Pickin' Cotton

By Courtney Voss

“I started pickin' cotton when I was five years old,” said my grandpa, “Paw-Paw” as I call him, as he looked at me with a sly smile as if recalling days of working with his brothers and sisters in the cotton fields. We sat around the kitchen table and talked for hours about his childhood. My grandmother has an old picture of Paw-Paw and his family and had trouble recollecting the date it was taken. Grammy gingerly replied, “Oh, it was way back when.” Like many other families in the ‘30s, his family were sharecroppers and tended mostly to cotton. It seemed that many of my grandfather's memories stemmed from his life as a sharecropper and working with the machinery to harvest the crop.

In the South you were either rich or poor. The wealthy were landowners who stood at the top of the food chain, and the tenant farmers and sharecroppers were the plain “simple-folk” with little income. My grandfather, Billy Ray Voss, moved three different occasions in Arkansas from the time he was born until he was nine years old. Then his family moved to Oklahoma and later built a home in Missouri where they had one hundred acres of cotton to tend to.

“The landowner furnished the seed, and it was up then to our family to do all the chopping, the hoeing, and the plowing, tilling, and picking of the cotton” (Voss). Grandpa also says that “the landowner got a fourth of the crop.” Grandpa recalls a time living in Arkansas with his family working for his Uncle Maurice. They lived in a small house with no electricity. Kerosene lanterns lit the house. Living in the ‘30s may not seem so desirable to our “modern” generation, but this comment from my grandfather shows his true respect for the time and place that he came from: “We weren't as bad off as people looking back would think we were. I don't remember a time that we ever went to bed hungry. We didn't have the finest clothes, but I don't remember us going naked either.” People in this era may have grown up with few material things, but as you can see, it had no effect on their quality of life.

One piece of machinery was very important to the cotton industry, and that was the cotton gin. Eli Whitney invented it in 1793, and it then contributed to the vast increase in cotton production. According to Mary Bellis, this machine separated the cotton seed from the raw cotton fibers at a much faster rate than if it were done by hand. Grandpa can recall the times as a child when he was very fascinated with the loud roar and function of the gin. “There was one good thing about the cotton gin; it had a big ol’ tank of water, and we could swim in that -- what little bit I could swim at that time” (Voss).

After talking with my grandpa, I realize that our generation is spoiled. “People didn't have to have as much then as they think they have to have now” (Voss). Paw-Paw is a very wise ma,n and I am proud to be his granddaughter. I will treasure the stories that he has shared with me and share them with my children and grandchildren just like he did for me. His upbringing was so very different than my own, and I look with only pride at the history of where I come from.

Works Cited

Bellis, Mary. “The Cotton Gin and Eli Whitney.” About.com Inventors. The New York Times Company, 2011. Web. 13 Sep. 2011.

Voss, Billy. Personal interview. 9 Sep. 2011.

Note: Courtney Voss, who is from Carthage, NC, is pursuing an associate in science degree at Sandhills Community College.

Yankees with Deep Fried Southern Roots

By David J. Ross

The past is something that defines us. It determines who we are and what values we hold. It is our history. Too often, especially today, we take our history and toss it aside as “old fashioned” and “unnecessary” — scraping it from ourselves like chewed gum from a shoe sole. Yet we fail to realize how much our past affects the future and how we are shaped by it.

My parents experienced events I have only observed in the worn, yellowed, and dusty pages of history books. The differences between today and yesterday are often the subject of heated debates over what has changed in America and what is still the same. Sometimes I vehemently disagree with them, and other times I find myself compelled to agree, much to my chagrin. Not until interviewing both of my parents over a weekend and getting into a disagreement did I realize how much I still have to learn about history and how my parents experienced it.

Southern Roots

As my parents talked that lazy Sunday afternoon, I realized that I did not truly recognize my family’s deep fried Southern roots. For instance, I saw for the first time how Southern our household is, yet I also observed how little attention I have paid to my family’s history. Sure, I had heard the stories about our family’s past during my youth. But as I grew older I heard them so much that I began to half-listen and the stories became like wallpaper, just a part of the home I knew existed but paid little attention to. Having to take note of events my parents encountered made me wish to record every scrap of my family’s history — from a passed-down family recipe to an ancient family story — and preserve them from the ravages of wayward young minds and give them to my children to pass on to theirs.

Both of my parents were born in the state of Massachusetts. As a result, my parents’ first experience with Southern culture was not in the South but the North. The neighborhood of Maynard Street in Springfield, MA, was predominately populated by Southern Blacks, who had move more north to live near Westover Air Force Base in Chicopee, a subsection of Springfield, to escape the depressed economy and vehement racism of the Jim Crow South.

One Parent: Rooted in New Orleans

My mother’s parents, Webster “Lucky” Carroll Jr. and Mercedes “Joyce” Carroll nee Harper, moved north because they had experienced racist New Orleans during the 1930s and ‘40s. Although they left the South behind, they did not leave their culture on Bourbon Street. Instead, like many of the people in the area, they brought New Orleans with them. Because of my grandparents’ efforts my mother was constantly immersed in the sights and sounds of Black culture which ranged from eating savory New Orleans dishes such as gumbo and jambalaya to listening to classic jazz music from the likes of Louis Armstrong and Jelly Roll Morton.

Mrs. Rosemund, one of the neighborhood moms and an Arkansas native, would serve cornbread­ — which apparently tasted horrible and had the consistency of sand — during house visits that helped to distinguish her Southern roots from a Northern family. As my dad explained, a Northern Black family would invite someone over and offer something to drink — and nothing else. In contrast, Southern Black families would invite a person over, offer food and drink, and demand that their guest sit down and relax. Southerners tended to be warmer, were insulted if you did not say good mornin’ or good evenin’ to them, and always had good food cooking in a pot to serve alongside pleasant conversation.

