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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 Q-0067, in
the Southern Oral History Program Collection #4007,
Southern Historical
Collection, The Wilson Library,
University of North Carolina at Chapel
Hill”
Louise Pointer Morton was born in Granville County, North Carolina, in 1910. Morton begins the interview by describing her grandmother's role in the founding of the Jonathon Creek Church (intermittently called the Johnson Creek Church in the interview). Although she does not recall the specific date of the church's construction, Morton explains that her grandmother acquired land for the church from the Pittard family, to whom she was enslaved and seems to have continued to work for following her emancipation. With the gift of land, Morton and other African Americans in the community built a log church. The church was eventually replaced and a school for local African American children was also built on the land. Morton's grandmother had purchased five acres by the church and the school, where she raised her nine children and where many of her grandchildren also lived. Morton describes growing up in this community, relating her school and church experience and life without electricity or running water. Despite the lack of luxuries, Morton recalls with fondness how the community gathered to socialize and to work together during corn shuckings, and she expresses pride in her family's self-sufficiency. Additionally, in her recollections of the Jonathon (Johnson) Creek Church, Morton throws into relief the centrality of religion as a preeminent social institution within southern African American communities.
Louise Pointer Morton describes life in rural Granville County, North Carolina, during the early twentieth century. In addition to describing social gatherings and living conditions, Morton speaks at length about her formerly enslaved grandmother's role in the founding of the Jonathon (Johnson) Creek Church, alluding to the centrality of religion as a preeminent social institution within southern African American communities.
[START OF TAPE 1, SIDE A]
… and I'm visiting Mrs. Pointer Morton. She lives in northern Granville County and I'll be talking with her this morning. Mrs. Morton, I want you to tell me something about your mother and your father and their—and your children as y'all come along, playing in the yard.
Oh yeah, that's been a long time. My mother and father raised nine children to get grown and married. And out of the nine, it's five dead now and four living. Five dead and four living. And all them have families in different parts of the world.
I have a sister named Beatrice Pointer Webster. She lives in Detroit, Michigan. I have a brother named John Lewis Pointer. He lives in Philadelphia. And I have a brother here named Willie Pointer, lives here in Oxford. And I'm the next, Louise Pointer Morton. I'm the next. Well, my mother raised us all up. We lived on a farm all of our life. And as we got grown, the boys and all, they went off different places, working and all.
And then, my grandma was living. My grandmother was named Margaret Yancey Downey. My grandma was old but I was a small girl and she used to tell us about the church and all.
So she told me the first [standing] of Jonathon [Johnson?] Creek Church, she was [in] slavery. And she worked for the [Pittards]. And she said, when they—colored people would get ready to have service, said they'd get together and turn down a pot that would catch the sound. That way they sung and prayed.
And said, well, by she was working in the [Pittards], said the white
people went to church, said she told her bossman, said, "Look-a-here."
Said, "We wants a church. Could
Said he told us yes. And Jonathon Creek—the first land of Jonathon Creek Church was given to my grandma, Margaret Yancey Downey. And she told us that the first church they had, the men got together and built a log church. And said they stayed in the log church and as the years rolled over, said they built a frame church. And they named it Jonathan Creek Baptist Church.
What was the name before? The first one's name? What was the first church's name?
The first church? The log church was the first church. That's where they named it Jonathon Creek, the little log church.
Why?
I don't know why.
The white man gave that land?
Gave the land.
And she was a slave on his farm?
She was a slave for these [Pittards] people. She was a slave.
Uh-huh. He told her—if he could give her anything, she'd like to have a church where they could worship.
Uh-huh. Yes, they wanted a church. And so this [Pittard] man gave her the land and they built a church. And she said the church they built was a log church.
Did she have a house to stay in, or what was she staying on the—?
Oh, yeah. My grandma had a home, not far from the church. She bought five
Is the church on the land that Mr. Pittard gave her, the five acres?
Yeah, we still got the church on—. Her house was not far from the church. But Mr. Pittard give her this land—I don't where it was [stated], but anyhow, he give her the land to build a church.
Does she have a deed to it now? Do y'all have a deed?
No, my grandma's dead. The church had a deed then cause the church bought more land beside there. That's why I don't know how much was in that Mr. Pittard gave her for a church. But after the years rolled over and the church—. After they built more church, didn't put it [down here]. [See, after the people growed], they built it up high. They took down now for a school, had a school. I went to school there for years and years when I was a small girl.
Where was the first school at?
