© This work is the property of the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill. It may be used freely by individuals for research, teaching and personal use as long as this statement of availability is included in the text.
MP3 file derived from WAV preservation master, which was derived from original analog cassettes.
The electronic edition is a part of the UNC-Chapel Hill digital library, Documenting the American South.
An audio file with the interview complements this electronic edition.
The text has been entered using double-keying and verified against the original.
The text has been encoded using the recommendations for Level 4 of the TEI in Libraries Guidelines.
Original grammar and spelling have been preserved.
All quotation marks, em dashes and ampersand have been transcribed as entity references.
All double right and left quotation marks are encoded as "
All em dashes are encoded as —
Transcript on deposit at The Southern Historical Collection, The Louis Round Wilson Library
Citation of this interview should be as follows:
“Interview
H-0237, in the Southern Oral History Program Collection #4007,
Southern
Historical Collection, The Wilson Library,
University of North Carolina
at Chapel Hill”
Jessie Lee Carter grew up in rural South Carolina and spent years working in a textile mill before marriage interrupted her working life. In this interview, she recalls her employment at Brandon Mill—where she began work at the age of twelve—and her life in a mill town. This interview offers some insights into the rhythms of rural life and work, including family life and recreation; the workers' daily schedule and the atmosphere on the factory floor; gender and racial segregation; and attitudes toward unionization. Like many of her peers in this interview collection, Carter enjoyed her work at the mill and took advantage of a relaxed work environment, chatting with her coworkers, many of whom were her relatives, as she worked. Carter complements these recollections of her working life with memories of a somewhat self-sufficient upbringing in a mill town.
Jessie Lee Carter remembers life as a mill worker and mother in rural South Carolina.
[START OF TAPE 1, SIDE A]
Can you give us your full name, and when you were born?
I'm Jessie Carter. I was Jessie Lee. I'm a Carter now. I was born in 1901. I'm seventy-eight years old. I'll be seventy-nine the twenty-first day of June. I worked at Brandon. I went to work when I was twelve years old. I worked for twenty-five cents a day, run one side, learning to spin.
You came from up around Newport, Tennessee?
I came from Newport, Tennessee.
Your mother and father, they lived on a farm?
Yes sir, and they raised ten children.
What kind of crops did you all grow?
Mostly vegetables. I don't think they had cotton in Tennessee then. I think they raised corn and vegetables.
How old were you when you moved here?
Four years old.
That was about 1905?
That's right.
Who was it that got you to move here? How did that work?
Some man from Brandon Mill, I don't know. It must have been some big bossman come, and he was going around the country getting people, you know, to come to work, because they just had made the mill. My daddy and my grandfather and my uncles begin to work in the mill as quick as they brought down here. They moved them here in two horse wagons.
Your father and your grandfather and your uncle all came?
All three of the families moved here at one time.
I guess you don't remember anything about making that trip?
Oh, no. I was just four years old, and you know children don't remember back then. My oldest sisters and brothers would remember of course, but I didn't.
It would take more than one wagon, I guess, to bring all those folks.
They brought two horse wagons and had two horses at each wagon. It took them about a week to come down there and move us out here. I heard my daddy tell about that. They brought us to the house right over there at Brandon now, number fourteen. We moved in that house and he lived there forty years and worked in the mill.
Was that the first time he had ever done any kind of mill work?
Yes, sir. He'd been raised on a farm.
Do you remember him saying anything about what he thought about the mill?
Oh, he loved it. He was never out a day without he was sick. And he worked down there forty years the day they throwed his frames out the Brandon basement. They had a basement and they had frames in it.
Spinning frames?
No. It wasn't spinning frames. It was speeder frames. They throwed them out the window; that was the day he retired.
He just decided…
He didn't want to work any more. And they throwed his frames out the window. They put in new ones that was larger and he couldn't run them, so he quit then. Well, he was old enough to quit because he had worked forty years.
That would have been right about World War II?
Yes, sir. He worked during World War I.
Now, what was his name?
Millard Lee. My grandfather was named L.D. Goodenough. My uncle was named Jim Goodenough.
Did your mother work in the mill?
