In the Depression of the 1930s, the Works Progress Administration Federal Writers Project, in order to provide work for unemployed writers, paid them to seek out and interview former slaves. Over 2300 of these interviews are housed in the Library of Congress and local libraries.
Below are the interviewer’s notes and the complete interview conducted in 1937 of former slave 80-year-old Emma Hancock Wicks. Emma and her parents, Orange and Rhody Hancock, lived in the Moore-Hancock Farmstead from the end of the Civil War until about 1870.
EX-SLAVE by Alfred E. Menn, Travis County, W.P.A. District No. 9, 1937
Emma Weeks, 80, was born a slave in 1858, on the Jim Hollman cotton plantation, about four miles north of Austin, Travis County. Emma’s father was Orange Hancock, a field worker on the Judge Hancock plantation; her mother was Rhodie Hancock, a house worker on the Hollman farm. In 1876, when Emma was eighteen years old, she married Lige Weeks, a farmer [Their marriage was recorded in 1891]. They had four children: Morris, John, Frank and Rhodie.[Morris and John had another father, and Emma and Lige had three children.] All the children still are living. Lige died about four or five years ago. Emma, who was called Emily by her family, and Nig by her mistress, is a small, slim and rheumatic person, and very dark complexioned. Emma is, despite her severe case of rheumatism and occasional “swimmin’ spells in the head”, a cheerful and kindly person. Her fingers, long and thin like talons, have become misshapen from rheumatism, and her forearms are as thin as the proverbial toothpick. Her son, Frank, is a delivery boy for a local store, and owns three homes in Austin. The small one-room shack, at 2203 Washington Avenue, Austin, belongs to her son; and he allows her and her son, John, to live there, free of charge. John has a small one-room shack near his mother. The shacks are almost hidden from view by large shade trees and by numerous small fruit trees. The screened in porch has several comfortable chairs, and Emma likes to sit there and talk about the olden days. That is, until a daughter-in-law and a grandson at various times appeared on the scene, to inquire whether another snooping investigator had arrived from the pension bureau. Emma paid no attention to them. Emma receives a monthly pension of $12.00 from the State of Texas.
"Pappy’s name was Orange Hancock. He was a field worker on de Jedge Hancock cotton plantation, about four miles nawth of Austin. Pappy could do almost any other kind of work. He was good at blacksmithin’, too. Pappy was tol’able tall, and medium-size. He was always willing’ to look after his fambly, even when he lived on one place, and mammy and her chillun on another place. Pappy and mammy was owned by different mawsters, and he come to see mammy every Wednesday and Saturday nights.
I know dat Sue Hancock was his Mistress’ name, but all dat I ever heard ‘em call his mawster was Jedge. Pappy died only about fifteen years ago. [in fact he died in 1908] Mammy’s name was Rhodie Hancock and she was a cook on Mawster Jim Hollman’s cotton plantation, near de Hancock place. Mammy’s been dead fo’ a long time, but I don’t know jes’ how long. Mistress Patsy Holman was always kinder sickly, and mammy had to help take care of her, and cook, too.
I was bawn on de Hollman plantation, about eighty years ago. But I was never told on what day and in what month I was bawn. I know dat I am old, all right. Dere is times when I have blind and swimmin’ spells in my head, and den I forgit a lot of things. I kain’t do nothin’ and I kain’t hardly go nowhere, ‘cause I’m gittin’ to be so old and feeble. Sometimes, I shuffle over to my son Frank’s house. It isn’t so fur to go.
When Mawster Holman was ready to go to town, I’d say, “Mawster I’ll go and open de gate fo’ yo’.” One day, I got into de buggy wid him, and he was gittin’ to be so old and forgitful, dat he didn’t seem to know dat I got in. Den he looked at me and said, “Deuce fetch yo’ time, Emily! I didn’t aim to take yo’ to town. Yo’ Mammy will have a fit.”
He took me on into town, and he left me at his daughter’s house, Mistress Jennie Flournoy. Her two girls almost had a fit over seeing’ me. De girls was older’n me at de time, and dey was always glad to see me. Dey had some different kinds of cloth, and dey made me some dresses. Dey fitted me out, and I sure was glad to git dem dresses. I had left home wid my old dress on. It was almost night when mawster come by fo’ me.