Right there on this spot where this man give my grandma. And then after the church people growed and had a little money, they bought land joining this. So it all joined together now.
So it's been two schools?
It was just one school, but it's been two churches. I know it's been two churches.
Where was the first church built at?
Right above where the school was, right above.
OK, and then they came back and built the next one where it is now?
Where it is now. That's it. Uh-huh. Now, I can remember back that far.
Is this your mother's grandmother or your father's?
My mother's mother.
Could she read and write?
My grandma?
Uh-huh.
No, no.
And all she wanted was enough land to build a church and he gave her more. And she didn't have a house. That's something, isn't it, to sacrifice a church for a house?
Uh-hum. Um-hum.
Alright, what happened on Sunday afternoons when y'all come home from church? What would y'all play or what would you do?
Oh, when we would come home, we would play. We would go to our aunt's house and all we children and cousins would get together and play and have a good time. That was way back yonder when I was small.
Did your mother or y'all be in church every Sunday they had church?
We'd walk to Sunday School. [Back then there wasn't no cars.]
How many miles did you live from the—?
From the church? I reckon about two, something like two miles and a half.
How far? Two miles and a half?
Uh-huh, from where we lived down there to the church.
Did your mother go with y'all?
No, Daddy went. 'Twas so many children, Mama had to stay home and cook. And my Daddy would carry us to church.
When your mother could go to church, did she carry shoes in her hand? Had one pair for church and one pair to wear?
No, no, we won't all that poor. Uh-uh, uh-uh. We didn't have—they had clothes—we put clothes—. I ain't never been to church barefooted in my life.
What did your father do?
Was a farmer, worked on the farm. My father had a home. After we children got big enough, my father bought a home and had—. The old homeplace is not far. It's across the branch from where I live now.
Is that part of the land that the Pittards gave—?
No, uh-uh. This was the church. This was [Downey]. This don't have nothing to do with my daddy's home. Uh-uh.
Mr. Pittard had slaves on his farm?
See, I don't know. I know that my grandma said she was a slave for them.
Uh-huh.
Uh-huh. She was a slave.
How many grades did that school have, one to sixth, or one to seventh grade?
The school was—. We would stay in that school to the seventh grade. Didn't have but one teacher and we went to the seventh grade.
What happened if that teacher was sick and didn't come that day?
Was that sick and didn't come? Oh, she would have somebody. We would always have school. Somebody would come in and substitute teach for her.
Somebody from the community?
Uh-huh.
One of the kids' parents?
It's been so long, I can't think. But we always had somebody there to
teach for her. See,
How many brothers and sisters have you got older than you?
Wait, let me go back and count them.
That went to school?
Wait. My brother Arthur, he was so old, I didn't go to school with my
brother Arthur. Come down to Will. Brother Will and Robert and Sam and
John Lewis. Now, Will was my older brother but he would go, you know.
And rainy, snowy days, [hitch up] the wagon, get us children on the
wagon and carry us to school. My brother Will done the most of the
driving carrying us to school but he was on up there, a grown man, you
know, at that
What did Will tell you that happened when he was a kid, since he was way older than you? He knew more than you did. Did he pass anything down the line?
Not as I know. It's been so long. My brother Arthur was the oldest, but it's been so long.
Where did y'all learn how to read? In the Sunday School? At church?
No, I learned how to read in the everyday school we went to. We learned how to read and write in the school. When we went to church, we had little cards the teachers would teach us about Christ and all that on little cards.
She'd hold them up in front of you?
Uh-huh.
And have pictures on them?
And show us the card and any little writing on it, we'd read that. Whoo, it's been a long time. That's been a long time.
Who made the fire at your school?
I don't know.
The first one got to school made the fire, or the teacher made it?
No, [bound to be] the first one got there. 'Twas warm when we got there.
Where'd you get the wood from?
Huh?
Where did they get the wood from? Your brother's sawmill, or the sawmill your brother worked on?
Oh, I don't know where they got the wood from. All I know 'twas warm at school. I can't tell you that.
Where'd you get your water from?
We had a spring.
How far did you have to go to get it?
Oh, not far. We had a spring. We got the water to drink from the spring.
About a half a mile?
Oh, no. Right down below the branch, right down below the school.
Where did you hang your clothes at when it was raining?
When it was raining, we had a place in the school in the back where we would all hang our clothes. Nails nailed up all and hang our clothes—.
Did you have to go through the—? Was it built outside, separate from the school? You go out the school door, and the boys clothes on one side and the—?