Oh, no. She never was inside the mill the whole time she lived here. Never did go in the mill, not even to the door. Of course, she couldn't have worked nohow, with all the small children. Let's see, I had three brothers that worked in the mill and three sisters. Then whenever I got twelve years old, I went to work. My oldest brother, he was married and had a family and he wouldn't move out here. But he came in later years, but he didn't come when we did.
He still stayed in Tennessee?
Yes, sir. He stayed and lived there and died there. They raised tobacco mostly. That was what the money part was: tobacco.
Did your father raise tobacco, too?
Yes, sir.
What was your mother's name?
Minnie.
You had three brothers and three sisters?
That worked. They was ten of us, five girls and five boys.
That sure was a lot of people for your mother to look after.
Most of us was small, you know. The biggest ones, there was six of them that went to work in the mill. And then I went to work when I was twelve years old. I quit school. They didn't have any help hardly. They had to just work who they could get then. Colored people wasn't allowed to work in the mill. So, when I got twelve years old, my uncle come to my daddy, and daddy'd let me quit school and go to work. And he did.
Why did your uncle come and do that?
Well, he was the bossman in the mill.
Your uncle was? He was in charge of…
Yes. In charge of the spinning room.
That's Jim?
No, that was my uncle Bob.
What's his last name?
He was a Mace. Bob Mace. He was a section hand in the spinning room.
And so did you go in the spinning room?
I went to work and I was left to run one side. Twenty-five cents a day. That's what I made. I worked ten hours a day. That's what they worked then. My father made eleven dollars-and-a-half a week. You worked all the week. But on Saturday you worked just half-a-day. You worked 'til eleven o'clock on Saturday.
What time would you get out and go to work?
We went to work at six o'clock.
Would they blow a whistle?
They blowed a whistle a dinner time. At twelve o'clock you'd come home and eat dinner.
How long would you have?
Thirty minutes. You went back at twelve-thirty, and went to work until six o'clock that night.
Would they blow a whistle to wake you up in the morning?
Oh, yeah, they blowed a whistle at four o'clock. They called that the wake-up whistle.
But you didn't have to get there 'til six?
No, but my daddy got up every morning at four o'clock. Back then they had woodstoves, he'd build a fire in the stove. Then my mother'd get up and cook breakfast. Then he'd get all of us up and we'd all clean up and eat our breakfast and go to work.
What would you have for breakfast?
My mother owned a cow and we had our meat. We owned our own meat. Had a big pasture down there that she raised hogs in. My daddy had hogs, and we'd have sausage and bacon and ham, if we wanted it, and grits and biscuits and butter and syrup and honey, such as that.
And you would keep your cow out in the pasture with everybody else's?
Everybody's cow was in the pasture and you could go get them. They stayed there all day and you could go bring them up at night. You'd milk them in the morning then take them to pasture. You'd go bring them home about six o'clock at night. They had a lock for them. Feed them and milk them.
What about the hogs?
Each family had a different pen.
But it was all in the same place?
All down there in the big old pasture. I don't know how big it is.
Did you have a garden?
Oh, yeah, we had a garden. My daddy raised corn, and green beans, and vegetables. So that's the way we done.
Did your mother can?
Oh, yes, she canned. After I got grown and married, why I canned, too. My mother canned. We always had a big garden.
Before we get away from the agriculture, let me ask you: do you know if your family brought this cow with you from Tennessee.
Yes, she tied it behind the wagon. She walked all the way. We'd stop and feed him, you know, and milk him, and all. They kept her until she died. And then they got another one. Her name was Rose. She was a cream-colored cow. She give four gallons of milk a day. Two in the morning and two in the evening.
Tell me a little bit about what it was like to work in the mill when you were twelve, or thirteen, or fourteen years old.
Oh, I enjoyed working. I'd rather work than eat when I was hungry. I run one side. It took me, I guess, several weeks to learn to really spin good. My oldest sister was a spinner and she run eight sides. I went from one side up to two and on up until I got to eight. But after I got grown, I have run sixteen sides in a day.
Where did you come among your brothers and sisters? Were you the youngest or the oldest?
I was younger. They was all older than I were.
You were the youngest of all ten?
No, I wasn't. I forgot that. I had two brothers and one sister younger than me, but they was born here in South Carolina. They wasn't born in Tennessee.
