“I worked in the house and in the field.  I had plenty chances to go to school but I didn’t have no sense.

“My mother was sold to nigger traders and I never did see her again.  I always say I never had no mother, and I never did know who my father was.

“I’ve worked hard since I got to be a women.  I never been the mother of but three childun.  Me and my boy stay together.

“I had a happy time when I lived with Miss Jane, but I been workin’ ever since.”

Interviewer:  Mrs. Bernice Bowden
Person interviewed:  Charlie Davis
                    100 North Plum, Pine Bluff, Arkansas
Age:  76

“They said I was born in 1862, the second day of March, in Little Rock.

“I ’member the War.  I ‘member the bluecoats.  I knowed they was fightin’ but I didn’t know what about.

“My old master was killed in the War.  I don’t know his name, I just heered ’em call him old master.

“I know old missis kept lookin’ for him all durin’ the War and looked for him afterward.  As long as I could understand anything she was still lookin’.

“Far as I know, my parents stayed with old missis after the War.

“I ’member my father hired me out when I was a little boy.  They treated, me good.

“Never have done anything ‘cept farm work.  I’m failin’ now.  Hate to say so but I found out I am.

“I never did want to go away from here.  I could a went, but I think a fellow can do better where he is raised.  I have watched the dumb beasts go off with others and see how they was treated, so I never did crave to go off from home.  I have knowed people have went away and they’d bring ’em back dead, and I’d say to myself, ‘I wonder how he died?’ I’ve studied it over and I’ve just made myself satisfied.

“I went to school some but I was the biggest help the old folks had and they kept me workin’.”

Interviewer:  Watt McKinney
Person Interviewed:  D. Davis
                    R.F.D., six miles north of Marvell, Arkansas
Age:  85

Uncle D. Davis, an ex-slave, 85 years of age lives some miles north of Marvell, Arkansas with a widowed daughter on a small farm the daughter owns.  Uncle D himself also owns a nice little farm some distance further up the road and which he rents out each year since he is no longer able to tend the land.  This old negro, now old and bent from years of work and crippled from the effects of rheumatism hobbles about with the assistance of a crutch and a cane.  His mind however is very clear and his recollection keen.  As I sat with him on the porch of his daughter’s home he told me the following story: