All God's Dangers (63 page)

One day I was down there about the office of the women's prison, I went up to the gate—the gate practically stood unlocked but there was a man right up over your head, in a shack, watchin you at all times. That day the shack man got up and unlocked the gate—had it locked then for some cause. Corner shack was right up over that gate and around at the northwest corner of the yard was another shack. Right yonder was the northeast corner, and another
shack up there—shacks built above each of them corners—right over here was the southeast corner—white men sittin up there with shotguns. That yard was walled up there almost too high for you to peep over, then a barb wire fence was concreted in that wall, then net wire from there up, clipped over towards the yard—devil of a fence.

So, that old shack man, just as I got ten yards from the gate, goin on to the walkway straight east and west, he let into talkin to this man at the northwest shack. I heard the first words he said and I stopped and acted crazy to catch it all: “Our southern senators is havin a hard time in Washington now—”

I said to myself, ‘Um-hmm, no wonder they havin a hard time'—I knowed how these southern senators would go up there to Washington, D.C., and recommend these states, dupe em up up there—‘they ought to have a hard time.' I'd done caught on to their way; they'd go up there and tell a lie about how they was gettin along in this country, class it up like they wanted it; but them people in Washington, D.C., had come in the knowledge of their lies and they was givin em the devil and jackin em up and questionin em close about conditions down here. Of course, I couldn't tell what all they was askin em, but I imagined—

There was one at that time, from the state of Alabama, went up there and told all his fancy lies. They was questionin him and he'd answer, “O, everything is just fine, colored is pleased at the way of goin,” and so on. Well they didn't believe him definitely, Congress smelt a mouse in his testimony. So he gets back here and gets one of his best equipped niggers, sends him up there. And the nigger went up there and plastered it up for the state of Alabama, tellin how great it was down here. The nigger, whoever he was, he weren't nothin but a pimp, and he scared to talk anyway except the way the white man wanted him to talk. White man well dressed that nigger before he started him up to Washington, put him up to all that shitty talk. The thing quit goin so hot against em then.

I was in prison at that time, off bein of that organization. Roosevelt was the President and the NR and A was travelin through this country, helpin the colored man and the poor man to ease out of their condition. I was all for the good they was doin, all for a turnabout in this southern way of life. I told em all through prison that I was a union man, told em so, wouldn't bite my tongue. Didn't
tell em what sort of union, definitely, but them white folks knowed, them officials, what sort of union it was. I didn't expose that union noway. They mighta done me like they done Wat Smith once they learnt what they wanted to from me.

After stayin there at Wetumpka several years, I begin wearin my own clothes, citizen clothes. I come home on Christmas parole one year and it was unusually cold. And I had two big heavy yarn shirts at home. My wife told me, “Darlin, you reckon you could wear these yarn shirts in prison to keep you warm in the daytime?”

I said, “Yes, I ought to carry em back with me.”

She said, “Well, if I was you I would. They'll keep your body warm, good heavy wool shirts, yarn shirts.”

Carried them shirts back to prison—never said nothin bout it to the warden at all, just carried em on over there. And there was a old crooked white man there, boss man, called him JB Knox, heavy-bodied fellow, he'd a weighed way over two hundred. Walked around there amongst the prisoners talkin his big talk, tryin to scare em. Roared at em—had a heavy voice. He done it often, and this here happened on a Sunday mornin. I was sittin off by myself, just sittin in the cell. And this old Captain Knox would torment all the other boys, then he'd come to me. Looked at me—here's what he said and he weren't obliged to say it: “You is one of these easy Negroes.”

I looked at him, said, “I don't bother nobody, that's right; and you aint goin to get me to bother you.”

He backed away from me and we had no more words at that time. So, when I come off my Christmas parole with them two big yarn shirts, he seed me wearin em around—I'd just started off wearin my citizen clothes. He come to the breakfast table one mornin and looked at me. Said, “I see you got on a big heavy yarn shirt there. You pull that shirt off and give it to me. I aint heard nothin this mornin bout you bein allowed to wear clothes such as that. And until I do, you give it to me or I'll pull it off you myself.”