And you all came here and never did think about moving anywhere else?
No, never did go nowheres else. Papa just liked it here after he learned
to work in the mill. Now, he wouldn't move off. Because all
running in the mill in the spinning room, in two sections,
wasn't anything that worked on it but kin-people. All of us
was aunts and
Who taught all these people how to run their jobs?
Well, I don't know that because, see, the oldest sister when she went to work—'course they had somebody to learn them. She learnt me how to spin. They put me with her to learn.
What was her name?
Annie. She learnt me how to spin.
Do you remember what kind of machinery you were running, the name of the company that made the machines?
Brandon Company, but I don't know who made the frames. All work run good then. But it don't do that no more they say. They say it's awful now. Eight sides was a set but if any of the hands was sick or anything and had to be out, we'd double up work. That's the reason I worked sixteen sides. But now they run twenty sides and they're twice as long as the frames was whenever I worked in the mill. I forget how many spindles there were. I have hear'd, but I don't remember.
Did you have any of your family work in the weaving department?
No. I had two brothers worked in the card room. My daddy worked in the card room. And I had one sister to work in the card room. And I had three sisters worked in the spinning room. Four with me, when I went to work. Four of us girls worked in the spinning room. Didn't have any that worked in the weave room.
What was it like running your job? Could you run and get caught up a while and rest?
Oh, we didn't have to work hard then. I have set down
Did you get to go to school any more?
No, I never did get to go to school no more.
Did you want to school?
Oh, no. I'd rather work than go to school. I never did learn to read and write. But I loved to work. Yes, I did. I really enjoyed it. I had an aunt that was young like I was and me and her, we chummed together. And so we worked close together. Her sister had married my Uncle Bob, the section hand, and he never said anything to us. He let us play all we want to. It was all right. He didn't bother us. He was a mighty good section hand.
It must have been an advantage to have your kin-folk in the section.
Yeah, he'd get out and brag about it. He'd run his
work where all his people was kin-people. He could boss if he wanted to,
but he didn't want to because he was a good man.
He'd tell you—of course everybody then, they did
their work. They didn't have to be told to do it.
Did you ever get any whippings when you were growing up?
Oh, Lord, don't ask me that.
What were you supposed to be doing?
Well, that was before I went to school, you know. I was smaller then. I hadn't ever started school. You didn't start school 'til you was ten years old. So I wasn't even ten years old. But, Lord, I got whippings for running off to my grandmother's. But I loved to go there. I reckon that's the most of what I ever got whippings for.
Your grandmother: she didn't work in the mill?
Oh, no. All her children did. She had ten children, too.
And what about your grandfather? Did he work in the mill?
No, grandfather…well, yes he did. I can't tell you what my grandfather done. I can't remember. But he didn't work in the mill too long, because he was sickly and he was lots older than his wife. So he stayed home and she had to wait on him. That was mother's daddy and mother.
Did they live in one of the mill houses? Did some of their children live with them?
Oh, yes, they lived in the mill houses. All their children lived with them. All except the ones that was married. We had a four-room house and Papa paid twenty-five cents a week for a four-room house. That was a dollar a week. Brandon Mill furnished your coal in the wintertime. And they'd haul your coal to you. It was two dollars a load, for a two-horse wagon load of coal. You can't make your children now understand it. Lord, I've told my grandchildren about working. ‘Lord, never would I work all day, ten hours, for twenty-five cents.’ But I said, back then you would've, because people didn't make any more. My daddy worked down there and made eleven dollars-and-a-half a week, and we lived on that. 'Course with our garden and my mother would put up stuff in the summer enough to do us through the winter. Then we had our own corn and our own cornmeal. We didn't have nothing to buy but sugar and flour and coffee and something like that. We had plenty other stuff. Plenty canned stuff, plenty milk and butter.
When you were running the frames, the spinning frames, you'd have about thirty minutes break now and then?
Yes, sir. No, we didn't have to have no breaks. We just stopped when we wanted to. They had a canteen and we'd go to the canteen when we got ready. They didn't have it when I first went to work, but later on in years, they put a canteen in the mill. And so we'd stop and just go down there when we got ready. We'd get all of our threads up, go down there, set down there, and eat, maybe cookies and drink coca cola, coffee, milk, anything that we wanted. They had it all down there.
