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3003 Cross St., Little Rock, Ark.
Age 79
Idiom and dialect are lacking in this recorded interview. Mrs. white's conversation was entirely free from either. On
being questioned about this she explained that she was reared in a home where fairly correct English was used.
My cousin Emanuel Armstead could read and write, and he kept the records of our family. At one time he was a
school director. Of course, that was back in the early days, soon after the war closed.
My father was named James Page Jackson because he was born on the old Jackson plantation in Lancaster county,
Virginia. He named one of his daughters Lancaster for a middle name in memory of his old home. Clarice Lancaster
Jackson was her full name. A man named Galloway bought my father and brought him to Arkansas. Some called
him by the name of Galloway, but my father always had all his children keep the name Jackson. There were
fourteen of us, but only ten lived to grow up. He belonged to Mr. Galloway at the time of my birth, but even at that,
I did not take the name Galloway as it would seem like I should. My father was a good carpenter; he was a fine
cook, too; learned that back in Virginia. I'll tell you something interesting. The first cook stove ever brought to this
town was one my father had his master to bring. He was cook at the Anthony House. You know about that, don't
you? It was the first real fine hotel in Little Rock.
When father went there to be head cook, all they had to cook on was big fireplaces and the big old Dutch ovens.
Father just kept on telling about the stoves they had in Virginia, and at last they sent and got him one; it had to come
by boat and took a long time. My father was proud that he was the one who sat the first table ever spread in the
Anthony House.
You see, it was different with us, from lots of slave folks. Some masters hired their slaves out. I remember a drug
store on the corner of Main and Markham; it was McAlmont's drug store. Once my father worked there; the money
he earned, it went to Mr. Calloway, of course. He said it was to pay board for mother and us little children.
My mother came from a fine family, - the Beebe family. Angeline Beebe was her name. You've heard of the Beebe
family, of course. Roswell Beebe at one time owned all the land that Little Rock now sets on. I was born in a log
cabin where Fifth and Spring streets meet. The Jewish Synagogue is on the exact spot. Once we lived at Third and
Cumberland, across from that old Fundred-year-old-building where they say the legislature once met. What you call
it? Yes, that's it; the Hinterlider building. It was there then, too. My father and mother had the kind of wedding they
had for slaves, I guess. Yes, ma'am, they did call them "broom-stick weddings". I've heard tell of them. Yes, ma'an,
the master and mistress, when they find a couple of young slave folks want to get married, they call them before
themselves and have them confess they want to marry. Then they hold the broom, one at each end, and the young
folks told to jump over. Sometimes they have a new cabin fixed all for them to start in. After Peace, a minister came
and married my father and mother according to the law of the church and of the land.
The master's family was thoughtful in keeping our records in their own big family Bible. All the births and deaths of
the children in my father's family was in their Bible. After Peace, father got a big Bible for our family, and -- wait,
I'll show you ... Here they are, all copied down just like out of old master's Bible ... Here's where my father and
mother died, over on this page. Right here's my own children. This space is for me and my husband.
No ma'am, it don't make me tired to talk. But I need a little time to recall all the things you want to know 'bout. I
was so little when freedom came I just can't remember. I'll tell you, directly.
I remember that the first thing my father did was to go down to a plantation where the bigger children was sorking,
and bring them all home, to live together as one family. That was a plantation where my mother had been; a man
name Moore - James Moore - owned it. I don't know whether he had bought my mother from Beebe or not. I can
remember two things plain what happened there. I was little, but can still see them. One of my mother's babies died
and Master went to Little Rock on a horse and carried back a little coffin under his arm. The mistress had brought
mother a big washing. She was working under the cover of the well house and tears was running down her face.
When master came back, he said: "How come you are working today, Angelins, when your baby is dead?" She
showed him the big pile of clothes she had to wash, as mistress said. He said: "There is plenty of help on this place
what can wash. You come on in and sit by your little baby, and don't do no more work till after the funeral." He
took up the little dead body and laid it in the coffin with his own hands. I'm telling you this for what happened later
on.
