Interview with Charlie Richardson,Webb City, Missouri,by Bernard Hinkle, JasperCounty, Joplin, Mo.
"Well, Charlie, let us sit right down here on this bench and chat awhile. Mr. Hal M. Wise, editor of 'The Sentinel' here in Webb City, told me about you. You won't mind if I ask you a few personal questions about the days of slavery will you?"
"No Sah' I'd be glad to tell you anything I know."
"Thank you Charlie. The first thing I would like to ask is; is your name Charles, Charlie or Charley?"
"Everybody calls me Charlie."
"Where were you born Charlie?"
"I was born at Warrensburg, Missouri."
"What year were you born in Charlie?"
"They always said I was born in March. Didn't never give no day. Jest March."
"How old were you when the Civil War broke out?"
"I don't remember exactly but I were seven they said."
"How old are you now?"
"The old-age pension man said I was 86 this year."
"Now Charlie, please give me the name of your parents and where they came from."
"My Ma's name was Ann Smith, the first time,'cause my Pappy was Charlie Smith. Then my Pappy died and my Ma married a man named Charlie Richardson. He was my step-Pappy so I took his name. Both my own Pappy and my step-Pappy were jest plain negroes and born in Warrensburg, but my Ma was a Black Hawk Indian girl, kinder light in color and purtty. Her Ma was a full-blooded Black Hawk and she married to Grandaddy Richard Dowle, which was my Ma's name 'fore she married."
"Tell me Charlie, did you have any brothers or sisters?"
"Yes Sah, I had two sisters and five brothers but none ain't here now."
"Describe your home and 'quarters' the best you can."
"Log Cabins, that's what they was. All in a long row—piles of 'em. They was made of good old Missouri logs daubed with mud and the chimney was made of sticks daubed with mud. Our beds was poles nailed to sticks standing on the floor with cross sticks to hold the straw ticks."
"How did most of you cook—in the cabins or in the 'big house'?"
"Most of the negroes cooked in the cabins but my Mammy was a house girl and lots of times fetched my breakfast from the Masters house. Most of the negroes, though, cooked in or near the cabins. They mostly used dog irons and skillets, but when they went to bile anything, they used tin buckets."
"What food did you like best Charlie. I mean, what was your favorite dish?"
"It warn't no dish. It ware jest plain hoe cake mostly. No dishes or dish like we has nowadays, No Sah! This here hoe cake was plain old white corn meal battered with salt and water. No grease. Not much grease, jest 'nough to keep it from stickin'. This here hoe cake was fried jest like flap-jacks, only it were not. Not flap-jacks I mean. When we didn't have hoe cake we had ash cake. Same as hoe cake only it was boiled. Made of corn meal, salt and water and a whole shuck, with the end tied with a string.
"We never had no flap-jacks in the cabins. No Sah! Flap-jacks was something special for only Marster Mat Warren and the Missis. That makes me remember a funny story about flap-jacks. My Ma brought some flap-jack stuff down to the cabin one day; you know, jest swiped it from the house where she worked. Well, Ma was frying away to git me something special like when she hears the Missis comin' with her parrot. So, Ma hides them flap-jacks right quick. Soon the Missis come in our cabin and was talkin' to my Mammy when that crazy old parrot he begin to get fussy like somethin' was wrong. He were a smart parrot and outside, generally called us all 'niggers, niggers'. Well Sah, he kept squaking and the Missis kept sayin', "shut up' shut up', what's the matter with you?" Purtty soon the Missis go over to sit in a chair Ma had with a big pad in it. And before the Missis could set down that crazy parrot begun to yell, 'Look out Mam, it's hot'. Look out'. Look out'. The Missis turned to my Ma and said 'What's the matter here?' My Ma answered, 'Tain't nothin' the matter Missie.' And then that fool parrot hollows agin, 'It's hot' It's hot'. And sure 'nough the missis she get a peek at a flap-jack stickin' through under the pad, where Ma hid them. And Ma almost got a good lickin' fer that.
"That parrot could out-talk Marster Warren and wouldn't eat anything we would give him 'cause he was afraid of being poisoned by is 'niggers'. They use to tie him out in the field to watch the negroes at work, and when he went in the house at night Ma said he would hollow and yell the most unholy lies about those 'niggers' and what they tried to do to him.
"Sometime we'd get him to drink some weigh milk, the Marster had given us when it was so sour it would make a hog squeal. The parrot would call us some awful names for doing that."
"What clothing did the older boys and men wear Charlie?"
"Big boys and gwon folks wore jeans and domestic shirts. Us little kids wore jest a gown. In the winter time we wore the same only with brogans with the brass toes."
"You said awhile ago that they gave you 'weigh' milk. That's a very poor grade of milk isn't it?"
"Yes Sah, It's the poorest kind of poor milk. It ain't even milk. It's what is left behind, when the milk is gone."
"And coffee. How about coffee. Didn't you have any coffee to drink?"
"We has coffee some time, but it ware made of burned corn meal. Once in awhile the slaves while makin' coffee for Marster Mat out of the wheat would burn a pan purposely and he would give it to them to make coffee with. That was purtty good coffee. Some time they got whupped for burnin' it, 'cause he knowed they burned it too much for his coffee, on purpose—jest so they'd git it."
"Now Charlie, you said you were born in Warrensburg, Missouri. Were you born on Mat Warren's place?"
"Yes Sah."
"How many slaves did Mr. Warren have?"
"150."
"I understand they sold off attractive women slaves and husky men. How is it they didn't sell your Mother?"
"She ware a house girl. Purtty and light in color, so they wanted to keep her for that job."
"Did they sell your father?"
