1 Family
I was born in the summer of 1959; I weighed about 7 pounds at birth. I was the 5th child out of seven. I was told that I walked at seven months old. My favorite hangout was the chicken pen, playing with the chickens. We stayed in a two-room shack with no running water in the house. We had a hydrant in front of our porch and that was our source of water. We had to carry water into the house and out of the house for bathroom purposes.
My first memory was when I was real young. My mother was changing my diaper. I didn’t like wearing diapers or the way they made me feel so I was quickly potty-trained. I didn’t like laying on my mom’s lap in front of her friends. I guess I was ahead of my time.
My grandmother, my mom’s mother, lived about 100 yards from us. During that time we had to farm to feed our livestock and ourselves. I was so eager to be able to do things like everyone else. Less than a year old, one day I decided to walk from our house to my grandmother’s house. In order to do that I had to walk downhill through a field that was grown up with weeds and a crop. There was a small pass that led through this area with a ditch to cross. Once I got in the ditch, that was my first real big struggle in life. I struggled for a long time to get out of that ditch. I had to climb out of it with all my might. I can still remember that feeling today.
I was afraid of the dark at night because of the stories our parents told us about being out after dark. Also, during that time we had giant field rats that would bite you when they were trying to get food. Therefore, I wet the bed at night because I was afraid to get up and use the pot. I hated that pot because we all had to use it at night and take it out the next morning and wash it.
My first bad encounter came when I was about one. I wanted to be like my father and drive the disk. The disk was a machine that was pulled by two horses to break up the ground to plant seeds. I managed to climb up into the seat of the disk but my arms were too short to reach the handles to operate it. I fell headfirst out of the seat and busted my head in the center. Why I have the scar between my eyes. After the fall, my memory starts again when I was in kindergarten. My last memory was when I had a bad headache and it was like I went to sleep for a couple of years.
Around the age of 4 or 5 I was back to myself again. I wanted to be a part of the family by working around the house and doing what everyone else was doing. I started out carrying the pot outside the house. My brother, who was three years older than me and twice my size, would put a stick between the handles so I could help carry the bucket. I started out with two hands, barely could tote it. As time passed, I was so eager until I could tote it with one hand on the stick and later carry a certain amount by myself, until I could carry the whole bucket full. During that time our mindset was to be strong and fast. It was a competition at times, to be the best at whatever we did.
My parents and grandparents were descendants of slaves. My mom worked in the school system, sang in church, babysat, and cleaned houses for white people. My grandmother was a maid and worked for one of the richest men in our county. This is my mom’s mother. Her father left when she was about three weeks old, in 1926. He never returned until about 23 years later. My mom was a good mother and with the resources that we had back then they did a wonderful job raising us during the post-slave era and the Jim Crow laws.
My grandmother met my step-grandfather, I guess he was a biracial man because he was so light-skinned. He had light-skinned brothers and dark-skinned brothers. My grandfather carried me with him everywhere he went. I was with him when I was hit by a car. I ran in front of the car crossing the road downtown, eager to cross. I was lucky that the wheel didn’t run over me. I climbed from under the car feeling scared because I didn’t see the car. Another great moment for me was when we had to ride in the wagon to the feed store to pick up feed for our animals. I felt so proud when my daddy and grandfather let me ride on the seat with them on the wagon to go get feed. I just loved being a part of the family at that time, doing my part.
My grandfather introduced me to guns. He took me with him one day to kill hogs. I paid close attention. I watched the hogs before they were shot. The hogs were afraid and knew they were going to die. They would turn their heads when my grandfather pointed the gun at them, but when they would turn back around and look, he pulled the trigger. The pen was about a 10X10 square with about fifteen hogs in there on a wooden floor ready to be slaughtered. I will never forget the look on those pigs’ faces when they looked up and their lives were taken away from them so quick. The hogs were so greedy to eat that they would come to the trough and attempt to eat their last meal because it was like they knew they were going to die. As a result of this, my little brother and I were playing cowboys and Indians. I knew where Grandpa kept the rifle. So I got the rifle and I had to cock it with my teeth. When I pulled the trigger, I didn’t know it was loaded and it nicked my little brother’s ear. We were both scared to death and this is one day I wanted a whipping because I had done something so wrong, but wasn’t aware of the circumstances of playing with guns. A lesson well learned.
Before my grandfather passed, he would let me shave him and cut his hair. He couldn’t move around. I was acting up one night and attempted to frighten him, and he hit me behind my ear with his walking stick, laid me out. I learned that lesson quickly, not to be bad toward grandpa. One night grandpa got sick, it was a Saturday night, and his mouth was crooked and he couldn’t speak, just slurred. He left and never returned. He died. I missed my grandpa and I put some flowers on his grave that lasted for a long time and came back every year. I was eight years old when he died. I walked about a mile from our home to the graveyard where he was buried, dug a hole and planted the flowers there.