Another Parent: Urban Boston Meets Rural Alabama

In contrast to my mother’s story, my father’s was different. His family was originally from Boston. They uprooted to Springfield when my grandmother, Eloyse Barnhart nee Johnson, purchased a house on Maynard Street in 1962, when my father first met my mother. She was two and he was four. Dad’s full-blown introduction to the Southern region came at the age of fifteen when my grandmother married James Napoleon “Boo” Barnhart, my step-grandfather who is originally from Fairfield, Alabama. “Papa,” as we call him, had a strange upbringing. He was born the oldest of sixteen children, all of whom were packed like sardines into a two-room shack (apparently they were sharecroppers). When he was as child, one of his close friends was a white boy. This friendship was risky considering they were living in the Jim Crow era. To exacerbate matters the attitude of the boy’s family seamlessly fit the times like a jigsaw puzzle piece. They wanted him to stop associating with Papa because he was black. However, the boy defied his parent’s wishes and refused to neglect his friend, and later he would even teach “Boo” how to drive.

Papa was also very intelligent and strong. He often told stories of hitching the family mule to the plow to till the earth. Because of such hard manual labor his muscles felt like steel ropes. Even today, after he was forced to enter the Veterans Administration Hospital, his muscles remain hard from the intense manual labor he endured in the past. His intelligence earned him an opportunity to enter college. Unfortunately he could not accept because his family was experiencing hardship due to his father’s death. Instead he enlisted in the United States Air Force and eventually became a jet mechanic performing maintenance on the new B-52 Stratofortress jets. Through years of hard work, discipline, and focus he worked his way up to chief master sergeant, the highest rank an enlisted man can attain in the Air Force. His military occupation would take him to Westover Air Force Base in Springfield, MA, where he would meet and marry my grandmother.

Less Than Subtle Racism in the North

Although many Blacks were fleeing the Jim Crow South, my parents stressed to me that all too often they found the same racism up North that they thought had been left behind in Dixie. The only difference was it did not wear a white sheet and lacked that distinct Southern twang. The area my parents lived in up north was highly segregated between Black, Hispanic, White Protestant, Polish, Irish, and Italian neighborhoods. Because of strained racial tension the parents restricted their children from going to certain neighborhoods for fear of the child’s life. In the mid-1960s my parents were among the first children to be bussed from their local predominately Black school to a middle class suburban white school. The government often used economic means to force people to integrate. For example, in my parents’ neighborhood people who wanted their children to go to the local neighborhood schools had to pay an extra tax that was not affordable. However, many parents, including my grandparents, pulled their children out of the predominately white schools due to vitriolic racism from both students and faculty.

My parents ended up in a Catholic school where they encountered all the social groups in one setting. One memory they recount vividly is when a race riot broke out among high school students. Although the origins of the fight were subject to debate, apparently a Black male teenager was dating a white girl and earned the simmering ire of white males at the school. After fighting broke out between the Black student and a fellow white student, it quickly spread like wildfire throughout the high school reaching the local colleges. My mother remembers my grandmother saying, “They ain’t taking it no more! They ain’t takin’ it like we took it!” Mostly what my parents remember is being told to run straight home without stopping anywhere. The aftermath was devastating. Places were trashed and vandalized; the unstable racial tension exploded like nitroglycerin.

Experiences in the South: New Orleans and the Paper Bag Rule

My parents’ first experiences in the South differed slightly but in many ways were the same. My mother's first experience occurred at the age of four during a family trip from Springfield to New Orleans. There were no interstates so back roads were used to get to their destination. While stopped at a local Mississippi gas station my mother saw something she was not familiar with -- a sign that said, “Whites Only.” Because Black people were not allowed upfront, my grandfather had to use the back entrance to pay for his gas. While he was away my mother overheard a white woman in a conversation. My mother had never heard a white southern accent before and because she thought it sounded funny began to mimic it like most four-year-olds would. My grandmother quickly grabbed her, told her to shut up, and put her in the car. It was then that Mom noticed that my grandmother was afraid. After getting back on the road and driving into the night, everyone was exhausted so they pulled over to rest. My grandmother awoke to discover they were in the same area where three civil rights workers named Andrew Goodman, James E. Chaney, and Michael Schwerner had been murdered in 1964 by Klu Klux Klan members in cooperation with Neshoba County Deputy Sheriff Cecil Price. Realizing where they were my grandmother awoke my grandfather who floored it out of the area.

My mother later moved to New Orleans in 1970 at the age of ten. While she had visited there before, this time she got the chance to see firsthand just how ingrained Jim Crow and slavery-era racism still were in post-civil rights New Orleans. She encountered racism in many forms, but the most surprising for her was among her own culture about skin tone — the paper bag rule. The rule was, and still is, a major issue in the Black community. The rule states that people with lighter skin complexions are more desirable because they can pass for another race. People with darker complexions are less desirable because they cannot as easily. A lot of mixed people/Creoles in New Orleans, formerly called mulattos, would only marry individuals who were either equal to or lighter than the color of a paper bag. They engaged in this practice in order to keep the “good genes” in their families. The mixed people in New Orleans segregated themselves in their own ward, the seventh ward.

My mom provided me an example of this practice. One of her childhood schoolmates was a boy named Dwight, wholooked white, which is what my mother thought he was. One day he told her that he was Black, much to her confusion. My grandmother had to explain to her that Dwight’s parents were the descendants of Creoles, peoples of mixed African, European, and in some cases Native American ancestry. Dwight’s parents had kept the “socially desirable genes” in their family. Because my mother was about the color of a paper bag, she was able to associate with the light-skinned and dark-skinned Blacks without incident.

Related Experience: Texas Communities and Racial Bigotry

My father’s first experience down South was one of both Southern and military cultures. In 1974 he moved with my grandmother and step-grandfather to Texas, where he lived in two cities at different times. The first was Ft. Worth and the second was San Antonio; both cities had a strong military presence. According to him they were not really the typical South because people from all over the globe were living in the area. The difference between the local and military cultures was more clearly obvious when my father visited Como, a predominately Black neighborhood of Ft. Worth. Life on a military base was different from being in the general population and constantly revolved around base activities. In contrast, in Como everything was centered around the church where Papa was a Sunday school teacher.

