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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
H-0085-1, in the Southern Oral History Program Collection #4007,
Southern Historical Collection, The Wilson Library,
University of
North Carolina at Chapel Hill”
Louise Riggsbee Jones was born in Bynum, North Carolina, in 1897. In the first interview of a two-part series, Jones describes growing up in that cotton mill town during the early twentieth century. Jones's father worked as a cobbler during the day and occasionally worked as a night guard at the local grist mill. He died when Jones was only six years old. Jones, the youngest of six children, describes her close relationship with her mother, who did not remarry after her husband's death. Because several of Jones's older siblings had already begun to work in the mills, the family managed to survive financially. Her mother's garden and livestock supplemented their income. In addition to describing household economy, Jones discusses the role of religion in the community, her experiences in school, her work as a spinner in the cotton mill, and the different ways in which people received medical care in this small mill community.
Louise Riggsbee Jones describes growing up in Bynum, North Carolina—a cotton mill town—during the early twentieth century. She discusses her family and household economy, the role of religion in the community, her experiences in school, her work as a spinner in the cotton mill, and the different ways in which people received medical care in this small mill community.
[START OF TAPE 1, SIDE A]
Let's begin with when and where you were born. Where were you born?
Well, I was born here in that house right out there February 15, 1897.
And did you know your grandparents?
No. I had a grandmother to live that I can remember, but my grandfather on my mother's side died in 1893. That's when my brother next to me was born. And he was dead. And my grandparents on my father's side died long years before then. I don't remember them.
Did your grandmother live with your family?
She lived with my mother's sister. She didn't live with us. We all lived here at Bynum.
So all of your family was at Bynum.
Well, for a while. I had three or four aunts here when I was a little girl, but there was one in Durham, and one of them finally moved to Wilmington. I don't remember seeing her; it's been before I can remember.
Were you close to all of your aunts who were in town? Did you have a lot of cousins to play with and people nearby who were related to you?
Well, they were, most of them, older than I was. But we were close
together. We all loved one another. It's like I said the other day. It
used to be like one big family here, because all of the people were
Do you know when your family first came to Bynum?
No, I don't. I just don't remember that. I mean, I don't remember hearing them say. I went to see my sister in Carrboro yesterday afternoon. Well, she was at her granddaughter's out in the country. And she can't remember—she's ninety-two—and she can't remember much. And I just don't remember hearing them talk that much.
Was your mother born in Bynum? Do you know that?
I don't think so. I'm not sure where she was born. My grandfather moved here with his family, and the grist mill was down yonder the other side of the raise. And he worked in the grist mill. That's what his work was, you know.
Was this your mother's father?
Uh-huh, my mother's father. He's the one that died in '93. And it was his wife that lived till I was a little girl.
I see.
I can remember her some, not much.
Do you think they had lived in the country before they came to Bynum?
Well, I reckon so. Most of the places where these grist mills, you know,
or something like that was then. . . . I just don't remember hearing her
say too much about it. I have heard her tell things, but I couldn't
connect one thing with another, you know, like
But you don't remember them talking about having farmed or having owned a farm or worked a farm?
No, they didn't own a place. Now she had a brother; his name was Madison, they called him Mad.
Your grandmother had a brother?
My mother. And he was older than she was. I do remember hearing her say that she used to go to the fields some with him, you know. He farmed some. They would live out like that, and my grandfather would work in the mill. And it seems to me like it was towards Carthage or somewhere in that community. I just don't remember.
What were your parents' names? What was your mother's name?
Her name was Madlena Williamson.
And what was your father's name?
Elbert Rigsbee. He was raised in the Lystra Community.
In Lystra?
Lystra Community, up between here and Chapel Hill.
And do you know when he came to Bynum?
No, I just don't know what year they moved there. I was going to ask my sister a few questions yesterday, but her daughter where I went thought she was there but she had gone home with her granddaughter yesterday and was going to spend the night last night. But I don't know whether she could have remembered what year they moved here. I don't expect she could now, because her memory is not too good since she got that old.
Were they farming up in the Lystra community?
Yes. He had a home up in there not too far from Lystra Church, and he sold that when he moved down here.
But that was before your parents were married.
Yes, he was living up there when my mother and he married. He had been married before and had one daughter, and her mother died when she was about three months old. And of course my mother raised her. I think she was about three or three and a half years old when she married him. He was a little older than my mother. But we never did know any difference. We were all raised together, you know, and she loved my mother as good as we did. He farmed some, and he was what they called a shoemaker then. He mended shoes, you know, half-soled shoes, we called . . .