I was familiar with the graveyard because my dad and grandpa used to dig graves on the side for a living. They would let me throw the loose dirt out because I was too little to dig. I remember old bones were dug up, and jewelry. After digging the grave, the bones and the jewelry were placed back in the grave before the box or vault was put in. One night, my two older brothers and my dad and grandpa were digging a grave. My brothers and I decided to go walking around in the dark in the graveyard. The only light was a lantern we had. This light was kept on site where the grave was being dug. An ole white man named Mr. Ben Franklin ran the 5-10-cent store in town. He had a black crow that could say a few words: “Come here boys, let me talk to you,” and “N— stealing.” He lived by the graveyard. His crow had gotten out and flown to an old cedar tree in the graveyard. As we wandered through, we heard a voice that said, “Come here boys, let me talk to you.” During that time, one of the first things we were taught was to run home. We started running and my older brother ran over a tombstone and hurt his leg.
Some of the time it was cold, hot, raining, no matter what, my dad and grandpa dug those graves. Some of the graves were out in the woods in the country. Dad managed to work his regular day job and dig graves at night. They were two hard-working men.
We also had livestock to tend and were small farmers. My parents didn’t have all the up-to-date equipment, but managed to take care of all needs for survival around the house. The majority of the chores were done by hand, such as milking the cows and killing chickens, cows, and hogs. We had a smokehouse and a salt house. I loved it when daddy smoked those hams, they smelled and tasted so good. The salt house was kind of scary. The whole room looked like a large coffin. The meat was covered with salt. I noticed that there were holes in the salt. They were made by those large field rats that would burrow their way through the salt to get to the meat. Daddy would cut that portion of the meat out that was damaged by the rats.
My grandpa made sure our fields were planted and harvested in order for us to survive. I remember when we had to pick that dry corn off the stalks and put it up in the barn for our animals to eat. That was some hot hard work, along with the itching from the cornstalks and plants. There never was a day when we didn’t have to work around the house. We had three fields and three large gardens to attend to. The vegetables were of high quality because of the care we put into them. My grandpa was a well-respected man, he and his siblings. Those men in those days worked together to survive. When you don’t have the equipment to handle heavy loads of work, you have to have teamwork. This is one of the most important things I learned at an early age.
In kindergarten I discovered the beauty of other children. I loved to play and make friends with other children. At an early age I noticed that there were boys and girls. I can still remember the first girl I ever saw, to notice that we were different. We were playing in the yard and her underwear went to one side. Later on, in about the first grade, we were some curious kids, and some of us showed our stuff to one another. I remember our teacher caught two of us looking at each other, and told them they weren’t supposed to do that. We never did that again.
My teachers were my mom’s friends. Back in those days, if you did something wrong and were told on, you would get a double whipping.
My mom was real strict in school and at home. She preached to us all day daily on what we had to do in order to survive. My mom was an only child except for her stepsister. She was a large, dark-skinned woman about 5’10” tall. She loved sports and singing for church. She also was the coach for the girls’ and boys’ basketball teams before we integrated in 1970. When we had home games at school she would sit as close as she could to the team and tell the players what to do. She also gave the referees a run for their money when they made a bad call against our team. She had a loud, deep voice that echoed throughout the building. Sometimes I felt sorry for the referee because mom wasn’t playing. Everyone loved her for this, and our girls ended up winning state championships three years in a row. My mom would be one of the first on the court to congratulate them.
My mom had seven kids. One set were twins. My grandmother got the oldest boy and the three girls to live with her. My mom’s name was Alma Jean, grandmother Henrietta, daddy George, grandpa Douglas. My older sister’s name was Annetta, older brother George, twins Janice and James, younger sister Deborah, and younger brother Ellis. I was a floating child. I stayed in both houses from time to time. If I got in trouble with mom I would go to grandmother’s house. If I got in trouble with grandmother I would go to mom’s house. I thought I was smart at the time even though I didn’t mean to do anything wrong. Sometimes it was all a part of growing up.
I remember one time, my grandmother’s niece was getting a new house built and I was a curious child, so I walked down the road and watched the men pour the concrete for the car porch and garage. Later that evening, I decided to go back down there to do my inspection. I walked in the wet concrete all the way into the garage and out. My footprints are still there today, nearly 60 years later. Also, I noticed a sack with contained some type of powder, and I threw it all over the side of the house. This was concrete mix. I made a big mess thinking I was having fun. My older brother was supposed to be watching me, but he wasn’t around. My grandmother whipped his butt for this, and not me. The last time my grandmother whipped me, I was mad and did not cry. She thought I was lying to her about something I did not do. Back then we had to go and get our own switch. I made several trips that day. I was getting the largest one I could break. She finally got tired and I guess she knew I was telling the truth. She never whipped me again. She loved all of us dearly. None of us got over three whippings from her. My sister Janice, I can’t remember her ever getting a whipping. I guess we were some pretty good kids, because our parents didn’t have to discipline us a lot. Most of the time we were all on the same page doing the right things. Matter of fact, one whole neighborhood and community was about living the right way.