No, 'twon't but one building, one school building. The children had a place in there to hang their clothes. It won't but one building. Didn't have no two buildings.
How'd you warm your hands when you got to school?
With a heater. We had a heater in the school to keep it warm. And a fire.
What's the farthest a child would walk to your school that you know?
The first child?
The farthest? Not you, but the—. Who walked the farthest to school? Not in your family. Somebody in the neighborhood.
I just don't know. Cause we all kind of lived close together. I just don't know.
Was your mother from Granville County, Oxford? Was she born in Virginia or North Carolina?
Uh-uh. All my folks were—North Carolina. Um-hum, from North Carolina.
Did you know your mother's parents?
I knowed my Grandma Nanny.
Who's that? What side was that on?
On my mama's. My grandma on my mama's.
What did she do?
My grandma?
Um-hum.
Well, after she was a slave and got out of that, then she married. I never did know Grandaddy Steve. His name was Grandaddy Steve. He was dead before I knowed him.
How old was your mother's mother when she died?
They say she was a hundred—. I believe they say she was a hundred and six.
And she was in slavery?
Uh-huh.
What year did she die?
Lord have mercy. It's the only tombstone in Jonathon Creek Church.
OK, I'll find it when I go up there.
Well, you find it. It's the first grave right behind the church, there where the grandchildren put the stone to her head. You find that. It's on there. I can't tell you.
Y'all live a long time in your family, don't you?
Uh-huh.
What school did you go to after you finished school up there? Or did you further go to school? You didn't go no higher than the seventh grade?
Yeah, yeah. I finished that. Well, I don't know where it was 19—. It was bound to been in the 19 and the 30s. Anyhow, after I finished there, then myself and my cousin, Marie Peace, we went to Henderson Institute.
And stayed overnight?
Yeah, we went there.
You boarded in?
Uh-huh.
What was the family's name you boarded in?
I'm talking about, we stayed in the dormitory. We stayed in school. Myself and Marie, we was cousins. We stayed together. Well—eight, nine, ten. We went there near about two years. Anyhow, I went to the tenth, but I didn't finish, and my cousin went to the eleventh, and she didn't finish, on account of Marie's mama, my mama's baby sister, stayed with Grandma. And Marie's mama got sick and she had to come home to stay with all the other children. She had to come and so I didn't want to stay by myself and I asked my daddy to let me come on, too, so we come home. I didn't finish the tenth and she didn't finish the eleventh. That's as high as I went.
Why y'all didn't go to Mary Potter, and choose to go to Henderson?
I just don't know. I couldn't tell you. That's where our parents put us.
Tell me about your father's mother. Do you remember your father's mother?
Grandma Dicey? No, I didn't know her. Grandma Dicey. Her name was Grandma Dicey. She died before I knowed her.
Why'd they call her Dicey?
That was her name.
Her nickname, or they just called—.
That was her name.
What did they tell you about her? Your father talked to you about his mother. What did he say about her?
All he said he had a good mama. All he said he had a good mama.
Was she in slavery?
Now, I don't know. I can't tell about my daddy's mama. I don't know. Cause she didn't live close to us. I don't know—. Grandma Dicey, she didn't live close to us. I just can't—don't know nothing about her. All I know is my Grandma Dicey. That's all I know. I didn't know about her. But like my mama's mama, she lived a long time and we went to her house and all that.
Who did the work around the house? The girls did the work and the boys did the work on the outside?
Where? At my home or at—?
When you was growing up?
Oh, when we was growing, everybody had a job to do. We had a job to do.
Did your father ever hire y'all out to other people?
Not we girls. With them boys, would go around and do work. Those boys would help, but we girls didn't.
But he would hire his boys out?
Uh-huh. They would work.
To somebody when they need them.
Yeah, that's right. Like if somebody need them.
Did y'all ever have corn shuckings?
Oh, Lord, what you talking about? Yeah!
Tell me about that.
Lord, my daddy raised more corn. On the low ground. If he didn't have
enough land on his place, he'd go and rent on the
Pull what?
Pull the fodder off the corn stalk.
What's fodder? The husks?
Them blades what is on it is the fodder. Them blades. Pull that fodder.
After we'd pull that fodder, and then when the corn—. [In the fall of
the year] the corn get hard
People come from everywhere, didn't they?
I'm telling you.
Y'all party?
All the neighbors, all the neighbors. Had a good time back there. It was— twon't like no time now. These youngsters now, they don't know nothing. Just fast rooting and running and killing folks [in Durham]. We had a happy life. I'm telling you.