A cobbler.
Did he have a place in Bynum where he did that? Did he have a little shop or something?
I think he did. I think he had a little shop down below the mill there
somewhere. I heard my mother say, but I just don't remember much about
it. I know he made shoes for. . . . There was a boy that lived over in
the Pittsboro community, and he was born. . . . Well, they called him
clubfooted; his feet. . . . That's the way he walked, like that, you
know. And my father made shoes for him. You see, you couldn't buy things
then like you can have them made now,
Do you remember ever going to sit near your father while he was doing the work, or anything?
Well, not too much, honey, because, see, I was just six years . . .
You were so little.
. . . then. If I could get ahold of his tacks, I'd drive them in the
chair whenever I could.
He had one chair that he sat in, you know—it was a lower chair
than the others—and I'd get me a tack and I'd drive it in
there every time I could get ahold of one.
Did either of your parents ever work in the mill?
He did. He watched. I don't know whether he done any work inside, but he was night watchman at the mill. I remember hearing her talk about that. And I don't know whether my mother ever worked in a mill or not. I just don't remember that.
Would he have done this at the same time he was making shoes? He would have done it at night?
He would do that just at times when he would have time, you know, wouldn't be busy with something else. It was kind of on the sideline, the work was.
Did you live in the house where you were born for a long time?
I don't know just how long, but I don't think so because I don't remember
living there then, but I have lived
This house right here?
Uh-huh. And she asked us—the family was moving from that house—she said, "You all move down there," and she said, "Madlena will enjoy it so much." It's home more down there than it was up on the hill where we lived, up the street, we call it. And we moved out there, and she lived about three years after we moved down there. She died out there at that house.
How far is it that way? Is it very far, like. . . .
What, the house?
Right.
Right there, the next house to us here.
That house right here, right there, right there; that's the one right there. This one right here.
Oh, this house right next door?
Uh-huh, right there. That's where I was born. And that's where my brother was born, too, next to me.
I see. So that wasn't considered on the hill, on the mill hill.
Yes, it was.
Yes, it was.
These were the first houses down this-a-way, and they kept building up the other way, you know, as they built more houses.
So up the street is just the newer houses.
Yes, but they don't look
But when you were small, they were new.
They were built a good while after these were.
I see. But why would your mother feel more comfortable in that house, just because she'd lived there for a long time?
Yeah, it was home to her, because she lived there a right long time, you know, and that's why my aunt thought she would like it better. When she had to stay in, she could be on the porch and see more of what she'd lived around. But before then, when I was a little girl, we did live up on the hill at a three-room house; that's where my father died when I was about six years old. And then after that, a few years after that we moved out yonder in the next house, right across the street. And she lived there several years. I was a little girl for a good while out there at that house, so down this-a-way has been my home more or less, you know, than living up the other way was.
Why did you move to the three-room house and then to the house next door?
Well, I just don't know their reasons for that. The people would change houses sometimes, and I don't know why they ever lived out there. I don't know, because I just remember living up there in that house. That's the only one I remember living in, because I don't remember living out here. I remember living in that one up there first.
Could you choose the house you wanted to live in?
No, they had to go to the head of the company here and ask for a house.
And they would let them have it if it was convenient
So your family always lived in some sort of mill housing, right? These were mill houses, too?
Yes, it was all mill . . .
I mean, rent was paid through the mill?
Yeah.
Mm-hm.
Well, that house was Mr. Carney Bynum's house. And so after his folks, they all died, and my aunt was living over there in part of it, and they had some of their furniture and stuff in the other part. And they removed their stuff out, and she got after my mother to move over there in the other part of the house, so we lived over there in part of that house where Mrs. Durham's living. I was around maybe thirteen years old or fourteen, somewhere along there. I went to school while we lived over there. And you know, I was telling you about the old school building. Well, I had a picture here, and I wanted to show you that. Of course, that won't mean anything in what you're getting down, you can just see the back of it, kind of, how it was down behind the church, and how they had made a new road all back there.
Oh, I'd like to see that.
I'll show it to you in a few minutes.
What I was curious about was, if neither of your parents
My father, I don't know what kind of work, but I imagine he did work in the mill when he first came here. But the last that I remember hearing her talk about, he was night watchman down there.
I see.