“Mr. Hollman,” said Mistress Patsy, “why did yo’ take Nig away from here? She’s always so handy to have around, and she always gits me some cool water from de spring.” I always took a bucket and brought de cool water from de spring and den poured some into a pitcher in her room. Mawster Hollman told his wife, “Well, I didn’t want to take her but she had got in, and I was so busy studyin’ about somethin’ dat I didn’t pay no attention to Nig.”
Mistress Patsy always called me Nig, and she sure spoiled me. I had my own little bed near hers. She wanted me near her, when she needed help. Den Mistress Patsy told me, “Nig, yo’ should have told me dat yo’ was goin’ to town, and yo’ could have put on a new dress. Jes’ why did yo’ go to town, Nig?”
“Oh, I jes’ wanted to go, Mistress Patsy, and look at de new dresses dat Mistress Jennie’s girls made fo’ me.” Mammy come into de room and said, “Emily, why did yo’ go to town fo’, yo’ ought to have a whoopin for goin’ off lak dat.” Mistress Patsy took up fo’ me. “Now, Rhodie, don’t yo’ whoop Nig. Her mawster could have brought her back. Don’t yo’ whoop her.” “But, Mistress Patsy, yo’ know dat Emily done wrong. She had no business goin’ to town.”
I never did git no whoopin’ fo’ takin’ dat trip. Dere was times when mammy would want to slap me fo’ doin’ somethin’ wrong, and I’d tell Mistress Patsy about it. She sure would scold mammy. She jes’ spoiled me too much. She’d never punish me, but she’d scold me sometimes. One time she asked me, “Nig, where have yo’ been all of this time?” “Oh, I was down by de slave quarters, talkin’ to grandpappy Jesse Holman, and he talked and talked and talked.” “Well, Nig, yo’ stay here wid me and talk to me. Jesse kin talk wid somebody elst.”
Grandpappy Jesse was already an old man, but he was still a pow’ful man. He was a sort of overseer on de plantation. Grandpappy Jesse lived to be a very old man, and he lived fo’ a long time after slavery. He done fahmin’ and blacksmithin’ after slavery.
Sometimes, Mistress Patsy would tell me, “Nig, yo’ go and tell my daughter Puss to come over here. I want to see her.” I’d walk across de big pasture, and to Mistress Puss’ house. Den Mistress Puss would saddle her own hoss and put me behind her and de saddle. I wasn’t scared to ride dat hoss, as long as she was wid me. Mistress Puss was a mighty good woman, and she had three boys.
I don’t remembah de day when I was set free, but I do know dat pappy come over one day and got mammy and her chillun, and took ‘em over to his cabin, on de Jedge Hancock place. So, I reckon dat was de day we was set free. Pappy worked fo’ de Jedge now by de month, I believe. Mistress Patsy was still livin but she moved to her daughter’s place in town. Me and mammy would go and see her at times. Sometimes, I would walk to her place to see her. She would tell me, “Now, Nig, don’t yo stay away so long, befo’ yo’ come and see me again.”
After slavery , Jedge Hancock went alone down to New Orleans, and caught de yellow fever. He died and was buried in New Orleans. De folks here was scared to bring his body home ‘cause of de yellow fever I reckon. [in fact Judge Hancock died in 1893 in Austin suffering dementia.]
I believe dat de next place we moved to was de Davis fahm, about two miles from de jedge’s place. Davis had several renters. I had to go out now and chop and pick cotton. I handled dat field work putty good; but I never could pick more’n one hunnert and fifty pounds of cotton a day. “Pappy,” one of my sisters would say, “Emily ain’t got much cotton in her sack.” “Well,” Pappy would tell her, “Emily picks her cotton too clean.”
I sure got to see plenty of rattlesnakes in de Davis fahm. We wasn’t scared of ‘em. We thought dat it was fun to git a long stick, or a big rock, and kill ‘em. We’d let ‘em coil and git ready to strike. If yo’ got too close, dey sure would jump at yo’. If we was choppin cotton or cawn, and run onto a rattlesnake, we’d kill it, and den make a hole wid our hoes and bury it. We wouldn’t touch de rattles or nothin. It was too dangerous.