Could you hear well enough to talk to each other when the machinery was running?
Oh, yes. You learnt to spin and you learnt to hear. Maybe
you'd work in the mill about a week before you learned good.
But then you
What would you do for recreation and entertainment when you weren't working in the mill?
There wasn't anything then to do. They didn't have places like they have now. You just stayed at home and you went to church. That's what we did every Sunday morning, we went to church, and every Sunday night.
What church did you go to?
Brandon church.
Baptist or Methodist?
Baptist. Preacher Wren was the preacher.
Did he stay here a long time?
Oh, he stayed here for years.
What's his full name, do you remember?
John Wren. But he left here and then he died in another mill village. He went to preach there and he died there. But he stayed at Brandon, I don't know just how many years, but he was there long as I was a child.
Did both of your parents go to church?
Yeah. At Brandon. Everyone of us had to go to church.
Did you go about every week?
Every Sunday'd come. But then that church out there toward
West Greenville. They didn't have a new church like they got
now. New church now is right down there. Well, the Baptist and Methodist
was all together. And one Sunday all the Methodists and Baptists would
all come our preacher would
preach—the Baptist preacher—then next Sunday the
Methodist preacher would preach. His name was preacher Doggett.
That's the way we had our church. Everybody went. That church
was always full on Sunday. And everybody went back Sunday night. Then in
the evenings, if we weren't going anywheres, we'd
get out and walk. There wasn't no cars hardly. The first cars
that started here was old T Models. I can remember the first one I ever
see'd. Yes, I can. They had horses and buggies when I was
small. We'd just get out and walk, you know, just to go
somewheres. Two of our uncles had horses and buggies and
they'd take us not plumb to Paris Mountain—they
couldn't go that far with a horse and buggy—but
we'd go right far, just to see, you know. For pleasure on a
Sunday evening.
Tell me about the first car that you saw.
Well, it liked to scared me to death, the first one I ever seen. Everybody was talking about the T Models. My uncle bought one.
Which uncle is that now?
That's my Uncle…I mean, my brother-in-law. He died, though. He's dead now, I mean. He bought one, second-hand. Somebody'd used it. He bought it. I think he give twenty-five dollars for it. And he come driving up to the house and we said we wasn't getting in that thing. Then he told us that was an iron buggy—to tease us kids, you know—and I said, ‘Well, you ain't getting me in it.’ That's all we had for years. I don't know how many years it was before any of the other cars come out. It was a long time.
Did your mother and father buy one?
No. My father never did own one. All my brothers did, but my father didn't.
Did they belong to the Baptist Church back up in Tennessee?
Yes, sir, they belonged to the Baptist Church there.
Tell me a little bit about how you were brought up and what you were taught—how to behave.
Now, we knew to behave. We had manners then. It ain't like the children now. We didn't say, ‘yes’, ‘no’, and ‘what’ and ‘ain't going to do it’, and all like that. We had to say ‘yes, m'am’, and ‘no, m'am; yes, sir’ and 'no, sir!. Lord, if we ever said ‘what’ to anybody, we would have got a whipping then. Everybody was raised that way then. All the children were. They wasn't like they are now. Lord, I never spoke back to my parents. And now they talk awful to their parents. I tried to raise mine like I was raised. My children was always good to mind me. But we knew to mind. I said if we'd ever run out to those old T Models, if one'd stop out there, and my daddy'd see me run out there to see who was in that car, I guess I'd a gotten a whipping of my life. 'Course my daddy never licked me in my life. But now, my mother did. They didn't allow us to jump up and see who was coming. We sit still until they got out of the car and come in the house. They let us look at their cars, but now, we didn't run out there. I know I got some grandchildren that does it. They're the first to the car when it stops. They're just not raised no more like they were.
Why do you think that was a rule that your parents had?
They had a strict rule.
Why was that? Why do you think they didn't want you to run out when somebody was coming?
Because they had been raised that way theirselves. And so they raised us
like they was raised. They was strict on us.
Did they ever have any dances in people's houses that you remember?