A long time after peace, one evening mother heard a tapping at the door. When she went, there was her old master,
James Moore. "Angeline," he said, "you remember me, don't you?" Course she did. Then he told her he was hungry
and homeless. A man hiding out. The Yankees had taken everything he had. Mother took him in and fed him for
two or three days till he was rested. The other thing clear to my memory is when my uncle Tom was sold. Another
day when mother was washing at the well house and I was playing around, two white men came with a big,
broad-shouldered colored man between them. Mother put her arms around him and cried and kissed him goodbye.
A long time after, I was ratching one of my brothers walk down a path. I told mother that his shoulders and body
look like that man she kissed and cried over. "Why honey," she says to me, "can you remember that?" Then she told
me about my uncle Tom being sold away.
So you see, Miss, it's a good thing you are more interested in what I know since slave days. I'll go on now. The first
thing after freedom my mother kept boarders and done fine laundry work. She boarded officers of the colored
Union soldiers; she washed for the officers' families at the Arsenal. Sometimes they come and ask her to cook them
something special good to eat. Both my father and mother were fine cooks. That's when we lived at Third and
Cumberland. I stayed home till I was sixteen and helped with the cooking and washing and ironing. I never worked
in a cotton field. The boys did. All us girls were reared about the house. We were trained to be lady's maids and
houseworkers. I married when I was sixteen. That husband died four years later, and the next pear I married this
man, Joel Randolph White. Married him in March, 1879.
In those days you could put a house on leased ground. Could lease it for five years at a time. My father put up a
house on Tenth and Scott. Old man Haynie owned the land and let us live in the house for $25.00 a year until
father's money was all gone; then we had to move out. The first home my father really owned was at 1220 Spring
street, what is now. Course then, it was away out in the country. A white lawyer from the north - B. F. Rice was his
name - got my brother Jimmie to work in his office. Jimmie had been in school most all his life and was right
educated for colored boy then. Mr. Rice finally asked him how would he like to study law. So he did; but all the
time he ranted to be a preacher. Mr. Rice tell Jimmie to go on studying law. It is a good education; it would help
him to be a preacher. Mr. Rice tell my father he can own his own home by law. So he make out the papers and take
care of everything so some persons can't take it away. All that time my family was working for Mr. Rice and finally
got the home paid for, all but the last payment, and Mr. Rice said Jimmie's services was worth that. So we had a nice
home all paid for at last. We lived there till father died in 1879, and about ten years more. Then sold it.
My father had more money than many ex-slaves because he did what the Union soldiers told him. They used to give
him "greenbacks" money and tell him to take good care of it. You see, miss, Union money was not any good here.
Everything was Confederate money. You couldn't pay for a dime's worth even with a five dollar bill of Union
money then. The soldiers just keep on telling my father to take all the greenbacks he could get and hide away. There
wasn't any need to hide it, nobody wanted it. Soldiers said just wait; someday the Confederate money wouldn't be
any good and greenbacks would be all the money we had. So that's how my father got his money.
If you have time to listen, miss, I'd like to tell you about a wonderful thing a young doctor done for my folks. It was
when the gun powder explosion wrecked my brother and sister. The soldiers at the Arsenal used to get powder in
tins called canteens. When there was a little left - a tablespoon full or such like, they would give it to the little boys
and show them how to pour it in the palm of their hand, touch a match to it and then blow. The burning powder
would fly off their hand without burning. We were living in a double house at Eighth and Main then; another
colored family in one side. They had lots of children, just like us. One canteen had a lot more powder in. My brother
was afraid to pour it on his hand. He put a paper down on top of the store and poured it out. It was a big explosion.
My little sister was standing beside her brother and her scalp was plum blowed off and her face burnt terribly. His
hand was all gone, and his face and neck and head burnt terribly, too. There was a young doctor live close by name
Deuell. Father ran for him. He tell my mother if she will do just exactly what he say, their faces will come out fine.
He told her to make up bread dough real sort of stiff. He made a mask of it. Cut holes for their eyes, nose holes and
mouths, so you could feed them, you see. He told mother to leave that on till it got hard as a rock. Then still leave it
on till it crack and come off by itself. Nobody what ever saw their faces would believe how bad they had been
burnt. Only 'round the edges where the dough didn't cover was there any scars. Dr. Deuell only charged my father
$50.00 apiece for that grand work on my sister and brother.
