Julia Cole, Age 78
169 Yonah Avenue
Athens, Georgia

Written by: 
Corry Fowler
Athens

Edited by: 
Sarah H. Hall
Athens

Leila Harris
Augusta

and
John N. Booth
District Supervisor
Federal Writers’ Project
Residencies 6 & 7

A knock on the door of the comfortable little frame house which Julia Cole shares with her daughter, Rosa, brought the response, “Who dat?” Soon Rosa appeared.  “Come in Honey and have a cheer,” was her greeting and she added that Julia had “stepped across de street to visit ’round a little.”  Soon the neighborhood was echoing and reverberating as the call, “Tell Aunt Julia somebody wants to see her at her house,” was repeated from cabin to cabin.  A few moments later Julia walked in.  Yellowish gingercake in color, and of rather dumpy figure, she presented a clean, neat appearance.  She and her daughter, who cooks for a dentist’s family, take much pride in their attractively furnished home.  Julia was of pleasant manner and seemed anxious to tell all that she could.  It is doubtful if Rosa made much progress with her ironing in an adjoining room, for every few minutes she came to the door to remind her mother of some incident that she had heard her tell before.

Julia began her story by saying:  “I was born in Monroe, Georgia and b’longed to Marster John Grant.  My Mamma was Mittie Johnson, and she died de year ’fore de war ended.  I don’t ’member my Pa.  Mamma had four chillun.  Richard and Thomas Grant was my brothers, but me and my sister Hattie was Johnsons.  Marse John had a big plantation and a heap of slaves.  Dey was rich, his folks was.  Dey is de folks dat give Grant’s Park to Atlanta.

“Dey called my grandpa, ‘Uncle Abram.’  Atter he had wukked hard in de field all day, he would jus’ lay down on a bench at night and sleep widout pullin’ off his clothes.  Us had home-made beds in de cabins widout no paint on ’em.  Evvything slaves had was home-made, jus’ wooden-legged things.  Even de coffins was made at home out of pine wood.  Now me, I didn’t sleep in de cabin much.  I slept on a little trundle bed up at de big house.  In de daytime my bed was pushed back up under one of de big beds.

“Marse John’s son, Marse Willie Grant, blowed de bugle in de mornin’s by 4 o’clock to git de slaves up in time to be in de fields by daybreak.  When slaves got too old to wuk, dey took keer of de chillun in a house down below de kitchen.  Mamma wukked in de field when she was able.  Nobody on our place had to wuk in de fields on Sadday evenin’s.  Dat was de time de ’omans washed deir clothes and cleaned up.