I pulled it off and gived it to him.

“You got ary other one?”

Told him, “Yes sir, I got another one.”

Made me bring that one to him, too. I went and got them shirts back right away. Didn't waste no time with him, went to see Captain Carter, the warden—he went for a Christian man and I believe he was. I said, “Captain Carter, on my trip home on Christmas parole, when I come back I brought me two big yarn shirts to wear em around here and keep the cold out of my bones. But Captain Knox didn't like the way they looked on me and took em away. Made me pull one of em off and give it to him, then made me bring him the other.”

He said, “What did he do with em?”

I said, “I reckon he put em up somewhere.” I didn't see him put ary one of em on hisself. I don't believe they'd a fit him neither.

“Well, you tell him I said to give you them shirts back.” That's all he said.

I went on to Captain Knox, told him, “Captain Knox, Captain Carter told me to tell you to give me my shirts. And I'm waitin on you to give em back to me.”

He said, “He did? You are?”

I said, “Yes sir.”

He said, “Sendin a prisoner to give
me
a order?” He looked at me and made a noise in his throat. Then he went and got them shirts and gived em back to me.

When he come in the cell the next Sunday mornin, he come around me and made that same noise like he was about to say somethin to me. I think he meant to tell me what he thought about the deal, but he couldn't get the words out of his mouth. And he was a big talkin man.

One year again, I come home on Christmas parole. And my northern friends would always send me a great big box of fancy candy, three layers to the box, for a Christmas present—outside of they was sendin me five dollars a month, every month. And on top of that box of candy would be a fruit cake. They'd send it directly to the prison office at Wetumpka—well, that year I come home before I got my box of Christmas candy. And I got back—I thought I'd get it when I got back, and did get the box. But Captain Knox had done got that box of candy first, some way or other, and brought it up to his house.

Now this old Captain Knox had a wife—that man had more
bad luck than a little, I don't know how come but he did. He had a wife and two little girls, and he had done checked my box of candy out of the office and brought it up to his house and issued the candy out to his little girls. At last he come out one day to give me the box. I looked into it and seed one whole layer was gone and a few pieces out of the second layer. I spoke to him about it. “That's the way it was when I opened it.”

Well, I didn't have no words with him over that fancy candy. I weren't livin on candy and my mind told me he just wanted me to say somethin so he could come down on me—that was his way of acts there in the prison, amongst the prisoners. He had such ill luck in the outside world, he just come in there and taken it out on us.

Durin the time he stayed there, his wife fell in the fire. He had two big coal burnin fireplaces and two big chimneys risin above the top of his house. And his wife fell in the fire and got burnt seriously. Well, that gnawed on him. And he went on across the river and rented one of the Pickerel people's houses and moved in there. And he wouldn't pay no rent, and he wouldn't pay—old man lived on the Montgomery road, old man Bob Rule, him and his wife and had one child. And he had a little old gas tank there in front of his little old store. And this here Captain Knox traded there until he got fifteen dollars' worth of gas and wouldn't pay it. And Mrs. Rule and the boy Mark, Mark Rule, Mrs. Rule and old man Bob Rule's son—they was goin to see Knox regular to collect their money. He never would have it or he just never would pay it. And he wouldn't pay no house rent to the Pickerel lady neither, and went dressed up every day, big man, had a nice Chevrolet car—bought a brand new one while he stayed there at Wetumpka. And he locked up the house one day and went off on a vacation, took them two little girls and his wife. When he come back the house had a attachment on the door. He had to pay his rent before they'd even unlock it. O, if he didn't cut up then! He cut up and riled around about it and demeaned them Pickerel people. But he paid his bill and they opened the door just enough for him and his family to clean their stuff out of there—made him get out of that house. Had to sleep in that Chevrolet, the whole family, until they could find another place to rent. And durin of the time he was drivin through the country lookin for a place, the state cut him off. He come to the prison office
one mornin and Captain Carter told him they didn't want him there—the state done paid him his last. I never heard no more about him after that.