Yes ma'am, I'll tell you how I come to speak what you call good English. First place, my mother and father was
brought up in families where they heard good speech. Slaves what lived in the family didn't talk like cottonfield
hands. My parents sure did believe in education. The first free schools in Little Rock were opened by the Union for
colored children. They brought young white ladies for teachers. They had Sunday School in the churches on
Sunday. In a few years they had colored teachers come. One is still living here in Little Rock. I wish you would go
see her. She is 90 years old now. She founded the Wesley Chapel here. On her fiftieth anniversery my club
presented her a gold medal and had "Mother Wesley" engraved on it. Her name is Charlotte E. Stevens. She has the
first school report ever put out in Little Rock. It was in the class of 1869. Two of my sisters were graduated from
Philander Smith College here in Little Rock and had post graduate work in Fiske University in Nashville,
Tennessee. My brothers and sisters all did well in life. Allene married a minister and did missionary work. Cornelia
was a teacher in Dallas, Texas. Mary was a caterer in Hot Springs. Clarice went to Colorado Springs. Colorado and
was a nurse in a doctor's office. Jimmie was the preacher, as I told you. Gus learned the drug business and Willie
got to be a painter. Our adopted sister, Molly, could do anything, nurse, teach, manage a hotel. Yes, our parents
always insisted we had to go to school. It's been a help to me all my life. I'm the only one now living of all my
brothers and sisters.
Well ma'am, about how we lived all since freedom; it's been good till these last years. After I married my present
husband in 1879, he worked in the Missouri Pacific railroad shops. He was boiler maker's helper. They called it Iron
Mountain shops then, though. 52 years, 5 months and 24 days he worked there. In 1922, on big strike, all men got
laid off. When they went back, they had to go as new men. Don't you see what that done to my man? He was all
ready for his pension. Yes ma'am, had worked his full time to be pensioned by the railroad. But we have never been
able to get any retirement pension. He should have it. Urban League is trying to help him get it. He is out on
account of disability and old age. He got his eye hurt pretty bad and had to be in the railroad hospital a long time. I
have the doctor's papers on that. Then he had a bad fall what put him again in the hospital. That was in 1931. He has
never really been discharged, but just can't get any compensation. He has put in his claim to the Railroad Retirement
office in Washington. I'm hoping they get to it before he dies. We're both mighty old and feeble. He had a stroke in
1933, since he been off the railroad.
How we living now? It's mighty poorly, please believe that. In his good years we bought this little home, but tares
so high, road assessments and all make it more than we can keep up. My granddaughter lives with us. She teaches,
but only has school about half a year. I was trying to educate her in the University of Wisconsin, but poor child had
to quit. In summer we try to make a garden. Some of the neighbors take in washing and they give me ironing to do.
Friends bring in fresh bread when they bake. It takes all my granddaughter makes to keep up the mortgage and pay
all the rest. She don't have clothes decent to go.
I have about sold the last of the antiques. In old days the mistress used to give my mother the dishes left from
broken sets, odd wases and such. I had some beautiful things, but one by one have sold them to antique dealers to
get something to help out with. My church gives me a donation every fifth Sunday of a collection for benefit.
Sometimes it is as much as $2.50 and that sure helps on the groceries. Today I bought four cents worth of beans and
one cent worth of onions. I say you have to cut the garment according to the cloth. You ain't even living from hand
to mouth, if the hand don't have something in it to put to the mouth.
No ma'am, we couldn't get on relief, account of this child teaching. One relief worker did come to see us. She was a
case worker, she said. She took down all I told her about our needs and was about ready to go when she saw my
seven hens in the yard. "Whose chickens out there?" she asked. "I keep a few hens," I told her. "Well," she hollered,
"anybody that's able to keep chickens don't need to be on relief roll," and she gathered up her gloves and bag and
left.
Yes ma'am, I filed for old age pension, too. It was in April, 1935 I filed. When a year passed without hearing, I took
my husband down so they could see just how he is not able to work. They told me not to bring him any more. Said I
would get $10.00 a month. Two years want, and I never got any. I went by myself then, and they said yes, yes, they
have my name on file, but there is no money to pay. There must be millions comes in for sales tax. I don't know
where it all goes.
of course the white folks get first consideration. Colored folks always has to bear the brunt. They just do, and that's
all there is to it.
