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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-0085-1, in
the Southern Oral History Program Collection #4007,
Southern Historical
Collection, The Wilson Library,
University of North Carolina at Chapel
Hill”
Louise Riggsbee Jones was born in Bynum, North Carolina, in 1897. In the first interview of a two-part series, Jones describes growing up in that cotton mill town during the early twentieth century. Jones's father worked as a cobbler during the day and occasionally worked as a night guard at the local grist mill. He died when Jones was only six years old. Jones, the youngest of six children, describes her close relationship with her mother, who did not remarry after her husband's death. Because several of Jones's older siblings had already begun to work in the mills, the family managed to survive financially. Her mother's garden and livestock supplemented their income. In addition to describing household economy, Jones discusses the role of religion in the community, her experiences in school, her work as a spinner in the cotton mill, and the different ways in which people received medical care in this small mill community.
Louise Riggsbee Jones describes growing up in the cotton mill town of Bynum, North Carolina, during the early twentieth century. She discusses her family and household economy, the role of religion in the community, her experiences in school, her work as a spinner in the cotton mill, and the different ways in which people received medical care in this small mill community.
[START OF TAPE 1, SIDE A]
Let's begin with when and where you were born. Where were you born?
Well, I was born here in that house right out there February 15, 1897.
And did you know your grandparents?
No. I had a grandmother to live that I can remember, but my grandfather on my mother's side died in 1893. That's when my brother next to me was born. And he was dead. And my grandparents on my father's side died long years before then. I don't remember them.
Did your grandmother live with your family?
She lived with my mother's sister. She didn't live with us. We all lived here at Bynum.
So all of your family was at Bynum.
Well, for a while. I had three or four aunts here when I was a little girl, but there was one in Durham, and one of them finally moved to Wilmington. I don't remember seeing her; it's been before I can remember.
Were you close to all of your aunts who were in town? Did you have a lot of cousins to play with and people nearby who were related to you?
Well, they were, most of them, older than I was. But we were close
together. We all loved one another. It's like I said the other day. It
used to be like one big family here, because all of the people were
Do you know when your family first came to Bynum?
No, I don't. I just don't remember that. I mean, I don't remember hearing them say. I went to see my sister in Carrboro yesterday afternoon. Well, she was at her granddaughter's out in the country. And she can't remember—she's ninety-two—and she can't remember much. And I just don't remember hearing them talk that much.
Was your mother born in Bynum? Do you know that?
I don't think so. I'm not sure where she was born. My grandfather moved here with his family, and the grist mill was down yonder the other side of the raise. And he worked in the grist mill. That's what his work was, you know.
Was this your mother's father?
Uh-huh, my mother's father. He's the one that died in '93. And it was his wife that lived till I was a little girl.
I see.
I can remember her some, not much.
Do you think they had lived in the country before they came to Bynum?
Well, I reckon so. Most of the places where these grist mills, you know,
or something like that was then. . . . I just don't remember hearing her
say too much about it. I have heard her tell things, but I couldn't
connect one thing with another, you know, like
But you don't remember them talking about having farmed or having owned a farm or worked a farm?
No, they didn't own a place. Now she had a brother; his name was Madison, they called him Mad.
Your grandmother had a brother?
My mother. And he was older than she was. I do remember hearing her say that she used to go to the fields some with him, you know. He farmed some. They would live out like that, and my grandfather would work in the mill. And it seems to me like it was towards Carthage or somewhere in that community. I just don't remember.
What were your parents' names? What was your mother's name?
Her name was Madlena Williamson.
And what was your father's name?
Elbert Riggsbee. He was raised in the Lystra Community.
In Lystra?
Lystra Community, up between here and Chapel Hill.
And do you know when he came to Bynum?
No, I just don't know what year they moved there. I was going to ask my sister a few questions yesterday, but her daughter where I went thought she was there but she had gone home with her granddaughter yesterday and was going to spend the night last night. But I don't know whether she could have remembered what year they moved here. I don't expect she could now, because her memory is not too good since she got that old.
Were they farming up in the Lystra community?
Yes. He had a home up in there not too far from Lystra Church, and he sold that when he moved down here.
But that was before your parents were married.
Yes, he was living up there when my mother and he married. He had been married before and had one daughter, and her mother died when she was about three months old. And of course my mother raised her. I think she was about three or three and a half years old when she married him. He was a little older than my mother. But we never did know any difference. We were all raised together, you know, and she loved my mother as good as we did. He farmed some, and he was what they called a shoemaker then. He mended shoes, you know, half-soled shoes, we called . . .
A cobbler.
Did he have a place in Bynum where he did that? Did he have a little shop or something?
I think he did. I think he had a little shop down below the mill there
somewhere. I heard my mother say, but I just don't remember much about
it. I know he made shoes for. . . . There was a boy that lived over in
the Pittsboro community, and he was born. . . . Well, they called him
clubfooted; his feet. . . . That's the way he walked, like that, you
know. And my father made shoes for him. You see, you couldn't buy things
then like you can have them made now,
Do you remember ever going to sit near your father while he was doing the work, or anything?
Well, not too much, honey, because, see, I was just six years . . .
You were so little.
. . . then. If I could get ahold of his tacks, I'd drive them in the
chair whenever I could.
He had one chair that he sat in, you know—it was a lower chair than the
others—and I'd get me a tack and I'd drive it in there every time I
could get ahold of one.
Did either of your parents ever work in the mill?
He did. He watched. I don't know whether he done any work inside, but he was night watchman at the mill. I remember hearing her talk about that. And I don't know whether my mother ever worked in a mill or not. I just don't remember that.
Would he have done this at the same time he was making shoes? He would have done it at night?
He would do that just at times when he would have time, you know, wouldn't be busy with something else. It was kind of on the sideline, the work was.
Did you live in the house where you were born for a long time?
I don't know just how long, but I don't think so because I don't remember
living there then, but I have lived
This house right here?
Uh-huh. And she asked us—the family was moving from that house—she said, "You all move down there," and she said, "Madlena will enjoy it so much." It's home more down there than it was up on the hill where we lived, up the street, we call it. And we moved out there, and she lived about three years after we moved down there. She died out there at that house.
How far is it that way? Is it very far, like. . . .
What, the house?
Right.
Right there, the next house to us here.
That house right here, right there, right there; that's the one right there. This one right here.
Oh, this house right next door?
Uh-huh, right there. That's where I was born. And that's where my brother was born, too, next to me.
I see. So that wasn't considered on the hill, on the mill hill.
Yes, it was.
Yes, it was.
These were the first houses down this-a-way, and they kept building up the other way, you know, as they built more houses.
So up the street is just the newer houses.
Yes, but they don't look
But when you were small, they were new.
They were built a good while after these were.
I see. But why would your mother feel more comfortable in that house, just because she'd lived there for a long time?
Yeah, it was home to her, because she lived there a right long time, you know, and that's why my aunt thought she would like it better. When she had to stay in, she could be on the porch and see more of what she'd lived around. But before then, when I was a little girl, we did live up on the hill at a three-room house; that's where my father died when I was about six years old. And then after that, a few years after that we moved out yonder in the next house, right across the street. And she lived there several years. I was a little girl for a good while out there at that house, so down this-a-way has been my home more or less, you know, than living up the other way was.
Why did you move to the three-room house and then to the house next door?
Well, I just don't know their reasons for that. The people would change houses sometimes, and I don't know why they ever lived out there. I don't know, because I just remember living up there in that house. That's the only one I remember living in, because I don't remember living out here. I remember living in that one up there first.