After moving to San Antonio to attend college my father encountered a completely different society. Blacks and Whites were the minority because San Antonio was predominately populated by individuals of Latino descent. The communities of the city were quite segregated. The Blacks lived on the eastside, Whites in the north and northwest sections, and Hispanics everywhere else.

Dad’s first experience with racism in the South was while he was living in Ft. Worth. It involved a local white couple, Jud and Jerry, who were friends of the family. Jerry, the wife, helped my father and his step-brother, James, get a job at a restaurant called The Farmer’s Daughter. Jud, the husband, was from out of state. One night Jud drove to Cowtown to pick up Jerry from her job, and my father and James tagged along with him. After arriving at the bar where Jerry worked, they waited inside for her while Jud kept the car running. The manager of the place came and viciously asked who the two “niggers” were. When Jerry indignantly responded they were her friends, the manager venomously spat out that he did not want to see “them niggers” in his establishment again — Jerry promptly quit her job.

My parents’ description of their lives made me think about my own experiences. I have encountered some of the issues they describe. I have been called a “nigger.” People have eloquently told me of my “inferiority” scientifically, socially, and religiously. The hard truth is that for all the progress we seem to have made, more needs to be make. Yet I saw a silver lining. I have never experienced a race riot. I have not felt the fear of knowing I was in an area where three men were shot based upon their support of civil rights. I am able to sit in a classroom with classmates from other races, ethnicities, and culture without fear of violence. My teachers are able to look past skin color and see an individual’s personal value. In some ways we have not changed and need to progress further, but in other ways we have progressed substantially. It takes more than flour to make an apple pie, and it will take more than forty years of political correctness to rid America of it racism. Through it all I discovered my connection to a culture I never felt I was related to, and I saw how much I still must learn from those who treaded the gnarled and twisted path of life before me.

Works Cited

Ross, Loren. Personal interview. 11 Sep. 2011.

Ross, Patricia. Personal interview. 11 Sep. 2011.


Note: David Ross, who is from Southern Pines, NC, is a university transfer student at Sandhills Community College where he is pursuing an associate in arts degree.

Grandma’s Journey from North to South

By Tramaine Pride

My grandmother has lived through some of America’s most interesting decades these past 65 years. She was in school when desegregation began, angry when “King” was killed, saw man go to space, bought herself an iPod, and has lived to see the first black president in Barack Obama. In our interview I asked her about these events and others that happened during her lifetime to understand a Southern black woman’s view of them when they happened. Bringing up these events brought up an immense amount of memories and stories which led to us having a two-day interview because apparently “our family tends to be a bit longwinded.” Although born in the North, she has used Southern values of church and family to overcome the daily challenges that she has faced.

My grandmother is the youngest of five children who all were born in North Carolina with one exception — her. Her father, a New York native, wanted to move his family up north so his children would have a “better chance on life” rather than one in North Carolina where he had had many problems as an African American. After my grandmother was born, the family stayed in New York until she was around ten years old when her parents divorced and separated. Although her oldest brother and her father stayed in New York, she moved to the South during a time she described as hectic. Though she had heard about desegregation, she didn’t pay it much attention because she had gone to school in the inner city with all “colored” people her whole life. She always knew race was an issue growing up, but she is admittedly ignorant to marches and protests that I was so eager to find out about. “You just didn’t want to stir up any problems down here,” she explained.

She grew up in North Carolina in a single-parent home with two brothers and a sister; everyone in the family played their parts in helping support the family. Her mother did her best and taught them how to use the water pump and how to handle their business in the outhouse. She wasn’t used to the Southern way of life after living in New York. She told me that her mother kept chickens and that she learned to catch, kill, pluck and cook a chicken with great goory detail. Reflecting on this practice she laughed at my face and told me how lucky I am to have Food Lion now. Though the chores and living were harder in the South, “You did them because you had to for your family, and that was true love. I did all that because we had to, and I loved my family; mean as she was, I love my mama.”

During high school she worked for the Pinehurst Resort (“The Hotel”) as did most of her classmates and neighbors from Taylortown. Her oldest brother went into the Army, the other brother went back to New York for college, but she and her sister stayed in the local area after high school working and “courting.” She had fun partying on the “hill” in Taylortown and being the center of attention for the local male population. My grandmother was married four times total and is currently still with her fourth husband. She tells me the reasoning behind these marriages was because “It was the right thing to do. Marriage was how you stayed in a relationship with a man. One did not just move in and live together because you were in love; it was a sin called shackin’ in the church I was raised in.”

Her second husband, my grandfather, was “real country boy” raised in West End North, Carolina, by some “Indians and white folks,” she says with a laugh, “Why you think your mama’s so bright?” In that marriage she had four children and was a true housewife. “I cooked like my mama, I cleaned like my mama, and I loved hard like mama too.” She learned about root medicines and home remedies from my grandfather’s Native American mother. My grandmother was suspicious of some of those practices like most southern blacks; she referred to them as “witchy.” She took her family to the same A.M.E. Zion Pentecostal Church that her mother went to in Taylortown. The church was what kept and still keeps the family together. She made her children sing in the choir and attend Sunday school, they were all christened there, and she had three of her four weddings there too. Her two children who are married, my aunt and uncle, were married in the same church. Life was pretty much the same from generation to generation, her children had children, and I was subsequently raised in Taylortown.

We discussed some changes such as her interaction with white people. For a long time she didn’t deal with white people outside of being a service to them. Most of her adult life she either worked for or served white people, many from the North. She served these rich victors who came to Pinehurst for golf and recreation while she was young and later served and nursed them when they were old in the retirement and nursing facilities in Pinehurst too. In her early ‘50’s still working in nursing, she decided it was time for a change, and that change was her education. Growing up in the South she “didn’t care much about school as much about making money and helping the family survive. That’s just how everybody did it; you worked and survived but never really elevated yourself beyond that.”

She says her children and grandchildren were her inspiration to focus on her education. She attended community college and received an associate in arts degree with honors and elevated her pay and status. She credits her family for helping her along the way. In high school I remember helping her to use a computer and prepare presentations and spreadsheets. She had white classmates who have become her white friends now. “I took me long enough,” she says with a smile. When I asked her did she think race was still an issue even with Obama as president, she responded, “It’s really a beautiful thing how far we’ve come, and I hope y’all just love on each other till all that’s gone.”