Y'all went from one corn shucking to the other?
Right!
Party, drinking and having a good time.
Uh-uh, didn't drink nothing. No, uh-uh. No, they ain't drunk nothing. Oh, no.
You sure they ain't slipped a little of that old blackberry wine or—?
Oh, no. No, didn't have nothing like that.
Apple wine?
Just had—just food. Cakes and pies, chicken and all. We would have the
best
What was your father's name?
[Letcher] Pointer. [Letcher]. And William [Letcher] we have named after his grandaddy, William Pointer.
What kin are you to him?
He is my nephew! My brother, Will, lives here in town. That's Will. Letcher and Mickey's here, Charles is in Baltimore, and Lewis is down in Texas, somewhere in Texas. Has four boys.
OK. I want to know what year was you born in.
I just told you I was born March 10, 1910.
OK. How old are you now?
I'm eight-four.
When's your next birthday?
After Christmas, after January and February, then come March. I ain't
dumb as you think I am
Now what about the pigs? Did y'all sell some of the meat, or eat it all?
No sir. No sir. Them great big hogs like this here, when they killed them hogs, had a smokehouse for them hogs.
A smokehouse? What's a smokehouse?
That's where you keep meat, keep hog meat. And when time comes to smoke
it, make up a fire and that smoke would smoke that meat. That was the
best tasting meat
That smoke take what out of the meat?
That smoke went in that meat. Hickory something. Some kind of hickory wood and burn and smoke that meat. After it had them seasoning, smoke that meat.
And that put them flavor in the meat?
Yeah, after this little seasoning. When they kill the hog, when they first—they put salt on it and all that, you know. And then after that meat got dry, wash that salt off it and then put black pepper and all that on it and hang it up in the smokehouse. Then they get hickory stuff and do a fire under, and then that hickory smoke go in that meat. That's the best tasting meat! You won't eat no meat this day and time that tastes like it would. In the fall of the year, kill a cow. Kill a cow and get the entrails out of her and all. Hang that cow up in the barn. We eat! My family, we eat.
The cows, too.
Whole—kill a whole cow. Fall of the year, hang up in the barn. Now, I'm telling you facts what I know.
Did y'all have electric lights in the school?
No.
What'd you have?
A lamp.
A lamp?
A lamp and a lantern that we had in our home.
What's a lantern?
A lantern's something that gives light. A lantern with a handle like the men tote at night going to the barn and all like-a-that.
What got holes in the top of it?
Uh-huh, a lantern. You ain't never—.
You put it in the [chicken coop]?
Huh?
Uh-huh. [I ain't never seen—.]
You didn't ever—. Oh, they had more lanterns. Everybody had a lantern, with the globe, the wick and all up there. And the lantern had a handle you'd hold in your hand and go at night. That way you see at night, them menfolks. Man, you don't know nothing!
Where'd y'all get your water from, a well at home? Or y'all—?
We had a spring. We'd get water from a spring.
How far was it from your house?
This spring won't far. Just right down the hill to the spring.
Uh-huh. What kind of games did y'all play on Sunday when you'd visit other people, your relatives and stuff?
Oh, Lord. Let me tell you. We—our cousins—Uncle Ed married my Aunt Amy and she had a gang of children. [Uncle Steve] and all those children. [Our house here] and they'd go down across the creek and up to their house. After we'd come from church and eat and all, we'd go over there. Man, we'd go up under the barn shed and get in the wagon. And Ricky Smith, that was Uncle Ed's son, he was the preacher. He'd get up there and preach. We had the service, we children, just like we'd see the folks do in church.
What's a bush arbor?
A bush arbor? A bush arbor is something—. You put up four posts and you put the top on it and you cut bushes and throw over that so you're in the shade. That's [when] you're in the shade, keep the sun from shining on you.
And that's a bush arbor?
Bush arbor. We used to go [to association in a church where all they had was the longest bush arbor] where folks get under that.
And the preacher would preach under the bush arbor?
Yeah, sometimes a preacher would come out and preach under there. We'd have service in the church—that was association time.
OK, there'd be one preacher in the church and one outside?
Yeah, I don't know how many preachers would be—. A lot of preachers in church association—preachers from all churches.
OK, and that's a bush arbor?
Yeah, that's a bush arbor.
Why did you have to—in slavery, you had to turn a pot down at the door to keep the sound—?
That was my grandma's time now, so listen, I don't know nothing about that. I know what my grandma told me.
Uh-huh.