But I know he worked in the mill some, because that's the only way we had to make a living here, you see. He sold his home up in the Lystra community when he moved down here. And he worked in the mill—I'm sure he did—but I couldn't tell you what kind of work he done in there.
I see. Okay. What did happen when your father died and if your mother wasn't working in the mill at that time? Did they let you stay on?
Two or three of the older children were working by that time.
I see.
And see, for that reason we had a right to a house all the time.
Okay. What did your father die of, do you know?
No, I don't. He had rheumatism some, but I've heard her speak about it.
He was taken real sick all at once, suffered so with his stomach, the
side, and I've heard her say since then that she believed that he had
appendicitis. They didn't know that there was such a thing as
appendicitis then, you know. She said after she learned about it and
knew how it acted with people, she said she didn't
I see. How many brothers and sisters did you have?
Well, I have three sisters and two brothers.
And you.
My half-sister that I was telling you about, of course we always said she was our sister; well, she was. She and another one and that one at Carrboro. They are all, of course, older. I was the youngest child.
You were the youngest of the six.
Uh-huh, and I had two brothers, the one next to me, and then the one, I think there was a child between him and my brother next to me that died, a little girl. There was children that died when they was small, little girls, babies like.
Infants.
I never did see them.
How much older was your oldest brother or sister? Was a sister the oldest?
Her first child was a boy, and he died. He was I don't know just how old,
but not when he was first born, because I've heard her talk so much
about children having croup, you know, and he died with what they called
the membrous croup. And he didn't live but just a little while after he
took it. And I don't remember just how old he was, but he was just a
baby. He was the oldest one, except my half-sister,
Roy Rigsbee?
Roy Rigsbee.
How old was he when he moved to Carrboro?
Well, I don't know exactly, but he was married and had a family when he moved up there.
Why did he go? Why did he move to Carrboro?
They put up a store, he and a Mr. Hinson there. They put a furniture store. It's there in that name now, I think. It still goes by the name of Rigsbee-Hinson, and I don't know whether Mr. Hinson is still living or not. But my brother and his wife are both dead. They both died at Carrboro.
Do you remember when he made the decision to go away, or were you too small to. . . .
Oh, yes. He stayed here a while after he was married. He worked in the
store. As a child, he loved working around the store, and that's all he
ever did. And here he'd get a wheelbarrow and carry little things out to
people. They'd buy them, you know. And they'd give him just a little
something for him, just when he was big enough to roll a wheelbarrow.
And he kept on, and there was a
What was her first name? Julie?
Miss Julia Lambeth. She never was married.
But she was Lambeth's sister?
Mr. Rufus Lambeth's sister. She was older than Mr. Rufus. But I really did love her. She was good. Well, what I call. . . . Now she had common sense . . .
. . . about things. She taught us common sense, to reason out things, you know. And you know, I don't want to go against the schools now, but I think children need some of that now, don't you?
Mm-hm. Sure.
How to take things and how to see them, what happens and all.
How old were you when she taught you?
Well, I was up maybe around eleven or twelve years old then. I had had
teachers before her. My first teacher. . . . Well, I think it was Miss
Mary Griffin. She's related to the Griffins over there at Pittsboro.
They run the funeral home over there now. And she was a mighty sweet
woman. I loved her. Because I was a child that didn't take up with just
everybody, you know; I stuck to my mother. I just couldn't leave my
mother to go nowhere. I stayed at home and didn't go out to play like I
should with other children. I didn't want to leave my mother. And I was
so afraid of thunderclouds when I was a little girl, and I would watch
the trees, you know, the leaves, in real hot weather, how they'll curl
up together. And I'd think, "Well, I'm afraid there'll be a
cloud. I won't go leave Ma this evening; I'll stay here." And
I'd stay at home around her, you know, so I'd be near her. I felt like
if I were near her, then everything was all right. Now that's the way I
felt about my mother, you know.
Why do you think that was? Why do you think you were so close to your mother?
Well, she was close to her children. She loved us all. But
Do you think it might have been because you were the youngest?
Well, I think maybe, and they all petted me in a way. All of them were good to me, and my brothers and sisters. I think maybe that was it, too, you know.
We were talking about your brother and his work at the Company Store?
He worked with Atwater and Lambeth after Atwater and Lambeth bought the store. He worked with them down there several years. And then he got a job at Durham with Huntley-Stockton Hill, a furniture store up there. And he worked with them.