My daddy was the oldest of about fourteen children. He had to drop out of school in the fourth grade and go to work. He is my idol today. Even though he didn’t have book sense, he knew how to do just about everything around the house. He could fix anything and could build anything. He was the type of person who knew everything. He knew all the different plants, trees, and animals. He could cook because his mom had taught him—I guess because he was the oldest child. Later, he had to go in the military. He was in the Army, where he was highly recognized for his service. After, he worked at furniture factories until his health failed. He would be one of the first persons at work and the last to leave. Working at that place was hard, hot, cold, and real dusty. He also was our church janitor. I remember when he used to let me go work with him several times, to clean up offices at night and on Saturdays, help clean up the large, white people’s church. The white people’s church had a room for children with real toys, toys that I had only seen in stores. I played with them for a few minutes one time. After that, the preacher locked the door and I couldn’t play with them again.
When the car was broken and needed fixing, I would be under the car with dad, helping him by holding the flashlight or passing him different sizes of wrenches. I learned about tools at an early age. I could go on and on about how hard my Daddy worked for us to be able to eat and sleep. Getting up at 4:30 in the morning, milking the cows and feeding the animals, before his main job. Getting off work, working on various chores, was truly dedication to his family. He didn’t care about watching TV because when he came in the house he would bathe, eat, and go to bed.
My first rebellion against my father came when I was eleven. It was on a Sunday morning. We were getting ready to go to church. My mom had picked out some clothes for me but I decided that I wanted to wear a different pair of socks. My dad came around the corner from their bedroom. I became afraid and ran out the back door down the driveway I looked back and dad was coming out of the house. I had about a 20-yard head start on him. As I ran down the road, I thought I was safe. I looked back and my dad was right behind me. He was super-fast. I knew then that I couldn’t outrun him. I took a quick right through the fields that had blackberries, briars, and all kinds of thorns and weeds. I knew my dad had tender feet so I kept running through the field. When I looked back this time, he was about 50 yards behind me. I saw him grabbing at his feet and knew I was safe then. Consequently, I didn’t have any place to go. I had run away from home. When I exited the woods, I walked to the school and sat in the football stands.
Later that day, about one o’clock, a lot of white people came to the football field and started playing football. Some were around my age and some were much older and had played college ball. I asked them if I could play and they laughed at me. I guess they thought I didn’t know how to catch and run. Needless to say, I ended up being the fastest one out there. No one could catch me but I could catch them and tackle them, even though some were huge grown men. But as the day was coming to an end and all the people left the football field, I found myself alone, scared, hungry, and with nowhere to go. I started walking down the street, afraid to go home. As I was walking, my grandmother pulled up beside me on her way to evening church. She encouraged me to get in the car and assured me that I was going to be o.k. and could spend the night with her. I got in the car and she told me to stay in it until church was over, because I was too dirty to go in, plus I didn’t have any shoes on. I had run out of the house with what I had on. My grandmother didn’t have much to say to me. She fixed me something to eat and went on about her chores.
I knew I had done something real bad toward my parents. I was afraid that I would be punished for my actions. Discipline in our family mostly consisted of lectures that seemed to last forever. However, I was punished by my father in a way I’ll never forget. He ignored me for about two weeks. He knew that would hurt me more than anything in the world. He knew I was a child who always paid attention and was eager to learn about things of the world. Furthermore, I felt so lost during that time. For these reasons, I managed to respect my parents and appreciate everything they did for me or were teaching me.
My father was only 5′5″ tall, and weighed about 150 pounds. He was extremely strong for his size and had a chiseled body with no fat. He was so tactful. He loved to explain things to us the right away. I only received three licks from him because he caught me and my brother fighting. My brother got his licks and got on down. Me, on the other hand, I tried to cry my way out of it. My dad explained that it would hurt him more to whip us than it would us. My father loved to talk. He knew just about everyone because if you spoke to him, he had a conversation for anyone about anything. That is what they wrote in his obituary. My father never broke the law. He never got a parking ticket. He was able to live seven and a half years after mom passed. He was a real proud man and he was clean and well-groomed all the time.
