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Transcript on deposit at The Southern Historical Collection, The Louis Round Wilson Library
Citation of this interview should be as follows:
“Interview H-0077, in
the Southern Oral History Program Collection #4007,
Southern Historical
Collection, The Wilson Library,
University of North Carolina at Chapel
Hill”
Carrie Lee Gerringer was born in Greensboro, North Carolina, around 1909. She focuses primarily on what it was like to raise a family and work in the textile industry in Bynum, North Carolina. Gerringer recalls spending more time at household chores than at play during her childhood. She left school at the age of fourteen to begin working in the textile mills—an occupation she kept for more than fifty years—and married at the age of sixteen. She and her husband had six children, one of whom died from leukemia as a child. She discusses at length how it was often difficult for her family to make ends meet: she and her husband juggled shifts in the textile industry so that they would not have to hire extra help with the children, and her husband often took on extra work painting houses. Gerringer offers vivid portraits of working in textile plants.
Carrie Lee Gerringer describes what it was like to work in the textile mills in Bynum, North Carolina, from the 1920s into the post-World War II years. She discusses growing up in a working class family, focusing especially on balancing family and work. Married at sixteen, Gerringer worked in the textile mills throughout her adult life, struggling to make ends meet while raising six children.
[START OF TAPE 1, SIDE A]
Where was your family originally from, Mrs. Gerringer?
Burlington. We moved here in September when I was seventeen years old.
So that was fifty-four years ago.
1923 or '4. Somewhere along in there. I was married in '25, I think.
What made your family move to Bynum?
Just because it was a better job here
Did your parents work in the mill?
Yes, my mother did. My mother and father parted when I was just little, and she married again, and her and her second husband went to work down here when we come here that September.
So she had married already before she moved here?
Yes, for the last time.
When you lived in Burlington, was she working in a mill there?
Yes, the Glen Raven, about halfway between Burlington and Elon College,
built a big cotton mill. I think the Gants owned it
How about your grandparents? Do you remember them at all?
Oh, yes, I remember them good. My grandmother, Mama's mother, died when I was fourteen years old, and my granddaddy lived to be ninety-eight. He died about thirty years ago, I guess.
Did your grandparents come from Burlington, also?
In a way. I was born in Greensboro, and they moved to Burlington when I was about ten years old. And from then on we stayed there till I moved here.
Where was your family originally from?
Well, I don't know. I think Mama said that my daddy come from Spencer, North Carolina, if you know where that's at. I don't. He's been dead for years and years. He was dead seven or eight years before I ever knowed he was dead.
Did you ever know your father?
Yes, because he came to see me when my last child was born. He would be about thirty-six if he'd lived. He's dead. He died when he was sixteen years old.
That's your son?
Yes. Of leukemia. And that's the last time I ever saw him [her father]. Mama was already married again when I seen him. She's been married to her last husband, I reckon, for forty-five years, maybe.
How old were you when your parents left each other?
Well, I've got two brothers. One was two years older than I am—he's dead—and our youngest brother is sixty-eight years old, or will be the twenty-fifth of September. And I was, I imagine, about three and a half or four years old when they parted. He was just a little boy about a year and a half old when they parted.
So you really didn't know your father when you were growing up?
No, I didn't.
You worked at Glen Raven?
Yes. I went there when I was fourteen years old. We worked five days and
a half, ten hours, and just made five dollars and a half a week.
What did you do with the money that you earned?
Mama would take it all but fifty cents.
She left you fifty cents?
Yes.
That was quite a lot, though, then.
Well, it amounted to right small. We felt like it wasn't right, but we didn't say nothing; we knowed better. You know children back then; they didn't argue with their parents like they do now.
What if you needed something, would your mother get you . . .
Oh, yes, she would get it for us if she could. But she had three young'uns to raise.
But we stayed with Grandma Hill and Granddaddy Hill till she died; she died when I was fourteen. And then Mama just left my granddaddy, and he went with another. . . . He had ten children, seven girls and three boys. And all of them's dead; ain't a one of them living.
These are all your mother's brothers and sisters.
They're every one dead. She was the youngest one living, and she was
ninety-two when she died. About that big around; I bet she didn't weigh
Did your father work in a mill?
I don't know what he done. He told us he worked on the railroad, a brakeman or something like that. That's all I know, just what he said.
How old were you when your mother remarried?
I think they married in June, and we moved here in September. I was seventeen, I reckon. Sixteen or seventeen, something like that. I think I was seventeen, though, because we moved here in September, and I was married in January.
How about your stepfather? Was he working in the mill, also?
Yes. He was in the Army just before they got married. You know, World War II[I?], I think it was. He was younger than my mother. I believe the paper said seventy-two—but I thought he was older than that—which I didn't know, and I don't think he did, because his grandma raised him, and I don't think she kept up with much. But he was a good stepdaddy. He was always good to us.
So they met in Burlington?
Yes.
How did they move to Bynum?
I don't even know. I don't know whether they was out of a job; it just seems like a dream. But we had some friends here, the Snyders. You know Ollie Stamper over yonder, Juanita Cooper that married Kenneth Cooper?
I've heard of them, I think.
They moved here first, and we knowed them before they moved
Were they also from Burlington?
Yes. They moved over yonder where Florence Cooper lives, and we boarded
with them till that house right up there got empty, and then we moved in
it.
Do you know whether your mother and your stepfather had jobs here already before they moved here?
I don't even know. They had a job when they moved, but when they come to see about the job I don't think they had none. But they give them one, and then we moved. Mr. Manly Durham was the bossman down there. He's dead.
So they both left jobs in Burlington to come to Bynum?
I told you I don't know whether they was out of a job or what, but I
think we visited, and some way or another. . . . Mrs. Snyder's oldest
boy—he's dead now—was the winding room boss down here, and I went to
work for him. And Mama went to work in the spinning room, and my
stepdaddy wrapping yarn out there in the yarn place. But that's about
all I
Did people do that a lot? Did they move around from place to place?
