Name: Parkes, Anna

Address: 150 Strong Street Athens, Georgia

Age: 86

Written by: Sarah H. Hall (Federal Writers' Project Athens, Georgia)

Edited by: John N. Booth (District Supervisor Federal Writers' Project Residencies 6 & 7)

Citation: Federal Writers' Project: Slave Narrative Project, Vol. 4, Part 3, Kendricks-Styles (1936), Library of Congress, Manuscript/Mixed Material. https://www.loc.gov/item/mesn043/

Interview

Anna Parkes' bright eyes sparkled as she watched the crowd that thronged the
hallway outside the office where she awaited admittance. A trip to the downtown section
is a rare event in the life of an 86 year old negress, and, accompanied by her daughter,
she was waking the most of this opportunity to see the world that lay so far from the door
of the little cottage where she lives on Strong Street. When asked if she liked to talk of
her childhood days before the end of the Civil War, she eagerly replied: "'Deed, I does."

She was evidently delighted to have found someone who actually wanted to listen to her,
and proudly continued:

"Dem days sho' was sompin' to talk 'bout. I don't never git tired of talkin' 'bout
'em. Paw, he was Olmstead Lumpkin, and Ma was Liza Lumpkin, and us b'longed to
Jedge Joe Henry Lumpkin. Us lived at de Lumpkin home place on Prince Avenue. I was
born de same week as Miss Callie Cobb, and whilst I don't know z'ackly what day I was
born, I kin be purty sho' 'bout how many years ole I is by axin' how ole Miss Callie is.
Fust I 'members much 'bout is totin' de key basket 'round 'hind Ole Miss when she give
out de vittals. I never done a Gawd's speck of work but dat. I jes' follered 'long atter Ole
Miss wid 'er key basket.

"Did dey pay us any money? Lawsy, Lady! What for? Us didn't need no money.
Ole Marster and Ole Miss all time give us plenty good sompin' teat, and clo'es, and dey
let us sleep in a good cabin, but us did have money now and den. A heap of times us had
nickles and dimes. Dey had lots of comp'ny at Ole Marster's, and us allus act mighty spry
waitin' on 'em, so dey would 'member us when dey lef'. Effen it was money dey gimme, I
jes' couldn't wait to run to de sto' and spend it for candy."

"What else did you buy with the money?", she was asked.

"Nuffin' else," was the quick reply. "All a piece of money meant to me dem days,
was candy, and den mo' candy. I never did git much candy as I wanted when I was
chillun."

Here her story took a rambling turn.

"You see I didn't have to save up for nuffin'. Ole Marster and Ole Miss, dey took
keer of us. Dey sho' was good white folkses, but den dey had to be good white folkses,
kaze Ole Marster, he was Jedge Lumpkin, and de Jedge was bound to make evvybody do
right, and he gwine do right his own self 'fore he try to make udder folkses behave
deyselvs. Ain't nobody, nowhar, as good to dey Negroes as my white folkses was."

"Who taught you to say 'Negroes' so distinctly?" she was asked.

"Ole Marster," she promptly answered, "He 'splained dat us was not to be 'shamed
of our race. He said us warn't no 'niggers'; he said us was 'Negroes', and he 'spected his
Negroes to be de best Negroes in de whole land.

"Old Marster had a big fine gyarden. His Negroes wukked it good, and us was
sho' proud of it. Us lived close in town, and all de Negroes on de place was yard and
house servants. Us didn't have no gyardens 'round our cabins, kaze all of us et at de big
house kitchen. Ole Miss had flowers evvywhar 'round de big house, and she was all time
givin' us some to plant 'round de cabins.

"All de cookin' was done at de big house kitchen, and hit was a sho' 'nough big
kitchen. Us had two boss cooks, and lots of helpers, and us sho' had plenny of good
sompin' teat. Dat's de Gawd's trufe, and I means it. Heap of folkses been tryin' to git me
to say us didn't have 'nough teat and dat us never had nuffin' fittin' teat. But ole as I is, I
cyan' start tellin' no lies now. I gotter die fo' long, and I sho' wants to be clean in de mouf
and no stains or lies on my lips when I dies. Our sompin' teat was a heap better'n what us
got now. Us had plenny of evvything right dar in de yard. Chickens, ducks, geese,
guineas, tukkeys, and de smoke' ouse full of good meat. Den de mens, dey was all time
goin' huntin', and fetchin' in wild tukkeys, an poddiges, and heaps and lots of 'possums
and rabbits. Us had many fishes as us wanted. De big fine shads, and perch, and trouts;
dem was de fishes de Jedge liked mos'. Catfishes won't counted fittin' to set on de Jedges
table, but us Negroes was 'lowed to eat all of 'em us wanted. Catfishes mus' be mighty
skace now kaze I don't know when ever I is seed a good ole river catfish a-flappin' his
tail. Dey flaps dey tails atter you done kilt 'em, and cleaned 'em, and drap 'em in de hot
grease to fry. Sometimes dey nigh knock de lid offen de fryin' pan.