(continued)
2 Animals
Growing up, we had chores to do around the house: helping milk cows, feeding them, and taking them to and forth in the pasture to graze. The pigs were a job themselves because we had to get in the muddy pen with them, wash their trough, and then feed them. Collecting the chicken eggs was a nasty job also. The chickens would lay their eggs all over the place. Most of the places were “for chickens only,” very hard to get to. We also had a few horses that required a lot of attention. One of our mules, I was afraid of him because I saw him kick my brother in the face and there was blood everywhere. The other two horses were gentle. My older brother could ride our white horse with nothing on its back or head. This horse didn’t like to be ridden so it had a special tree that it would run under and knock him off. Smart horse. We used to go in the pasture and grab our cows by the tail and let them drag us through the pasture. However, our cows were smart also. They would drag us through the cactus bushes so we had to let go. One time I wasn’t close to the cactus but the cow dragged me into some thorn bushes. My cousin had to untangle me, those thorns were all in me.
Our pasture was the main hangout for us as kids. We could go frog hunting, turtle hunting, squirrel hunting, bird hunting, play house in the old barn, eat different types of berries, and just hang out under the shade trees. We also had a baseball field, football field, and basketball court. This was one of the first places I got hurt. We didn’t wear shoes in the summertime. We could run on anything and anywhere barefooted. But I stepped on a thorn and it broke off in my foot. This is also the place where I witnessed one of our cows give birth. I had to keep an eye on the cow and calf, and walk them back to the barn.
Our barn was a very mysterious place. I got stung by some red wasp and shocked real bad trying to follow a chicken that had a nest in the top of the barn. I couldn’t see for a week because of the wasp. The shock had me nervous for a while, because I passed out. Also, one day I was trying to milk a cow and the cow stepped on my foot. I like to have never got her off it. Her hooves were so sharp and she was bearing down. I never did get the hang of milking cows. I noticed there was a big snake skin in the top of our barn. My parents always said to be aware of that snake. We also had a lot of field rats that would hide in the barrels of feed, and jump out when you were scooping out the feed to feed the animals.
Our bulls were very territorial. When my parents were away, the bulls wouldn’t let us in the lot. This angered me. One day I got me some rocks and walked around to the back of the barn and climbed on the roof. I started throwing rocks at the bull and hitting him. Somehow or another, the wind blew me off the barn and I fell right in front of the bull. We were nose to nose. I climbed back on top of the barn and the bull was still looking at me. I never did bother that bull again. When my father and his friends killed him, I felt sorry for him because I thought he was my friend. But we never kept a bull long because we would breed him and then they would kill him so we would have food to eat. Meanwhile, we had another big black bull. He was the meanest one of them all. One day he had his back to me in the barn. I had gotten a pellet rifle for Christmas and I shot him right in the testicles. This bull scared me because he was hurt. He bawled in pain it seemed like forever. He was jumping, running, and slobbering profusely. A couple of days later, my dad confronted me. He opened his hand and in it was a pellet from my gun. I was wordless. The bull nearly died from blood poisoning. My father took my gun away from me and I never saw it again.
When I was about six years old, I went with my brothers and sisters across the fence that bordered our land to get some muscadines. The pasture next to our contained cows also. These cows were owned by a white man. The herd had a large red bull with a white face. He chased us out of the pasture. By me being the youngest, I was the slowest. There was a hole underneath the fence where we had to exit. As I waited to go under the fence the bull was standing over me slobbering on me. I was really scared. He could have hurt me or killed me.
We had some cousins that visited us from Chicago. My older brother and my cousins, who were also older, decided that they wanted to walk to my uncle’s house. In order to do this we could walk the long way around by using the roads or take the shortcut by walking across a couple of pastures owned by white people. We chose the shortcut and my brother let me tag along with them. We were walking across this one pasture that had a large herd of cows and a very large white and gray bull with a huge hump on his back. He had a chain that ran from his nose to his front leg. He stood about six feet tall. The herd surrounded us and the bull was charging us. My older brother had grandpa’s rifle and fired a shot in the air, and the cows scattered. We were able to continue our journey. My cousins had never seen cows before and were crying like little babies. I didn’t cry but I was scared. When we got to my uncle’s house, we told him what had happened and he drove us back in his pickup truck.
I remember my first encounter with death. My mom was working for some white people who ran our bank in town. Their house was behind ours and some trees separated our house from theirs. I wanted to go see my mom, and, like always, I went on an adventure because of my desire to explore the world. As I was walking through the woods, I stopped to pick up this stick. All of a sudden, this stick turned toward me and made a sound that scared the life out of me. It was a cottonmouth. He opened his mouth wide open. For some reason, even as a small child my instinct for survival kicked in and I knew to run back home. I had to run out of the woods, down the field about 70 yards, go under a barb-wire fence, run back up our driveway about ten steps, and into my grandparents’ house. However, when I was running it didn’t feel like running, it felt like I was flying, as if I had magical powers. I slid under that fence without slowing down. the fence was about a foot off the ground. I was a superhuman that day. My mom killed that snake, it was a cottonmouth, over three feet long and nearly three inches in diameter.