Were Lambeth and Atwater from Bynum?
Yes, uh-huh, they lived here. Mr. Atwater lived over here on the highway, and Mr. Lambeth lived up further on on the highway, big house up there. I don't know the people that own it now.
Were they young men, Atwater and Lambeth?
They were then. Well, Mr. Rufus Lambeth, he never did marry, but Mr. Atwater was married and had a family. But he wasn't an old man when he was down there in the store. He was Superintendent of the Sunday school here for several years. The first superintendent that I ever remember in the Sunday school was Mr. Carney Bynum, the man that lived over there where Mrs. Durham lives. And then after he got disabled, Mr. Atwater was Superintendent for several years.
How did Mr. Bynum get disabled?
Well, I just don't remember that, because I was a child then. I don't remember.
Was he badly crippled or something?
Well, I don't think so. I don't know. I just can't tell you. I don't remember.
Had he worked in the mill?
No, he never did work in the mill. He owned some land over there, and
there were some colored people that lived. . . . They farmed for him.
And I really don't know what he did.
He was superintendent of the mill?
Well, I don't know what they called it. I just heard him say he was over the mill. I don't know what they called it. But that's how Bynum got its name, I think; this family of Bynums were about the first here, you know. And Mr. Bynum really looked after the place. I've heard my mother speak about it, how he'd go around, you know, and if a little something happened that shouldn't have, he'd go and investigate about it, and tried to keep things in good order here, you know, while he. . . . I don't know who owned the mill, whether he was in it or not, but the J. M. Odell Manufacturing Company is the only one that I ever knowed the name that it went by.
But Mr. Luther Bynum was over the mill when you were a little girl, right?
Yes, before I can remember.
How would he keep it in order, like if there was noise or
Well, the best that I can figure it out, if they didn't live kind of like
they ought to and keep their homes right, I think he would just move
them out. I don't think he would keep them here on the work. Now that's
the way I remember it. I don't know whether that was the exact. . . .
They didn't have as much law around then as they do now, and half the
time the law don't do anything
Do you remember ever seeing him when you were a little girl?
Yes, I remember him. Yes.
Was he a nice man?
Yes, he was a nice man.
[END OF TAPE 1, SIDE A]
[START OF TAPE 1, SIDE B]
and Mary, but Mary's dead now.
What did she do?
Well, I don't know whether she taught school. . . . I don't know what she done after they left here.
Oh, they left here after he died?
Yes. Yes, a while. Mrs. Bynum stayed on a few years. I don't remember how
long, because I was a child. I hadn't been going
We were talking about your brother at the beginning of this, and you said he went to Durham to work for Huntley and Stockton?
Huntley-Stockton Hill, a furniture store up there.
How did he decide to go to Durham?
I think Atwater and Lambeth finally went out of business down here, and the store work is all he had ever done. He didn't work in the mill any down here. My other brother worked in the mill all the time down here, as long as he lived. But Roy didn't, and he went up there. He got a job. I don't know just how. . . . He was already married and had some children then. I don't remember how he come to get the job, who recommended him or what, but he worked up there. And then he moved to Carrboro, and he and Mr. Hinson—I don't know the man—put in the furniture store up there. I think it still goes by the name of Rigsbee-Hinson. I don't know whether it does or not. It did the last time I heard them mention it.
Was your mother real proud of him going into business like that?
She was dead before he went into business for himself.
And she never did whip me. She didn't believe in whipping
Did any of your older brothers and sisters, do you remember them ever being punished for anything?
No, I don't.
I mean, your mother carried that policy out with all her children, right?
Mm-hm, yes, she did.
Not just you, because you were the youngest.
No, with all of them. They obeyed her very good. She lived with her family after my father died, and they obeyed her pretty well. I had right good sisters and brothers; I'm proud of them.
Did anyone ever live with your family other than just your sisters and brothers and your mother and father?
No, I don't think so.
Anyone ever come to stay, or did people take in boarders around?
Well, now, she used to take boarders; I don't remember it. That was, I think, before I was born. It might have been when I was a baby. But she did have some boarders. They'd work in the mill and they boarded with her. She had some mighty good friends. I mean, she thought so much of them, you know. Yes, she had some boarders. I remember hearing her speak about them.
But you don't remember. . . . They weren't there when you were coming up?