Oh, yes, always have. But they don't do it too bad here
Oh, a young fellow?
Well, he don't look too young
How do you feel about that, people moving into the village?
I don't care. I like friends. New ones sometimes are better than old. And sometimes old ones are the best; you don't know which.
So you went to work at fourteen. What were you doing in Glen Raven?
Spinning. I started off learning to spin. But when we come here, I went to winding.
How did you learn to spin? Did they give you the job first and teach you?
I reckon Mama got it for me. I don't even remember.
When you say you were supposed to weigh ninety pounds
To get a job. That had to go on your record.
Oh, really. So they let you work in spite of that.
Yes.
Oh, no.
That's right. To look at me now you wouldn't believe it, but it was so. There comes one of my daughters. I've got five.
You've got five children?
Six. Well, the one's dead. He lived to be sixteen years old. I had five girls and one boy.
Well, if you went to work at fourteen, that was really young. Did you have to leave school to do that?
Yes. But I was always good with books. I was pretty well on up there. I
was in the tenth grade. Didn't have but three little rooms, where I went
to school. And the principal was my teacher. And when the other teacher
was out, they'd put me
[INTERRUPTION: DAUGHTER IRENE ENTERS]
Well, I can't introduce you, because I don't know him, but this is my
daughter, Irene Perry. He's getting a history of our life.
No comment.
We were talking about when your mother went to work in Burlington.
The Glen Raven Mill, when I was fourteen. My husband went to work when he was eleven years old.
Was he from Bynum?
He was from Gibsonville.
How did you and your husband meet?
Well, he left up there and come down here. His brother was already here
working, and so he got him a job down here, and so he
What happened when you went to work? Did you go to school any more after you started working?
No. I was always good in my books, and I skipped a grade or two, and
How did your parents feel about that? Did they want you to go to school?
They didn't care. I think education wasn't as important as it is now. If it was, I didn't understand it or know about it.
How did you feel about it?
I didn't care. It didn't matter to me. I liked to go to school, but I
knowed there had to be a living made. I had that much sense, so it
didn't matter to me. I knowed I had enough to get by. There's an old
saying, "There's more educated people walking the streets than there is
ham(?) and
Really.
Now you can believe that or not. Them educated ones, they think they're too good to take just an ordinary job, you know, like I would do. And anybody that ain't got too much education has got sense enough to know he's going to have to take something.
Education doesn't always give you sense, does it?
No. I got all I need.
Okay.
How did you happen to go to work in the winding room when you came to Bynum?
Clayton Snyder was the bossman down there. That's Mrs. [unclear]
You worked as a winder all that time?
Yes.
Oh, you can. You used to could a-winding, but they'll stop off now about twice a day for them to go out and get them a sandwich or a drink out there. They have little old vending machine things out there.
What about the winding machines? Could you just leave them?
You could when they was the old winders, but after they put these new
ones in, you have to stop them
So the winding machines when you first started working . . .
Those old ones, down in that old basement down at the mill
[INTERRUPTION]
When did the new winding machines come in? Do you remember that?
I think it was about 1960 when they put them in, '59 or '60.
To go back to Burlington, do you remember anything in particular from your childhood? What sort of games did you play as a child?
I didn't play no games. My mama'd look at me, and I'd set down. Nor my
brothers either. We didn't play much.
Did they make you work in the home?
Oh, yes. I done most of the cooking. I'd stand in a chair and make up bread and cook.
How young were you when you started cooking?
Oh, about eight or nine years old.
You really started working early.
Oh, yes. Every one of us had our jobs to do. And me and them two boys
would stay at the house until we went to work. My oldest brother went to
work first. He was fourteen. And I went when I was fourteen, and the
next one went when he was fourteen.
Did you cook all of the meals for your family?
Oh, not all of them. I just helped and cooked. . . . See, they worked ten
hours a day, and they let them off an hour to come to dinner. I'd have
to have dinner on the table. And for supper, if there was anything left,
we used that, or fixed a little something else. Sometimes I'd do it, and
sometimes Mama would. She'd be mad if I didn't, though. And
Did your whole family get together for meals?
Yes. Just me and her and them two boys. That's all the family we had after Grandma Hill died. We was all living together then, which I had to do more then, in a way, than I did when we went out to ourself. Because Grandma was old, and she'd set around and tell me what to do.
Was she able to help with the chores?
Yes, she helped some when she was able. But they always had cows and hogs and chickens and all that to mess with.
Is this while you were living in Burlington?
Yes. Up there at Glen Raven. It's about two miles on the other side of
Burlington, about halfway between there and Elon College.
And you kept cows?
My granddaddy did. He kept anything that would make a living. He was one
of them sharp ones.
What did your granddaddy do?
He didn't do nothing. He worked out there in the dye room a long time till he retired. He raised everything we'd eat, just about.
Do you know what his father did?
No, I don't know nothing about that. I know he had a brother, but he's
dead, too. Grandfather used to tell his brother had twenty-two
Four sets of twins. My gosh.
They had to run away to get married. And he said, you know, there used to
be these old stiles in pastures? Said she was too little, she couldn't
get over it, so he just picked her up and throwed her over.
Do you remember any other stories
No, not many. He was an old banjo picker. He'd get him a drink, and he'd pick that banjo and go around where they'd have these here dances or something, old-timey barn dances and such as that. He played.
I'm really interested in that. Did he play with a bunch of people?
Yes. I think there was four or five of them, but I don't even know. It's been so long ago.
Was there anyone else in your family that was musical? Did anybody else in your family play an instrument?
No, only Mama's sister married a man. I don't know whether he was a music
teacher or what he was, but he had ten children, too, and every one of
them could sing, and he played the piano and the cornet, and one of the
boys played a guitar. They really had a time. I remember him trying to
make me learn, and if I'd had any sense I would have, but I didn't want
to set down that long. I'll set down.