See. I don't where the slaveries didn't want them to have service or not,
but that's what Grandma said. All the colored people around would go to
a place that have a
Uh-hum.
Until she got old enough to get wise, you know, know something. So she asked the man, said, "Listen, we want a church." Said, "We want a church where we can go and [serve]."
Mr. Pittard?
A Mr. Pittard. I don't know his name. I don't know his name, but he had a son. I knowed Arthur Pittard, I knowed Cliff Pittard, but they is dead. Pittard's children, all them is dead. But he's got grandchildren somewhere.
They still own the land up there in northern Granville?
Uh-huh. He got one grandson that don't live too far from me. And his name is Don Pittard. Cause he lives in a great big brick house and he farms and all that. I know him. His name is Don. Now this man that give Grandma land, this is this boy's great — his grandaddy, I know, his daddy's daddy.
He named your grandmother?
Huh?
He named your grandmother?
Who, the Pittards?
Uh-huh. What was your mother's mother's name?
Grandma Margaret.
What was her last name?
Grandma Margaret. She was a Yancey and she married a Downey. That was before my time, now. I just know what Grandma told me.
Uh-hum. So, when y'all worked around the yard—? Your mother and father, how did they—was they good to y'all? And worked and made y'all—? I know they wanted you to go to school, didn't they?
Oh yeah, we went to school in school time. School didn't start before October. Yeah.
Uh-hum.
Yeah, I had a good mama. My mama won't no fighting mama. If we'd do wrong or something, she would set down and explain to us, "Now, don't do that no more, now. If you do, you get a whipping." I had a good mama. My mama never did beat none of us. I heard children talk, "Well, my mama and daddy beat me and whips on me." I'd say, "They ain't never whipped on me." I had a good mama and daddy.
Tell me about the first time you came to Oxford. What did you see?
Lord, have mercy. It's been so long, I can't tell.
Did you come on a wagon?
Oh, yeah. We had to come on a wagon.
Way out from out there to Oxford?
Oh, yeah.
Take you all day to get here!
Yeah. Anniversary—man, you don't know anything about it. [Used to have] an anniversary in Oxford in June.
At the orphanage?
At the orphanage. We would come on the wagon. Daddy would bring us. Yeah, go to the anniversary.
Stay overnight?
Uh-uh! This was for one day! Leave home way that morning before day, [book] down here to Oxford, and get there, and he would leave here in time enough to get home.
Do you know some of the speakers that was down there, or who was in charge of the orphanage?
I don't know. Cause what we would do was walk on the grounds and go around the tables and buy stuff and see all them funny things they had, see. I can't tell you nothing about the service. I was too young.
They were raising money for the orphanage children.
I think so.
That's why they had association?
I think so. Anniversary!
Anniversary.
This was the anniversary. We have associations now, this day and time.
Who was your first minister that you knew of when you was coming up?
At Jonathon Creek?
Uh-huh.
My first minister was Reverend Eli B. Thomas from Durham. He baptized me.
How did he get way up there? Come and stay overnight from Durham, or what?
See, they had conference on a fourth Saturday. And Reverend Eli Thomas would come and he would stay all night and sometime he'd go home and then he'd come that Sunday. But a lot of times he would stay. Him and his wife, Mrs. Thomas, they would stay all night a lot of times.
Uh-huh. At people's houses up there? One would have him one night and another—?
No, who had picked the preacher was the deacons and their wives. My daddy was a deacon.
What was his father? His father ever was a deacon?
My daddy's?
Uh-huh.
I told you, I don't know nothing about my grandaddy. I just didn't know him. And Grandma Dicey. I just didn't know them.
Your mother made y'all's clothes—pants, shirts and stuff like that? Who sewed for y'all?
What would you do with the [graham] bags?
What?
What did y'all make out of the [graham] bags? What kind of clothes did you make out of them?
Old graham bags. Oh, Lord, there years ago, they used to get
What about—? I heard that when you're in slavery, they don't give you nothing but biscuits on Sunday because that's your dessert.
Now, I don't nothing about that. I don't even know—. Grandma didn't tell us that.
She didn't?
No, uh-uh. Didn't tell us nothing about what they give us and all.
Did you have a boyfriend when you was coming up as a kid?
Oh, no. We children back yonder didn't know nothing about no boyfriends.
We would get together and play and we were eleven and twelve years old
and didn't know nothing but play. Didn't have no boyfriend. I didn't get
no boyfriend, kiss no boyfriend til I was way on up yonder seventeen or
eighteen years old. No, Lord. Uh-uh. And then my sister—. My sister,
Hettie, was older than I was and she had a boyfriend. Well, Mama let me
They didn't?