Could you choose the house you wanted to live in?
No, they had to go to the head of the company here and ask for a house.
And they would let them have it if it was convenient
So your family always lived in some sort of mill housing, right? These were mill houses, too?
Yes, it was all mill . . .
I mean, rent was paid through the mill?
Yeah.
Now one time we did. . . . My mother and my brother that hadn't married and one of my sisters, that one that lives at Carrboro, we. . . . Well, I reckon we were living out there then. And one of my mother's sisters lived. . . . You know, you've been over there at Mrs. Durham's.
Mm-hm.
Well, that house was Mr. Carney Bynum's house. And so after his folks, they all died, and my aunt was living over there in part of it, and they had some of their furniture and stuff in the other part. And they removed their stuff out, and she got after my mother to move over there in the other part of the house, so we lived over there in part of that house where Mrs. Durham's living. I was around maybe thirteen years old or fourteen, somewhere along there. I went to school while we lived over there. And you know, I was telling you about the old school building. Well, I had a picture here, and I wanted to show you that. Of course, that won't mean anything in what you're getting down, you can just see the back of it, kind of, how it was down behind the church, and how they had made a new road all back there.
Oh, I'd like to see that.
I'll show it to you in a few minutes.
What I was curious about was, if neither of your parents
My father, I don't know what kind of work, but I imagine he did work in the mill when he first came here. But the last that I remember hearing her talk about, he was night watchman down there.
I see.
But I know he worked in the mill some, because that's the only way we had to make a living here, you see. He sold his home up in the Lystra community when he moved down here. And he worked in the mill—I'm sure he did—but I couldn't tell you what kind of work he done in there.
I see. Okay. What did happen when your father died and if your mother wasn't working in the mill at that time? Did they let you stay on?
Two or three of the older children were working by that time.
I see.
And see, for that reason we had a right to a house all the time.
Okay. What did your father die of, do you know?
No, I don't. He had rheumatism some, but I've heard her speak about it.
He was taken real sick all at once, suffered so with his stomach, the
side, and I've heard her say since then that she believed that he had
appendicitis. They didn't know that there was such a thing as
appendicitis then, you know. She said after she learned about it and
knew how it acted with people, she said she didn't
I see. How many brothers and sisters did you have?
Well, I have three sisters and two brothers.
And you.
My half-sister that I was telling you about, of course we always said she was our sister; well, she was. She and another one and that one at Carrboro. They are all, of course, older. I was the youngest child.
You were the youngest of the six.
Uh-huh, and I had two brothers, the one next to me, and then the one, I think there was a child between him and my brother next to me that died, a little girl. There was children that died when they was small, little girls, babies like.
Infants.
I never did see them.
How much older was your oldest brother or sister? Was a sister the oldest?
Her first child was a boy, and he died. He was I don't know just how old,
but not when he was first born, because I've heard her talk so much
about children having croup, you know, and he died with what they called
the membrous croup. And he didn't live but just a little while after he
took it. And I don't remember just how old he was, but he was just a
baby. He was the oldest one, except my half-sister,
Roy Riggsbee?
Roy Riggsbee.
How old was he when he moved to Carrboro?
Well, I don't know exactly, but he was married and had a family when he moved up there.
Why did he go? Why did he move to Carrboro?
They put up a store, he and a Mr. Hinson there. They put a furniture store. It's there in that name now, I think. It still goes by the name of Riggsbee-Hinson, and I don't know whether Mr. Hinson is still living or not. But my brother and his wife are both dead. They both died at Carrboro.
Do you remember when he made the decision to go away, or were you too small to. . . .
Oh, yes. He stayed here a while after he was married. He worked in the
store. As a child, he loved working around the store, and that's all he
ever did. And here he'd get a wheelbarrow and carry little things out to
people. They'd buy them, you know. And they'd give him just a little
something for him, just when he was big enough to roll a wheelbarrow.
And he kept on, and there was a
What was her first name? Julie?
Miss Julia Lambeth. She never was married.
But she was Lambeth's sister?
Mr. Rufus Lambeth's sister. She was older than Mr. Rufus. But I really did love her. She was good. Well, what I call. . . . Now she had common sense . . .
. . . about things. She taught us common sense, to reason out things, you know. And you know, I don't want to go against the schools now, but I think children need some of that now, don't you?
Mm-hm. Sure.
How to take things and how to see them, what happens and all.
How old were you when she taught you?
Well, I was up maybe around eleven or twelve years old then. I had had
teachers before her. My first teacher. . . . Well, I think it was Miss
Mary Griffin. She's related to the Griffins over there at Pittsboro.
They run the funeral home over there now. And she was a mighty sweet
woman. I loved her. Because I was a child that didn't take up with just
everybody, you know; I stuck to my mother. I just couldn't leave my
mother to go nowhere. I stayed at home and didn't go out to play like I
should with other children. I didn't want to leave my mother. And I was
so afraid of thunderclouds when I was a little girl, and I would watch
the trees, you know, the leaves, in real hot weather, how they'll curl
up together. And I'd think, "Well, I'm afraid there'll be a cloud. I
won't go leave Ma this evening; I'll stay here." And I'd stay at home
around her, you know, so I'd be near her. I felt like if I were near
her, then everything was all right. Now that's the way I felt about my
mother, you know.
Why do you think that was? Why do you think you were so close to your mother?
Well, she was close to her children. She loved us all. But
Do you think it might have been because you were the youngest?
Well, I think maybe, and they all petted me in a way. All of them were good to me, and my brothers and sisters. I think maybe that was it, too, you know.
We were talking about your brother and his work at the Company Store?
He worked with Atwater and Lambeth after Atwater and Lambeth bought the store. He worked with them down there several years. And then he got a job at Durham with Huntley-Stockton Hill, a furniture store up there. And he worked with them.
Were Lambeth and Atwater from Bynum?
Yes, uh-huh, they lived here. Mr. Atwater lived over here on the highway, and Mr. Lambeth lived up further on on the highway, big house up there. I don't know the people that own it now.
Were they young men, Atwater and Lambeth?
They were then. Well, Mr. Rufus Lambeth, he never did marry, but Mr. Atwater was married and had a family. But he wasn't an old man when he was down there in the store. He was Superintendent of the Sunday school here for several years. The first superintendent that I ever remember in the Sunday school was Mr. Carney Bynum, the man that lived over there where Mrs. Durham lives. And then after he got disabled, Mr. Atwater was Superintendent for several years.
How did Mr. Bynum get disabled?
Well, I just don't remember that, because I was a child then. I don't remember.
Was he badly crippled or something?
Well, I don't think so. I don't know. I just can't tell you. I don't remember.
Had he worked in the mill?
No, he never did work in the mill. He owned some land over there, and there were some colored people that lived. . . . They farmed for him. And I really don't know what he did.
But now Mr. Luther Bynum that lived out here in this house right next to us, he was over the mill at first down here.
He was superintendent of the mill?
Well, I don't know what they called it. I just heard him say he was over the mill. I don't know what they called it. But that's how Bynum got its name, I think; this family of Bynums were about the first here, you know. And Mr. Bynum really looked after the place. I've heard my mother speak about it, how he'd go around, you know, and if a little something happened that shouldn't have, he'd go and investigate about it, and tried to keep things in good order here, you know, while he. . . . I don't know who owned the mill, whether he was in it or not, but the J. M. Odell Manufacturing Company is the only one that I ever knowed the name that it went by.