Or they can look at me and I'll set down, whichever way you want to
look.
So your parents were pretty strict with you.
Yes, they always were. My husband was the only man I ever went with, and
I don't know whether she knowed it or not. I wouldn't say we had a date;
I'd just say we talked.
Was it a surprise to your parents when you told them you were going to get married?
No. I don't know. They might have, but she didn't say much about it. She signed for me to get married; she had to.
What did you do on your dates? What did people do around here?
We went to the neighbors' house. I walked over to the Snyders' a time or
two after we moved over here, and I'd meet him over there. But I
couldn't let him walk me home, because I knowed she'd find it out. And
now, by the time they're ten years old, they're trying to court.
How about your children? Were you strict with them?
Pretty much, but not that strict. I understood a lot of it. I don't know whether Mama did or not. They was brought up like that, you know, to be so strict with them.
How did you feel about the way that you . . .
Then I don't think I thought too much about it. But after I got married
myself and had children and they got grown, I figured if you could trust
them, maybe they'd do better or something. I wasn't as strict as Mama
was, noways. By the time they was old enough, they
The one up in Chapel Hill?
She ain't at Chapel Hill anymore. She's moved to Siler City.
Why were people so strict back then?
I'll be damned if I know. I ain't never understood it. And they didn't
never set down and talk with their children like they do now. Now me and
my girls, when we get together, we just have a good time, talking and
laughing, but I hardly remember Mama ever laughing.
Really?
With us. No.
What did you talk about when you were having meals together
Probably nothing. Not much. Yes, we had to be quiet, or you got up and left the table. You didn't get nothing else to eat, either, till the next meal.
What did you do if you had a problem or there was something that you wanted to talk about?
Kept it to yourself. I never asked Mama much, because I figured she
didn't know much more than I did. Not as much, I don't reckon, because I
don't think she. . . . Which Mama could read and write, and nobody
couldn't fool her, hardly, about math. She could squeeze a dollar till
it hollered like a ten-dollar bill.
You'd go to your stepfather?
Yes.
Was he as strict as your mother?
No, he wasn't strict. He didn't try to make us do nothing. He just told her that it was up to her; it was her young'uns. But he was always good to us. If we wanted anything or needed anything, if he had it he'd give it. I don't know what made Mama like that. Which I've thought about a lot. I didn't pay no attention to it, because I just thought it was a way of life. But now, I've thought about it lots. I don't know whether something happened that made her like that.
Did she treat you differently than other people? I mean, were other people this strict?
She was always ill
She was ill?
Pretty ill. And where she lived, there was people as close as these houses right here, and she didn't even know their names, and lived there fifty years or more.
Really? Up in Burlington?
Yes. I don't know what made my mother like that. If somebody'd go across her yard that lived in the next house, she'd say, "Who was that?" I'd say, "That's Mrs. Sykes."
[END OF TAPE 1, SIDE A]
[START OF TAPE 1, SIDE B]
But they never did say what was wrong. [unclear]
Intestinal blockage.
Yes, some kind of blockage, and they undone that, and she never did get over it.
How long was she sick?
Not long. I'd say four or five months.
Did she have any problem when you were a child?
No, not that I know of. She was always in pretty good health. She was little, but she was always in good health.
Did you have friends among the other children in Burlington?
Not much. No. We'd set around and read. The woman lived next door one time asked Mama, "Don't you get tired of these three young'uns setting here reading all the time?" She said, "Well, when they're setting there reading, I know where they're at." So that was her answer.
Did you read because you wanted to?
Oh, yes, I love reading. I read now all the time. Read everything I can get a-hold of. I say I reckon I was lucky to be seventy-one and could read and do my own work. I'm lucky. At least I think I am.
Oh, I love to read. One of my neighbors up there said it's a wonder I had
any eyes; that's all I done, is set and read. I thought, well, when I
was reading I wouldn't bother nobody. I might be stretching my eyes,
but. . . .
So you had three dates with your husband before you married. Is that unusual?
I reckon it could have been. I don't know. I didn't know to think about it then.
Why did you decide to get married?
I don't know, hardly. He went back to Gibsonville from here, and we went
up to my aunt's. My granddaddy was sick; that's where he died. And he
come out there. I'd just been with him once or tweice here. And he come
down there one Saturday. He said, "Don't go back to Bynum." I said,
"Well, I have to. I've got to work." He said, "Well, let's get married
that Saturday, and then you won't have to go back."
So you got married and you went up to Gibsonville, and did you stay out in Gibsonville?
Yes, I had two children while I was there. Stayed there about a year and a half, two years.
What did your husband do?
He was a doffer, a good one. He doffed in the cotton mill down here.
He was a good one?
Yes. He was the best one they ever had down there, I reckon. Said he was; I don't know.
What makes a good doffer?
Just being fast. You have to be fast with your hands.
You have to get the bobbins right . . .
Off and put an empty one on. And he could really that thing. Well, he started when he was eleven years old a-doffing, and he doffed all of his life.
How about his parents? Was his family all from Gibsonville?
Well, Whitsett, just a little bit out in I call it the country from Gibsonville. But I guess he always said he was from Gibsonville, so that's the way it was. That's where he worked, out there in a mill. Do you know Dr. Westmoreland over here? We used to live on his daddy's place. About forty-two or three years ago, we lived there about eight months.
Was that when you first came back to Bynum?
No. We come back here two or three times; we'd go back up there, and we'd come down here and go back up there. I couldn't tell you the different times.
Really? How come?
I don't know.
Would he get tired of where he was working?
I think he'd go back up there where his people is, and he'd get it in his
mind he wanted to go back, and we'd go back. And by the time we stayed
up there a month or two, we'd come back here and stay
How was he able to get a job?
If you're a good hand, you can get a job. Man, you can get a job anywhere.
You mean, he would just walk in and say, "Well, I'm back"?
Half the time, he'd just come down here visiting, and the bossman seen
him. He'd say, "You calling in Monday?" Bill said, "Yes, I'll be right
there."