Another episode I had with a snake was when we were walking in a ditch barefoot looking for anything we could find as kids. I was eleven years old and had gotten a BB gun for Christmas. We would walk at least a mile some days looking for crawfish turtles, fish, or whatever crossed our path, because we were hunters. We were not looking for food, just walking looking at what nature had before us. On this day we walked up on a water moccasin about two feet long. He was very aggressive, as if he wanted to fight us. However, I shot him between the eyes. A perfect shot. We weren’t afraid of anything because we had a gun. The ditches were our hangout. We played in them because that is all we were allowed to do. The city pool was off limits to us because were Black. But we always found a way to enjoy nature and life.
The city replaced the old wooden bridge over the ditch that was about to fall in with a round metal pipe about five feet in diameter. I went down there one day just to chill alone. I looked up and there came this big old grayish-black snake at least six feet long. This snake chased me out of the ditch and from that day on guarded the entranceway. I never did go back down there in that ditch, because the snakes regained their territory. Several times, I would go to the ditch and I would see at least twenty-five of them hanging out on the side of the bank or on logs in the water.
My next snake encounter was when my father, my mother, and I went fishing at this pond. I was so glad to go fishing with my parents, I always liked hanging out with them, and on this day the fish were biting real good. As dusk approached, snakes started coming to shore where we were fishing. My dad had the shotgun. He killed about ten snakes with it until he ran out of shells. After that he got a tree limb and started killing the snakes. As it got darker, we had a lantern for light. However, this wasn’t enough light to ward off the snakes and we had to leave. Again, this was another episode where things of nature defended their territory. Those fish belonged to them and they weren’t going to let us destroy their means of survival.
I was the type of child who believed in having fun with animals. On one occasion, when I was 12, I worked with a friend of mine for a white man who owned a lot of cows and horses. He would buy cattle and resell them. On this occasion, he had purchased some calves. Our job was to keep the calves fed and their stables clean. We had finished piling up the calf manure into one corner of the barn, and now it was time for us to be fun-loving boys. We decided that we were going to ride the calves. We managed to ride them all except this one big one. I was a determined boy, so I told my friend that I would ride this one, which was almost as big as a full-grown cow. The calf was fast and wasn’t going to be ridden. I chased him for a while until I was able to jump on his back. We didn’t have any ropes, just bareback. I was riding this calf, he couldn’t throw me off, but he was determined to get me off, and was also extremely intelligent. He ran fast to the corner where we had piled up the manure and stopped. Instantly, I went headfirst into the pile, all the way up to my waist. I couldn’t pull myself up. My friend had to pull me out, and he laughed forever and ever as I stood there with calf shit all over me. Calf shit is mostly a form of mud that is real thin and extremely slimy. As time passed, whenever I saw my friend the first thing that came to mind was the incident with the calf. We laughed and laughed and laughed all over again. Furthermore, my friend came to visit me one Hallowe’en and we went trick-or-treating. We were walking down the street and a truckload of white boys drove by and threw a million raw eggs at us. My friend was hit all over his body, head to toe. He had egg running down his face, shells stuck to his forehead. We laughed because we were thankful it wasn’t bottles or bricks.
3 School
In the second and third grade, we used to have plays. We had to sing and dance. A few times I had to sing a solo. The Black school had good times as well as hard times, and we were on the right path. As I look back now, I enjoyed my early school days. We were laying the foundation for the change of events. In the summertime one year, we were allowed to work the youth programs. We worked for the city. This was hard work, cleaning sidewalks and using sling blades. We also had to mow the graveyard in the city. After work we played little league baseball. I already knew how to throw because I used to throw rocks. This was a great opportunity for us kids to come together as one and as a people. As you know, some of the teams were all white, and they were the champions each summer.
In elementary school, I enjoyed school because I loved to run and play. We were always in competition, whether it was running, jumping, or swinging on something. However, there were kids on the playground that were much older, and they used to bully us. One day I got tired of the bully and we fought until I beat him up. I ended up fighting a lot of the older kids and won the majority of the fights. I remember one time my classmates called me a n—-. We ended up fighting and I won. They told their older brother, and he confronted me when we were going on Christmas break. I had some presents in my hand and when I was passing them to my friend next to me, the guy hit me in the eye and the stomach before I had a chance to do anything. He ran and got on the bus as the bus pulled off from school. That was a terrible time for me because I was embarrassed and hurting. I had to walk about a mile home. I went home and got in my parents’ bed. My older brother, who was the same age as the guy, beat him up in school at the high school. I was never called a n—- again. The guy who called me that was my trainer the remainder of school and we became friends.