"Ole Marster buyed Bill Finch down de country somewhar', and dey called him
'William' at de big house. He was de tailor, and he made clo'es for de young marsters.
William was right smart, and one of his jobs was to lock up all de vittals atter us done et
much as us wanted. All of us had plenny, but dey won't nuffin' wasted 'round Ole
Marster's place.

"Ole Miss was young and pretty dem days, and Ole Marster won't no old man
den, but us had to call 'em 'Ole Miss,' and 'Ole Marster,' kaze dey chilluns was called
'Young Marster' and 'Young Mistess' f'um de very day dey was born."
When asked to describe the work assigned to little Negroes, she quickly
answered: "Chilluns didn't do nuffin'. Grownup Negroes done all de wuk. All chilluns
done was to frolic and play. I was jes' 'lowed ter tote de key basket kaze I was all time
hangin' 'round de big house, and wanted so bad to stay close to my ma in de kitchen and
to be nigh Ole Miss.

"What sort of clo'es did I wear in dem days? Why Lady, I had good clo'es. Atter
my little mistesses wore dey clo'es a little, Ole Miss give 'em to me. Ma allus made me
wear clean, fresh clo'es, and go dressed up good all de time so I'd be fittin" to carry de
key basket for Ole Miss. Some of de udder slave chilluns had homemade shoes, but I
allus had good sto'-bought shoes what my young mistess done outgrowed, or what some
of de comp' ny gimme. Comp' ny what had chilluns 'bout my size, gimme heaps of clo'es
and shoes, and some times dey didn't look like dey'd been wore none hardly.

"Ole Marster sho' had lots of Negroes 'round his place. Deir was Aunt Charlotte,
and Aunt Julie, and de two cooks, and Adeline, and Mary, and Edie, and Jimmy. De mens
was Charlie, and Floyd, and William, and Daniel. I disremembers de res' of 'em.

"Ole Marster never whipped none of his Negroes, not dat I ever heared of. He tole
'em what he wanted done, and give 'em plenny of time to do it. Dey was allus skeert effen
dey didn't be smart and do right, dey might git sold to some marster dat would beat 'em,
and be mean to 'em. Us knowed dey won't many marsters as good to dey slaves as Ole
Marster was to us. Us would of most kilt ourself wukkin', fo' us would of give him a
reason to wanna git rid of us. No Ma'am, Ole Marster ain't never sold no slave, not whilst
I kin 'memoer. Us was allus skeert dat effen a Negro git lazy and triflin' he might git sold.

"No Negro never runned away f'um our place. Us didn't have nuffin' to run f'um,
and nowhar to run to. Us heared of patterollers but us won't 'fraid none kaze us knowed
won't no patteroller gwine tech none of Jedge Lumpkin's Negroes.

"Us had our own Negro church. I b'lieves dey calls it Foundry Street whar de ole
church was. Us had meetin' evvy Sunday. Sometimes white preachers, and sometimes
Negro preachers done de preachin'. Us didn't have no orgin or pianny in church den. De
preacher hysted de hymns. No Ma'am, I cyan' 'member no songs us sung den dat was no
diffunt f'um de songs now-a-days, 'ceppen' dey got orgin music wid de singin' now. Us
had c'lections evvy Sunday in church den, same as now. Ole Marster give us a little
change for c'lection on Sunday mawnin' kaze us didn't have no money of our own, and he
knowed how big it made us feel ter drap money in de c'lection plate. Us Meferdis had our
baptizin's right dar in de church, same as us does now. And 'vival meetin's. Dey jes' broke
out any time. Out on de plantations dey jes' had 'vival meetin's in layin'-by times, but here
in town us had 'em all durin' de year. Ole Marster used ter say: 'Mo' 'vivals, better
Negroes.' "Evvybody oughter be good and jine de church, out dey sho' oughtn't to jine
effen dey still gwine to act like Satan.