No, no. My sister, Hettie, her boyfriend would come. My mama—I was the next to her, the girl, you know—let me go in there and sit. And that way I learned a whole lot just sitting up listening to them talk.
And then after awhile, the one what come and see my sister, Hettie—well, this man where I married was a friend of his. And so, when he got big enough and all, you know, he asked him, "You see Louise?"
He would go back and tell him, you know, "I'm going up there."
So he started to coming. Well, my mama and daddy liked them cause my boyfriend's daddy had land and a home just like my mama and daddy. And this boy come to see me and I fell in love with him. I married him. I married the twenty—Lord, if I had my pocketbook with me—. I married the twenty-first of February, nineteen and thirty-four. Me and him went to South Boston and married in South Boston.
Where was your husband from?
He was about five or six miles from me. He lived back down towards Davis Chapel. And his name was Roy Morton.
What was his daddy's name?
His daddy's name was Jack Morton. His mama's name was Nettie [Umstead]
Morton. And they was fine people. And yeah, I married him. That was the
only man that I ever see or loved [in my life] and let me tell you. You
talking about smart—he was so smart.
What did y'all do about stuff? Did y'all come to town and buy food? Or did you raise everything?
We raised everything. Had a garden in the summertime and cane and
Well, you know, you got to tell me about what happened when everybody started leaving home.
See what they [eating].
Uh-uh.
When everybody started leaving my home, you're talking about? When the older children left?
Uh-huh.
Well, we were doing just like the older children were living there. We
still farmed and carried on. We [did something like that], didn't stop
farming and doing. We still carried on after the older ones—every one
married and leave out—then, we'd still do our home
Who would help y'all with your lesson at night? You helped each other or what?
We helped each other. [Get around that table] and one of us, the oldest one, he'd tell us them words and everything.
Which one of your sisters and brothers was the smartest, close to you, that you knew about? Were you the smartest girl?
No, I think my youngest sister, Beatie. Cause she went to school and graduated.
Tell me about Beatie. Tell me something about Beatie.
Oh, I wish you could see Beatie
Was she fast?
What you talking about? Oh, Beatie was something
You couldn't keep up with Beatie, could you?
And she was the youngest girl. Her name was Beatrice. We called her Beatie. She lives now in Detroit. She's in Detroit now. Her husband, he's in a home. See, my oldest sister, Hettie, married [Lewis Puryear] and she went there. And so, after Beatie got grown and all, finished college and all, "Mama, I believe I'll go after sister Hettie." Mama told her, "Well, alright, if you want to go." So she went up there and after she went up there, she found a man named Dan Webster and she married him. Well, he was working at the Ford place. See, they was making money there. That man made money. My sister Beatie's sitting pretty. Yeah, she went to Detroit.
What college did she finish?
Beatie finished here in Oxford.
She finished Mary Potter High School?
Uh-huh, Mary Potter High School.
Where did she start teaching at?
She didn't ever teach.
Did your mother teach?
Uh-uh.
Her sisters were teachers?
No, and none of my sisters never were no teachers.
What about your mother and father or sisters and brothers?
No, my mother and father were way back yonder. They didn't go to no college or nothing like that. No. Man, they're way back yonder. Uh-hum. I don't reckon they even had all these colleges back yonder in their time.
Did you have a mailman?
Yeah, the mailman carried the route. Yeah, the mailman drove a buggy.
A buggy?
A buggy. [He had] all them things up around him, you know, to keep him
warm back there in the
Was he a white man?
He was a white man. Fred Webster. Oh, he carried mail for years and
years. And now, these late years—we used to get all our—in Virginia
[mail name]. So these late
Can you name some of the children that lived over there in Virginia, on the Virginia side, that came to your school?
That come to my school?
Uh-huh.
No, uh-uh. No, I can't name none. No, I couldn't remember.
So, you live by yourself now?
Uh-hum, stay by myself. Yeah, stay by myself. I got a foster daughter named Margaret. She lives in New York. And before my husband died, we adopted a son by name James Edward Morton. We adopted him. And when we adopted him, we carried him to the doctor to have him examined and the doctor told us he had an enlarged heart. And so, my husband died in '57 and this boy died in '68. I think he lived eleven years after my husband died. But he was born with an enlarged heart. But we stuck by that boy and took care of him. Whoo, he was a mighty fine boy. Uh-huh, so he lived to get twenty-nine years old.