No, but when my mother was growing up, they did. She said they'd have corn-shucking, they called it. They get up a lot of dry corn, you know, when the corn'd be shuck, and they'd pile it in baskets and take it to the house, clean out one room and put all that corn in it, and they'd have a great big room—my mother said they had a large room—and the people'd go in there and they'd shuck all that corn. When they got the corn shucked, they'd go in this room and dance until daylight. She said she danced out of many a pair of shoes.
But you don't remember any dances like that?
[END OF TAPE 1, SIDE A]
[START OF TAPE 1, SIDE B]
No, sir. We never did go to any dances. I guess they had them then, but we didn't go.
Were there any musicians in the community?
No, sir. The first music we ever had in our house was the radio. And Bill Monroe and Charlie Monroe, they sung for the Gillespie Tire people, and my mother listened to them, and we listened to them. They was real good singers.
Gillespie Tire Company? Was that here in Greenville?
Yeah.
And they were on the station here?
On the radio. On the radio here in Greenville. I don't know
Do you remember anybody else that you heard?
Yeah. Roy Acuff. He was young then. 'Course he's an old man now, too. But I've heard him on the radio. The radio's all we had to listen to.
Do you remember Fisher Hendley did you ever hear of him?
Grandpa Jones, we heard him, and Minnie Pearl.
Do you remember Fisher Hendley and the Aristocratic Pigs, they were called? They were on the radio station here in Greenville one time.
I don't remember that. If I do, I've forgot about them. I don't think I remember them, though.
Do you remember hearing Hovie Lister on the radio, his quartet?
Seems like I have. I know that Minnie Pearl used to be a real singer. Let me see who else? Ernest Tubb, he was a good singer.
He's still around.
Yeah. I guess he's old, too.
What about Flatt and Scruggs?
Yeah, we got them, too, on the radio.
Did you ever go to see any of these people?
No, we never did go. But we listened to them on the radio.
Did you have a phonograph machine? A record player?
Ones that you'd crank, you know. We had one of them. We'd buy the records and play them.
Do you remember Jimmie Rodgers?
Yeah, we had some records of him.
And the Carter Family?
And the Carter Family. My uncle used to tease us and tell us, Aunt Maybelle was our Aunt Maybelle, but she wasn't. We was different Carters.
But you don't remember there being any fiddle players or banjo players that lived here?
No, I don't remember any of them. We never did have any player in here. But that had, let's see what they call it…I believe it was Textile Hall. And music people would come there. But I never did go.
Why didn't you go?
Well, we just never did start going.
It wasn't because your father…
No, they'd a let us to went if we wanted to went, but all of us crowd of girls and boys would get together on Saturday evenings and Sunday after church, and just get a crowd together and enjoy theirselves that way. We'd go, maybe, to my grandmother's house or to my uncle's house, or stay at home and all of them'd come to our house. We'd all get out and play games. We enjoyed that.
What kind of games?
Well, we used to play, "Ring Around The
Roses"—I guess that's a old one, too. And
"Drop The Handkerchief". Little boys, you know, used
to pick up their handkerchiefs when they'd see it drop, you
know. They're supposed to kiss the girl they got it. Of
course we was bashful then 'cause we wouldn't want
the boys to kiss us. But they'd grab us and kiss us anyhow.
We'd play tag. We'd run around. We'd
have a big ring out here to the barn, and if he couldn't
catch you, he didn't get to
Did you play ball?
No, they never did play ball. Well, our brothers would. They'd get out and play ball, uh huh. Now, the girls didn't play ball, but I had a girl, a daughter of mine. Lord, she was the biggest ball player ever was. She'd rather get out and play ball than eat when she was hungry.
What kind of ball?
Baseball. Each team would want her on their side. She was a good ball player.
What was her name?
Orthaie.
How do you spell that?
O-R-T-H-A-I-E. She lives in the house right back of this one, right there. She's on the next street from me. That's Miss Elrod lives there.
What's the name of that street that she lives on?
I can't think of the name of it. But it's the next street to this one. Sturdivant Street's the name of it.
Did you get to go to school at all?
