. Never heard
my Mother say. Anyhow he come through Arkansas intending to drift on out into Texas. But when he got near the
border 'twix't and between Arkansas and Texas he stopped. The talk about war had about settled down. So he
stopped. He stopped near where the big bridge is. You know where Little River County is don't you? He stopped
and he sta ted to work. Started to make a crop. 'Course I can't remember none about that. Just what my Mother told
me. But I remembers him from later.
He went at it the good way. Settled down and tried to open up a home. They put in a crop and got along pretty good.
Time passed and the war talk started floating again. That time he didn't pay much attention and it got him. It was on
a Sunday morning when he went away. I never knew whether they made him go or not. But I kind of think they
must of. Cause he wouldn't have moved off from Florida if he had wanted to go to war.
He took my daddy with him? Ma'am--did he take him to fight or to wait on him-----Don't know ma'am, but I sort of
think he took him to wait on him. But he didn't bring him back. My daddy got killed in the war. No ma'am. I don't
rightly know how he got killed. Never heard nobody say. I was just a little girl--nobody bothered to tell me much.
Yes, that we did. We stayed on on the farm and we made a crop-----the old folks did. Mr. Joe, when he went off,
said "Now you stay on here, you make a crop and you use all you need. Then you put up the rest and save for me.
He was a right good man, Mr. Joe was.
No, we didn't never see no fighting. There wasn't nothing to be scared of. Didn't see no Yankees until the war was
through. Then they stated passing. Lawsey, I couldn't tell now many of them there was. More than you could count.
We had all stayed on. I was the oldest of my mother's children. But she had two more after me. There was out
family and my two uncles and my grandmother. Then there was some other colored folks. But we wasn't scared of
the Yankees. Mr. Joe was there by that time. They camped all around in the woods near us. They got us to do their
washing. Lawsey they was as filthy as hogs. I never see such folks. They asked Mr. Joe if we could do their
washing. Everything on the place that come near those clothes got lousey. Those men was covered with them. I
never see nothing like it. We got covered with them. No, ma'am, we got rid of 'em pretty easy. They ain't so hard to
get rid of, if you keep clean.
After it was all over Master Joe got ready to go back to Florida. He took Warley and Jenny with him. They was
children he had had by a black woman----you know folks did such things in them days. He asked the rest of us if
they wanted to go back too. But my folks made up their minds they didn't. You see, they didn't know how they'd get
along and how long it would take them to pay for the trip back, so they stayed right where they was.
Lots of 'em went to Rondo and some of us worked for Herb Jeans-----he lived farther up Red River. After my
mother died I was with my grandmother. She washed and cooked for Herb Jeans's family. I stayed on with her,
helped out until I got married. I was about fifteen when that time come.
(Judy Parker, Hudgins)
My man owned his place. Sure he did. Owned it when I married him. He owned it himself and farmed it good. Yes
ma'am we stayed with the land. He made good creps---corn and cotton, mostly. Course we raised potatoes and the
truck we needed--all stuff like that. Yes, ma'am we had thirteem children. Just three of them's living. All of them is
boys.
Yes ma'am we got along good. My husband made good crops and we got along just good. But 'bout eight years ago
my husband he got sick. So he sold out the farm-----sold out everything. Then he come here.
Before he died he spent every last cent-----every last cent----left me to get along the very best way I kin. I stays with
my son. He takes care of me. He don't make much, but he does the best he kin.
No ma'am, I likes living down in the country. Down there near Red River it's soft and sandy. Up here in Hot Springs
the rocks tear up your feet. If you's country raised--you like the country. Yes ma'am, you like the country."
As she left the interviewer handed her a quarter. At first the old woman's face was expressionless. But she moved
the coin nearer to her eyes and a smile broke and widened until her whole face was a wrinkle of joy. When she
turned in the doorway, the interviewer noticed that the hand jammed into an apron pocket was clutched into a
possessive fist, cradling the precious twenty five cents.
Interviewer Mrs. Bernice Bowden"