My grandmother was uprooted from the North and was raised in the South. Her life has seen many changes in culture over the years and she has changed hers along with it. But the Southern ideals such as church and the importance of family are still how she will live forever.

Work Cited

Baldwin, Toni. Personal interview. 8 Sep. 2011.



Note: Tramaine Pride, who is from Southern Pines, NC, is a university transfer student at Sandhills Community College where he is pursuing an associate in arts degree.

The Town Time Forgot

By Christy Evans

Nothing is more interesting than learning about “how things used to be” — that’s exactly what I did by interviewing my mother-in-law, Emma Jane Brown Evans. Born on October 4, 1950 in Robbins, NC, she was the younger of two children of W.C. and Denese Brown. According to Jane, life growing up in this small southern town has not changed very much over years.

"The biggest thing about our town I remember from my childhood was a huge sense of community. Everyone looked out for each other, and love your neighbor was our code of life.” When growing up, about 15 kids on her block always got together to play in the streets, go to the movies, and go trick-or-treating every Halloween. “You didn’t have to worry about the meanness then that you have to look out for now. It was a God-fearing town.”

The event in the South that had the most effect on her life is the integration of schools. Until 1965, she attended school with only other white children; however, when entering the tenth grade, integration began taking place in Robbins. The all-black school closed, and all the students from it began attending North Moore High School. For her, this wasn’t an issue, but some seniors who were graduating made huge deals by “taunting the lower classmen about having to share their school with people of color.”

According to Jane, when she was growing up, her parents did not raise her to be prejudiced but to love everyone. However, not everybody in town shared those beliefs. Even though integration was going on in the schools, it wasn’t going on in the neighborhoods. No black families were allowed to live inside the city limits of Robbins. “If a house was for sale and a black family tried to buy it, then someone else in the community would buy it first so that the black family couldn’t.” She also said, “As far as I know, that still happens today. I guess that some things will never change.”

Like most other Southerners, family and church were very important. Parents taught and instilled values and manners in their children. A child was expected to show respect to elders and address them properly. Another important element of her childhood was church. “That is where you were supposed to be on Sunday morning, and if you weren’t then Grandma would show up at your house afterwards wanting to know why.” After church every Sunday, family dinners consisted of fried chicken, mashed potatoes, green beans, and homemade biscuits. It was a time to sit down with family, enjoy their company, and catch up on everyone’s lives. Teenagers weren’t allowed to date until they were sixteen, and “women had more respect for themselves by not letting everything hang out. Churches and their preachers pretty much ran the town.”

Jane’s parents brought her up with the mindset that attending college was a must, not an option, and that’s what she did. She started at Sandhills Community College, got her associate in arts degree, and then transferred to UNCP where she received her teaching degree. Jane said, "Education is a must to survive in the world today, not only in the South but all over."

One last nugget I learned is how Robbins seems to be “stuck in the past.” According to Jane, neighboring communities describe Robbins as “the town time forgot” because even as everything in the world has changed, Robbins still stays with the simpler way of living.

The changes in life — and resistance to change — are so interesting. My mother-in-law taught me that some of the “good ol’ days” are still alive in our neighboring communities, and we should hold on to as much of Southern culture and value as we can.

Work Cited

Evans, Emma Jane Brown. Personal interview. 5 Sept. 2011.

Note: Christy Evans, who is from Aberdeen, NC, is a nursing student at Sandhills Community College where she is pursuing an associate in arts degree.

Good Ol’ Days

By Darlene Brown

Some may say growing up in the Sandhills area of Scotland County was a simple and uncomplicated way of life. Compared to the affairs of the world today, it may seem as such. Although families did not worry about home invasions or gang-like violence, the way of life for those who experienced it was all but simple. Growing up in a family of sharecroppers, country living was definitely not a life of luxury but a complicated life of hard work, necessity and family bonding. A close family friend, who experienced the life of working on a farm during the “good ol’ days,” revealed to me a real-life account of the tedious routines of growing up in the Sandhills of Scotland County.

My interviewee, whom we will call Mrs. H., told of her personal experiences living on a farm. Mrs. H. said she did not go to school because school was not a high priority. She recalls that at the age of nine her typical day was to get up at sunrise and go outside to the water pump; she would wash up with lye soap in cold water. Then she would carry water into the house for her younger siblings to wash their faces. She would next start the wood-burning stove to cook breakfast for her siblings because her parents had already gone to the tobacco fields where they made a living for the family as sharecroppers. Mrs. H. was so small that she had to stand on a soapbox to reach the top of the wood stove. She would prepare a breakfast that consisted of homemade biscuits, fatback meat, and syrup. Unfortunately, the fire would go out in the process of cooking; therefore, she would have to walk barefoot into the woods, chop, gather, and haul wood back home to keep the fire burning.

After getting her siblings washed and fed, it was time for her many chores. Mrs. H. said she had to “shoo” the chickens from under the porch of the house, which was a difficult task because the dilapidated porch, which had holes and cracks, allowed the chickens to see her coming, and they would run farther and farther underneath the porch and house. After that task was completed, she pumped water for the mules, fed the horses, milked the cows, and slopped the pigs. Next was the task of washing clothes; she drew water from the hand pump and collected it in a large tin tub. Lye soap was served for multiple uses of washing the body as well as the laundry. A washboard was used to scrub the clothes clean. After cleaning the clothes, they were drooped across the bushes in the yard to dry and watched carefully by the younger ones to keep the cows and mules from gnawing on the clothes.

Yet, the day’s work had just begun. Now she had to cater to her parents who were out in the tobacco field. She would wait for the iceman to come around and pay 25 cents for a chunk of ice, which she would wrap in a cotton sheet and chip using an ice pick. Then she would gather clean Mason jars, a bucket, and a ladle to carry the water and sandwiches to the field for her parents. She did this daily until her “time and age came around”; Mrs. H. was then taken to the field by her father and taught how to “suckle” tobacco — known today as topping, which is taking the flower tops off the tobacco stalks and clearing growth from around the roots of the plants.

