The Langston High School (for colored—­with a reputation for turning out good cooks, football players and academicians) stands on Silver Street.  A few paces from the building the interviewer met a couple of plump colored women laughing and talking loudly.

“I beg your pardon,” was her greeting, “can you tell me where Wade Street is?” They could and did.  They were so frankly interested in knowing why the white women wanted Emma Sanderson that she told them her mission.  They were not taken aback—­there was no servility—­no resentment they were frankly charmed with the idea.  Their directions for finding Mrs. Sanderson became even more explicit.

When the proper turn off was found the question of Wade versus Washington Street was settled.  A topsy-turvy sign at the intersection announced that Wade Street was ahead.  Emma Sanderson’s grandson lived a couple of blocks down the road.

Only the fact that she could hear someone inside moving about kept the interviewer hammering on the door.  Finally she was rewarded by a voice.  “Is that somebody a’ knockin’?” In a moment the door opened.  The question, “Were you a slave” no matter how delicately put is a difficult one to ask, but Mrs. Sanderson was helpful, if doubtful that her story would do much good.  “I was just so little when it all happened.”  But the interviewer was invited in and placed in a chair near the fire.

“No ma’am.  He ain’t my grandson—­I’s the third grandmother.  No son, you ain’t three—­you’s five.  Don’t you remember what I told you?  Yes, he stays with me, ma’am.  I take care of him while the rest of ’em works.

“It’s hard for me to remember.  I was just so little.  Yes, ma’am, I was born a slave—­but I was so little.  Seems to me like I remember a big, big house.  We was sort of out in the country—–­out from Memphis.  I know there was my father and my mother and my uncles and my aunts.  I know there was that many.  How many more of us old man Doc Walker had—­I just don’t know.  They must have took good care of us tho.  My mother was a house nigrah.

“When the war was ready to quit they gave us our pick.  We could stay on and work for wages or we could go.  The folks decided that the’d go on in to Memphis.  My Mother and Father didn’t live together none after we went to town.  First I lived with Mother and then when she died my Father took me.  My mother died when I was 9.  She worked at cooking and washing.  When I was big enough I went to school.  I kept on going to school after my Father took me.  He died when I was about 15.  By that time I was old enough to look out after myself.

“What did I do?  I stayed in folkses houses.  I cooked and I washed.  Then when I was about 16, I married.  After that I had a man to take care of me.  He was a carpenter.

“We been here in Hot Springs a long time—­you maybe heared of Sanderson—­he took up platering and he was good too.  How long I been in Hot Springs—­law I don’t know—­’cept I was a full grown women when we come.