In 1970, when we integrated, I was in the sixth grade. I was used to white kids because I lived right down the hill from them. This one kid who was much older used to have a go-kart. He would drive down the hill and call me a n—-. I would try and catch him but the car was too fast. One day I heard him riding around up the street. I got me some rocks and hid in the bushes. When he drove down the hill, I was waiting on him to come back up. I lit him up with some rocks. He never did drive back down the hill.
Pontotoc High was about 85% white. We were able to adjust to one another even though we were not accustomed to our differences. We managed to become respectful toward one another, and that helped our parents appreciate the change that was designed to make us a whole a better people. However, there were a few of the families that disagreed with the change and sent their children to private schools. After a few years some of them returned to public school.
The majority of the Black teachers taught in elementary school or junior high because they didn’t meet the requirements that the white teachers had. Only two Black teachers qualified for high school, one male and one female. Everything that our own school stood for was disregarded. We had to go by their school colors, songs, and school names. It was as if we never existed. All the coaches in sports were white. In other words, we were in an all-white society and had to adjust to their way of life. I noticed from the moment I walked in the door that the white kids were more advanced than we were in school, because all the books, buses, uniforms were passed down from the white school. However, I did notice that we had learning capabilities just as they did. We caught on fast. At this time, I didn’t care a lot about books. I loved being outside dealing with nature. For this reason, my grades were not all that good.
At the Black school, there were fights every day after school. After the ball games there was a lot of violence. The visiting team bus was put on flat and the windows knocked out. I used to stay up with dad at night when mom and the basketball team had away games until she returned home. One day, a man pulled up beside us as we walked home from school and followed us all the way down the hill. We had to walk up to Main Street to catch the bus. There was no shelter for us to sit under, we had to stand in one spot because the area was located next to white people’s yards and they didn’t want us to get on their grass. Especially this one lady. She just hated us for no reason. Her father, who was an old man, never gave us a hard time. I must say, this lady had some type of vine in her yard that was ideal for a six-year-old. We got on the vine and within minutes that lady was all over us. We had to go to the other side of the road after that to catch the bus. Furthermore, we had to walk nearly a half mile to catch the bus. One day, this man had his car door open while he was driving, with his penis in his hand. My sisters were 16 and 13. We ran home at that point. During this time, Black girls had to be watched closely at all times, even at school, because they would be subjected to rape and there would be nothing done about it.
I noticed the difference in discipline between the two schools. At the Black school you got a whipping on the spot in front of everybody. At the white school you had to go to the office and get a whipping. At the high school, you were given a choice: three licks or three days. When I got to the seventh grade my trouble started. I wanted to talk during class and that was forbidden. I got several whippings at first and then one day I took the paddle from the teacher. She sent for a male teacher whom everyone was afraid of. However, that day I was mad and told him he wasn’t going to put his hands on me. He never came in the class, he just stood in the door and finally left. I regretted my actions because that was my mom’s friend. In the fifth grade, we had a teacher who would leave class and return. If we were talking, she would whip the whole class. Another time in school, we used to run down the hallway to get to the bus after school. We knew we weren’t supposed to, but we did it anyway. This one particular day, a male teacher grabbed me by the arm and hit me on the butt. He was ugly and mean. I didn’t run in the hallway any more past his door.
There was another occasion that occurred with me and a student. This guy was making fun of me all the time and one day I hit him in the mouth and knocked out his front teeth. He went through school missing his front teeth. We became friends to this day. In the third grade, my teacher would call my mom on me if I was acting up in class. This one day, she called my mom. I was mad and the both of them let me make it that day. I learned to love this woman and appreciate everything she did for me. She told everyone I was her favorite student. I remember one Monday after we had a church program, my teacher asked me why I went to church. I told her, to eat. She remembered that until she died. She would always tell my mom to tell me hello, even after I was incarcerated.
One of the first things I learned in school was to like girls. We used to have fun chasing the girls playing tag. In the sixth grade, there was this white teacher. She was real pretty, to us, and a couple of Black students and I had a crush on her. She was so nice and kind to us. Another teacher I had a crush on was my Physical Education teacher. We were able to play all kinds of games and sports. She was a pretty Black woman about the age of my oldest sister. My first girlfriend was when I was in the seventh grade. At church I started noticing girls, and at school all we talked about was the girls and playing ball.