N
IGGER
named John, two-fingered man, he was sent up to Wetumpka from Kilby—that weren't nothin but a slaughter pen, strop men till the last breath gone from em, then they commenced settin em in the lectric chair. So this two-fingered Negro, called him John Barbour, every finger was off of his right hand but the little finger and the thumb. No tellin how long it'd been that way. I never did hear him tell
how
it was done. Well, they checked him in there at night—carry a prisoner anywhere they wanted, day or night, get him up and carry him to a different place—and the next mornin, the deputy warden checked him out in the field under this man Captain Locke that was over the field hands. And I was a water boy—

That night when we checked in our cells, after we et supper and got quiet, directly after we all set down, laughin and talkin some of em was—I was a man that when I was in prison I set off to myself, practically, less'n I was talkin to somebody that I knowed and had knowed; I kept to myself and stayed quiet. And this new man, John, was sittin way back over against the wall on the far side from the door, and I was sittin kind of anglin from him toward the end of the cell. And that low-down fool—I wouldn't a dreamt of such a thing if he hadn't spoke, but you can't never tell where the devil's at. I was sittin up there by myself and he sittin over there with his low-down self—all of us was in there, just sittin like old men sits, and weren't nobody very old in there. I was the oldest that I knowed of and I was in my fifties.

All of a sudden this nigger John throwed his finger at me, said. “Old man, you aint no good, you aint no good.”

Just thataway. Lord, if that didn't attract my attention.

I said, “You talkin bout me?”

He said, “Yes, you. You aint no good.”

I said, “Friend, what have I done to you? What have I
ever
done to you? You just done your first day's work here today and you done found a fault in me, somethin that these other boys aint never said to me or knowed. We get along good here, we don't—who do you take me to be? You take me to be a snitcher? You aint caught nothin
wrong of me and I definitely knows it. Why do you have it in you to talk to me like you is? You come out from Kilby where there's a lot of taletellin and rough acts amongst the prisoners, and you come here takin this place to be like that? That don't go on here. And if you take me to be a snitcher and you runnin your tongue on me because I'm a water boy, you just as well to crawl off of that horse. I'm no snitcher and these boys here knows me better than that. You take Joe Jefferson here, Pete Sparks, Billy Joe Spooner, Tom Martin—ask them how it rolls with me.” The cell was quiet as a rock pile. I said, “All right, if you take it like that, go accordin to the way you think. You can come over here and jump on me if you want to. Come on, don't stop. You come on over here if you want to and jump on me.”

All them boys was settin there with their heads down, listenin at the subject. This nigger wouldn't get up, he wouldn't do nothin but talk his big talk and he set down durin that. Well, the argument died down and everything become quiet.

And so, next mornin, Captain Evans come up there and checked us out with Captain Malcolm Locke, the man that carried us to the field. Straight down the road to the barn, them that was plow hands had to catch the mules out and go to plowin. I branched off bout halfway between the buildin we stayed in and the office, went off to Captain Locke's house—I was a milk boy for him and a flunky around the house. If there was anything to do there, I'd look after it for him. And he trusted me to a great extent. Me and him would go possum huntin at night, many a night, there in prison. He gived me a gun more than one time and I'd go off to myself rabbit huntin. Captain Locke, field man over me—I was his water boy. And he had a brother, I heard him say, carried a squad at Spignor and he had killed two men. Captain Locke cried about that to me.

So that mornin we checked out after that big bluffy quarrel, the boys went on to the barn with Captain Locke and caught the mules out, went on to the field. Got on out there and this here John, the boys told him—some of em told me they told him that in the lot, before they even got out to the field, catchin mules they told him—it was Joe Jefferson and Billy Joe Spooner told John Barbour, “Fellow, if you'd a jumped on that old man that you was talkin to last night, we'd eat you up, we'd eat you up”—they went down on him and gived him the devil about it—“The best thing for you to
do is never bother him no more.” They built up on his back that mornin.