Did you live with your relatives when you moved?
No, we moved back here in one of these houses. We've lived in every house
around here.
Really?
Yes. We lived in that house three times, right there. I lived there first
before I was married, and two times after that, and that one up there, I
lived in it two times, and the one they tore down, two or three times,
and that one over yonder on the corner, and that one that burnt down up
here, and the one up yonder where [unclear]
And how did that work? He would go in to the boss and say, "Well, I'm coming in. Do you have a place . . .
Half the time, he didn't ask; they just asked him. If they
So you were working, too?
Yes. I'd stay home long enough to have a young'un, and by the time he was six weeks old, I was back at work.
How did your husband feel about that?
He didn't care.
He wanted you to work?
He didn't care whether I worked or not. He said I could do as I wanted
to.
How did you arrange that with the mill?
They didn't care. They'd let us do any way, but good.
You just went down and said, "I want to work the second shift," and they said. . . .
Yes. They'd let you do whatever you could to get to work. But we was real lucky.
Was your husband a good housekeeper?
Yes, Lord, he was a better housekeeper than me. I didn't
Wow.
They all know what to do, I tell you that.
Did you want to work?
Oh, yes, I'd rather be at work than be at the house, anytime. But I've
thought about it lots of times, if I hadn't had no children, I wonder if
I'd have wanted to work. I've thought about it, you know. You know,
sometimes you can't understand what your reasoning was. But when they
was little and growing up, I'd rather be at the mill, somehow
Did people have a lot of children then?
Oh, yes, there was more children than you could shake a stick at then. Now there ain't many of them.
Did people just have children as a matter of course?
Yes. Nearly everybody around here had about as many as I did. There was a
few didn't ever have none, but they made out like they couldn't have
them, so, I don't know what their excuse was.
Was there birth control?
Not as I know of. I didn't know anything about it if there was. If I had, I probably would have used it myself. Not that I don't love my children, but just so many, and I think it's better to have one or two that you can keep going and do the best you can by them, than have so many. But we was lucky; they always had plenty to eat and things to wear.
Did other women in town or did your mother tell you about . . .
Children?
About children and how she carried them?
You had to just learn it on your own.
Just learn
Would people talk about that sort sort of thing?
Not much. I think they was about as dumb as I was, a whole lot of them.
When you were going to have a child, did you have it in your own home?
I had all six of mine at home.
Really?
Yes, sir. And like to died with every one of them. And now they've got to
go to the hospital and have everything. I never seen a doctor with nary
a one of them till I got ready to have them. And you know, now they've
got to go every week or two. That's the way my daughters was, you know.
I said, "Well, by golly, I never went with nary a one of them, and
you're still here and I'm still here."
You mean you only saw the doctor when you were having the baby?
Well, I'd see him about two or three weeks. . . . Well, I wouldn't see him; Pa, my husband, would go tell him that we
wanted him.
Really.
That I was looking, and he would say okay. Old Doctor Walker. Boy, he was
something.
I've heard that some of the women in Bynum used to come and help deliver the babies.
They'd call in a neighbor to be there with the doctor, you know. I've been at several here.
Did you have a woman come in to help you?
My husband and the doctor. That's all. When the baby'd be born, after it was born they'd wrap him up, you know. Then they'd go to the next house and give him to the neighbor, and she'd clean him up, fix him.
Really.
She
What did people do when they got sick? Did they call a doctor if they got sick?
Well, they had to be mighty sick if they did.
What would they do? Would they doctor themselves?
Yes. I'd doctor my young'uns. All I could. If I seen I couldn't get them
better, I'd finally get somebody
How did you learn to do that?
Well, I don't know. I reckon it just comes natural to women.
Did you use any home remedies?
Oh, yes, anything that would come along.
What sort of things?
One of my daughters, the third one, she had the measles and pneumonia, and the doctor checked her. He's dead now; he used to live at Pittsboro. He come over here several times. I lived up yonder at that corner where they tore that house down. And he said she wouldn't live through the night. But me and Mrs. Ida Smith and Louise Durham—she's dead now—got to putting. . . . They come and spent the night with me, and we set there all night long and put tar jackets with Vicks pneumonia salve and everything. We put it all on the little old jackets we had made with Vicks, and we just kept putting them on and putting them on and keeping her warm, and doggone if she didn't come out of there. She got to vomiting, and she'd vomit up things that long, just like it come out of a boil. But she got to getting better after she let them out. He said she wouldn't live through the night, but she's still here. She's forty-nine years old, be fifty in September.
I've heard of Ida Smith.
Yes, Lord, she was a good old woman. She knowed more about young'uns than
any doctor. She sure was good. If any of mine got really sick around
here, I'd get her, as long as she lived. Me and her and [unclear]
How come Ida Smith knew so much about it?
Lord, I don't know where she got it. She never did have but two children. I don't know how come. I never did see her oldest boy. He never did stay around here. Somebody said that they didn't come around much. I don't know what was the matter. But she was good with the young'uns. Where she'd learned it, I don't know.
How about the money that you and your husband made in the mill? Did you and your husband decide together how you were going to spend your money?
Yes. He generally let me do most of the paying bills and such as that. He didn't like to mess with it. He'd just take so much and give me the rest of his'n, and I'd take mine, and put it together and pay bills.
Were you able to save any money?
No. Not much. Once in a while we'd have a little bit. But we had all them
young'uns, and they'd get married and leave their husband and come back
with two or three young'uns. We had as high as thirteen here at one
time. It took everything we could break and scrape to feed them. And
they'd finally get married again and take them away, and the first thing
I know, here come another one with three or four.
Did you have a car?
No, we never have had a car. No, that's one thing we never put no money into.
How did you get around?
Well, we got there. When we got ready to go, the neighbors or my
children, their husbands had cars. My oldest daughter lives right over
yonder. They've got a truck and a car and . . . one of the expensive
trucks, you know.