But Mr. Luther Bynum was over the mill when you were a little girl, right?
Yes, before I can remember.
How would he keep it in order, like if there was noise or
Well, the best that I can figure it out, if they didn't live kind of like
they ought to and keep their homes right, I think he would just move
them out. I don't think he would keep them here on the work. Now that's
the way I remember it. I don't know whether that was the exact. . . .
They didn't have as much law around then as they do now, and half the
time the law don't do anything
Do you remember ever seeing him when you were a little girl?
Yes, I remember him. Yes.
Was he a nice man?
Yes, he was a nice man.
I remember when he died. We were going to school down there in that old schoolhouse. He had a son and a daughter. They were both a little older than I was. But I remember. He went to Raleigh or somewhere, and his son went with him; his name was Jeff Bynum. And he was taken sick, I think
[END OF TAPE 1, SIDE A]
[START OF TAPE 1, SIDE B]
and Mary, but Mary's dead now.
What did she do?
Well, I don't know whether she taught school. . . . I don't know what she done after they left here.
Oh, they left here after he died?
Yes. Yes, a while. Mrs. Bynum stayed on a few years. I don't remember how
long, because I was a child. I hadn't been going
We were talking about your brother at the beginning of this, and you said he went to Durham to work for Huntley and Stockton?
Huntley-Stockton Hill, a furniture store up there.
How did he decide to go to Durham?
I think Atwater and Lambeth finally went out of business down here, and the store work is all he had ever done. He didn't work in the mill any down here. My other brother worked in the mill all the time down here, as long as he lived. But Roy didn't, and he went up there. He got a job. I don't know just how. . . . He was already married and had some children then. I don't remember how he come to get the job, who recommended him or what, but he worked up there. And then he moved to Carrboro, and he and Mr. Hinson—I don't know the man—put in the furniture store up there. I think it still goes by the name of Riggsbee-Hinson. I don't know whether it does or not. It did the last time I heard them mention it.
Was your mother real proud of him going into business like that?
She was dead before he went into business for himself.
But she was proud; she was proud of all of her children. We all did right
good. I mean, she had right good children. And I never did get a
whipping.
And she never did whip me. She didn't believe in whipping
Did any of your older brothers and sisters, do you remember them ever being punished for anything?
No, I don't.
I mean, your mother carried that policy out with all her children, right?
Mm-hm, yes, she did.
Not just you, because you were the youngest.
No, with all of them. They obeyed her very good. She lived with her family after my father died, and they obeyed her pretty well. I had right good sisters and brothers; I'm proud of them.
Did anyone ever live with your family other than just your sisters and brothers and your mother and father?
No, I don't think so.
Anyone ever come to stay, or did people take in boarders around?
Well, now, she used to take boarders; I don't remember it. That was, I think, before I was born. It might have been when I was a baby. But she did have some boarders. They'd work in the mill and they boarded with her. She had some mighty good friends. I mean, she thought so much of them, you know. Yes, she had some boarders. I remember hearing her speak about them.
But you don't remember. . . . They weren't there when you were coming up?
No, they weren't there when I was. . . . I can't remember it. I know there was a woman. She was a Harmon. Her people lived over around Pittsboro. Mary Harmon. And she married a Mr. Frank E. Ferrell. And they moved to Florida. And she would come back to see us. She'd always come and see my mother when they'd come back, you know, to North Carolina to visit their people. She'd always come to see my mother.
And she'd stayed with your mother while she was working down here in the mill?
Yes, she boarded with her, you know, while she was working down here.
Was it sort of a general thing, that if you took someone in it was like they were almost made a member of the family?
Yes, you took someone that you liked, a nice person, and they lived just
the same as your family. Now Mr. Henry Abernathy's
Frank Harris did?
Uh-huh. Harris and Burley was the name of the store. And Mr. Frank Ferrell was Louise Harris's daddy. But Mr. Frank was the youngest child in their family. What I was going to tell you, Miss Alice, one of the oldest children of Mr. Walt Ferrell's children, boarded with us a long time. And she was married when we lived out yonder, the second house from here, at our house, she and Mr. Henry Abernathy. And she was almost like a sister to us, you know, because she boarded with us a long time. Her father lived here, and he moved down in the Hanks Chapel community on a farm. He had a home down there. Hanks community. And they had the post office, she and Mr. Ferrell, and when Mr. Ferrell left she just stayed on in the post office, worked in the post office, and she boarded with us for a long, long time.
Now that was when you were older, right?
Yes, I can remember when she boarded. That's the only one that I ever remember much about her boarding.
I see. Did your family go to the church down here, the Methodist Church?
Yes. My father went to the Baptist Church at Lystra—that's a Baptist
church up there—and he went to the Baptist church, but when they moved
down here he went to the Methodist church, too.
. . . when he talked to her about moving to the Baptist Church. She never did move her membership up there. She stayed on down here, you know, and of course my father went to church down here, too, after they moved down here from up there. But I remember hearing her tell that. She said he was so down on her, you know, because she wouldn't move from the Methodist Church to the Baptist Church.
Was this when she and your father were just seeing each other?
First married. And she lived up there in the Lystra community with him when they were first married. There was one or two of my older sisters and brothers, I think, was born up there. But I couldn't tell you how many. I just don't know.
How did the church work? Was there a minister who lived in Bynum when you were a little girl?
Well, just as long ago as I can remember, there has been one here.
There's always been one?
But I tell you, before they built the church here the people here went to Mt. Pleasant; that's up in the country some. And the cemetery was up there, and there's a lot of the people that lived here along then buried up there. My grandfather and grandmother are buried up there, and two or three of my aunts were buried up there.
Do you remember when the church was built here?
No, I don't remember. That's the only church I ever remember going to. They went to church down in the old schoolhouse before the church was built here, but I don't remember that. I just went to this church. I've always been to the church out here.
Was the church ever used except on Sunday?
Well, they used to have prayer meeting on Wednesday night the week a long time ago. It hasn't been so many years that they. . . . But they got to having night work, you know. They just had day work along then. Everybody was off at six o'clock. But after they got to working night shifts and all, you know, services like that kind of cut out. But I remember several of the preachers that have been here. But of course there were some here that I don't remember. I've heard her speak about them, but I can't remember them. They were here before I can remember that time.
Did the ministers come and go on a four-year basis like they do in the Methodist Church?
Yes, most of the time. Now if they didn't like. . . . You know, now
they'll move them. They'll stay two or three years, and if they want to
go somewhere else or the people want another minister, if
Do you ever remember people meeting and deciding to ask a minister to leave or something like that?
No, I don't ever remember that.
Were there groups that met, aside from the Sunday service and the Wednesday night prayer meeting? Like was there a women's group in the church?
Well, they had the Woman's Missionary Society, they called it. I think that was the grown women, you know.
Did your mother belong to that?
Yes, she used to. Then they had for the young people—you know, grown—they had the Epworth League, they called it. And my sisters and brothers that was old enough went to that.
Did you go to that?
No, I wasn't old enough when they had it here.
Did you belong to the Woman's Missionary Society later?
No, I haven't. But I've been to all the other meetings, and we had a class. We finally organized a class, you know, later on in years, the young ladies, the girls and young married women had a class. And they got it divided up like that better, you know, than what it was years before. But I went. Now my aunt that lived down there, she was my Sunday school teacher for years when I was a little girl. And I mean maybe there was seven or eight members of that class, you know, all about the same age, and we were really close together. And we loved our Sunday school and our Sunday school class and our Sunday school teacher and all, always. We loved going to church.