"Us chillun would git up long 'fore day Chris'mas mawnin'. Us used ter hang our
stockin's over de fire place, but when Chris'mas mawnin' come dey was so full, hit would
of busted 'em to hang 'em up on a nail, so dey was allus layin' on Ma's cheer when us
waked up. Us chillun won't 'lowed to go 'round de big house early on Chris'mas mawnin'
kaze us mought 'sturb our white folkses' rest, and den dey done already seed dat us got
plenny Santa Claus in our own cabins. Us didn't know nuffin' 'bout New Yeors Day when
I was chillun.

"When any of his Negroes died Ole Marster was mighty extra good. He give
plenny of time for a fun'ral sermon in de afternoon. Most of de fun'rals was in de yard
under de trees by de cabins. utter de sermon, us would go 'crost de hill to de Negro buyin'
ground, not far f'um whar our white folkses was buried.

"Us never bothered none 'bout Booker Washin'ton, or Mister Lincum, or none of
dem folkses 'way off der kaze us had our raisin' f'um de Lumpkins and dey's de bes'
folkses dey is anywhar'. Won't no Mister Lincum or no Booker Washin'ton gwine to help
us like Ole Marster and us knowed dat good and plenny.

"I cyan' 'member much 'bout playin' no special games 'ceppin' 'Ole Hundud.' Us
would choose one, and dat one would hide his face agin' a tree whilst he counted to a
hundud. Den he would hunt for all de others. Dey done been hidin' whilst he was
countin'. Us larned to count a-playin' 'Ole Hundud'.

"No Ma'am, us never went to no school 'til atter de war-Den I went some at night.
I wukked in de day time atter freedom come. My eyes bothered me so I didn't go to
school much.

"Yes Ma'am, dey took mighty good care of us effen us got sick. Ole Marster
would call in Doctor Moore or Doctor Carleton and have us looked atter. De 'omans had
extra good care when dey chilluns comed. 'Til freedom come, I was too little to know
much 'cout dat myself, out Ma allus said dat Negro 'omans and babies was looked atter
better 'fore freedom come dan dey ever was anymo'.

"Atter de War was over, a big passel of Yankee mens come to our big house and
stayed. Dey et and slept dar, and dey b'haved powerful nice and perlite to all our white
folkses, and dey ain't bother Jedge Lumpkin's servants none. But den evvybody allus
b'haved 'round Jedge Lumpkin's place. Ain't nobody gwine to be brash 'nough to do no
devilment 'round a Jedges place.

"Hit was long atter de War 'fo' I married. I cyan' 'member nuffin' 'bout my weddin'
dress. 'Pears like to me I been warried mos' all of my life. Us jes' went to de preacher
man's house and got married. Us had eight chillun, but dey is all dead now 'ceppin' two;
one son wukkin' way off f'um here, and my daughter in Athens.

"I knows I was fixed a heap better fo' de War, than I is now, but I sho' don't want
no slav'ry to come back. It would be fine effen evvy Negro had a marster like Jedge
Lumpkin, but dey won't all dat sort.

Anna leaned heavily on her cane as she answered the knock on the front door
when we visited her home. "Come in," she invited, and led the way through her
scrupulously tidy house to the back porch.

"De sun feels good," she said, "and it sorter helps my rheumatiz. My rheumatiz
been awful bad lately. I loves to set here whar I kin see dat my ole hen and little chickens
don't git in no mischief." A small bucket containing chicken food was conveniently at
hand, so she could scatter it on the ground to call her chickens away from depredations
on the flowers. A little mouse made frequent excursions into the bucket and helped
himself to the cracked grains in the chicken food. "Don't mind him," she admonisted, "he
jes' plays 'round my cheer all day, and don't bother nuffin'."

"You didn't tell anything about your brothers and sisters when you talked to me
before," her visitor remarked.

"Well, I jes' couldn't 'member all at onct, but atter I got back home and rested up, I
sot here and talked ter myself 'bout old times. My brudder Charles was de coachman
what drove Ole Marster's carriage, and anudder brudder was Willie, and one was Floyd.
My sisters was Jane and Harriet. 'Pears like to me dey was more of 'em, out some how I
jes' cyan' 'member no more 'bout 'em. My husband was Grant Parkes and he tuk care of
de gyardens and yards for de Lumpkins.

"I had one chile named Caline, for Ole Miss. She died a baby. My daughter
Fannie done died long time ago, and my daughter Liza, she wuks for a granddaughter of
Ole Miss. I means, Liza wuks for Mister Eddie Lumpkin's daughter. I done plum clear
forgot who Mister Eddie's daughter married.