You moved to Bynum in the 1920's. Was there electricity where you lived back then?
Yes, they had electricity up here. But I can remember when I didn't have it. When I was living at the Westmoreland place, we didn't have no electricity, and no water in the house. We had to tote it from up there at Mr. John's.
Were you working at the mill when you were living . . .
No, I wasn't working then. I was pregnant.
That's enough work
Yes, I was pregnant with my fourth girl.
Was your husband working in the mill then?
Yes, he was working at Gibsonville then. And he'd work for Mr. John. They farmed, and he'd help them out. Anything he could to make a living, especially when I was out and wasn't working, too.
Your husband?
Lord, yes, he'd work two jobs most of the time all his life. And then he
lived to be seventy-three. He sure could work. He
Where did he paint?
He painted every house around here.
Was he painting for the people that lived in the houses or . . .
No, for the company. Mr. John London's.
This is while he . . .
While he worked down here. And sometimes after he come down here, if he
hadn't went to work, he'd go to work for
In the mill, since he was such a good doffer, did people look up to him?
Oh, no, I don't think so.
I've heard of him, but I haven't met him.
He just loved Bill to death. He sent flowers when he died. I don't know
whether he went over there to the funeral home or not. I couldn't say
that. But after he died, I went over there to cash the check that I got
from the insurance. And they didn't want to do it, and I asked John
would he do it. And he said, heck, yes, he'd do it. So
He really took care of people in the mills.
Oh, yes, he loved everybody over here, it seemed like. Well, I reckon there was some of them, maybe, he didn't think as much of as the others, but he thought a lot of his hands, And everybody liked him, because he was good to his hands. John London was a good man.
What sort of things would he do for you?
Oh, anything if he thought you wanted it done. I don't know nothing that's special, but he was just good to the hands. He didn't push them or nothing. He was always friendly with them. A whole lot of bossmen or people that owned the mill don't even know their hands. But he did; he knowed everybody.
How many different mills have you worked in in your life?
I worked in four different mills.
Which of those mills was the best place to work?
Right down here. I'd rather work here than anywhere I was ever at.
Was it because of the way that John London treated you?
Yes, he was good to us. You know, a lot of places you work, they're
always after you or want to get more and get more and get more, but he
wasn't. And Mr. Arthur London, his daddy, he used to walk through the
mill and pat us all on the back. They're all just as good
Do you remember what it was like when you first came and went to work down in the mill here? How did people treat you when you first came?
Fine. They were really friendly. They always have been here.
How about in Burlington?
Well, they was friendly enough, but I don't know, I'd just rather work here than anywhere I ever worked. I worked in Gibsonville a few weeks. I said I'd worked at four mills; I worked in five. I worked at Siler City about eight weeks, and I couldn't stand that. The hardest job I ever had.
Really? Why?
I was a-winding down there, but they was old, way-back-yonder winders when I was down there. My youngest would have been thirty-eight if he'd lived, and he was old enough to go to school. It was about thirty-one or -two years ago. But that was an awful job.
How come?
I don't know. You know, winders use knotters to tie knots. And the last
hands they put in there, they'd put the sorriest knotters they had for
them. And half the time they wouldn't tie; you'd have to stop and do it
with your fingers, and you never could get nothing a-going. You know,
getting them ahead. I was on the third shift. And the first and second
shift had their own knotters. Down here, all three shifts used the same
knotters. Now I had one that I'd used for the last
You mean your knotter would be used by somebody else?
Yes. I was on the second shift. The one that was on first shift used it,
and I used it, and then the third shift used it. See, we all three used
the same knotter. That's the way it is
[END OF TAPE 1, SIDE B]
[START OF TAPE 2, SIDE A]
. . . were no jobs. You know that house up on that hill up there, the old Carter place it used to be?
On the hill on the other side of
Yes, on the right up there.
Up towards where all the Durhams live?
No. Way across the river yonder. That new house is built up there. We moved there, and it was an old house, and me and him, neither one didn't have a job, and all them six young'uns. And he said, "Well, here we are. We got plenty to eat." And we paid our rent for six months; it wasn't but five dollars a month then. And he said, "Well, we've got a place to stay and plenty to eat." I said, "Yes."
How did you have plenty to eat if you didn't have a job?
Well, you see, we just moved. We got our money out of the mills. See, we
had two weeks behind, so we got about three
Across the river?
Yes, up on the hill, the old house sitting up there.
Up towards where Mr. Hearn lives, up that way?
No, on your right. You know, this little cinder block house sits down
there? Well, right up there is another house sits up there. We walked on
up there, and me and her was setting on the porch, and here come Clyde
Rigsbee
I couldn't stand him nohow. I was so glad I got the second and didn't
have to work for him.
I'm confused here. Are you saying that the supervisors of the different shifts were the ones who decided who went to work on their shifts?
Yes.
So it wasn't John London who decided whether or not you got a job?
They might have talked to him. Now I don't know about that. You know,
before they come after me. But they'd decide about who they wanted to
take, I think. I don't know if they still do
And you'd rather work for . . .
Clyde than Will Tripp. Don't put that on, or he'll kill me.
Why is that?
Clyde's just better to you. He's good natured. But I went back in that
day and had to work like a dog. I said, "I thought you wasn't going to
work me hard, you said." He said, "Well, I'm sorry. One of them got off
sick, and it left a bunch of bobbins to wind." I said, "Well, it don't
make no difference. I've got to stay down here till eleven o'clock
anyway."
Was that right after you left Siler City?
Yes. I left there on Saturday and went to work Monday. And Bill did, too. He got a job painting with Grady Campbell over here. That was in the summertime, but when fall come. . . . What's-his-name. I don't know who was down there then. I've forgot; it's been so long ago. But he give Bill a job back a-doffing. He said he was lucky, because it was so bad to be out in the cold in the wintertime, you know, painting. It'd be on the outside. But about five or six grand children were there, and one or two of my daughters had come back, and he went and got to painting four or five hours every morning and working down there in the evening. He done that till he retired. And I did, too.