What do I think of the younger generation? I wouldn't speak for all. There are many types, just like older people. It
has always been like that, though. If all young folks were like my granddaughter - I guess there is many, too. She
does all the sewing, and gardening. She paints the house, makes the draperies and bed clothing. She can cook and
do all our laundry work. She understands raising chickens for market, but just don't have time for that. She is honest
and clean in her life.
Yes ma'am, I did vote once, a long time ago. You see, I wasn't old enough at first, after freedom, when all the
colored people could vote. Then, for many years, woman in Arkansas couldn't vote, anyhow. I can remember when
M. W. Gibbs was Police Judge and Asa Richards was a colored alderman. No ma'am! The voting law is not fair. It's
most unfair: We colored folks have to pay just the same as the white. We pay our sales tax, street improvement,
school tax, property tax, personal property tax, dog license, automobile license - they what have cars - ; we pay
utility tax. And we should be allowed to vote. I can tell you about three years ago a white lady come down here with
her car on election day and ask my old husband would he vote how she told him if she carried him to the polls. He
said yes and she carried him. When he got there they told him no colored was allowed to vote in that election. Poor
old man, she didn't offer to get him home, but left him to stumble along best he could.
I'm glad if I been able to give you some help. You've been patient with an old woman. I can tell you that every word
I have told you is true as the gospel.
STATE--Arkansas
NAME OF WORKER--Samuel S. Taylor
ADDRESS--Little Rock, Arkansas
DATE--December, 1938
1. Name and address of informant--Julia White, 3003 Cross Street, Little Rock.
2. Date and time of interview--
3. Place of interview--3003 Cross Street, Little Rock, Arkansas
4. Name and address of person, if any, who put you in touch with informant--
5. Name and address of person, if any, accompanying you--
6. Description of room, house, surroundings, etc.--
STATE--Arkansas
NAME OF WORKER--Samuel S. Taylor
ADDRESS--Little Rock, Arkansas
DATE--December, 1938
NAME AND ADDRESS OF INFORMANT--Julia White, 3003 Cross
1. Ancestry--
2. Place and date of birth--Little Rock, Arkansas, 1858
3. Family--Two children
4. Places lived in, with dates--Little Rock all her lif
5. Education, with dates--
6. Occupations and accomplishments, with dates--
7. Special skills and interests--
8. Community and religious activities--
9. Description of informant--
10. Other points gaired in interview--She tells of accon Negro race.
STATE--Arkansas
NAME OF WORKER--Samuel S. Taylor
ADDRESS--Little Rock, Arkansas
DATE--December, 1938
NAME AND ADDRESS OF INFORMANT--Julia White, 3003 Cross Street, Little Rock.
"I was born right here in Little Rock, Arkansas, eighty years ago on the corner of Fifth and Broadway. It was in a
little log house. That used to be out in the woods. At least, that is where they told me I was born. I was there but I
don't remember it. The first place I remember was a house on Third and Cumberland, the southwest corner. That
was before the war.
"We were living there when peace was declared. You know, my father hired my mother's time from James Moore.
He used to belong to Dick Calloway. I don't know how that was. But I know he put my mother in that house on
Third and Cumberland while she was still a slave. And we smaller children stayed in the house with mother, and the
larger children worked on James Moore's plantation.
"My father was at that time, I guess, you would call it, a porter at McAlmont's drug store. He was a slave at that
time but he worked there. He was working there the day this place was taken. I'll never forget that. It was on
September 10th. We were going across Third Street, and there was a Union woman told mamma to bring us over
there, because the soldiers were about to attack the town and they were going to have a battle.
"I had on a pair of these brogans with brass plates on them, and they were flapping open and I tripped up just as the
rebel soldiers were running by. One of them said, "There's a like yeller nigger, les take her." Mrs. Famer, the Union
woman ran out and said, "No you won't; that's my nigger." And she took us in her house. And we stayed there while
there was danger. When my father came back from the drug store, she said she didn't see how he kept from being
killed.