You liked it.
Yes.
You always liked it?
Yes, I always liked going to church.
You mentioned a couple of men who were superintendents of the Sunday school. Was that a big job?
Well, he sat up at the front, and he would tell all the song numbers and
time to go to classes, and he just conducted the Sunday school. Of
course, it was a job. When he could, he tried to use his
That was Roy.
Roy. Well, I believe that your brother Leighton was a little while.
Yes, my brother Leighton was.
His brother Leighton was Superintendent since then, in later years. Well, I haven't been to Sunday school since I had arthritis so bad, because I can't wear shoes and I can't get my clothes on. I can't get ready of a morning to go in time. It's like I'm so slow. But I think that my nephew's son, I believe is Superintendent of the Sunday school out here now. But we used to have it in the afternoon. When I was a child, we had Sunday school in the afternoon and preaching at night. We didn't have a morning service any. But now since they have the preaching and Sunday school all of a morning—they have the Sunday school fist; then it just goes into the preaching service, more or less—the Superintendent don't have quite as much to do as he used to, you know.
Why did you have it in the afternoon and the evening? Do you have any idea? Did people have to do something in the morning?
Well, I don't know. I never did know.
But as long ago as I can remember, we went to Sunday school . . .
In the afternoon.
. . . about three o'clock, I think. And they had preaching at night. And
the preachers that lived here then, they
And do a circuit, like?
Just have one service a month. That's all we had, one preaching service a month, because he was here one Sunday, and he'd have to go to a church another Sunday. It took him so long, you know, to go and come.
So he would stay there like part of the week or something?
No, he would go and come that day. His family would live here at the parsonage, but he would go to these other churches and preach on Sunday and come back.
So that's why the preaching was at night, probably?
It must have been maybe why it was at night here. I just don't know why. I just remember it being one night out of the month here. Well, too, we did have. . . . Now there was Third Sunday. They got to having another, got to having it at night, one night a month, after we got so we could have two. They didn't have quite so many churches. But we had Third Sunday morning, the third Sunday in every month, our preacher here. But that was in later years; that wasn't at first.
Did you see the minister very often during the week? Would
Yes, they'd come around and visit the people. My mother, she was
When was bedtime? What time was it?
Well, I don't know. I imagine it was about nine, or between nine and ten o'clock, along there.
Then people would just go home and go to bed?
Yeah, to get up and go to work.
Did you go visiting like every night, or would you stay home
No, we didn't go every night. We just went now and then, you know.
Like maybe a couple nights a week or . . .
Something like that. I can't remember. I just remember going, you know. I
was always where she was
Where your mother was?
Yes. I was a. . . .
Okay. Oh, one other thing I wanted to ask you was, were the people who were superintendents in the mills and overseers in the mills all real active in the church? Like Mr. Edgar Moore?
Yeah, Mr. Moore was. He taught a Sunday school class for several years
out there. And he's about the only one that I remember
But both of them were real active in the church?
Yes. His wife, well, she didn't teach a class or things like that, but she was a regular member of the Sunday school class and went to church. They were good to go to church, before the church.
Did most of the people who lived up the street here go to the church? Did almost everyone go to the same church?
Well, I don't remember about that, but there was a lot more that went then than goes now, that lived here on the hill. There was a lot more that went. I do remember that.
If people didn't go, when you were younger, if people didn't go to the church here, would they go anywhere else to church?
Well, no, they couldn't very well go, because, you see, you had no way to go then, only in a buggy, horse, or a wagon. And they didn't go away from here to church much.
So would you say most everyone went to church?
Went to church here, you know.
What if they didn't want to go? Did anyone sort of ask them to go or. . . .
Well, yes, they would talk to them, you know, and try to get them to go. They, of course, didn't force them to go, but they would treat them nice and ask them to go.
If they refused to go to church or didn't have anything to do with the church, could they maybe be asked to leave?
Well, I don't think so. I don't remember about that, if there ever was.
You don't remember that happening to anybody.
No, I don't remember.
Were there people who you remember who just didn't go to church?
Well, I couldn't remember them by name and all. I know there were some that didn't.
But there were some who didn't go.
Yes, but I don't remember their names.
I'm just trying to get some idea of how many people went. Like, say, out of twenty-five or thirty families, would twenty of them go?
Well, I don't know, but we had a right good congregation here at church all the time that I remember, after I got old enough to remember going. Of course, I went before I ever got. . . . My mother always carried me to church. She always carried all of us to church. But we had a right good congregation, different classes for different ages, you know. They had the men's class. Well, now, they used to have the men and the women together, but they finally had the men's class and the ladies' class, you know. And then the girls. After I got up about nineteen or twenty, something like that, we had a class of the girls, and if some of them married, they still come to all the classes, the young married ladies. And they had the boys' class and the girls' class of the younger ages.
Why did they decide to separate the men and women?
Well, I just don't know that. I don't know. I reckon they just had so many after there was more got to working here. See, there wasn't but just a few people here to start with, and they built more houses and more people lived here. And of course they grew up, and I reckon that was one reason; they just had to . . .
Okay.
Now Mr. Moore, he was teacher for the men's class for several years down there.
Mr. Edgar Moore?
Uh-huh. Mrs. Durham's brother.
This was the same time he was Superintendent?
Yeah, while he was Superintendent here. And Mrs. Durham was a
I see.
And she was a good teacher. She was a good Christian woman, I'll tell you that, I think.
What would the Sunday school teachers do? Would they like lead the lesson?
Yes, they would study their lesson and talk, be so they could talk. Well, we'd read it—one would read a little, and the other one would read a little—and they'd ask questions on it, and we'd all talk our opinion, you know, of what we thought of the lesson, and questions, you know. That's the way it was then. But some places, you go and they just get up and talk—you don't say anything—but we did. We just talked to the teacher; she talked to us. And she'd ask a question and give her opinion about it, you know, and there'd be questions and answers in the Sunday school books that we'd have. We'd study them, and then if the teacher wanted to ask another question, they'd ask it and we'd give our opinions on it, you know.
I see. Okay. Did people have a lot of different opinions about things, or did most people sort of believe the same thing?
I think most of them kind of believed the same thing, that went to church.
When did you first go to school? How old were you?
Well, I don't know, but I think I was nearly seven years old. I might
have been seven in July before I started in. We used to start about
September, I think, somewhere. But I think I was about
Yes, I do.
Were you upset?
Yes, I was.
What did your mother do?
Well, my brother Roy, older than me, he was so good to me. He looked after me just like he had been my father or mother, one, when I started to school. Now Roy, he wasn't timid like I was. I was scared when I was a child. I was afraid of everything about it. Dogs, and then we used to call them dough-faces; they wouldn't have them only Christmastime, Santa Claus faces and like that. Well, I was scared to death of anything like that.
A dough-face was a Santa Claus face?
Yeah. Yeah. And I . . .
Because of the beard?
I was afraid of Santa Claus.
We'd go to church, and I didn't know who Santa Claus was then, you know. And we'd always, as long ago as I can remember, we'd have a Christmas tree and a Christmas program out here at the church. Well, Santa Claus would be there, dressed like Santa Claus, you know.
Who was it, usually?
Well, it was just some of the men here in the church.
Why were you afraid, do you think?
I don't know. I was just always afraid of things like that. And I remember one time we was going to school down there. And there was a boy here, and he was full of mischief. He was old as my brother or a little older. And it was just his pride to pick at children, you know.