During her childbearing years, Mrs. H. would carry her baby to the field in a crib, put the crib at the foot of her row under a big oak tree, and place a cotton mesh sheet over the crib to protect the baby from flies and mosquitoes. Then she would then go about her duty of “priming tobacco.” Along with working in the field, she also worked as a tobacco stringer and as a market preparer, which consisted of stringing tobacco leaves on sticks and hanging them in tin barn to be cooked.

Regardless of what Mrs. H. has been through or what has been taken from her, she still fines joy in giving someone a piece of her wisdom from her youthful years in the old South. She managed to survive on the food of her farm, which is actually healthier than the processed food we have today. She also made sure that her younger brothers and sisters went to school while she took care of the house when her parents were away in the fields. Mrs. H. also made sure that her parents had food ready after their long day of work. Her family benefited every day from her hard work.

Work Cited

McLaughlin, Hattie. Personal interview. 10 Sep. 2011.

Note: Darlene Brown, who is from Wagram, NC, is a student at Sandhills Community College in the medical office administration program.

Moonshine

by Kayla Cruz

When my father was born in 1948, he was the only boy of eight children. Growing up in Red Springs, N.C. (part of Robeson County), he was taught as early as age eight how to plow fields by mule and fill up tobacco barns. He referred this as “hard work” and “good times (Mcmillan), but on weekends all the boys went out and had some fun. “Friday night football, girls, and moonshine” were all you needed (Mcmillan). For centuries, moonshine has been an icon for the American South.

White liquor was very prevalent during this time. The southern names for moonshine were known as: “white lightin’” or “hooch.” During this time money was hard to come by, and many people started making and selling moonshine to provide for their families. People who made and sold moonshine made good money. The men, known as “bootleggers” or “backwoods brewmakers,” made the liquor. Their wives, also known as “Mary Janes,” “Jezebels,” and “Modas Jones” sold the liquor (Mcmillan).

Moonshining was illegal; therefore the “bootleggers” had to make it deep into the woods so that no one would be able to find it. The process of making moonshine was not simple, and it took the most precise measurements to make it. The most common ingredients were brown sugar, water, honey, and yeast. All of this was poured into a fermenter and was left to sit for six to fourteen days. After it was fermented and bottled, to test it you could shake it, and if suds came to the top and then disappeared, it was good. If the suds stayed, you knew not to drink it. “It was sold in Mason jars or Pepsi Cola bottles, and was only a dollar per gallon. Pool tables and juke boxes were provided to stay and party” (Mcmillan).

The U.S. prohibited the making and selling of moonshine in the 1920s, although “hooch” is still made today. Many illegal distilleries are being shut down by law enforcement each day. Moonshine led the first revolution against the U.S. government. This outbreak was known as the “Whiskey Rebellion,” which occurred right after the Revolutionary War when the government tried to tax homemade moonshine. During this time, the slogan was, “For the sake of my family, vote dry” (Rewald). They distributed stickers with the slogan on it to each customer to support the making and selling of moonshine.

I personally have never experienced drinking moonshine; however my father has had his share. Even though, my father had to work hard during the week to get the fields plowed, the weekends were the times to relax, hang out with friends, and drink a little moonshine. Most southern natives will say that it is “good stuff” (Mcmillan). It has been many centuries since this southern tradition was created, and today it is still going strong.

Works Cited

Mcmillan Bobby, Jr. Personal interview. 29 June 2011.

Rewald, Jason. "Moonshine, Canned Heat, and a Cathead." TheDeltaBlues. 23 Aug 2010. Web. 3 July 2011.



Note: Kayla Cruz, who is from Aberdeen, NC, is majoring in surgical technogolgy and nursing at Sandhills Community College.

The Southern Experiences of Papa

by Auriel Jeffries

To extend information to my generation about growing up in the South, an amazing man who grew up right here in Southern Pines shared his experiences with me. Thomas Braxton Ray, my papa, is now seventy-four years old. Although the experiences were not positive, Papa was still willing to share them and relate his journey as a half Black, half Cherokee in the South. From movie theaters to restaurants and schools, he was wrongly treated — not because of his character but because of the color of his skin.

When he was in school, he experienced much more prejudice people than someone today. The schools that he went to were segregated. When he was in the eleventh grade, Papa had to use old ninth grade books, which were from the school across town that had only white students. The books were so old that the white students no longer used or needed them.

When my grandpa was young, his family was very poor. It was hard for a black family to have a decent paying job. His household contained of four other siblings. With his mom and dad, there were seven people in all. His dad, a Baptist minister, also worked other jobs. Both his mother and his father worked in food service (much like restaurant jobs today). His mother also did domestic housework. There weren’t any good jobs available for people of his status. The saying that they used back then was, “If you’re white, you’re alright. If you’re brown, stick around. If you’re black, get back” (Ray).

Restaurants in Southern Pines were also prejudiced when my grandpa was growing up. Black people were treated differently from the white people at some restaurants. At one restaurant, Papa had to go to a back window to get food. He referred to this behavior as feeling like he was treated like a dog getting food out of a doggy window, though it was common and expected then for this behavior to take place. The restaurants and schools were not the only places my grandpa was mistreated.

A lot of locals are familiar with the Sunrise Theater in downtown Southern Pines. I discovered from my grandpa that the theater was not always as it is now. Because my grandpa was black, he was not allowed to watch the movies like we can now. He as well as other black people who wanted to watch a movie had to sit at the top of the theater where he said they could barely see anything instead of being able to sit in the main floor area where there was a better view.

My grandpa unfortunately experienced the prejudice in the South not only in Southern Pines but in the military, which he also joined. He said that the military was prejudiced and segregated. I would not expect this to be in the military of all places, but apparently it was. The military would do things like rotate the black guys to another company, and this happened to him.

Though my grandpa had a hard time growing up in the South, he let me know that he is glad that he was able to live through the transformation of the South. He experienced not only the bad but the good change that has come today. He feels happier than ever to see that his grandchildren are able to have a better life growing up then he did and can have better opportunities.