How was the school? Was it muddy getting to the school?
Going to the school, yeah, if it rained or snowed or something. But if it snowed, they took us on the wagon. They would carry us.
Some days, the weather would be so bad, y'all didn't have school?
We had school every day. That's why them boys carry us on the wagon. And
How did the teacher get there?
The teacher boarded with—she would board to a house close to the school.
You don't know the first teacher you went to?
No, I can't think of
Huh?
I know one named Isabel Davis. That was my cousin and she boarded right there at my grandma's where [I'm telling you not far from the church]. They be fixing to eat in yonder or something. Here, you ain't—you have caught everything I've said on this thing?
Mrs. Morton, today is December
December the 13th.
December the 13th, 1994. Mrs. Morton, I forgot yesterday to ask you what
your address, and your post office box, or your mail box. Will you give
me your address? You say it's
Right.
OK. How long you been living on that road?
Living on that road every—I know every since '50. But I
Mrs. [Jones], yesterday when we was interviewing, I did not put down the place where it was taken care of. Today, we're going to talk about that. We are at 120 Orange Street. We're at the Senior Citizen's Facility where they have recreation and they socialize and they have a meal before they go home. Now, I want you to bring me up to date on reasons why you like this facility and how is it that it has enhanced the community and brought—shed light on the community and you can visit and socialize. You tell me about what you like about it.
Oh, I enjoy it cause I can come in, we get together and we talk and we definitely enjoy one another and we have lunch and we—oh, do so many different things. If I want to, I can go in and take up this craftwork. At my age, I can't make the little small stitches, so I just enjoy looking at other people do that. It's just a nice place for we senior citizens to come and enjoy ourselves. That's all I know.
I need you to go back and let's talk about a little slavery and what you heard.
Well, all I know about slavery is what my Grandmother Margaret—.
Do you know her whole name?
Margaret Yancey Downey. I was a good-sized girl, but I can remember some things she said. So I heard her talk about when she was a young girl, she was a slave for the Pittards. She stayed there and worked at home and done along. And I don't know after staying there so long—. I know she got married cause her husband's name—. That was my grandaddy, Grandaddy Stephen. I know she married but I never did hear her tell about her married life and all, but I know she married cause she had a gang of children. I could count up the girls and the boys—.
Did she ever tell you that she went to the church with her master, her bossman?
No, uh-uh. They didn't go to church. She and her friends what lived close-by where she was, in order for them to have a little praise service to praise the Lord and to thank Him [what if He was to them], they would meet, gather together, and they would turn down a pot. She told us they would turn the pot down, they'd all get around and there's where they would sing and pray. But she never did tell me why they turned that pot down, so I just put it in my own words. I believe they done that to keep the sound from the white people hearing the sound, what they would do. That was my idea, but she didn't ever tell me that.
Uh-hum. I think that that was the reason, too, I was told. Were they good to her and her husband? The Pittards?
Oh, yeah. Cause she stayed there for years and years. They bound to been good to her.
Could she read and write?
My grandma? I just don't know. I didn't ever—. See, I was so small and that's been years ago. She was born back yonder in the 1800s.
Uh-hum. So you and your mother and father, y'all was going to Jonathon Creek. Always have.
Uh-huh. Yeah, let me tell you the first starting of [Johnson] Creek. My
grandmother—they used to—after they would have their service here and
those people — so she told Mr. Pittard, the man she was staying with—she
was a slave for him. So she told him, "Look-a-here, we wants some land
for a church," said, "we need a church." And so Mr. Pittard gave her
this land, now, for to build—. He gave her the land. I don't know what—I
Was it named after some individual?
I just—I don't know where that name come from. That's the name they named it, Johnson Creek Church.
You know, I interviewed a man and his master gave him some land and they didn't have a church. And do you know what he did? He told his master that what I want to do is—. I don't want no house. I'd rather build a church first and I'll live like I've been living. Now, if a man give up land for a church and he want to stay in the condition he's in, that was a mighty good person.
I'm telling you.
And that's what your—?
My grandma. The man give her this land. They built the church. I don't
reckon back there
That was nice of her to give up—.
Uh-hum. And so this man, their church was named Grassy Creek and maybe—they named this Johnson Creek—maybe the name might come from that church, but Johnson—.
Who? What church was Grassy Creek?
Grassy Creek was the white people's church and that's still down there, a great big brick church.
Well, who uses it?
They have services there now.
