Miss Carrie

Miss Carrie

My daddy was a sharecropper, how’s that for an incongruity? It is the truth though, at that time daddy was a sharecropper. At least he was when we weren’t traveling around picking cotton, corn, beans, or digging potatoes or peanuts. I can still remember seeing my first corn picking machine.

 I learned to drive a tractor at five years old. At six I could do it by myself when daddy or my brothers would let me. I had to stand up and I would have to jump onto the brakes, but I could do it. I guess that I should get to the meat of this story and that was Miss Carrie.

 We were dirt poor. These days we would have been called “poor white trash”. Daddy made our living, like most of those in the area at the time, by either sharecropping or being a picker. We lived in South Mississippi, forty-seven miles from the nearest full sized town. Oh, there was a wide spot in the road named Morgantown which had a combination Post Office/Gas Station/Grocery Store/General Merchandise. That was the extent of Morgantown. The house we lived in at the time was known as the Aunt Jenny Hammond Bungalow House.  We had coal oil lamps for light, an outhouse that seemed to me, at the time, to be about a mile away from the house. We also had a Well, that’s right, a Well, complete with the old windlass you had to wind to raise the bucket out of the water. Down the road about two or three hundred yards was where Miss Carrie, her husband and three kids lived. Her husband’s name was Major, the oldest boy was Lieutenant, the middle son was Sergeant and the youngest, who was my age, was named Junior.

 I suppose these were odd names, thinking back, but they seemed fairly normal to me back then. I have since learned that a lot of the black people named their children those names to try for a modicum of respect. This was in very short supply in the south, especially in the 1950’s. To a child my age, who wasn’t indoctrinated yet, they were just very nice dark people who had a son I played with. Now, Miss Carrie was a different story. She was an imposing woman. I have since learned from my older brothers that she stood about six feet tall and was a very strong, sturdy lady. I can remember that she towered over this young boy and she insisted on respect from all her children; my brothers and I were treated no different. For some reason, I can never recall whether her husband worked or not. I am pretty sure he did, but all I can remember of Mr. Major was that he sat in his rocking chair on the front porch, either chewing plug tobacco or smoking his corncob pipe, while Miss Carrie was always doing something.

 Along about that time daddy decided he was going to Texas and go to work in the oil fields, as a roughneck. He said he would send us money to live on until he could move us out there. He left that spring and we had to fend for ourselves. Spring went into summer and still nothing came from daddy. Sad to say we had to resort to other means to try to live. My brothers hunted for food while mama and I would pick wild Poke Salad, berries and other wild greens. My brothers and her picked cotton that year while I would watch over the water bucket. I kept the flies and other bugs out and made sure everyone got water to drink. Somehow, a way was always found to make enough for the rent. Along about the fall mama started having fainting spells. My oldest brother, James, would run down to Miss Carrie’s. She would come and bring mama around again. When I got a little older I realized her fainting spells were because she was starving herself so we would have something to eat. Mother’s are like that. They will go hungry to make sure their children have food to eat. Anyway, to continue the story, Miss Carrie quickly got wise to this. She took matters into her own hands; as she was want to do. Being the good, God fearing, Christian woman she was, she watched over us. Even as young as I was, I snapped to the fact that one of the reasons Junior or one of her sons were always hanging around was to keep an eye on things with us. Whenever we got to a critical point, she would magically appear and invite us over to eat. The most amazing thing about this is that Miss Carrie, and her family, were by no means in much better shape than we were. They may have been black, and she almost as black as a lump of coal, but let me tell you, their hearts were the purest, most blindingly golden of anyone I have met in my life since.