Work Cited

Ray, Thomas. Personal interview. 29 June 2011.


Note: Auriel Jeffries, who is from Southern Pines, NC, is majoring in criminal justice and psychology at Sandhills Community College.

Historic Biscuits

by Brady Hale

The majestic Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia are home to number of small counties and towns. Nestled right in the midst of them all is Franklin County. Named for the great Benjamin Franklin, it’s mostly known for its steep history of moonshinin’ and its proximity to Smith Mountain Lake. Franklin County has always been a rural, backwoods community and remains so to this very day. However, I know Franklin County for something totally different, the birthplace of the greatest biscuits ever made. To make this story make more sense let’s wind the clock back almost a century ago.

September 3, 1919 was a day that I obviously can’t remember, but it is a date that I will never forget. Why, you ask? On that day, some ninety-two years ago, my grandmother, Ola Scott, was born. As was often the case then, she was one of several children -- eleven to be exact, nine boys and two girls. Times were certainly different for her then, no T.V. or video games, not even electricity or motorized vehicles. Chores were aplenty. As most of her brothers were in charge of the outdoor duties of the farm, she and her sister Libby were responsible for most indoor and household chores.

Her early childhood was a typical one for a young girl growing up in rural Virginia at that time. School, chores, and church were the staples of her early life. Then in the early 1930s the deep depression ravaging the country’s great urban areas began to impact the rural South. Times were tough, work was scarce, and money was tight. Feeding a family of thirteen was not easy, and often just basics were available. Chicken and pork were normally staples, but with less money for livestock feed fewer animals were kept, and meat portions were smaller. However, one item was served with almost all meals, biscuits. Easy to make, cheap to make, and quite fulfilling, biscuits were a great solution. Wonderful you might say, a family tradition passed down from her mother to be passed on for generations, but unfortunately not the case.

Beginning in the late ‘30s my grandmother received training from a “finishing teacher.” This was actually was an initiative started by Franklin Roosevelt as part of his New Deal. He felt it necessary to refine the young women of the country in household basics such as cleaning, cooking, and some nursing skills. The warring nations of Europe gave him reason to believe that eventually the U.S. might be pulled into the unfortunate situation, and we needed trained young women to care for returning soldiers. My grandmother quickly enlisted the help of her “finishing teacher” to help her develop the skills necessary for baking the delicious treats. I’m sure you’re thinking OK, just biscuits, not that hard. Well, that simply wasn’t the case. Only a wood burning stove was available, and the biscuits had to be cooked on top. Just getting the temperature of the stove to the correct temperature was a difficult task. But hardest of all was achieving the perfect brownness on top which is what kept the inside so moist and warm.

That’s it -- Grandma’s great biscuits, which I thought were a family recipe, instead were literally the makings of an act of Congress. From Benjamin Franklin to Franklin D. Roosevelt to Ola Scott to me, her biscuits aren’t just good -- they’re historic!

Work Cited

Bowling, Ola S. Personal interview. 3 Feb. 2011.

Note: Brady Hale, who is from Radford, Virginia, is majoring in turfgrass management at Sandhills Community College.

The Civil Rights Movement: In the Words of My Father

by Orin McCauley

When I visit the birthplace of my father, I can still see remnants of the Old South. Cotton fields, dilapidated tobacco barns, and the occasional Confederate flag still line the rural streets. Such sights allows me to imagine Jim Crow police with fire hoses, dogs, and billy clubs attacking protesters. I recall the footage of grown men crying after receiving the news of MLK’s murder. I have always been in awe of the strength black people had to display during a time where they were considered three fourths of a human being. I’ve seen and read about the National Guard escorting little black children to school. Today this seems so unimaginable. Sadly, these events occurred, and my father, Edward McCauley, was there to witness.

When I asked my father to describe his life in rural Mt. Gilead, NC, during the Civil Rights Movement, I did not know what he would say. I hoped that I would not hear that he had not been exposed to the hurt and pain associated with being thought of as “less than.” I hoped that rural little Mt. Gilead was removed from the injustices suffered by Blacks in bigger cities like Birmingham or Cleveland. When I expressed these thoughts to my father, he replied, “Boy, don’t you know the Civil Rights Movement started an hour up the road?” Then he began to tell me about the Greensboro Four. On February 1, 1960, four college students entered a Woolworth’s store in Greensboro. They sat down at the whites-only lunch counter and refused to get up. News of this courageous move by the four young black men in a segregated South soon spread, and the next day more students joined in and sat at the Woolworth’s whites-only lunch counter. The sit-ins, which occurred for several more days, catapulted the Civil Rights Movement in the South.

When I asked my father about the emotions associated with the assassination of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., his head dropped. Then he began to speak about the loss of Medger Evans, Malcolm X, and President John F. Kennedy. He spoke about the feelings of anger and despair. He said he had heard the adults in his family and community saying that everyone who tried to stand up for the civil rights of Blacks had been gunned down. They spoke about being discouraged but not being defeated. My father said, “When all them died, everybody kinda knew that equality would be a slow, uphill battle.”

To my dismay, my father was exposed to the pain associated with the Civil Rights Movement. However, the effect it had on him does not sadden me. It makes me proud. I believe he is proud too. He is respectful, strong, and ethical. When I asked Daddy about feeling "less than" as a black man in the South, he quoted James Brown’s 1968 hit, “Say it loud! I’m Black and I’m proud.”

Work Cited

McCauley, Edward C. Personal interview. 6 Feb. 2011.

Note: Orin McCauley, who is lives in Ellerbe, is majoring in business administration at Sandhills Community College.

Small Town Living

by Jill Wagner

Having lived in the South a relatively short amount of time, I learned a lot about Southern culture by talking to Evelyn Gipson, a co-worker of mine, who has strong ties to the South. Her family has lived in Southern Pines for generations, dating back to the original Shaws circa 1820. When I asked her about growing up in the South, Evelyn told me she was one of seven children and the oldest girl in the family. Her childhood was very idealistic, and Evelyn’s mother stayed home with the children while her father worked. Both parents were very supportive of all the kids by going to all school and sporting events they were involved in.