No, they weren't there when I was. . . . I can't remember it. I know there was a woman. She was a Harmon. Her people lived over around Pittsboro. Mary Harmon. And she married a Mr. Frank E. Ferrell. And they moved to Florida. And she would come back to see us. She'd always come and see my mother when they'd come back, you know, to North Carolina to visit their people. She'd always come to see my mother.
And she'd stayed with your mother while she was working down here in the mill?
Yes, she boarded with her, you know, while she was working down here.
Was it sort of a general thing, that if you took someone in it was like they were almost made a member of the family?
Yes, you took someone that you liked, a nice person, and they lived just
the same as your family. Now Mr. Henry Abernathy's
Frank Harris did?
Uh-huh. Harris and Burley was the name of the store. And Mr. Frank Ferrell was Louise Harris's daddy. But Mr. Frank was the youngest child in their family. What I was going to tell you, Miss Alice, one of the oldest children of Mr. Walt Ferrell's children, boarded with us a long time. And she was married when we lived out yonder, the second house from here, at our house, she and Mr. Henry Abernathy. And she was almost like a sister to us, you know, because she boarded with us a long time. Her father lived here, and he moved down in the Hanks Chapel community on a farm. He had a home down there. Hanks community. And they had the post office, she and Mr. Ferrell, and when Mr. Ferrell left she just stayed on in the post office, worked in the post office, and she boarded with us for a long, long time.
Now that was when you were older, right?
Yes, I can remember when she boarded. That's the only one that I ever remember much about her boarding.
I see. Did your family go to the church down here, the Methodist Church?
Yes. My father went to the Baptist Church at Lystra—that's a
Baptist church up there—and he went to the Baptist church, but
when they moved down here he went to the Methodist church, too.
. . . when he talked to her about moving to the Baptist Church. She never did move her membership up there. She stayed on down here, you know, and of course my father went to church down here, too, after they moved down here from up there. But I remember hearing her tell that. She said he was so down on her, you know, because she wouldn't move from the Methodist Church to the Baptist Church.
Was this when she and your father were just seeing each other?
First married. And she lived up there in the Lystra community with him when they were first married. There was one or two of my older sisters and brothers, I think, was born up there. But I couldn't tell you how many. I just don't know.
How did the church work? Was there a minister who lived in Bynum when you were a little girl?
Well, just as long ago as I can remember, there has been one here.
There's always been one?
But I tell you, before they built the church here the people here went to Mt. Pleasant; that's up in the country some. And the cemetery was up there, and there's a lot of the people that lived here along then buried up there. My grandfather and grandmother are buried up there, and two or three of my aunts were buried up there.
Do you remember when the church was built here?
No, I don't remember. That's the only church I ever remember going to. They went to church down in the old schoolhouse before the church was built here, but I don't remember that. I just went to this church. I've always been to the church out here.
Was the church ever used except on Sunday?
Well, they used to have prayer meeting on Wednesday night the week a long time ago. It hasn't been so many years that they. . . . But they got to having night work, you know. They just had day work along then. Everybody was off at six o'clock. But after they got to working night shifts and all, you know, services like that kind of cut out. But I remember several of the preachers that have been here. But of course there were some here that I don't remember. I've heard her speak about them, but I can't remember them. They were here before I can remember that time.
Did the ministers come and go on a four-year basis like they do in the Methodist Church?
Yes, most of the time. Now if they didn't like. . . . You know, now
they'll move them. They'll stay two or three years, and if they want to
go somewhere else or the people want another minister, if
Do you ever remember people meeting and deciding to ask a minister to leave or something like that?
No, I don't ever remember that.
Were there groups that met, aside from the Sunday service and the Wednesday night prayer meeting? Like was there a women's group in the church?
Well, they had the Woman's Missionary Society, they called it. I think that was the grown women, you know.
Did your mother belong to that?
Yes, she used to. Then they had for the young people—you know, grown—they had the Epworth League, they called it. And my sisters and brothers that was old enough went to that.
Did you go to that?
No, I wasn't old enough when they had it here.
Did you belong to the Woman's Missionary Society later?
No, I haven't. But I've been to all the other meetings, and we had a class. We finally organized a class, you know, later on in years, the young ladies, the girls and young married women had a class. And they got it divided up like that better, you know, than what it was years before. But I went. Now my aunt that lived down there, she was my Sunday school teacher for years when I was a little girl. And I mean maybe there was seven or eight members of that class, you know, all about the same age, and we were really close together. And we loved our Sunday school and our Sunday school class and our Sunday school teacher and all, always. We loved going to church.