"I jes' cyan' recollec' whar my boy, Floyd, stays. You oughter know, Lady, hits de
town whar de President lives. Yes Ma'am, Washin'ton, dats de place whar my Floyd is. I
got one more son, but I done plum forgot his name, and whar he was las' time I heared
f'um him. I don't know if he's livin' or dead. It sho' is bad to git so old you cyan' tell de
names of yo' chilluns straight off widout havin' to stop and study, and den you cyan' allus
'member.

"I done been studyin' 'bout de war times, and I 'members dat Ole Marster was
mighty troubled 'bout his Negroes when he heared a big crowd of Yankee sojers was
comin' to Athens. Folkses done been sayin' de Yankees would pick out de bes' Negroes
and take 'em 'way wid 'em, and dere was a heap of talk 'bout de scandlous way dem
Yankee sojers been treatin' Negro 'omans and gals. 'Fore dey got here, Ole Marster sont
mos' of his bes' Negroes to Augusta to git 'em out of danger f'um de Fed'rals. How someever
de Negroes dat he kept wid' 'im won't bothered none, kaze dem Fed'rals 'spected de
Jedge and didn't do no harm 'round his place.

"In Augusta, I stayed on Greene Street wid a white lady named Mrs. Broome. No
Ma'am, I nebber done no wuk. I jes' played and frolicked, and had a good time wid Mrs.
Broome's babies. She sho' was good to me. Ma, she wukked for a Negro 'oman named
Mrs. Kemp, and lived in de house wid her.

"Ole Marster sont for us atter de war was over, and us was mighty proud to git
back home. Times had done changed when us got back. Mos' of Ole Marster's money was
gone, and he couldn't take keer of so many Negroes, so Ma moved over near de gun
fact'ry and started takin' in washin'.

"De wust bother Negroes had dem days was findin' a place to live. Houses had to
be built for 'em, and dey won't no money to build 'em wid.

"One night, jes' atter I got in bed, some mens come walkin' right in Ma's house
widout knockin'. I jerked de kivver up over my head quick, and tried to hide. One of de
mens axed Ma who she was. Ma knowed his voice, so she said: 'You knows me Mister
Blank,' (she called him by his sho' 'nuff name) 'I'm Liza Lumpkin, and you knows I used
to b'long to Jedge Lumpkin.' De udders jes' laughed at him and said: 'Boy, she knows
you, so you better not say nuffin' else.' Den anudder man axed Ma how she was makin' a
livin'. Ma knowed his voice too, and she called him by name and tole him us was takin' in
washin' and livin' all right. Dey laughed at him too, and den anudder one axed her
sompin' and she called his name when she answered him too. Den de leader say, 'Boys, us
better git out of here. These here hoods and robes ain't doin' a bit of good here. She
knows ev'ry one of us and can tell our names.' Den dey went out laughin' fit to kill, and
dat was de onliest time de Ku Kluxers ever was at our house, leastways us s'posed dey
was Ku Kluxers.

"I don't 'member much 'bout no wuk atter freedom 'ceppin' de wash tub. Maw
larned me how to wash and iron. She said: 'Some day I'll be gone f'um dis world, and you
won't know nuffin' 'bout takin' keer of yo'self, lessen you larn right now.' I was mighty
proud when I could do up a weeks washin' and take it back to my white folkses and git
sho' 'nuff money for my wuk. I felt like I was a grown 'oman den. It was in dis same yard
dat Ma larned me to wash. At fust Ma rented dis place. There was another house here
den. Us saved our washin' money and bought de place, and dis is de last of three houses
on dis spot. Evvy cent spent on dis place was made by takin' in washin' and de most of it
was made washin' for Mister Eddie Lumpkin's family.

"Heaps of udder Negroes was smart like Ma, and dey got along all right. Dese
days de young folkses don't try so hard. Things comes lots easier for 'em, and dey got lots
better chances dan us had, but dey don't pay no 'tention to nuffin' out spendin' all dey got,
evvy day. Boys is wuss'en gals. Long time ago I done give all I got to my daughter. She
takes kear of me. Effen de roof leaks, she has it looked atter. She wuks and meks our
livin'. I didn't want nobody to show up here atter I die and take nuffin' away f'um her.

"I ain' never had no hard times. I allus been treated good and had a good livin'.
Course de rheumatiz done got me right bad, but I is still able to git about and tend to de
house while my gal is off at wuk. I wanted to wash today, but I couldn't find no soap. My
gal done hid de soap, kaze she say I'se too old to do my own washin' and she wanter wash
my clo'es herse'f."

In parting, the old woman said rather apologetically, "I couldn't tell you 'bout no
sho' 'nuff hard times. Atter de War I wukked hard, but I ain't never had no hard times".

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