I went to the fourth grade. I stayed in one room. I wouldn't have no other teacher. Only one I had, it was Miss Jessie, and we was the sweetest little old thing. She'd want to put me in another grade, and I said, I won't go in another grade. I stayed right in her grade the whole time I went to school.
Then you finally stopped and went to work?
I went to work when I was twelve years old. And you didn't
Were there other children who were…
Oh, yes, there were plenty of them just my age in the mill. We had a neighbor, her name was Miss Lamb, and she had a nursing baby, and she worked. She'd take that baby in her roping boxes and she'd take a quilt and she'd lay him in that roping box and she'd work, 'cause they didn't have any help. Now that's how bad they were for help. And they'd her bring her baby down and keep it in the mill all day long.
Was she the only one you ever knew that did that?
Yes, and she did it.
But there were lots of little girls?
Children nine years old, my age, working in the mill. Twelve years old.
Where did the girls work?
Most all of them worked in spinning. Some of them filled boxes in the weave shop. They put them just wherever they needed them.
Now what about the little boys?
The boys did the same thing.
You had some boys in the spinning room?
The doffers was boys. We had four doffers on one section. They called him the head doffer. He'd bear down the frames, and each boy'd doff half a frame a piece. They had four of them, two on each side. Then he'd start up the frames, and any threads come down, he pieced them up. But now they don't doff that way no more. One doffer doffs both sides of the frame. Then they had four doffers. That's the way they started off.
Do you remember any accidents with any children?
No. There never was any. If there was, I never heard tell of it. We never got hurt. We was always particular.
Sometimes did the children go to sleep on the job?
Did you ever see any of the children get a whipping in the mill?
No. They didn't allow that. My uncle never whipped one.
It seems with all those children working in there that now and then one of them would get in a fight?
No, they didn't. Everybody got along good. It ain't like it is now. Children was different from what they are now.
Part of that was because they knew something would happen to them if they didn't.
That's right. And when the bossman told them to do anything, they went ahead and done it. They didn't say, ‘no, I'm not going to do that; I don't have to do it.’ They went right ahead and done it just like it'd been their parents telling them to do it. Children minded that worked in the mill. They'd mind their bossman, because he was good to them. So they didn't have no cause not to mind him.
Do you remember the flu epidemic coming along?
Yes, I remember that, because lots of people died when that come. They
called it ‘intestine flu’ then. It was bad. My
mother went to the neighbors and waited on them, and cooked for them,
and take them
World War I.
I mean World War I.
Did any of your family get flu and die from that?
No I never losed any of my family with the flu. 'Course lots of them had it, but they didn't have it that bad.
Do you remember folks dying that you knew?
Oh, yes. Lots of people died that I knew, with the flu, too.
How did that make you feel at that time? Did it make you kind of afraid?
My mother never was afraid of the flu. The next-door-neighbor could have the flu and she'd go right in, just like they wasn't sick. She said she know'd the Lord was going to take care of her. If he wanted her to have the flu and die, that's the way for her to go. She wasn't never afraid of the flu.
She put a lot of faith in religion.
In the Lord, that's right.
Did she read the bible at home? Read it out loud?
She always read her bible. I've got it somewhere. No, my sister's got it. But it's old, and the pages is yellow now. It's such a old bible. She had all of our ages in it, places that she'd read in it.
What about World War I? Did that affect your family at all?
I had two brothers that went in World War I. They done married and had families, but they drafted them in the War anyway, because they had to have them in the War, too.
Did that war change your life any, your family's life any?
No. It was like it always was.
Things went right on afterwards?
Yes, and my next-to-the-oldest brother, he had two children, and he had to go.
Did they come back O.K.?
Oh, didn't even get a scratch on them. Fought all through the War.
And did they go back to work in the mill?
Yeah. They hold your jobs for you. He went right back on the job he left when he went into the service.
Did it begin to change? You talked about when they first built the mill they had a hard time getting enough help. Did it ever get to be—after World War I or in the nineteen twenties, or any time later…
Well, I tell you. They got two parts of Brandon Mill. When I was a child, before I went to work in the mill, they built this new part—half of it. Half is divided. The lower side half is the old mill, and the newer up here. When we was children, we'd go down there and play in the gullies that they was digging, you know, to build the new mill. So they built this new mill down there. It didn't take them too long to build it. That's when they didn't have no help. See, they could run the old mill. They had plenty to run the old mill when they brought my daddy out here. But now, when they built the new mill, that's when they went around trying to get help. Oh, they went everywheres after help. They'd move the families for nothing, you know, just to get them to come and work.