[END OF TAPE 1, SIDE B]
[START OF TAPE 2, SIDE A]
Okay. What do you mean when you say he had a dough-face one time?
They didn't have them only about Christmastime or something like that here. That's the only time I had any Christmas thing, toys or anything, at the store.
But what was a dough-face, exactly?
Well, they'd have just different old scary-looking faces.
Like a mask?
Yeah. Uh-huh. They called them dough-faces, but you put it over your face, you know.
With a big white beard, or something like that.
No, Santa Claus had the beard, but the others didn't. But that was Newton
Garner. He lived over the river, on over yonder, and he was going to
scare me. He knew I was afraid of
How much older was he than you?
Well, he was born in December, 1893, and I was born in July, 1897. About three and a half years' difference. But he really was good to me. I'll never forget him for that.
I'm real curious about these dough-face things. Did kids wear them? Like you know now when kids dress up on Halloween?
Yes, uh-huh.
Was it for Halloween?
Well, I don't remember nothing about it being Halloween that long off. But they'd just have them here maybe at Christmastime, and they'd wear them, just try to scare people or something like that. I don't remember.
Like it was a game.
Yeah. Something like that.
Did you ever wear one?
Noooo.
Did girls ever wear them?
No, I don't think they did; it was mostly the boys.
The boys, like teenage boys or . . .
Yeah, and younger, some of them.
And younger?
But we didn't have Halloween programs then like we do now, you know, dress up the children and go . . .
But that might have been for Halloween, instead of Christmas?
Well, I imagine it was around Christmastime when they'd have them, because we never had nothing here like that that you could buy here. Well, you didn't go somewhere else and shop then, because you had no way to go unless you went in a buggy or a wagon or rode a horse.
So you'd buy everything you needed here.
Yeah, at the store here. There was the Atwater and Lambeth store. Well, there was another store further out there, but I don't remember that. That was the Bynum and Horton store. But I don't remember them selling things, but I do know it was there.
So you finally did go to school.
Yeah, I went to school.
How old were you then?
Well, I don't remember whether I was up maybe. . . . Maybe ten or
something, up there. It was after they done away with this schoolhouse
and built the schoolhouse up yonder, where Frank Harris lives. His
home's on that lot now. Well, Mr. Jerome was really a good, easy kind
How old were you, about fourteen or so?
Well, I was about fourteen or fifteen along then. And I just begged my
Mama to let me quit school and go to work down here. Well, my oldest
brother was at home, and he didn't want me to, and my sister lived over
there; after she married, she lived in the house with us over there at
Mrs. Durham's. Well, they didn't want me to quit school and go to work.
And so my mother went to Mr. Crook and asked him would he let me drop
some of my studies, that I studied so hard and I was sick every evening.
When I'd get home from school I was just sick as I could be with a
headache. And he says, "Well, why do you want her to drop some of her
work?" He says, "She never has come to me without a good lesson." She
says, "Well, that's the trouble." She says, "She studies so hard, and,"
says, "she has the sick headache so bad." Well, he did let me drop two
or three of them. I still kept my spelling, reading, and English and
arithmetic; I
He was a dwarf?
Yes, he was a little dwarf.
Was he from Bynum?
Well, his people lived up in the country, Mt. Pleasant community. But Dr.
Ben Hackney lived here then, and Mr. Norwood was a kin to Dr. Hackney,
and he come here and stayed. They lived over yonder on the other side of
the road. And he went to school up here. Well, he and another girl,
Naomi Sturdevant, they were just about what you'd call a grade ahead of
me. We were not graded then like they grade them now, but they were
having their English class with just them two together. I remember that
mighty well, what Mr. Crook told me. And so I was through with my work
when they went on their class. He said, "Louise," he says, "come up here
and have this class with Naomi and Harry." And, well, the others in my
other classes, you know, that just tickled them, because I was going to
have to go on the grammar class, we called it. And so we were studying—I
remember what part we was a-studying—he had to know the subject, the
predicate, and the part of speech of every word in a sentence,
everything about it. The
Things like that will stay with you longer than anything else, I think,
that help.
Where did most of the teachers come from who taught in Bynum?
Well, now I don't know where Mr. Crook came from. He moved here. He lived up on the hill in one of the houses, the company houses. They let him have a house.
They let him have a house?
Uh-huh. Well, Mr. Jerome, he wasn't married. And I don't remember. He had
some people at Pittsboro. It seems like he had a brother that was a
preacher or his father was a preacher. Anyway, he was a good man. And I
don't know where he stayed. Sometimes they would board with some of the
people, like the Lambeths and Atwaters, you know, like that, they would,
and I really don't know where Mr. Jerome stayed. Well, Miss Julia, she
lived here. Well, Miss Lillie Atwater, she was a teacher, but she was. .
. . We finally had two
You mentioned that when you wanted to go work in the mill, and Mr. Crook said, "Well, why do you want her to drop some courses?" What happened with that? Did you go work in the mill?
No, I didn't. I went on to school. He let me drop just a part of my work, and so I could go on to schooling, and not have to. . . . He said, "She don't never come with a bad lesson." He says, "She always knows her lesson." He told my mother that. He says, "Why do you want her to give up some of the work?" She says, "Well, she studies so hard, and," she says, "she suffers with the headache till we've got to do something about it." And so let me drop, I think it was history and geography.
Okay.
See, there's a lot of reading in that.
So then you finished school and went on. Did you go through all the grades, like you graduated from high school?
Well, we didn't have no graduation in our schools here, and we just went,
most of them did, till they were old enough to quit and go to work. But
I didn't go to work as early as a lot of them did, and I just went on to
school. I don't know what grade I was in—I couldn't tell you—but it was
somewhere around the tenth or something like that, the way they grade
them now, because I was up towards the
Like you said, there were only two people in the class ahead of you, right?
Yeah, I guess that was the class above me. I was next to them.
Did they try to keep people in school? Did the teachers try to . . .
Yes, they did. They tried to get children to go to school, but they were not forced to go then like they are now.
So most of them did go to work in the mill when they were around what, fourteen or fifteen?
Well, used to they would let them go to work about twelve years old, a long time ago.
But when did your brothers and sisters start working?
Well, I don't know. They went to work before I came to
When your father died and your mother was alone, did she get enough money to live from your sisters and brothers working?
Well, yes, but it was mighty close living. She was a good provider, and
she knew how to make it go, but my mother had a hard time because she
wanted to do everything she could for us children, you know. And she did
work. Now when we lived out yonder, the second house from here, see,
there was no houses below us down there then, and that place, well, she
had it kind of cleaned up and had a big garden and a corn patch down
there. She'd have it plowed—somebody would plow it—and she'd work it
herself. I don't know how she lived to be as old as she did, she
Hatch chickens?
. . . hatch chickens, and have frying-size chickens, raise our own fryers. And that's the way we lived at home then, you know. And they didn't have beef at the stores. We didn't have beef or things like that then, like we do now. Now once in a while, maybe somebody that lived kind of out in the country would kill a cow or a calf or something and bring it here. He'd have it cut in big pieces, but he'd bring it in a wagon or something and go around to the hill and sell it. And you'd go out and look at it and tell him how much you want, he'd cut it off for you. And that's the way we got our beef and stuff then. Of course, we raised our own hog. Now my mother, she'd get her a hog in every year and feed it and tend to it herself to have some homemade meat, side meat and ham and shoulder and sausage at home, you know.