Well, where did Grassy Creek Church come from? How did they get—? The white church was before the black one?
Oh, yeah. This white church was there, I'm quite sure. That's been years ago, but the name of that church is Grassy Creek and that's the white people's church.
And that's the one that you think your great-grandmother went to?
That's where I think that's where that name come from.
From Grassy Creek?
Uh-huh. And this is Johnson Creek.
And they just put Johnson Creek—?
Johnson Creek, but they put that Creek in there. That's what I think. I'm not sure, now, but that's what I think happened. See, that was way back yonder. That was back yonder.
Did you have a lot of members in the family that lived together, like your uncles, your aunts and different cousins and stuff like that? Did you have that?
Oh, yeah. Uh-huh. Lord, my mama—. I don't know how many sisters my mama didn't have. Uh-huh. Was seven or eight, I know. And I know two brothers.
Two of whose brothers.
My mama had two brothers, Uncle Jim and Uncle
Tell me about Uncle Jim.
Uncle Jim, he was the oldest child. Yeah, he was the oldest child. He
didn't
Did he go to the first Johnson Creek school, or the second Johnson Creek school? You know it was moved? It was built somewhere else and then they built it again.
Who you talking about, my uncle?
Yeah.
Oh, no. Let me tell you, that far back I don't think he went to no school, I don't think. I just don't think. Cause, man, that's way back yonder.
What was the school's name?
Johnson Creek School.
Oh, the school was named after the church.
Yeah, Johnson Creek School. I 've been hearing that all my life, Johnson Creek School.
What men in the area—your father—contributed to the school, like bringing wood to make sure y'all have wood and little things like that? How did you do? They got the wood the day before school turned out, or they got it after they got—?
All I know 'twas wood there for fire. We heated with the wood there.
Was this slabs?
No, they'd cut down trees.
Uh-huh.
Uh-hum. 'Twas wood there for us to keep fire.
How was the men in the community? Did they do real well, go to church and look after each other?
Oh, yeah. Yeah.
Y'all worked together as a community.
Sure. This community was most of us family. The [Downey's] family.
And y'all stayed in the same church.
Yeah, all of us the same church. Uh-hum.
So, can you name any of your teachers?
I told you yesterday
How many children did you have?
Who me? No children. I never did have no children. I had one—when my husband was living, we adopted us a son. His name was James. And then after he died, then I got a foster daughter, Margaret. She lives in Spring Valley, New York. No, I never did have no children.
OK. So you traveled a lot, didn't you?
Not too much. I just go to see my youngest sister, Beatie—Beatrice is her name—she lives in Detroit. And then my next to the oldest sister, Hettie, she lived in Detroit, but she passed. And her children are up there. My nieces and nephews, they're all up in Detroit.
Do you go to visit them?
Uh-hum. Yeah. I go to visit sometime. They come see me the most, cause they know at my age you can't travel like I used to. So we had a family reunion and I think we had it two or three years. It went up there once and now it's back the year to Oxford. I reckon it's—not this year. It might be next year.
What's the farthest you've been? Detroit as far as you've been?
Detroit is as far as I've been.
Have you ever been to New York?
No, I haven't never been to New York. But I've been to Detroit several times.
Do you remember voting? Can you tell me how y'all voted? Do you remember the first time y'all started voting? Didn't you have to read before you could vote? Or what happened? Tell me about that.
Was it in the 40s or 50s or 60s?
I'll be blessed if I know. I know I've been voting a long time.
Where did you vote at when you first voted?
Up at [Totus]
Did you have to read something?
Uh-uh. We never did read nothing.
OK, so you just started voting in the 60s then.
Didn't have to read nothing. I'm telling you, Mrs. Burton come around and got all our names and signed us up. And when voting come, we went and our name was on that record. We had to vote.
Was there an incident in your community that a child got hurt or got hit or something? Can you remember an incident that stayed with you all the time that was an accident?
Somebody stayed with me?
Uh-uh. I'm talking about some kid in the community got hurt or something real bad.
Listen, that's been—. The mama's name was [Linie]—we used to say [Linie Ned] but she's a Wilkerson. She had six or seven, maybe more children. She had a house full of children cause we—I've been there, played with those children. Well, years past. I don't know, the children grew up and they were working or something. Anyhow, one of her boys got killed or—. He was on a slide, they say, and the mule dragged and killed him. He was buried in my church.
Uh-huh.
[END OF TAPE 1, SIDE A]
[START OF TAPE 1, SIDE B]
… it's one o'clock.
END OF INTERVIEW