You liked it.
Yes.
You always liked it?
Yes, I always liked going to church.
You mentioned a couple of men who were superintendents of the Sunday school. Was that a big job?
Well, he sat up at the front, and he would tell all the song numbers and
time to go to classes, and he just conducted the Sunday school. Of
course, it was a job. When he could, he tried to use his
That was Roy.
Roy. Well, I believe that your brother Leighton was a little while.
Yes, my brother Leighton was.
His brother Leighton was Superintendent since then, in later years. Well, I haven't been to Sunday school since I had arthritis so bad, because I can't wear shoes and I can't get my clothes on. I can't get ready of a morning to go in time. It's like I'm so slow. But I think that my nephew's son, I believe is Superintendent of the Sunday school out here now. But we used to have it in the afternoon. When I was a child, we had Sunday school in the afternoon and preaching at night. We didn't have a morning service any. But now since they have the preaching and Sunday school all of a morning—they have the Sunday school fist; then it just goes into the preaching service, more or less—the Superintendent don't have quite as much to do as he used to, you know.
Why did you have it in the afternoon and the evening? Do you have any idea? Did people have to do something in the morning?
Well, I don't know. I never did know.
In the afternoon.
. . . about three o'clock, I think. And they had preaching at night. And
the preachers that lived here then, they
And do a circuit, like?
Just have one service a month. That's all we had, one preaching service a month, because he was here one Sunday, and he'd have to go to a church another Sunday. It took him so long, you know, to go and come.
So he would stay there like part of the week or something?
No, he would go and come that day. His family would live here at the parsonage, but he would go to these other churches and preach on Sunday and come back.
So that's why the preaching was at night, probably?
It must have been maybe why it was at night here. I just don't know why. I just remember it being one night out of the month here. Well, too, we did have. . . . Now there was Third Sunday. They got to having another, got to having it at night, one night a month, after we got so we could have two. They didn't have quite so many churches. But we had Third Sunday morning, the third Sunday in every month, our preacher here. But that was in later years; that wasn't at first.
Did you see the minister very often during the week? Would
Yes, they'd come around and visit the people. My mother, she was
When was bedtime? What time was it?
Well, I don't know. I imagine it was about nine, or between nine and ten o'clock, along there.
Then people would just go home and go to bed?
Yeah, to get up and go to work.
Did you go visiting like every night, or would you stay home
No, we didn't go every night. We just went now and then, you know.
Like maybe a couple nights a week or . . .
Something like that. I can't remember. I just remember going, you know. I
was always where she was
Where your mother was?
Yes. I was a. . . .
Okay. Oh, one other thing I wanted to ask you was, were the people who were superintendents in the mills and overseers in the mills all real active in the church? Like Mr. Edgar Moore?
Yeah, Mr. Moore was. He taught a Sunday school class for several years
out there. And he's about the only one that I remember
But both of them were real active in the church?
Yes. His wife, well, she didn't teach a class or things like that, but she was a regular member of the Sunday school class and went to church. They were good to go to church, before the church.
Did most of the people who lived up the street here go to the church? Did almost everyone go to the same church?
Well, I don't remember about that, but there was a lot more that went then than goes now, that lived here on the hill. There was a lot more that went. I do remember that.
If people didn't go, when you were younger, if people didn't go to the church here, would they go anywhere else to church?
Well, no, they couldn't very well go, because, you see, you had no way to go then, only in a buggy, horse, or a wagon. And they didn't go away from here to church much.
So would you say most everyone went to church?
Went to church here, you know.
What if they didn't want to go? Did anyone sort of ask them to go or. . . .
Well, yes, they would talk to them, you know, and try to get them to go. They, of course, didn't force them to go, but they would treat them nice and ask them to go.
If they refused to go to church or didn't have anything to do with the church, could they maybe be asked to leave?
Well, I don't think so. I don't remember about that, if there ever was.
You don't remember that happening to anybody.
No, I don't remember.
Were there people who you remember who just didn't go to church?
Well, I couldn't remember them by name and all. I know there were some that didn't.
But there were some who didn't go.
Yes, but I don't remember their names.
I'm just trying to get some idea of how many people went. Like, say, out of twenty-five or thirty families, would twenty of them go?