"At that time, there were about four houses to the block. On the place where we lived there was the big house, with
many rooms, and then there was the barn and a lot of other buildings. My father rented that place and turned the
outbuildings into little houses and allowed the freed slaves to live in them till they could find another place.
"My husband was an orphan child, and the people he was living with were George Phelps and Ann Phelps. They
were freed slaves. That was after the war. They came here and had this little boy with them. That is how I come to
meet that gentlemen over there and get acquainted with him. When they moved away from there Phelps was
caretaker of the Oakland Cemetery. We married on the twenty-seventh day of March, 1879. I still have the marriage
license. I married twice; my first husband was George W. Glenn and my maiden name was Jackson. I married the
first time June 10, 1875. I had two children in my first marriage. Both of them are dead. Glenn died shortly after the
birth of the last child, February 15, 1878.
"Mr. White is a mighty good man. He is put up with me all these years. And he took mighty good care of my
children, then by my first husband as well as his own. When I was a little girl, he used to tell me that he wouldn't
have me for a wife. After we were married, I used to say to him, "You said you wouldn't have me, but I see you're
mighty glad to get me.
"I have the marriage license for my second marriage.
"There's quite a few of the old ones left. Have you seen Mrs. Gillam, and Mrs. Stephen, and Mrs. Weathers? Cora
Weathers? Her name is Cora not Clora. She's about ninety years old. She's at least ninety years old. You say she
says that she is seventy-four. That must be her insurance age. I guess she is seventy-four at that; she had to be
seventy-four before she was ninety. When I was a girl, she was a grown woman. She was married when my
husband went to school. That has been more than sixty years ago, because we've been married nearly sixty years.
My sister Mary was ten years older than me, and Cora Weathers was right along with her. She knew my mother.
When these people knew my mother they've been here, because she's been dead since '94 and she would have been
110 if she had lived.
"My mother used to feed the white prisoners -- the Federal soldiers who were being held. They paid her and told her
to keep the money because it was Union Money. You know at that time they were using Confederate money. My
father kept it. He had a little box or chest of gold and silver money. whenever he got any paper money, he would
change it into gold or silver.
"Mother used to make these ginger cakes -- they call 'em stage planks. My brother Jimmie would sell them. The
men used to take pleasure in trying to cheat him. He was so clever they couldn't. They never did catch him napping.
"Somebody burnt our house; it was on a Sunday evening. They tried to say it caught from the chimney. We all like
to uv curnt up.
"My father was a carpenter, whitewasher, anything. He was a common laborer. We didn't have contractors then like
we do now. Mother worked out in service too. Jimmie was the oldest boy. He taught school too.
"My father set the first table that was ever set in the Anthony Hotel, and was the cause of the first stove being
brought here to cook on.
"Some of the children of the people that raised my mother are still livings They are Beebes. Roswell Beebe was a
little one. They had a colored man named Peter and he was teaching Roswell to ride and the pony ran away. Peter
stepped out to stop him and Roswell said, 'Git out of the way Peter, and let Billie Button come'.
"I get some commodities from the welfare. But I don't get nothing like a pension. My husband worked at the
Missouri Pacific shops for fifty-two years, and he don't git nothing neither. It was the Iron Mountain when he first
went there on June 8, 1879. He was disabled in 1932 because of injuries received on the job in March, 1931. But
they hurried him out of the hospital and never would give him anything. That Monday morning, they had had a
loving cup given them for not having had accidents in the plant. And at three p.m., he was sent into the hospital. He
had a fall that injured his head. They only kept him there for two days and two hours. He was hurt in the head. Mr.
Elkins himself came after him and let him set around in the tool room. he stayed there till he couldn't do nothing at
all.
"In 1881, he got his eye hurt on the job in the service of the Missouri Pacific. It was the Iron Mountain than. He was
off about three or four months. They didn't pay his wages while he was off. They told him they would give him a
lifetime job, but they didn't. His eye gave him trouble for the balance of his life. Sometimes it is worse than others.
He had to go to the St. Louis Hospital quite often for about three or four years.
"When the house on Third and Cumberland was Lurnt, he rebuilded it, and the owners charged him such rent he had
to move. He rebuilt it for five hundred dollars and was to get pay in rent. The owners jumped the rent up to
twenty-five dollars a month. That way it soon took up the five hundred dollars. Then we moved to Eighth and Main.