When your family came, that was for the new mill?
My daddy worked in the old mill.
But it was the same thing then, they were trying to get help?
Yeah, they was getting help then. They didn't have any help to run it.
Now when did they build the new mill? You say you played in the ditches?
I guess I might have been ten or eleven years old. All of us kids would gather up and go down there and play. Those men, when they got ready to do something to the gully, why, they'd have to run us out. But now, they didn't have no trouble with us. They let us play all we wanted to play, 'til they got ready to do whatever they were going to do, and they'd tell us we'd have to go somewheres else. And we would.
Did it ever get hard to get a job here?
Not til after the war times.
After the second war?
Uh huh. You couldn't just hardly get no work to do.
What about during the Depression?
Oh, it was hard then.
Tell me a little about when you met your husband.
I met my husband when he was in the service.
World War I?
During World War I. I married when I was sixteen years old.
How did you meet him?
I met him at City Park in the grandstand. There's all the soldiers there playing, you know, the band. They had the big band. And so he was in the band and I went to going with him.
How did you meet him, though?
Well, my aunt was going with another soldier boy and he was with him. And
he introduced me to him. We went to going together and
What's his name?
Dalton. D-A-L-T-O-N.
Where was he from?
He was from Clennon, North Carolina.
And he had been assigned down here?
He was in Camp Sevier. He was in the army.
What did he do while the war was going on? Did he stay here?
He was stationed here at Camp Sevier, but in 1918 he had to go to Germany when they was fighting. He got wounded five times. He was in a mud hole when they found him. That's the reason he didn't get killed. They'd shot him and wounded him. They thought they'd left him there for being dead, you know. But they found him and picked him up and he stayed in the hospital until he got able to come home. Then they sent him back to the United States.
When did he come back here to Greenville?
The last of 1918.
Was he able to go back to work?
He wasn't able to go back to work. He was still in the service, you know. They didn't give him his discharge then. He was at Camp Sevier, and he had to stay in the hospital a long time after he come back home. Then whenever he got able, he went back to work in the mill. He had never worked in the mill. He run cards in the mill. He hadn't ever worked in the mill.
This was the first time?
Uh huh. He went right to work down here at Brandon. They needed card hands and they learned him to run cards in the mill.
Did you all ever think about leaving here, going anywhere else?
No. We stayed right here. Well, we did move to North Carolina, to his hometown, but we didn't stay very long. We stayed there for about two years and come back up here, and I've been here ever since.
What about your children? How many children did you have?
I had ten children. I had eight boys and two girls is all I had. My mother's was divided. She had five boys and five girls.
When did you have your first child?
1920.
Were you still working in the mill?
No, I wasn't working. I didn't work any more after I married.
Why was that?
My husband didn't want me to work, so I didn't work. He was like my daddy. My daddy said it wasn't a woman's place to work in the mill that had family. She's supposed to be home. And that's the way my husband felt. After my baby boy got up—he was about eleven years old—I did go back to Brandon and I worked five years.
So when did you finally quit the mill?
I just worked five years after I was married. We moved to the country then. So he was a farmer. He farmed all his life.
Who was a farmer?
My husband. So we moved to the country, Powdersville.
Powdersville, South Carolina?
Yeah. It's down toward Anderson. My daughter still lives there, my oldest daughter.
Let me go back and get it straight, now. You worked until after your first child was born?
No, I didn't work from the day I was married until my last
child was born and he was about nine or ten years old. Then I worked
five years and I haven't worked any since. Never have been
in the mill since. No, I think I did go down here
one night with my son-in-law, just to see the work they put in, the new
stuff. And I went to see if I could spin on that work.
Could you?
Yeah. And a section hand come over there and he told me, ‘Well, I know it's changed, but you can spin as good as you ever could. You know, that's one thing you never forget.’ He said, ‘The day you learn to spin, you never forget it.’ I said, ‘Well, I could put up a just as good as I ever could.’