"Yes Sah, they did. That is, they sold my step-Pappy as my own Pappy was dead."
"Speaking about your step-Pappy being sold reminds me: They say that the expression 'selling slaves on the block' is not true. That is, not always true."
"We never had no 'block' on Mat Warren's place. We calls it 'Puttin' 'em on the stump'. But the 'stump' were neither block nor stump, it were a box. Big wooden box."
"I have heard it said that some slaves brought big prices. Tell me, if you will, how much your step-Pappy was sold for."
"Well Sah, there was some buyers from south Texas was after to buy my step-Pappy for two years runnin', but the Marster would never sell him. So one time they comes up to our place at buying time (that was about once every year) and while buying other slaves they asked Mat Warren if he wouldn't sell my step-Pappy, 'cause he was a sure 'nough worker in the field—the best man he had and he could do more work than three ordinary men.
"But the Marster tried to git rid of that buyer agin by saying I don't take no old offer of $2,000 for Charlie, an' I won't sell under $2,055. The buyer he said right quick like. 'Sold right hare'. So that's how he come to leave us and we never seed him agin. Like to broke my Mammy up, but that's the way we slaves had it. We didn't let ourselves feel too bad, 'cause we knowed it would come that way some time. But my Ma she liked that Charlie and she feeled it mos'.
"We always knowed when they was going to sell, 'cause they would let them lay around and do nothin'. Jest feed them and git fat. They even smeared their faces with bacon rind to make 'em look greasy and well fed afore the sale. They never had no grease to eat only now and then Mat Warren he makes it look like them niggers is well fed and cared for. The buyers would a stick pins in 'em and examine their teeth like horses."
"By the way Charlie, what kind of jails did they have in those days?"
"They never had no jails. Your back was the jail. When you done something serious Marster Mat Warren called in the 'whuppers' and they made your back bleed and then rubbed salt into the skin. After that they chained you to a tree and let you suffer."
"What did you do as a child around the place?"
"I carried in the water and wood to the Missis house and helped Ma."
"What time did you all get up in the morning?"
"A big bell hanging in the center of all the cabins rang at 4 A.M. and then most of the grown folks worked from dawn till eleven at night. We never had no Saturdays off like they do now. Nor no Sundays off neither."
"What kind of house did the Master live in?"
"The Marster he have a very fine home. About ten rooms, built of common brick. It ware a very purtty house; great big like."
"What did you do, Charlie, after work at night?"
"Mostly, go to bed. We kids did early. But I wake up lots of times and hear my Ma and Pappy praying for freedom. They do that many times. I hear it said that Abraham Lincoln hears some slaves praying at a sneaked meetin' one time, askin' the Good Lord for freedom. And it is believed that Abraham Lincoln told them, that if he were President he would free them."
"Did you ever play any games or dance any?"
"No! No games, no play, only work. We had to be mighty careful we didn't use a pencil or any paper or read out where the Marster could see us. He would sure lick us fer that."
"What do you think of Abraham Lincoln?"
"I think he ware the greatest man in the world."
"Do you remember much about the war Charlie?"
"Not very much. I was only seven then, but I remembers that those Bushwackers came to steal my Marster's money but he wouldn't tell where he hid it. Said he didn't have any. They said he was telling a lie 'cause no man could have so many slaves and not have some money. He did have 150 slaves but he wouldn't tell where the money was hid. So they burned his feet, but he still wouldn't tell 'em he had hid it in the orchard. No Sah! He jest didn't tell.
"Them Bushwackers though, were not so bad as them Union soldiers. They took all our horses and left us old worn out nags; even took my horse I use to ride."
"What was the first thing you done after the war was over and you found yourself free, Charlie?"
"We went right next farm and rented land from Buck Towers and farmed until Ma died. Then I went to Fayetteville and worked at odd jobs there awhile. I worked too, on the Fayetteville College building. I stayed around Fayetteville 40 years. I was married when I first went there to a light colored woman. A Cherokee Indian. We had seven children, all girls. Only one is livin' now. She is the one I live with in Webb City, Missouri. I don't live with my wife now. My daughter's name is Mrs. Sam Cox. Her husband Sam Cox works at a garage in Webb. They have seven children too. Two girls, five boys, all living.
"When I was married I was a coachman and wore my coach clothes—Begum hat (high silk hat), black double-breasted flap tailed coat and black broadcloth pants. My shoes were low and had beads all over the front. I looked like Booker T. Washington. And I like him most next to Abraham Lincoln.
"I use to work for Judge Brown in Fayetteville as coachman. Then I come here and worked for Mrs Louise Corn of Webb City for 13 years. I ain't workin' now, only firin' the boiler for the First National Bank in winter-time. My son-in-law Sam Cox, he works at the Bank on the side and I help him a little. Mostly, I'm jest man about town."
"Now, tell me in passing, Charlie, do you remember any men passing through your place in Warrensburg, looking for escaped slaves?"
"Yes I remember some tough men driving like mad through our place many times, with big chains rattling. We called them slave hunters. They always came in big bunches. Five and six together on horse back. Patrollers they was. They were almost as bad to us as them outlaws who used to come by and eat up all Marse Warren's chickens. There was some Texas bad men, too. John Reid, The Webb Boys, and Little Preston Smith.
"But, I'm sure glad it is all over now, but we didn't git nothin' out of it like we expected. We thought they was goin' to divide up the farms and give us some of it. No Sah! They was so mad at us for being freed that they got rid of us as soon as they could, and we was only too glad to go.
"I gits a small old-age pension now and live purtty quiet like, but I tell you Sah, times ain't like they use to be. These yer young negroes—I don't think so much of anyhow."