In the eighth grade, we had to change schools. The Black school was used for 5th, 6th, and 7th grade students. 8th grade through 12th went to the white high school. This was the point where the majority of the Black students quit school because of the rules, and it is likely this is what the white supremacy system wanted to happen. The teachers showed favoritism toward the white kids. We were subjected to majority rule. All office positions, Homecoming Queen and King, had to be voted on by the student body. We were outnumbered ten to two, so it was impossible for us to hold any type of position or be a king or queen.
My worst year in school was the eighth grade. As I look back now, I don’t know if the death of my father’s parents was a cause, or just puberty. Anyway, my grandfather died in September and my grandmother in October. I was really hurt because of this. I only remember seeing them a few times, but the time I did see them it was great, nothing but love. Maybe the change, coming to the white school, played a role too. My English teacher was real strict toward everyone and everybody disliked her. I was influenced by the majority and had to fit in. I became the class clown because she stayed on me, trying to stop me from sleeping and talking in class. We threw spitballs at her when she turned her back to write on the board, and put tacks in her seat when she left the classroom. She would send me to the principal’s office and I had a choice: three licks or three days. The first couple of times, I took the licks, but after that I took the days. I did not want to go to school. I also wouldn’t go to school on Wednesdays because my cousin had quit school and got off work on Wednesdays at noon. He was three years older than me. We would play one on one basketball all evening. This was also a time when I was introduced to alcohol and drugs, hanging out with older people. We drank beer almost every night and I had a hangover the next day. This was another reason I missed school. I got suspended five times the second semester and failed the 8th grade. The following year, my English teacher and I started right back where we left. Turn of events, a lot of kids came over from the 7th grade so I got moved up to the 9th. This was a change of events for me. I started acting more mature because I was around older students who were doing the right thing. I started doing my homework just enough to get by. You had to maintain a certain grade point average in order to play sports. I was pretty good at all four sports: football, basketball, baseball, and track. I was one of the best players on the teams because of speed and power. I used to watch pro players in football, basketball, and baseball. I studied their movements and techniques. I imitated their style as I magically made remarkable plays over and over. Furthermore, I started being liked by quite a few females my age. I was able to communicate better with my teachers. I was beginning to know my purpose in life and I wanted to be somebody.
We were raised in church to be obedient to God’s word. Our church was Second Baptist. I sang in the choir and it was mandatory for us to attend choir rehearsal, Sunday school, and regular church services. I enjoyed listening to my mom and sister sing. They had two beautiful voices that sounded as good as a voice could sound. Gospel music was one of my favorite styles of music. However, my grandmother used to shout. Shouting was common for older Black women in church. It was as if they were in a place that only God could really understand. For some reason, I would always end up crying also because God would enter me through my parents somehow. The power of God is truly amazing.
4 Adolescence
I started playing organized ball when I was in the sixth grade. My first coach was white. He played the best kids at that time. He lived across the hill from me, about 300 yards away, and he would give me a ride from practice every day because it was over a mile for me to walk home. He taught school and was a person everyone loved as a teacher and friend. I was one of the fastest players on the team. For this reason, I was able to get the most touchdowns and make the most tackles. This pattern followed me all through high school.
When I was in the tenth grade, I became a superstar in sports. As a result, girls were coming at me from all directions…Black, white, and other. There was this one particular part-Indian part-white girl who stole my heart. We had to deal with the Black/white issue and keep it from her parents. I was so excited one day when I brought her home and introduced her to my mother. My mom was polite to her and smiled at me. But this was when my parents and I began to see things differently. My parents were afraid for me because of things in the past, which included murder, beatings, and lynchings. They had to endure a lot of mistreatment because of the Jim Crow laws and white supremacy. It was okay for a white man to rape a Black woman but forbidden for a Black man to show any type of affection for a white woman. As time passed, people began to talk and form opinions about my girlfriend’s and my relationship. My mother was getting a lot of feedback from people in our community. As a result of this, they were afraid for my safety. I was sixteen when I was really confronted by my parents about my relationship. One night, my mom brought up the subject, and my dad was present. I told my mom what I was going to do about my relationship in a bad tone of voice. My dad confronted me then and we got physical for about ten seconds because I picked him up and threw him on my bed before I knew it. My mom screamed and we all ended up in my bed holding each other and crying. That was the last time I ever said anything out of the way to my parents. They were just looking out for their child. I moved next door in with my grandmother because all the older children were gone to college, were in the military, or had gotten married and moved away. My parents would let me use the car on weekends as long as I came back home on time and was doing what I was supposed to do. They couldn’t stop me from seeing my girlfriend. But after I dated a white girl, the Black girls tried to tarnish my reputation. I was treated as though I had committed the ultimate sin. I continued to sneak around with the white girls, but I was not happy being a second-class person because of my race and also the way my race treated me.