Evelyn recalls growing up poor but not realizing it since everyone she knew lived the same way. She can remember having friends of the family move in with them for days and weeks at a time; their house was always open. Her father would say, “You can always add another cup of water to the soup.” The family had a large garden that they would can vegetables from for the winter. In addition, her life was very family-oriented. Church was also important to them; when the family sat down for dinner, each person said grace before eating. All the children were involved in the youth group and choir.

Holidays were important events. On Thanksgiving her aunts and uncle would visit from Greensboro. She can remember her aunt bringing her famous lemon meringue pie. Christmas was also a big family event; they went to church on Christmas Eve and had a large dinner. Evelyn describes Christmas morning as somewhat chaotic; everyone had to wear slippers and a robe. (That was a bit of a problem since not all of the children had slippers and robes.) They improvised with whatever they could find to wrap around them like robes and find makeshift slippers. Her father was always the first down the stairs, but everyone had to be ready before anyone was allowed down. She remembers one year they found some presents outside. When they asked their father about it, he said, “They must have fallen off of Santa’s sleigh.” Christmas was also the time when one child would receive a bike.

Sunday afternoons were reserved for “bottle hunting.” Her father would load all of the kids in the back of the truck, and they would drive around collecting bottles for the deposit -- giving their mother some much needed alone time. The kids would yell, “Bottle!” and the truck would stop so they could pick it up. The money collected from the bottles would go toward sending one child to camp each summer. The family could not afford to go on very many big family trips; instead they went on day trips to historical sites around the state.

When I asked Evelyn about the differences between now and then, she responded by saying then the town of Southern Pines felt like Mayberry. There were grocery stores, hardware stores and anything needed was located in downtown Southern Pines. The family rarely traveled to Pinehurst and only occasionally traveled to Aberdeen. Everyone knew children, the parents and where they lived. The police brought children home if they were in trouble; her grandfather was the Chief of Police. It seemed safer then; they walked or rode a bike everywhere they went. Evelyn said now the towns run together; there is no real definition. Everybody is too busy now and less family-oriented than they used to be.

By discussing with Evelyn her past, I have a better understanding of Southern culture. Although small towns may change, family traditions are very important.

Work Cited

Gipson, Evelyn. Personal interview. 3 Feb. 2011.


Note: Jill Wagner, who was born in Michigan and now lives in Cameron, NC is a history major at Sandhills Community College.

Back Then

by Allison Strohacker

I always wondered how different life was when my dad was raised in the South compared to my experience thirty-two years later. I always wanted to know what it was like in the “good ol days.” When I sat down with him for this interview, he told me about school, being raised in the South and what has really changed since the 1960s.

My dad, Allen Buie, was born on April 23rd, 1955 in Vass, NC. My grandparents Johnnie and Irene Buie were both raised in Moore County. He has two brothers, both born and raised here. One lives in Carthage and the other in Michigan. He and his brothers were raised in the same house grandparents live in now. The house my dad was raised in is five minutes from mine. “In the South, many people don’t go too far from home.”

In the 1960s, he attended Vass-Lakeview Elementary School. The teachers were strict and used a paddle. According to him, they were not shy about using it and when a student was sent to the principal he wasn’t afraid either. At school, one teacher taught every subject until you were in the sixth grade. Just like many of the schools at that time Vass was an all-white school. However, when my dad was in the fourth grade three African-American girls were enrolled in his class, and he can still remember their names.

My dad was raised that you respect yor elders. They were older, wiser and always had the best stories. Dad said now elders aren’t considered any of these aspects. He said there isn’t really a respect for anything like there used to be. Sunday used to be a day of respect. Sunday was God and family day. He thinks now people are too busy and fast-paced. He notices that back in the day people moved more slowly. He said it seems like time moved slower, especially in the South; you waited and were patient. There was no instant gratification. “When it happened, it happened.” Nobody knew what it was, but when it happened they knew.

Next, we talked about how time spend during summers has changed. My dad worked in tobacco every summer from age five-eighteen. At first he started working on my great-grandfather’s farm in Cameron. He said that’s what you did in the summer. Nobody sat in front of the TV and played video games. You worked. “If you weren’t working in the fields, you were working on your grandpa’s farm.” Now in the South you don’t see any children working in the fields or farms.

Next, he told me the major differences he has seen between his generation and mine. At first when I asked him so what’s so different about the South, he said, “Everything!” First, the family unit has changed. When he was growing up, there was a mom, dad and children. There were no single moms or teenage moms. Also, family time was valued. Children loved spending time with their family. Now it seems like we can’t get away from them fast enough. Another difference he saw were children these days. When he was young, he spent all his free time outside. No matter what -- children were outside. No one sat inside on beautiful southern days and watched TV. “There were only five channels anyways.”

During this interview, I learned how different it was when my dad was raised in the South compared to my experience just five minutes down the street. I also learned that there are lessons that I was taught that my grandfather taught my dad. I learned that the South has changed drastically. The schools have changed, the way families are built was changed and the way children play has changed. I also learned that there are a lot of Southern customs that still hold true today and will for many more generations.

Work Cited

Buie, Allen. Personal interview. 6 Feb. 2011.

Note: Allison Strohacker, who is from Vass, NC, is majoring in early childhood education at Sandhills Community College.

My Southern Friend in Room 808B

by Edilene Del Valle

It was not another typical day at Carolina Rehab Center, as I went straight to room 808B to visit a very special friend. When I opened the door, he was waiting for me. Although I noticed he looked little bit tired, he looked happy to see me. Henry Gainey, a special friend to me, has been residing at Carolina Rehab Center for about six years. When I met him last year as I started working in this nursing home, I became interested in his Southern roots and upbringing. As everyone would imagine, he has many stories to share. With his vivid memory, he went back in time to his family connections, social matters of growing up, and educational values that helped to build this great person he is today. Listening to him talk about his culture was an experience that I will never forget.