My brother Jimmie was in an accident there.
"He was pouring powder on a fire from on old powder horn and the flames jumped up in the horn and exploded and
crippled his hand and burnt his face. Dr. Duel, a right young doctor, said he could cure them if father would pay him
fifty dollars a piece. My sister was burnt at the same time as my brother. He had then make a thin dough, and put it
over their faces and he cut pieces out for their eyes, and nose, and mouth. They left that dough on their faces and
chest till the dough got hard and peeled off by itself. It left the white skin. Gradually the face got back to itself and
took its right color again, so you couldn't tell they had ever been burnt. The only medicine the doctor gave them was
Epsom salts. Fifty dollars for each child. I used that remedy on a school boy once and cures him, but I didn't charge
him nothing.
"I have a program which was given in 1874. They don't give programs like that now. People wouldn't listen that
long. We each of us had two and three, and some of us had six and seven parts to learn. We learnt them and recited
them and came back the next night to give a Christmas Eve program. You can make a copy of it if you want.
"A. C. Richmond is Mrs. Childrens' brother. Anna George is Bee Daniels' mother (Bee Daniels is Mrs. Anthony, a
colored public school teacher here). Corinne Jordan is living on Gaines between Eighth and Ninth streets. She is
about seventy-five years old now. She was about Mollie's age and I was about five years older than Molly. Mary
Riley is C. C. Riley's sister. C. C. Riley is Haven Riley's father. C. C. is dead now. Haven Riley was a teacher, at
Philanier Smith, for a while. He's a stenographer now. August Jackson and J. N. Jackson are my brothers. N. O.
Emory became one of our pastors at esley. John Bush, everybody's heard of him. He had the Mosaic temple and got
a big fortune together before he died, but his children lost it all. Annie Richmond is Annie Childress, the wife of
Professor P. C. Childress, the State
Supervisor. Corinne Winfrey turned out to be John Bush's wife. Willie Lane married W. O. Emery. Scipio Jordan
became the big man in the Tabernacle. H. H. Gilkeywent to the post office. He married Lizzie Pull. She's living still
too."
STATE--Arkansas
NAME OF WORKER--Samuel S. Taylor
ADDRESS--Little Rock, Arkansas
DATE--December, 1938
NAME AND ADDRESS OF INFORMANT--Julia white, 3003 Cross Street, Little Rock.
The marriage license which Mrs. White showed me, was issued March 27, 1879, by A. W. Worthen, County Clerk,
per W. H. W. Booker to Julia Glen and J. R. White. It carries the name of Reverend W. H. Crawford who was the
Pastor of Wesley Chapel Church at that time. The license was issued in Pulaski County.
PROGRAMLE
Part I.
Address by the General Manager Mr. A. C. Richmond
Song-- We Come Today By the School
Prayer Rev. William Henry Crawford
Declamation-- My Mother's Bible Miss Annie George
Dialogue-- Three Little Graves Miss M. Upshaw and Miss M. A. Seruggs
Dialogue-- About Heaven Miss Julia Jackson and Miss Alice Richardson
Declamation-- Mud Pie Miss Amelia Ross
Declamation-- Ducklins and Ducklins Miss Coren Jordan
Dialogue-- The Beggar Mr. H. H. Cilkey and Mr. W. A. M. Cypers
Declamation-- Work While You Work Master Albert Pryor
Dialogue-- The Miser Mr. C. C. Riley and Mr. Charles Hurtt, Jr.
Declamation--Pretty Pictures Miss Cally Sanders
Declamation-- Into the Sunshine Miss Mollie Jackson
Song-- Joy Bells By the School
Dialogue-- Sharp Shooting Master Asa Richmond, Scipio Jordan, and Miss Laura A. Morgan
Declamation-- What I Know Master Morton Hurtt
Declamation-- The Side to Look On Miss Dora Frierson
Dialogue-- The Tattler Miss Mary Alexander, Miss M. A. Scrugg Miss Mary Ross
Declamation-- Little Clara Miss Rebecca Ferguson
Dialogue-- John Williams' Choice Scipio Jordan, H. H. Gilkey and Julia Jackson
Declamation-- A Good Rule Miss Lilly Pryor
Declamation-- Complaint of the Poor Miss Riley
Dialogue-- The Examination L. H. Haney, Jackson Crawford and John Richmond
THE END.