Did she make her own sausage and everything?
Yes, yes, we made that.
Did she do a lot of canning of stuff from the garden?
Well, she didn't do as much as people do now. They didn't can as much. Now she dried some stuff that could be dried, you know, and, well, she canned some. But she really worked, and she loved to fish. Oh, she . . .
Loved to fish?
Fish. Yes, she loved to fish. After I got up bigger, you know, and the others, my two sisters were at work and my brother in the mill, and Roy, of course, he was working in the store, well, she would work so hard every morning and cook her dinner. And she was a good cook. We had a-plenty. But she would get through her work, you know, and after dinner go fishing.
And my sister that lived down here, Mrs. Neill, she loved to fish, and Mrs. Abernathy and a Mrs. Murphy that lived here. And they would go fishing.
Where would they fish?
Well, they went across the river some, and they went on down the river to what they called Harkless.
Harkness?
Harkless. I don't know how you spell it; don't ask.
My goodness.
And how in the world she ever got that out with a hook, I don't know.
Oh, she was just thrilled to death over that.
Would she go fishing like two or three times a week or almost every day or . . .
About two or three times. She'd get her ironing. . . . We had a washerwoman, we called them, usually a colored woman, would come home from their homes and wash for us. But she always done her ironing. And she'd get through with her ironing; she'd get through with every bit of her work before she'd go fishing.
[Interruption.]
You were talking about your mother fishing, how she'd get her ironing done and everything before she'd go. And then did she cook a lot of the fish she caught?
Well, sometime, yes. They didn't catch them every day that length. Just
once in a while they'd catch a nice one. But they loved to go; if they
didn't catch a thing in the world, they loved to go fishing just the
same. And they would call it baiting their place. They fished with
cornbread. She'd put the cornbread and make the inside up in little
round balls and put it on the hook. They didn't fish with worms; they
fished with the cornbread bait. And then when they'd have some left,
they'd throw it in where they were fishing. They called it baiting the
place. Well, the fish would learn to come, you know, to get
I see.
Well, mostly the men was at work all then, and of course my mother didn't
have a husband, but the others did and they were at work. I reckon the
men fished some. I don't even remember. I know I was down at Harkless
one time with her, and I was standing over there near a tree and she was
sitting over
Mm-hm.
And that's the way she had to get. . . . She says, "Come here a minute," and I went over nearewr to her, and then she pointed and showed me the snake over there where I'd been standing.
Was she afraid of some of the same things you were? Like was she afraid of thunderstorms and snakes?
No, she wasn't. Because I used to beg her. She'd go out on the porch, maybe, if there was a cloud and it was lightning right much, and she'd stand and look. And I'd just beg her; I'd say, "Mama, please come back in the house." She wasn't afraid of them. She wasn't afraid of things, anyway. That wasn't why I was afraid. She didn't put it into me, as the saying is.
When you finished school, what did you do? Did you go work in the mill then?
You know, the first mill here burnt down, and when they built this new mill back, I went to work when it started. And I learned to wind in there, and so I worked in there till I married. Well, I worked a little while then, and when, Hetty's my oldest child, and then my mother got poorly, and I didn't work any until my. . . . She only lived with us about three years after that.
How old were you when you first went into the mill?
I don't know, but I was around eighteen or nineteen years old. I didn't go in early like a lot of them did. But then after Hetty was born, and then I had another baby right after my mother died. Well, it lived about a year in all. It didn't have much help. It was a sickly child, but it died. Well, I got so. . . . They had two shifts on down there then. When I worked they didn't have but one; we just worked all day. But during that time they had put on another one, and I worked some at nighttime. I wouldn't work all night. They would let me work maybe about six hours or something like that, extra, and when Paul would be at home with Hetty I would go down there and work some, you know, at night to help out. And the Depression came, you know, in 1928 on. Oh, we really had it then.
When you first went into the mill, you said you learned how to wind?
Mm-hm.
Do you remember who taught you how to wind?
Well, yes, Mrs. Ida Hearn. She lives at Carrboro now. She
Who were the other people you were working with? Were most of them young women like you?
Yes. Well, now, Paul's sister, we worked right—I called it an alley—together. My winder was over here, and hers was over here, the sides. And we worked in the same alley together. And there would be somebody along the other side. But most of them. . . . Well, now, there was one young man. He worked on the other side of me. Because he had spooled, we called it, in the old mill, and you tie the knots and all. It's right much like the winding. And then, well, there was one or two maybe older married women, young married women, but most of them was just young girls like, you know, that went to work down there then.
Did most of the women quit when they married?
Well, yes, they quit, and maybe if they had a child or two they'd go back and work some like I did, you know, at night, to help out.
How long had you been working in the mill when you married? What year did you marry?
I married in 1923. And I have forgot whether this mill started in 1916 or '17.
But anyhow, I went to work when this new mill. . . . We call it the new mill now, because the old mill burnt down, and the old mill, it was a wooden building. And the lightning struck it. I never will forget that. Ooh, what a high . . .
Were you in one of these houses right here?
No, I was living up on the hill. And there was a bad thundercloud that
Sunday afternoon, and the lightning and all. But we had opened the door,
and one of the neighbor women, Mrs. Mabel Anderson, and her little boy
had come in to sit with us, you know, during the cloud? And my mother
opened the door, and I was sitting where I could see out the door, and I
could see the tower. It had a kind of a tower. Well, there's a picture
hanging in there on the wall of the old mill. They had steps to go. . .
. Well, they had an elevator, too, but they don't have no steps to go up
and down stairs. But they had two sets of steps out as you went in the
mill, you know, in the tower, then went up. And it struck twice that
Sunday evening in the tower and set it afire. And I looked down there,
and the blaze was just going up, and I said, "Lord have mercy." I said,
"The mill's afire." Well, everybody, by that time, was out. And they
didn't have the water. Well, they had the hose down there, just what
they could use at the mill, you know, but they didn't have the fire
stations like they do now to come in and help. Of course, they knew it
wasn't any good to put it on the mill, because that was wood, and there
was so much oil and cotton and all in there, and that thing just went up
right now. But they did put the water on the cotton house. It was
Everybody came down and started trying to put buckets up?
Yes. Yes, they did.
Ooh.
But they went to work, cleaning off the machinery and all. Now my oldest brother, he worked. He stayed on here; he didn't leave. And he was married. He lived in the house with me and my mother then. I wasn't married. He had one child. But he stayed on here, and he helped work, cleaning out the old machinery, and helped them work when they started putting in the other. So he just stayed on here till they got ready to start the other mill.
Did the men have jobs then, working to rebuild it? Were they paid for rebuilding and cleaning up and everything?
Well, if you had a machine to run, you had to clean that up. That was included with your work, while you was in the mill, you know. But, of course he got paid for going down there and helping, just like he was working in the mill then. He was helping them clean up . . .
After the fire.
. . . after the fire. And getting ready for them to start the new building.
Could any of the women earn money doing that, or were they
No, there were not many of them that could do anything like that. There was some of them like I spoke of then, too, that started winding with us; they both left here and went somewhere else to work.
Went to Carrboro.
And my sister that lives there at Carrboro now, she and her husband left here. They moved to Carrboro and lived there a few years, and then they moved to Mebane and lived there for several years.
When you were first working in the new mill. . . . Well, let me back up for a second. Were people real excited when the mill opened again and real happy, and did you think that it was a beautiful . . .