 This is something I want each and every person reading to understand. The south, back in the 1950’s was not a very nice place for anyone and if you were unfortunate enough to be black, it was ten or a hundred times worse. Miss Carrie had no reason to be fond of white folks or to consider lending them a helping hand, but she did. I bet most of you cannot even begin to understand the situation. If you don’t, talk to an older black man or woman and they can tell you. At that time, even the county courthouse had three bathrooms and two water fountains, or water cans as the case might be. The bathrooms were marked Men, Women and Colored while the water cans or fountains were marked white or colored. They always kept paper cups by the cans for the whites, but a lot of the time there were none by the water can for the black people. Wait, it was even worse than that. They could not go into the restaurants in town. There were usually separate places out back for them to eat. The local show had a separate entrance, concession stand, bathroom and place for them to sit and watch the show. Most of the little country stores did not allow them to enter. They had to give their list to the owner and wait for him to bring it out. You blacks and whites and other people that think there is discrimination these days have never saw real, downright mean, vicious discrimination like existed then or earlier.

 Okay, back to the story. Miss Carrie would invite us to eat with them. Most times it would consist of beans and cornbread with a little fatback in them, or Mustard, Collard or Turnip greens. Sometimes there was Chit’lins or squirrel, rabbit or chicken dumplins or some fried salt pork. This may not sound like much or may sound God awful to some of you, but it was ambrosia to a hungry family. Miss Carrie would usually be serving stuff or sitting and eating with us and muttering phrases like “stupid white folks ain’t got sense enough to ask for help” or some other gem; all the time forgetting that they never asked for help or a handout either. I can remember sitting around afterwards and listening to her sing or tell stories and Mr. Major, who never seemed to say much, smoking his pipe. Junior and I would either sit on the edge of the porch or on the steps listening. Mama and my older brothers would join in and sing old favorites like Rock of Ages or The Old Rugged Cross or even The Old Gray Mare (Ain’t what she used to be). Miss Carrie could tell stories that would raise the hair on your head or make you laugh till you almost wet yourself. On the hot summer days when I would be playing with junior we’d sit on the porch to rest and cool off and she would bring us a glass of tea, sometimes with ice in it. She was such a sweet lady, but you did not want to cross her. Many are the times Junior and I got into something we weren’t supposed to and let me tell you; she could swing a switch with the best of them! That is another thing missing these days, discipline. When I was growing up if you acted up at someone’s house, they treated you just like one of their own children. They would spat your bottom or use the switch just as quick as on their own kids. If it was bad enough to warrant a spanking, you usually got another one when you got home.

 I vividly remember one time, when being a child; I asked innocently how she could tell when Junior was dirty. Miss Carrie just laughed and said “The same way your mama knows when you are dirty child.” My oldest brother overheard this and told mama. She tore my backside up and walked me back to Miss Carrie and made me apologize. Miss Carrie lit into mama and told her that I was just a child and didn’t know any different and that it wasn’t meant in any insulting manner. She then made mama apologize to me. This was the first, and as far as I can recall, last time, that I ever heard anyone talk to my mother like that, other than my daddy. I was scared to death for days that mama was gonna spank me again over that, but it never happened.

 Over the years Miss Carrie has become almost an icon to me. They say that your young years are the most formative years and I believe it. I would be stupid, and a liar, if I said that I don’t have any bigotry at all, because I do. You cannot grow up in the south during that time and not have a little. The trick is to recognize it and do your best to correct it when you see/feel it raising its ugly head. I can tell you one thing while looking you straight in the eye. Miss Carrie and Junior taught me that you should never judge someone by the color of their skin or the clothes they wear. I learned to judge people by what they do, not who they are or what color they are. She helped to teach me the value of friends you can count on and that being rich or poor does not define the person. Their actions and what is in their heart does. If she was alive and I could meet her again, I would hug her, kiss her and tell her how much she meant to me. One more thing I would do is thank her from the bottom of my heart for being the person she was in spite of the bigotry and cruelty of the people back then. May God bless you Miss Carrie and one last thing, I love you!

Special update to Miss Carrie wherever she is whether still alive or in Heaven: Miss Carrie, although I do not like his politics, I share your pride in the fact that America finally grew up enough that on January 20, 2009, a black man will take the oath of office for President of the United States of America. This is my only way to share it with you so be as proud as I know you would be!