So you had been able to save some money at Siler City?
We just got a little ahead, you know, what was left when we got our checks. Shoot, no, we ain't never saved nothing.
So in the mill there was a spinning room . . .
And a winding room.
When that happened, did they pay you for the . . .
No. Well, you didn't make but fifteen dollars a week. That's all you made when I first went to work down there.
Wow.
And if you lost any of it, you didn't get that much.
Did you want the mill to run all the time?
Yes, I wanted to work. Because fifteen dollars don't go far. He was making fifteen, and me fifteen; that was thirty dollars a week for me and him and them children. But back then you could take five dollars and buy as much as you can for fifty now. We didn't ever go hungry; we had plenty to eat.
Was there any difference between working in, say, the spinning room or the winding room? Was one job considered better than the other?
Well, you get a little more pay now in the spinning room down there, in the spinning part. I don't know how much they get; they're raised every once in a while. But I think most of the spinners make four-something. I don't know. It's three-something, I think, in the winding room.
How about back when you started? Were spinners making more?
They was making fifteen dollars a week, just like we was. And every job
in there, I think. I don't think there was much difference in any of
them when we first moved here. But after that one was born that was in
here, I think they raised and got up to about nineteen or twenty
Did the mill have any sort of pension plan back then?
No, I wish to the Lord they had. But they wouldn't have it.
Didn't people ever try and start anything like that?
I don't think so. I don't know.
Were people ever dissatisfied with . . .
Not as I know of. But, you know, after things got to getting high and people was wanting more, I guess, they might have thought something about it, but I never heared them say nothing about it. They might have. But I didn't think nothing about it. I just took what comed along.
What year was it that you were married in?
'24 or '5. I think I've got my birth certificate in here. I had to take
it up yonder. Let's see when it was. I had to take it up to
Were you married in a church?
No. We went to the courthouse at Graham and got married.
Did your mother come with you when you went?
Yes, she signed for us to get married.
Did your family belong to a church here in Bynum?
No. I think Mama belonged to a Methodist church, so I joined when I was a
young'un. But the church ain't there anymore, so I went
He would have been twenty his birthday.
"
Yes.
"Resident of Glen Raven." And she had to give consent to you, is that right? My goodness.
And his daddy did, too, because he weren't twenty-one.
Oh, you had to be twenty-one back then?
Eighteen for a girl.
And twenty-one for a man?
Yes.
That's really something.
Let's see, 1925. That's. . . .
Was it hard for you during the Depression? You kept on working all the time?
Yes, we always kept a-working. We always had a place to stay and plenty
to eat, so I didn't worry.
Did they have to let people in the mill go during the Depression?
No. During that time, though, they didn't get much work down here. But my
husband would do odd jobs, and he worked over here for [unclear]
See, a lot of the men would just sit around and do nothing, just work for
a few hours
Was the mill still running on water power during the Depression?
Yes, from [unclear]
Do you remember when it switched over to electricity?
No, I really don't know.
In the mill, did people ever play pranks or anything like that?
No. They didn't have time.
I heard one story about filling a foreman's hat full of water.
They might have done something like that, but I didn't pay no attention to them.
Did people ever tell jokes?
Yes, I guess some of them did.
Were they jokes about anything in particular?
No, I don't think so. I tell you, I hate to say it, but I never was a mixer much. I was kind of like my mama. I'm kind of selfish in some ways, I'll admit it. I never was too sociable with other people.
Did you have any close friends here?
Oh, yes, I have plenty of friends and neighbors, but there's
I'm a little bit like that, too.
I'm a little bit like that, too. I reckon it's the way I was raised. I reckon that had a lot to do with it. Because Mama never was sociable. She didn't allow us to be. I think maybe it's just stuck with me a whole lot. I don't need it. I just . . .
Did people in Bynum treat you any differently because you had moved here later?
Oh, no. People here are good. But I never was a visiting person, just
from house to house like a lot of people. Which I'm here, and they all
know it, and they know I can do anything
Some people have talked about working on production. I don't really understand that.
Well, I guess they pay you a certain amount, but they want you to get a certain production to get that amount. I remember when we had to do that.
Did they pay you more if you . . .
Made more than production? Oh, yes.
How did that work?
Well, I don't know. They just figured up. They come and got your yarn off of your winder that you done wound. They'd weigh it, and if you made over production, they'd pay you for that. But if you don't get nothing but production, you just get the minimum wage.
Did people really try and make more?
Oh, yes. Lord, I've made many a dollar over production.
Were there ever competitions between people trying to make more than the other person?
Oh, I guess there was, but we didn't pay no attention to it. I wouldn't
say there was or wasn't—I don't even know—but I have an idea there was.
In their mind or heart they probably did, you know, think about it,
whether they said it or not.
Did how much you were able to produce depend on . . .
Oh, yes, it was according to how much yarn you had, to come from the
spinning room out there. Sometimes you'd have to wait on it, and that
would knock you out an awful lot. But I
Did you ever go to people in the spinning room and complain about . . .
Oh, no, shoot, I wouldn't. If I got a bad bobbin, I wound it and kept my
mouth shut. You just as well do; it don't do no good. I found that out a
long time ago.
How's that?
If you complained, sometime they'd only get worse, you know.
Who did people complain to?
Sometimes they'd complain to the bossman, you know, about them making a
sorry bobbin. They'd want to go home. Back then, you know, when you got
up, you could go home. But you can't do that now. But back then you
could; the doffers could, like my husband. And sometimes they would doff
them, lacked that much of being full, and that would hinder a winder,
because she didn't have but half a bobbin, you see. If he'd let it get
full, it would run and she wouldn't have to do that but just. . . . It
would make two times instead of one, just as well say. And the half a
bobbin didn't fill up your cone as much as a whole bobbin would. So that
was just work over and over and over and over. And at first I have said
a few things about it, but I learnt to just take them and [unclear]
Was this in Bynum that you complained about . . .