Oh, yes, they were. It was so much better than it was in the old mill, you know. They were all happy with their work, in a way. But the new ones that got old enough to go to work and learn, they had to come in and learn, you know. A lot of us winders, we didn't know how to wind. Some of them had worked in the mill before, but they didn't have winders in the old mill except just one little frame that they used it for something; I don't remember what. And when they put the winders in. . . . They had what they called a warp mill donw there in the old mill, and you spooled, run the thread on big old spools, they called them. They were round at each end, and that run from the warp mill, in the warp mill, and they baled that up and sold it thataway then. But after they put the winders in, we run the yarn on cones, and they packed the cones in boxes and sold the yarn like that then.
When you started to work, you said you just worked during the day. What time would you start?
We'd go to work six of a morning, work till twelve
[END OF TAPE 2, SIDE A]
[START OF TAPE 2, SIDE B]
Well, I don't know exactly, but I think it was somewhere around a dollar a day. I couldn't say for sure; I just don't remember.
Did everyone make about the same thing? Did the men and women make about the same money?
Well, the men could make. . . . I reckon, maybe, that on the other jobs different, they could make a little more than the women. The women were mostly spinners in the spinning room, and the winding.
Did the winders make more than the spinners, or about the same?
Well, I reckon it was somewhere. . . . I just don't remember, but I think the wages were around the same. We didn't get much then. But we had just as much, in a way, as we have now. And I saved some money while I was at work.
You were able to save some money.
Yes, I saved me some money. And I spent the last of it during the
Depression after we were married. And we had the two children during the
Depression, and Hetty, that girl that comed here, she was in the
hospital. She had mastoid trouble. And she never had been bothered with
the earache, but I always thought she got such a cold. They had the
schoolhouse up yonder, and they couldn't get the fires to going every
morning, and it would be so cold they'd send the children
And I went with her. She stayed ten days up there, and I went and stayed. I didn't come out of that hospital during that time. I stayed right in there with her.
Did they put her to sleep?
Yes. And so I think it was about the second time that they dressed her
head, and the nurse forgot and left a little tray there on the table.
Well, they packed stuff in it, just like what I call gauze tape, you
know, that we sew. It looked just like that. Well, they'd just pull and
pull and pull. Well, I never seen so much. I don't know how in the world
they got so much in her head. And the nurse forgot and left the tray
there one day, on the table. And she saw it. She says, "Mama," she says,
"I believe they operated on me." She says, "You
How old was she?
She was nine years old. And Dr. McPherson, he was head of the hospital,
the older, but he had quit operating. He'd had a nervous breakdown. But
he always went in and stood and watched them, you know. And the first
time they dressed her, he'd come out with the nurse and the other
doctor. And he says, "Well, Hetty"—she didn't groan; she didn't holler;
she was the best thing—he says, "Well, Hetty," he says, "Well, I
declare," he says, "Most of the grown people, when we do what we've done
to you, they holler, but," he says, "you haven't said a word."
Did you have to pay them in cash for the . . .
No, Dr. McPherson told us, he says, "If you will get fifty dollars to pay
for the room and board," he says, "you can pay the doctors then after
your work picks up." He says, "You pay that long as you have it." Well,
now, you think going there and staying ten days and nights, for fifty
dollars. And you can't stay at a hospital now one day for fifty dollars.
Well, we didn't have that money. I had just a little bit that I had
saved, not enough to pay it, but Mr. Carey Durham, hadn't been running
this store very long down here, and Paul went down there to him and told
him, you know, what we needed,
Well, this lady didn't like her sweet milk much, but the little girl that
came and stayed with her grandmother, she liked sweet milk, and she
drank Hetty's and this other lady's. Near about every time she'd be
there at mealtime, she drink the sweet milk.
But they were all so good to us and friendly.
How did you get back and forth? Did you have a car then?
Yes, we had one, but we had a Model T Ford; they were open, you know. But
I just stayed up there. The nurse told me, she says—of course, Hetty was
small, you know, and she was so thin—she says, "Mrs. Jones," she says,
"I'll give you a pillow, and if you can lay on the bed, put your head
towards the foot, if you can lay on the bed with Hetty," she says, "it
won't cost you nothing to stay here." And she gave me a blanket, you
know, to spread over, and that's the way I slept. Well, I had plenty of
room, because Hetty was so little. And so when we got ready to bring her
home, we were living out there in that house, and a neighbor lived
across the street from us, and he had a closed-in car. And he brought
Paul up there that. . . .
Was it real unusual for a child from Bynum to go up to the hospital?
Yes. Yes, it was. It wasn't often that one had to go
Did grownups go very often, either?
Well, I don't think there was too much going to the hospital along then, not that I remember. Not like it is now; every time anybody gets sick, it's go to the hospital now.
Right.
And if they could be treated at home, I think sometimes they'd be better off at home. I'm old-timey.
I wanted to talk to you about your mother's work with sick people. You told us the other day that she spent a lot of time taking care of sick people and . . .
Yes, she did.
. . . visiting sick people and . . .
She did her own housework and all, but she'd go. It was mostly at night,
you know, when she'd go be with a woman. Sometimes
How did they call her or get in touch with her when . . .
They'd just come, you know. It was all here in the hill together. They'd just come after her to come go be with her. And she was with a lot of women around here then.
Would she go when they were beginning to deliver a baby?
Mm-hm.
Would they come get her when they were in labor?
Yeah, when they'd start, they'd come and get her, and she'd stay till it was over with. And she'd carry me the next day when she'd go back to see them, to see the little baby, because I loved babies so much, you know. And she'd put them on a pillow and let me hold them.
No, there was usually a doctor there. Now she did. . . . That little boy that I was talking about thinking so much of us, you know . . .
Yeah.
. . . and I come so near to getting a whipping about I didn't want his
mother to spank him. They moved across over yonder in the country; they
left the hill and moved over there on a farm. Well, she had another
child then after that, and he came over here
Was that the only time you remember that happening, that the doctor didn't make it?
Yes, that's the only time I remember hearing her tell it. They was usually here with her when one would be born.
How did she start taking care of women when they were delivering babies?
Well, I just don't know, because she'd been doing it ever since I could remember.
Had her mother done the same thing?
Well, if she had, I don't know it. But my mother, I know she could just hold up under anything. Now if one got hurt, if one got cut real bad, she'd go and fix it up, you know. They didn't take stitches in everything then like they do now, and she'd go and fix it up for them. I think I told you about the little boy falling in the fire and burning his hands so, and she took care of his hands. They were all right.
With someone who got hurt like that, would the doctor even come?
Well, I don't remember, but unless they were bound and compelled to have the doctor, they'd usually get her to go.
I see.
She could just hold up. I remember hearing her tell one time, when she went to dress that child's hands, his father had him and his mother had him, and they both got sick, you know, and had to give him up. She said she told them, she says, "Well, somebody's got to hold him." She says, "I got to fix his hands." You see, there she was, going through with every bit of it, and they were all getting sick, couldn't stand it.
Did people ever pay her or give her anything for helping?
No. Maybe they'd give her a Christmas present or something after that, but that was all she ever got.
Did she have any special remedies that she would suggest that people take, like would people bring babies to her, maybe, who had the croup? Did she give them something?
Well, no, they wouldn't bring. . . . She treated her own,
What did you call it, again? Membrous?
Membrous. It's membrous croup, or something like that. She had the doctor, but he couldn't do a thing for him. He just died right out; he just couldn't get his breath. But she was always afraid when one had the croup. She would get nervous over that again, more so than anything else, after that.