Part II.
Dialogue-- The Maniac Miss Willie Lane, A. C. Richmond, Rafe May, and Master A. Pryon
Dialogue-- Father, Dear Father; or The Fruits of Drunkenness John E. Bush, W. A. R. Cypars, Wm. Emary, Miss
Coren Winfrey, Miss Maggie Grem, and others.
Dialogue -- An Awakening Miss Mollie Pryor and Miss Annie Richmond
Dielogue-- Betsy and I are out Alex. Scruggs and W. A. M. Cypars
Declaration-- Lily of the Valley Miss Mary Foster
Dialogue-- Hasty Judgment C. C. Riley, A. C. Richmond, Cypers and Haney
Declamation-- The Little Shooter Master August Jackson
Dielogue-- Practical Lesson Miss Julia Jackson, and August Jackson
Declamation-- Bird and the Baby Miss Julia Fostar
Dialogue-- Scenes in the Police Court Richmond, Bush, and Emery
Dallad-- Yankee Doodle Dandy J. E. Bush
Part III
Dialogue-- Colloquy in Church Alice Richardson and Mollie
Declamation--Lucy Gray Miss Alice Moore
Dialogue-- Matrimony Miss Willie Lane, M. A. Scruggs, Mary Alexander, Mr. C. C. Riley
Dialogue-- Traveler Morton Hurtt and Scipio Jordan
Declametion-- Truth in Parenthesis Alice Moore.
Dielogue-- Forty Years Ago Ales, Scruggs, and J. P. Winfrey
Declamation-- The Last Footfall Lizzie Hull
Declamation-- Gone with a Handsoner Man than Me John E. Bush, Kiss Meggie Green, and H. G. Clay
Declamation-- Goldem Side Annie Richmond
Declametion-- The Union was saved by the Colored Volunteers Swan Jeff"
White, Julia (Continued) -- Additional Interview
3003 Cross Street, Little Rock, Arkansas
Age 80
"The Commissary was on the northeast corner of Third and Cumberland. They used to call it the government
commissary building. It took up a whole half block, Mrs. Farmer, the white woman, was living in what you call the
old Henderliter Place, the building on the northwest corner, during the War. She was a Union woman, and was the
one that took us in when the Confederate soldiers were passing and wanted to take us to Texas with them.
"I was so small I didn't know much about things then. When peace was declared a preacher named Hugh Brady, a
white man, came here and he had my nother and father to marry over again.
"Mrs. Stephens' father was one of the first school-teachers here for colored people. There were a lot of white people
who came here from the North to teach. Peabody School used to be called the Union School. Mrs. Stephens has the
first report of the school dated 1869. It gives the names of the directors and all. J. H. Benford was one of the
Northern teachers. Anna Ware and Louise Coffman and Miss Henley were teachers too.
"Mrs. Stephens is the oldest colored teacher in Little Rock. The A-B-C children didn't want the old men to teach us.
So they would teach 'Lottie'--she was only twelve years old then--and she would hear our lessons. Then at recess
time, we would all get out and play together. She was my play mama. Her father, William Wallace Andrews, the
first pastor of Wesley Chapel M. E. Church, was the head teacher and Mr. Gray was the other.
They were teaching in Wesley Chapel Church, It was then on Eighth and Broadway. This was before Benford's
time. It was just after peace had been declared. I don't know where Andrews come from nor how much learning he
had. Most of the people then got their learning from white children. But I don't know where he got his.
"Wesley was his first church as far as I know. Before the War all the churches were in with the white people. After
freedom, they drew out. Whether Wesley was his first church or not, he was Wealey's first pastor. I got a history of
the church.
"They had a real Sunday-school in those days. My sister when she was a child about twelve years old said three
hundred Bible verses at one time and received a book as a prize. The book was named 'A Wonderful Deliverance'
and other Stories, printed by the American Tract Society, New York, 150 Nassau Street. My sister's name was
Mollie Jackson."
Interviewer Miss Irene Robertson"