We stayed on de Davis fahm fo a long time, but I don’t know jes fo how long. Den pappy bought some ungrubbed and unfenced land. And, wid de help of de boys, he built a two room log house. I sure had to work hard at dis time, and dat is why I ain’t no count now.
I think dat I was about eighteen years old when I married Lige Wicks. He was a fahmer, but den he could do almost anything. Me and Lige didn’t git married in a Chu’ h house. We got married here in town, I believe. All of my four chillun is still livin. Dey is jes’ common laborers. Lige had been dead fo’ about four or five years. Durin my married life, we’d do fahm work and also hire out fo work. My chillin, when dey got old enough, would do any kind of work dat they could git. De chillun was good in helpin us out. Dey’d buy dere clothes, and give us some money.
John, one of my boys and a bachelor, lives in dat shack, back in de yard. He is a stout man, and cleans up fo de white folks in de houses around de University of Texas. I tell yo dat John kin make beds and clean up a house lak a woman. No woman could beat him at it. He washes and irons his own clothes in his little shack. Every afternoon, when he comes home, John brings me a good pound cake to eat. I always tease John by sayin “John if I was de white folks, I wouldn’t allow yo in my house.”
I kin read a little, but I kaint write my name. I never had much of a chance to go to school. After slavery, I went to a little log schoolhouse in de country, Bettie Hill, a colored girl, was our teachah. I think dat I went to school only fo’ dat year. We had school only durin de winter.
Mammy was always scared of cows, so I had to do de milkin. Dere was times when I milked eight cows, twice a day. Pappy was good at helpin de white folks round-up dere cattle. Fo helpin dem, dey’d give him a cow or a steer. Pappy and his brothaw Salem was good round-uppers. Dey wasn’t scared of nothin. Sometimes, I had to tie a cow’s hind legs, so I could milk her. I’d take my two big bucketfuls of milk to de house, and tell mammy “I done give de calfs dere paht of de milk and here am our paht. And Mammy some of dem cows sure want to kick.” "Yes and someday one of dem cows is goin to kill yo, ‘cause yo is hard-headed enough to believe dat dey won’t hurt yo.”
Pappy would tell one of my brothers, “William, yo ought to help Emily milk dem cows when I ain’t here.” So he come out dere one mawnin and crawled through de fence. De cows saw him and made a dash fo him. Dey sure chased him away. Dem cows was used to me, and if dey did git bad, I’d switch em. We had enough milk fo makin butter fo us, and, about once a week, Mammy’d take about ten pounds of butter to town to sell. I think dat she got two bits a pound fo dat butter. She didn’t sell de butter to stores, but would go in a buggy and take it to certain folks’ houses.
Mammy would buy my clothes and give me a little money. I enjoyed goin to de Baptist Chu’ch. I’d go about ever other Sunday mawnin’. Sometimes my brothaws and sometimes my sistahs would go wid me, but I’d never go alone. Den sometimes we’d go to dances, too. Some of de boys would beg me, “Come on and dance.” Den Pappy would say “Oh go on out and dance a set wid de boys.”
Pappy hired a coal-black nigger dat had been brought from Africa. He was so black dat we called him Joe Slick. Nobody ever knowed if he had any other name. If he had any other name, I never knowed it. He was putty near middle-aged at dat time, and he was low and chunky. He’d go wid us to dances, and pick his banjo. I don’t think dat he got money fo pickin his banjo.
Old Joe learned most of us to dance. He stayed wid pappy fo a long time. He et and lived wid us in de house. Pappy would go anywhere and leave Joe wid us, and he’d git out and plow and den plant de crops. Some of my brothaws thought dat dey could do anything dat Joe Slick done in de fields, but dey soon found out dat dey couldn’t. Dey liked Joe anyhow ‘cause he was always so good natured. Even our kinfolks liked him. We never did know whut happened to Joe Slick later in life. We never did find out where he went to."
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