Henry Gainey was born in February 2, 1945, in Fayetteville, North Carolina. He had four sisters and five brothers. Since I have never seen anyone from his family visit him, I asked about his family connections and if siblings were still alive. He answered, “No, they all died from cancer, and this disease sadly has passed on through generations from my grandparents to my mom and later my siblings.” He continued, “I’m the lucky one, besides losing my left eye when I was eight years old, I’m healthy with few problems, but I didn’t inherit the disease.”

So Gainey, I asked, “Are there any favorite times you had with your family?” He said “Christmas was the time when all my family, sisters, brothers, mom and daddy sat together and decorate a live Christmas tree!” The tree couldn’t be artificial, for it was his family tradition time to connect. He remembered times when his parents would go around searching for a live tree to put in the living room. He brought this tradition into his own family. Though he believes a lot of things have changed since his childhood, Christmas is still the best family time ever. He said his brothers and sisters were so happy decorating the tree that they didn’t even think about the presents. He remembered his mom cooking a lot of food, but the best of all was her “jelly cake.” His mom never told them how she used to bake the cake, for she would say “it is a surprise.” He said, “We were so happy with a plain cake covered with jelly and unfortunately, now Santa Claus had better bring a laptop for Christmas; otherwise, Christmas is not Christmas.”

“Our culture is changing daily,” he said. “Kids no longer respect their parents like before.” I couldn’t agree more! He said that his parents used to give to them daily duties. For example, the girls would clean and cook, and the boys would clean outside. They would have to do it well in order to get their allowance. He explained to me that the way he grew up; he learned how to be disciplined and how to valued money. The same happened with the rest of his family. During our briefly conversation about social matters as he grew up, he said his parents taught him how to pay for his own college and then paid off four cars between ages 22 and 30 --things he doesn’t believe that anyone is concerned about today as he commented, “They are more concerned about getting things and accumulating debts.” In his case, when he decided to go to the university, he had no debts and still he has no debts. I thought that was unbelievable. He agreed and said, “I believe if parents would teach how to value money when they are kids, we would have better economy and more graduates, don’t you think?”

After graduating from college in Fayetteville, he moved to New York City. He started working, saving some money, and applied at the New Jersey City University for its mental health consultant program. He said that he didn’t want to move from North Carolina, but he wanted to pursue his dream and work with young and adolescents with mental issues. Between school and work, he met his wife. In six years, he finished his degree program, got married, and decided to move back to N.C. I asked him if he thinks that he could have accomplished everything he wanted if he was 22 years old again. He said, “I grew up in a family that doesn’t believe in debts, so the answer for your question is that I would have accomplished all my goals. Yet, I don’t believe that today people are serious about education like I was.” I thought he had a very interesting point of view because he was raised believing in education and he knew that going to school was the way to reach his goals. As he continued to say that nowadays, people are “fighting to keep their culture and values alive,” I approached him with a controversial topic and added my point into our conversation, “American culture is getting mixed, larger, and diverse.” Gainey agreed with me that there are more immigrants now than before. I asked if he likes the idea of having a more diverse America. He said sadly, illegal immigrants are taking more opportunities of what our land offers rather than true Americans and it feels that true “Americans” are forgetting to fight for their culture.

In conclusion, this was one of the best conversations I have ever had with Mr. Gainey as I called him “My Southern Friend in room 808B.” I have learned from a true Southern, as time passes us by, that it is important that each of us maintain our family connections, true values, beliefs, and more importantly our culture, so we can pass on to generations that are to come.

Work Cited

Gainey, Henry. Personal interview. 29 Jan. 2011.


Note: Edilene Del Valle (who was born in San Paulo, Brazil, and now lives in Fayetteville, NC) is majoring in health and fitness science at Sandhills Community College.

Way Back When

by Declan Freswick

To learn about living in the past, talk to one of your grandfathers. I learned how much more difficult life was back in those times from Ashley Derrell Blackburn, my grandfather who was born on July 28, 1938 to a large family on a farm. The economic struggle of the present relate to the examples of life then.

Ashley Blackburn was born into a family with six brothers and two sisters. His family members were sharecroppers to their landlord. As the landlord furnished the land and fertilizer, his family tended the land, raised the crops, harvested them, and sold the crops. He explained, “The landlord would take about half the profit, most of the time he would screw us over, but that’s the way things go.” The tractors they had back then were actually mules and plows. The mules were named Red, Pea Wee, and Chim Charlie. He told me every day they worked in the fields from the earliest they could start until the sun went down, even during school days.

He explained a typical day as a child going to school. “We would walk half a mile to catch the bus.” After school was out, the children went straight home to work in the field. Going to school was valued during that time for many reasons. They were happy spending time in school rather than working hard in the field. Another reason schooling was valued was only families of the wealthy had the chance to be educated. This made me cherish the fact it is so easy for me to further my education.

Delicious meals were also valued in that time. “I loved when we got the chance to eat some good fried chicken,” my grandfather replied when asked about his favorite meal as a child. A dish like that was prepared only once a month due to the shortage of income. He told me that the majority of the meals were fish because of how cheap it was. A lot of my knowledge of cooking has come from my grandfather over time. During the interview, I started imagining the times when I was with him in the kitchen standing on a step stool, or sometimes a chair, trying to learn how to cook.

I proceeded to talk about my last topic, which was the evolution of the construction business. He started in the business when he was only twelve years old. His father bought a motor grader, a large machine used to level loose land, and he learned to operate it shortly after. “Well, it started with a mule, then a tractor, then the motor grader. Now there’s lots of different equipment they use.” He explained when asked how the equipment has changed over time. He started in construction as a laborer. He called that job a “ditch digger,” referring to the amount of time he would spend with a shovel in hand. After about thirty years of hard labor, he retired as vice president of Wellons Construction Company.

One can absorb a lot of information about the past easily by listening to someone who has lived it. This information is not only entertaining, but it is knowledgeable as well. From this interview, I started to value my life a lot more from realizing how much easier it is now than of the past. I hope this story has the same effect to others who read it.

Work Cited

Blackburn, Ashley Derrell. Personal interview. 1 Feb. 2011.

Note: Declan Freswick, who graduated from St. Pauls High School in Robeson County in 2010, is majoring in turfgrass management at Sandhills Community College.