Yes. They had a few doffers that if they wanted to go home pretty early,
they would doff them half full. But if you said anything, the next time
they'd give you less, so you just as well keep your mouth shut.
Were any of them known for doing that?
Oh, yes. I've known my husband to do it. I won't take up for him. I know
a lot of times I've said a lot to him about it. I doffed his bobbins a
long, long time. But I've said so much to him, sometimes he'd get
fretty, and he'd just cut them off just because I
Were there any "characters" in the mill? Were there people who were sort of famous for anything?
No, I don't think so.
I guess that's about all. I don't want to take too much of your time here.
Well, I've got to get in there and get my jelly.
Let me just turn this off.
I don't know what avenue it is.
This was up in Burlington?
Yes. Have you ever been to Glen Raven?
I have never been to Glen Raven.
I don't know what street it's on, that new church they built. I joined it when I'd done went to work. I reckon I was fourteen years old. But whether they've still got it or not, I don't know. See, when you join they register it; they put it in a book or something or another, and keep it. But whether they've still got it or not, I don't know. But that's the only time I've ever joined a church.
Do you remember what your mother's father did?
He worked in the dye house up there in Glen Raven Mill, and the rest of the time he farmed. You could just say he was a farmer.
Did your grandmother work for them?
No, she never worked at no public work. She had so many children; she had ten.
How about your father's father?
I don't know nothing about my father's people. And Grandma. . . . Have you got that thing on?
Do you want me to turn it off?
Yes.
Sure.
And then the next mill I worked in was here. We come from Carolina to here.
And you went to work in the winding room?
Yes.
How long were you at Carolina?
Oh, we weren't there long. It might have been eight or ten months, something like that.
And you went to work as a winder in Bynum.
Yes, and then we lived here and went to Siler City, and I worked down there about eight weeks.
As a winder?
Yes, a winder. Lord.
So you had a son that died?
Yes, he died when he was sixteen. He had leukemia.
And was he your youngest son?
Yes. And from then on till I retired—I'd say thirty-eight years, about
that—I've been down here. I've been in this house nineteen
And a lot of things we got broke up like that a-moving. When I come here,
I said, "I'm stopping right now."
I noticed your chest there. That's a beautiful piece.
Yes, it's an old piece.
Does that go back in your family?
No. I've had it about fifty years
Did you have any pieces that were your grandparents'?
No. Well, Mama had that couch over there. She had it for about fifty
years. My stepdad died first. He died about two years before she did.
And then when she died we sold the place, and we just divided the
furniture because we didn't feel like it was worth selling. Well, she
had a whole lot of stuff, but, let's see, I've got an old-timey fan in
yonder, and that [the couch?], and a chair that went with it, but
Thank you very much. I really appreciate your . . .
Law, it don't make no difference to me. I'll get through sometime.
You don't still go down to the mill, do you?
No, I don't think I've been down there since I quit. Because they's so queer down there now, they say. Now I don't know about that.
Did you quit before that new company came in?
No, I worked for them. I don't know when they come here— I can't even remember—but I know I worked for them a long time. They weren't as good to work for as John.
A lot of things must have changed when they came.
Oh, they did, after they put them new winders. You know, they got a bunch of new winders and took the old ones out. And that's where the trouble come in. We all had to learn. I was about sixty years old when they changed down there, and I was only about five years, or six, maybe, on a new one. And they give a lot of trouble, and we'd been used to them old winders and it was hard to get used to them new ones. And boy, they would . . .
[END OF TAPE 2, SIDE A]
[START OF TAPE 2, SIDE B]
Once in a while they'd send and ask me to come work on my day off or
something like that. But I quit that. I said, "I'm
Did the machines really speed up . . .
Oh, yes. Lord, they'd just fly, them last ones they put in there.
What about before then? Did they ever speed them up before then?
No, the old ones done pretty good. They really did. But I reckon if the old winders stayed in there, I'd probably been down there till now. But them new ones, they just went so fast, it just took all you could do to keep up with them. You couldn't keep up with them; ain't nobody keep up with them, but some could do better than others.
Am I right in thinking that they've changed the winding machines three times since you started working?
Yes. And the first they was good, and the second they was good, but the third time, oh, boy! They speeded them things up. They was flying.
The second time, was that the same time the electricity came in?
I don't know for sure. It might have been; I don't know. I can't even remember. Well, they had lights up here on the hill when we come here. I know that. The mill was still on water. But when they changed over, I couldn't tell you. Some of the men might could tell you, you know, that knowed better.
But it was still on water during the Depression?
I think it was. I know lots of times we had to go back to the house.
There weren't nothing to turn it on with.
If it was like now, it must have been awfully hot in the mill then, too.
Well, it was cooler than it is now when they got air conditioning down there. They'd open all them windows back yonder in that new part. It was all windows, which they closed them up now, just stopped them up with brick and this here panelling or something or other. And there ain't no way to see out down there, and no air.
It was actually cooler back then?
Oh, yes. If you opened them windows, that air would come through there,
mmm-mm. Law, when a good breeze would come through, you'd feel it.
Is it dusty?
Oh, it's dusty down there. I reckon it still is; it was when I was down there. You'd just get up against the wall and look back through there, and you could just see the dust.
Did that ever give people problems?
Oh, yes. This lady that lived down here—she was one of my good neighbors—died. And she never smoked nor used tobacco in her life, and her lungs was just beat up.
Who was that?
Ethel Hearne.
Did that happen to a lot of people?
Yes. My daughter's got it bad. She did work out there, but they put her in the card room. It's just as bad. But she says the job's easier on her than the winding. But she said you could see that dust in the card room up there; when she gets home, she can't hardly breathe. She's going to have to do something, I don't know what. All of them smoke but one, our youngest one; she don't smoke. And they've all got a touch of emphysema or something.
Did all your children go to work in the mill?
