hurt me.  I can scratch it; I can rub it.  (She scratched and rubbed it while I flinched and my flesh crawled—­ed.) But it’s got me so I can’t see and hear good.  Dr. Junkins, the best doctor in the community told me not to let anybody cut on it.  Dr. Hicks wanted to take it off for fifty dollars.  I told him he’d let it stay on for nothin’.  I never was sick in my life till a year ago.  I used to weigh two hundred ten pounds; now I weigh one hundred forty.  I can lap up enough skin on my legs to go ’round ’em twice.

“Since I was sick a year ago.  I haven’t been able to get ’round any.  I never been well since.  The first Sunday in January this year, I got worse settin’ in the church.  I can’t hardly get ’round enough to wait on myself.  But with what I do and the neighbors’ help, I gets along somehow.

Present Condition

“If it weren’t for the mercy of the people through here.  I would suffer for a drink of water.  Somebody ran in on old lady Chairs and killed her for her money.  But they didn’t get it, and we know who it was too.  Somebody born and raised right here ’mongst us.  Since then I have been ’fraid to stay at home even.

“I had a fine five-room house and while I was down sick, my daughter sold it and I didn’t get but twenty-nine dollars out of it.  She got the money, but I never seed it.  I jus’ lives here in these rags and this dirt and these old broken-down pieces of furniture.  I’ve got fine furniture that she keeps in her house.

“I get some help from the Welfare.  They give me eight dollars.  They give me commodities too.  They give me six at first, and they increased it.  My case worker said she would try to git me some more.  God knows I need it.  I have to pay for everything I get.  Have to pay a boy to go get water for me.  There’s people that gits more ’n they need and have plenty time to go fishin’ but don’t have no time to work.  You see those boys there goin’ fishin’; but that’s not their fault.  One of the merchants in town had them cut off from work because they didn’t trade with him.

“You gets ’round lots, son, don’t you?  Well; if you see anybody that has some old shoes they don’t want, git ’em to give ’em to me.  I don’t care whether they are men’s shoes or women’s shoes.  Men’s shoes are more comfortable.  I wear number sevens.  I don’t know what last.  Can’t you tell? (I suppose that her shoes would be seven E—­ed.) I can’t live off eight dollar.  I have to eat, git help with my washing, pay a child to go for my water, ’n everything.  I got these dresses give to me.  They too small, and I got ’em laid out to be let out.

“You just come in any time; I can’t talk to you like I would a woman; but I guess you can understand me.”

Interviewer’s Comment

Sallie Crane lives near the highway between Sweet Home and Wrightsville.  Wrightsville post office, Lucinda Hays’ box.  McLain Birch, 1711 Wolfe Street, Little Rock, knows the way to her house.