Well, I don't know, but we had a right good congregation here at church all the time that I remember, after I got old enough to remember going. Of course, I went before I ever got. . . . My mother always carried me to church. She always carried all of us to church. But we had a right good congregation, different classes for different ages, you know. They had the men's class. Well, now, they used to have the men and the women together, but they finally had the men's class and the ladies' class, you know. And then the girls. After I got up about nineteen or twenty, something like that, we had a class of the girls, and if some of them married, they still come to all the classes, the young married ladies. And they had the boys' class and the girls' class of the younger ages.
Why did they decide to separate the men and women?
Well, I just don't know that. I don't know. I reckon they just had so many after there was more got to working here. See, there wasn't but just a few people here to start with, and they built more houses and more people lived here. And of course they grew up, and I reckon that was one reason; they just had to . . .
Okay.
Now Mr. Moore, he was teacher for the men's class for several years down there.
Mr. Edgar Moore?
Uh-huh. Mrs. Durham's brother.
This was the same time he was Superintendent?
Yeah, while he was Superintendent here. And Mrs. Durham was a
I see.
And she was a good teacher. She was a good Christian woman, I'll tell you that, I think.
What would the Sunday school teachers do? Would they like lead the lesson?
Yes, they would study their lesson and talk, be so they could talk. Well, we'd read it—one would read a little, and the other one would read a little—and they'd ask questions on it, and we'd all talk our opinion, you know, of what we thought of the lesson, and questions, you know. That's the way it was then. But some places, you go and they just get up and talk—you don't say anything—but we did. We just talked to the teacher; she talked to us. And she'd ask a question and give her opinion about it, you know, and there'd be questions and answers in the Sunday school books that we'd have. We'd study them, and then if the teacher wanted to ask another question, they'd ask it and we'd give our opinions on it, you know.
I see. Okay. Did people have a lot of different opinions about things, or did most people sort of believe the same thing?
I think most of them kind of believed the same thing, that went to church.
When did you first go to school? How old were you?
Well, I don't know, but I think I was nearly seven years old. I might
have been seven in July before I started in. We used to start about
September, I think, somewhere. But I think I was about
Yes, I do.
Were you upset?
Yes, I was.
What did your mother do?
Well, my brother Roy, older than me, he was so good to me. He looked after me just like he had been my father or mother, one, when I started to school. Now Roy, he wasn't timid like I was. I was scared when I was a child. I was afraid of everything about it. Dogs, and then we used to call them dough-faces; they wouldn't have them only Christmastime, Santa Claus faces and like that. Well, I was scared to death of anything like that.
A dough-face was a Santa Claus face?
Yeah. Yeah. And I . . .
Because of the beard?
I was afraid of Santa Claus.
We'd go to church, and I didn't know who Santa Claus was then, you know. And we'd always, as long ago as I can remember, we'd have a Christmas tree and a Christmas program out here at the church. Well, Santa Claus would be there, dressed like Santa Claus, you know.
Who was it, usually?
Well, it was just some of the men here in the church.
Why were you afraid, do you think?
I don't know. I was just always afraid of things like that. And I remember one time we was going to school down there. And there was a boy here, and he was full of mischief. He was old as my brother or a little older. And it was just his pride to pick at children, you know.
[END OF TAPE 1, SIDE B]
[START OF TAPE 2, SIDE A]
Okay. What do you mean when you say he had a dough-face one time?
They didn't have them only about Christmastime or something like that here. That's the only time I had any Christmas thing, toys or anything, at the store.
But what was a dough-face, exactly?
Well, they'd have just different old scary-looking faces.
Like a mask?
Yeah. Uh-huh. They called them dough-faces, but you put it over your face, you know.
With a big white beard, or something like that.
No, Santa Claus had the beard, but the others didn't. But that was Newton
Garner. He lived over the river, on over yonder, and he was going to
scare me. He knew I was afraid of
How much older was he than you?
Well, he was born in December, 1893, and I was born in July, 1897. About three and a half years' difference. But he really was good to me. I'll never forget him for that.
I'm real curious about these dough-face things. Did kids wear them? Like you know now when kids dress up on Halloween?
Yes, uh-huh.
Was it for Halloween?
Well, I don't remember nothing about it being Halloween that long off. But they'd just have them here maybe at Christmastime, and they'd wear them, just try to scare people or something like that. I don't remember.
Like it was a game.
Yeah. Something like that.
Did you ever wear one?
Noooo.
Did girls ever wear them?
No, I don't think they did; it was mostly the boys.
The boys, like teenage boys or . . .