Did she ever suggest that people take medicine or take . . .
Well, I don't remember, but I imagine she did know things, you know.
Maybe they'd ask her about it. And she had a lot of home remedies that
she would use at home, you know, and oh, I don't know when I. . . . I
was scared to death of a doctor. I was scared of everything when I was a
child.
And I was just scared to death of a doctor. I don't know whether I ever did go to a doctor. I was sick right much when I was a baby. Of course, I didn't remember that. But after then, she just doctored me at home when I got sick. I never did have a doctor.
What would she give you? Do you remember her ever giving you medicine?
Well, nothing, only just cold remedies, and that's about all I'd have.
And maybe in the spring of the year, we'd have the bowel trouble, the
stomach would get upset, you know, and she'd give us a little something,
just a home remedy. I know my aunt that lived down there—I was telling
Hetty the other day—she had bought her some potted meat, this little
canned potted meat? And it was good, now, because I used to, nearly
every spring when I was a child, my stomach would get upset, and Aunt
Hm.
And just remedies and things like that, you know, was what we used then so much.
Did she ever make anything up to give to people, like honey
Well, if she did, I don't remember. She maybe would tell them, you know, what she thought was good, and if they wanted to use it they would.
Do you remember what she'd give you when you had a cold or a sore throat or something?
Well
No. She just went when the women were sick, when they needed her.
Would she ever go be with women except when they were having babies, like if something else was wrong with them?
Well, no, not unless it was absolutely necessary for somebody to go in and help take care of them, she did. It was just mostly when the birth of a child.
Do you remember anything about women needing her, maybe, when they would miscarry a baby or something like that?
No, I don't, because they didn't tell us things like that, you know, like they teach children now. We didn't know. Talking about Santa Claus, well, my sister finally told me who Santa Claus was.
I never did find out. Oh, I was just wrapped up in Santa
And I was that old.
Did that make you feel better?
Well, no, I don't think you enjoy Christmas after that like you did when
you
What did you usually get for Christmas when you were little?
Well, a doll is what I had. I loved dolls. I played dolls more than anything else when I was little.
Did the other little girls do that, too?
Some of them did. Now there was one lived here, Mrs. Moore—Mrs. Flossie Durham was her sister—now she was about the age of my brother. She was a little older than I was, but she loved dolls. And Mr. Bynum's little girl was about her age, too. They were both older than I was. But we played dolls together. Now the stair steps goes up in that old room in there, and under the stair steps there's a little closet. That's the way they used to build old houses, you know. Well, Fleeta, that was the girl's name . . .
What is there under the stairs, a closet?
Just a little closet back in there, you know, where it goes down to where it. . . . But there wasn't room for nothing much. Now I keep my canned fruit in it. It's in there where we have a fire. And I have my boxes of canned stuff. I said fruit; well, it's snap beans and tomatoes and things. It's a good place to keep things like that. But Fleeta had a playhouse, a doll house, we called it, in hers. And Mary Bynum, they had a closet, but it was different from that out at her house, and she had a doll house. And we'd have little, just homemade little furniture, you know. Just beds, and I had a bed; I think my mother made it for me. And just about that long. And we'd have the mother doll, the brother, and the father. And they made little bitty dolls then. And we'd have little, little dolls with long dresses on, the little baby. That's the way we played dolls. And, oh, we had a good time.
How old were you when you quit doing that? Would you have been pretty close to twelve or so?
Well, maybe around ten or something like that before we quit playing dolls.
Did you want to grow up and have babies?
Oh, law, I didn't get grown until I was way past grown. I never did grow up and want to be out with people, you know. I wanted to stay at home.
But did you want to have babies and take care of babies and . . .
Well, I wanted children but I dreaded having them. You know how you
suffered with them. When I married, I dreaded having them, but I wanted
children. I had three. And I enjoy tending to them. Oh,
You said that you weren't taught about sex or anything like that. Do you remember how you first learned where babies came from, or . . .
Well, I think just gradually, as you grow, you learn a little more and a little more. They never did come right out and tell us. Now there were some that were done a little earlier than others, but they didn't tell them like they do now, you know.
Well, did you sort of hook up what your mother was doing, going to help women deliver babies, to know?
No, I thought the doctors brought them.
Oh.
Yeah, they'd tell me the doctor brought so-and-so, give so-and-so, a
baby.
Well, there wasn't, not along then, but now in later years,
Mm-hm.
Her mother was like my mother about going around helping people in their sickness and children, babies especially. She was so good with babies. She come to my house a lot when my baby that died was sick, you know, and helped me with him, tell me what she thought would be good for him and what to rub him with, cold remedies, you know, and things like that. And she was really good.
What was her name, do you remember?
Mrs. Ida Smith.
So she sort of took your mother's place after . . .
In a way. Of course, it was several years after that, but she did along like my mother did with the people here, you know. She'd go. If they had a sick child, they'd maybe send for Mrs. Ida, or if she'd know it, she'd go anyway.
Did people always want her to come? Do you remember ever anyone not wanting her to come?
No, I never remembered that. I know she stayed. . . . When my baby that
was so sick, Dr. CHAPIN was tending to him, and we had had the flu, and
he had bronchial pneumonia and he got
What was it, do you know?
Well, she'd just mix maybe some turpentine and lard and camphor and maybe
the croup remedy we'd have together, you know. And so he come to see him
every day, and he says, "Well, now, you all doctor the outside; I'll
doctor the inside." Well, he pulled through. He made a change. And I
held that child in my lap—for nine days and nights, I didn't go to
bed—on a pillow. But the ninth day, when he made his change, I thought
he was gone. And my half-sister that I was telling you about, she was
there with me. She was living over there with Roy then; he lived over
yonder at that house on the highway. And she was there with me. And I
says, "
Could they do anything for that?
Well, they did all that they could. We changed his milk, and they gave
him medicine and everything, but it just wasn't intended, I reckon, for
him to get better. And it was in January, I think, when he had the
pneumonia like that, and it was in, I think, about July when
Do you remember, when your mother would go around and help women deliver babies, do you ever remember any of the women getting in real serious trouble with the delivery, and maybe dying?
Well, no, I don't remember hearing her say much about that, because I was too small then, you know.
It always sort of came out okay?
Yes, pretty good
How long did she continue to do that, until you were married?
No, unh-uh, no. She hadn't been doing that in several years before she died, because as she got older, you know, she wasn't able to get out and go so much at night and all. And she hadn't done that in several years before she died.
Who had started doing that?
Well, I don't know. Now, that Mrs. Ida Smith that I was telling you
about, she was good to go, but she didn't go, I don't think,
When you had your own babies, did you go to the hospital to have them?
No.
You had them at home? Who delivered them?
Dr. Chaffin. He was the doctor at Pittsboro.
Was there anyone with you? I mean, was there a woman?
My mother was with me for the first one. And then my sister-in-law and a neighbor lady, Mrs. Snyder, that lived out here, she would go sometimes. I sent out there after her that night.
I wanted to ask you about how you met your husband and how you decided to get married and all that.
What did you do like when you were what people call dating now, or courting? Did you go ride around together, or did you go to church together or . . .
Well, when they had church at night, he'd come and we'd go together. But
we'd go ride to ballgames; then they had cars by that time, you know,
and his father had a car and he could use it when he wanted it, him and
his brothers. And we'd go to Pittsboro, maybe, to the ballgame or out
like that. We didn't go around too much. And sometimes we'd go
END OF INTERVIEW