All of them but the youngest one. She worked around in stores, checking and. . . .
Did they all want to go to work in the mill, or did they have to?
They just wanted to go. See, back then, when my young'uns was little,
they could come down there and stay with me as long as they wanted to,
when they was ten or twelve years old. And that's where they learnt to
wind. They didn't have to learn when they got ready to go to work. They
already knowed how. And they are good winders, every one of them. That
one lives at Norfolk, now she can beat anybody down there. She is
How did you feel? Did you want them to go to work in the mill?
I didn't care if they did or didn't. I just felt like they could use their own choice. I didn't make them.
How about school? Did they all go
Well, they all got their ninth and tenth grade or something like that. They never did finish high school, nary a one of them.
How did you feel about that?
Well, I'd have loved for them to, but they didn't want to, and I wasn't going to make them. Because if you've got to make a young'un do something like that, he ain't going to learn nothing.
So they all stayed in Bynum except for your one daughter that went to Norfolk.
Now Patsy, she's in Texas. She lives in Texas, but she's coming back
here, I think. She called me the other day and said she'd probably be
back here in a week
My goodness. Were they all local fellows?
No, one of them was from Arkansas, and his name was Lonnie White. And one
of them lives in Calif. . . . Her first husband she married when she was
fourteen years old. And she married a soldier. Phillips is his last
name, and everybody called him "Phil." And she had one child by him. And
she married Lonnie White and had one by him. And them's the only two she
had. And then she married. . . . Let's see, who was it she married?
But not all of them were local guys?
No, Lonnie is from Arkansas, and Phil was from California, one from Tennessee. Now the Williams lives at Burlington. They live on the same street that church is on; they live right behind it. But she didn't stay with him. He'd been married about five times. I said, "They is a match." They didn't stay together but about six months, and they parted.
How did she meet all those fellows from Arkansas and California and all those places?
Well, they was soldiers down here at Fort Bragg.
How did she come to move to Texas?
She said she was going out there and get married, but whether she did or
not, I can't tell you. She's just one of them kind, she's never
satisfied. I know she's mine, but where she gets it I don't know. She
just ain't satisfied with none of them she's ever married. And she's
pretty, just as pretty as a doll. I'll say it even if she is mine. But
boy, she's tested 'em all.
Did a lot of the young people in Bynum do that? I mean did a lot
No, I don't think so. I've got one of her pictures here. I'll show it to you. She's dark-skinned, black as a nigger, near about. And long black hair. There she is. That's when her hair was a little bit shorter. She is beautiful.
Uh-huh, beautiful.
And this is that one lives at Norfolk; that's her two children.
Was her husband from Norfolk?
No, she married him here in Bynum. And him and her parted, and she went to Norfolk and he stayed here. And he died up here at Durham.
How did she come to go to Norfolk?
I really don't know. In a way I do. Now that one that was in here a while ago, her and her husband lived there, and she went out there where they was. And she got her a job in a tent factory, and now she's the boss lady. There she is. I told you she was big as a cow. That was at Norfolk. And that's Pat.
Is this a grandson?
No, that's my husband's brother's boy. He got killed in a car wreck.
Oh, dear.
And that's one of his brothers. And this is the boy that died of mine. . . . And these is all my grandchildren. I ain't got but twenty grandchildren and twenty-two great-grandchildren.
Who are these?
That's May and her husband. And this is Irene that was in here a while ago and her baby boy. And this is Polly's boy. And this one and that one's the same one, but she's six years old there and twenty years old here.
You've got some good-looking grandchildren.
Yes, I think so. And that's Polly's two young'uns that lives over here. And that's hers; that's the same one as that one, but it don't look like it.
Do you ever all get together?
Oh, yes, and Lord, you ought to. . . . There's that pretty one. And this
is Patsy's girl; ain't she pretty? And that's
Who are all these old photographs?
That's my stepdaddy when he was a baby. And that's me and my oldest
brother when we was little.
Oh, yeah. That was back in Burlington?
Yes. And this is the little boy that's dead. And that's my grandson, and that's one, and that's one. And that's two of my great-grandchildren right there. And there's me and my husband when we just had one child.
Was that in Bynum?
No, Gibsonville. And this is some of the bunch when we have our dinners. And this is some of them. Ain't that . . .
That's quite a gathering.
That's me, and that's all five of my children and two grandchildren, I
believe it is. And them's great-grandchildren there. And that's Patsy's
daughter, too. And there's Daniele again, the one that lives at Norfolk.
Is he buried here in Bynum?
Mmm-hm, up yonder at Long Spring. And that's me. And this is my granddaughter and her three children. They're at Raleigh. She's pretty; that's Irene's girl, that one that was in here a while ago.
Who is this here?
That's my oldest brother, the one that's dead. And that's three of my
grandchildren, and all of them are, and them two. I mean, I got them.
Goodness. Really.
And that one's my grandchild.
Is that your husband's picture when he was painting?
That's my husband and Mr. [unclear]
Right.
Of course, that's when she was younger. And that's Irene, and that's Irene.
How many of your grandchildren are still around? Did they all stay around Bynum, too?
No. Some of them's in Norfolk; Daniele's two is out there. They work for
her. And Irene's four, one of them's in. . . . Them's Patsy's two. One
of Irene's is at Elon College, and one's in Norfolk, and one's in
Raleigh, and one's in California. The one's in California, she's trying
to get in the movies or something.
Do all your grandchildren stay in pretty close touch?
Yes, we pretty much do. Now this one, I ain't seen her in about six years. She lives in Arizona. That's Mama when she was young, younger than she was when she died. She's about forty-five there. That's a old picture, Lord have mercy. And these two are Patsy's. And that's Patsy.
Some wonderful pictures here.
And that's Jeff, the one that stayed here with me most of the time. And
that's him and his brother. And this is one of them and her husband;
that was right after they was married. She lives down
Well, thank you again.
END OF INTERVIEW