What year was it that you married?
I married in 1917.
And that's when you stopped working in the mill?
Yes, sir.
And your husband was still in the army, and when he got out of the hospital and got out of the army, you all moved to the country?
Yes, sir.
And you lived in the country on the farm until ten years…
After all our children growed up. After they begun to grow up, then he went to work in the mill. He worked at Woodside mill then. He was a card hand.
Were the children still living there at home, or did they move?
The ones that wasn't married lived at home. I had two married ones, a girl and a boy. Then one of my girls married while we was living on the farm.
Did any of your children go to work in the mill?
No, they didn't go to work in the mill. Now, my youngest daughter that lives up there, she worked some at Judson, then after she married.
So, you weren't working in the mill when they had strikes around here, were you?
No.
They had one here at Brandon back in 1921. Do you remember anything about that?
No, I don't remember anything about it. I was living in the country then. I know they did have them.
And in 1934, I think they had another one. What was your attitude and your family's attitude about having unions in the textile mills?
Now, they did want a union in Brandon. And I voted for it one time. Of course, now, they got a big lawyer. They won, the union won, but still they beat them out of it.
How long ago was that?
Well, I can't remember how long ago it was.
Was it before you left the mill that first time?
I was working in the mill that time. So, we voted, all of us, we voted for the union. So they have this lawyer, John Bolt Culbertson. They paid him a big pile of money and he voted the union out. But they said, really, the union won.
He was working against the union?
He was working against it. He didn't want us to have union.
And there was two girls that come around and begged all of us spinners:
‘now,
But they never did get the union?
No, they didn't get it. They beat them in a way, but see, I don't know what he done.
I thought he always worked on the side of the people that was trying to get the union.
No, he wasn't. That's what they said, now. I don't know. They said he were against it and they paid him a big pile of money. They would've got it. They said he was the cause of not getting it.
[END OF TAPE 1, SIDE B]
[START OF TAPE 2, SIDE A]
He was sick and in the hospital, so I went to work then.
That's when the election was, is that right?
I think so. Now, I ain't for sure.
That would've been right during, and right after World War I?
Yes, sir, that's right. But I really don't remember
whether it was then or not, if it was later on, I mean. But I do know
that he
And you worked in the mill?
Yeah, I worked in the mill then.
And then he got out of the hospital?
He stayed in the hospital until they discharged him. So whenever they discharged him, I didn't work any more.
And that's when you moved to the country?
That's why we moved to the country in Powdersville and we stayed in the country as long as he lived. Of course he went to work in the mill after the children got big enough and married off, where he couldn't have no help on the farm. So then he went back to the mill and worked.
And he started back at Woodside.
He worked at Brandon, then he started back at Woodside.
When was your youngest child born?
He was born on the second day of April, I believe it was, I can't remember. I got them all set down in the bible but I can't remember them.
Can you remember what year it was?
I'd have to get the bible and look at it.
So you wouldn've gone back to the mill in about '50 or '53.
I guess so. I imagine that'd be about right. 'Cause
I just went to work for about five years, on the…oh, whatcha
call it?
Social security?
…social security when I was sixty-two. If I hadn't worked five years. But I had five years work on the social security.
Did you go back to Brandon?
Yeah.
And your husband, was he working at Brandon, too?
No, he was working at Woodside.
Where were you all living then?
We was living at Powdersville, still living on the farm. We lived on the farm as long as he lived. We haven't been on the mill village long, just two or three years before he died, we moved back here. We'd always lived on the farm. He's been dead now nine years. The last day of October, he died.
This time when they had the election you were talking about—the union election—would that have been in those five years that you came back to Brandon?
It could've been in that time. I was working then, because I know we all voted for the union.
That sounds more likely.
I believe that'd be right, too.
Culbertson is still alive and he would've been too young.
He was lots younger then. That'd be about right, I believe.
Do you remember back in the twenties and thirties, what you thought about the union back then?
Well, I never paid any attention to it, until they brought it to the
mill. Then everybody said—people and neighbors would come
over—
Did you ever say anything to your children about whether or not you wanted them to work in cotton mills?
They never did want to work in the mill. They all wanted to farm. They enjoyed being on the farm. After we qui