In the summer of 1975, I was working for a youth program with other teenagers at the school. We were building a new swimming pool for the city. I was a good worker and always on time. My junior high school football coach was our supervisor. Nevertheless, our high school football cheerleaders and classmates were practicing one morning close to where we were working. The cheerleaders came over and spoke to us as we were working, just passing by. Consequently, our coach had a conversation with the city supervisor. That evening, he told me I was fired and didn’t give me a reason why. However, I know it was because I was dating a white girl. She wasn’t one of the cheerleaders, he was just a white supremacist. For this reason, the supervisor’s best friend came by my house the next day and told me I could work for him on his property. This was a man who had somehow had a dispute with my father about some land. As a result, we had to move and give up about ten acres of land. But he, who was a retired, highly decorated Army veteran with a German wife, was very supportive of me and treated me like a human being. Working with him was also educational because we did a lot of jobs I had never done before.
I had a great mentor as a coach. He treated me like a regular human being and never showed any type of racism toward me even though he knew I was dating a white girl. He used to take me and a few other players in his car to Ole Miss and MS State home football games. He was a person that everyone liked. He would go out of his way to help all students in our school. For this reason, the high school football field is named after him. Furthermore, he still writes me today and still says he loves me as a person and a friend. He makes me feel like a person even though I am in prison. He is truly a blessing to have as a friend. Nevertheless, we had another sports coach who didn’t want me and a couple of other Blacks on his team because we were dating white girls. He told me that he wasn’t going to play me even though I was one of the best players on the team. My teammates and I had played ball together all of our lives growing up. We didn’t really understand the way we should, because this type of behavior was common back then.
Overall, most people within our school system adjusted pretty well to the change. There was a lot of respect for one another. My teammates and I became good friends. They would give me a ride home after practice because most of them had cars. I carried the team and was its captain. I was also the conference’s most valuable player. My girlfriend and I didn’t hide our relationship any more. In school we walked together hand in hand, just like all the other girlfriends and boyfriends. We came from two religious families, so according to God and the Constitution, we weren’t doing anything wrong. Everyone at school would look at us because we introduced something new in our society. We dated until the end of the school year. But when her mother found out I was Black, she got all over her and didn’t want me to talk to her. Her mother and I would talk on the phone and sometimes she would cry. I will never forget something she said to me one time: “You are just trying to make yourself look better than my people.” As though her race was better than mine. But people finally got used to us, though the police would always stop us and wanted to know who we were.
We broke up, and she started dating several other Black men. Some were over ten years older than she was. This one guy was married. This is the guy she dated for years even after we married—the one who is supposed to be my oldest son’s father. This was the first time I had ever felt a pain that you cannot explain. I was so, so sick about our breakup. This was the first time I took an overdose. I didn’t know pills could hurt you. That was a lesson learned quickly, I never wanted to do that again. Furthermore, the summer was not a good one. This is when I got fired working at the swimming pool, and when the best friend of the one who fired me hired me to work for him.
When school started back, she and I went out a couple of times. However, I was talked about because I dated a white woman. Therefore, I started dating girls from nearby towns. I had a nasty phone bill! My heart was not on these girls; I was just going through the motions. This behavior lasted until my senior year, when she asked if I would take her back. I said yes under one condition. I told her we would have to be the only one, and respect each other. We went through some stuff with our parents, but eventually we managed to make them understand. We were both standouts in school because we played sports and were doing the right thing.
On my graduation night, we partied all night long. We had a Black party and a white party at the lake. I went to both of them. We were drinking and smoking weed. One of my classmates had some acid. I tried it and thought I could fly. I ended up wrecking my parents’ car. However, if I hadn’t wrecked the car, I might have lost my life further down the hill. A policeman was behind me and drove me to the jail. He decided not to put me in jail and drove me home. He made my girlfriend walk home, which was right down the street about 100 yards. My parents were so disappointed in me for my poor judgment and bad behavior.
I went to college at ICC in Fulton, MS. Fulton is located in Itawamba County, which was about 97% white during that time. My girlfriend would come to visit me and to our home games. The students weren’t used to seeing interracial couples. I was the talk of the school. The Black girls always had something negative to say about me. The white girls kept their distance because they didn’t want their names in the street for carrying on a conversation with me. My classmates from high school’s attitudes had changed also. Pontotoc was different from the other counties in our area. Going to college was a major change, it seemed like you had to be in a group or you were an outcast. I was one of two Blacks on the team to have a car. For this reason, I was popular with my teammates because we could go to the county line and get beer or go up in the hills to the juke joint. We won the championship my freshman year. My sophomore year, we were a 500 team. I made the all-star team.
5 Adulthood
My girlfriend got pregnant and in December, 1978, we got married in Hamilton, Alabama. I took a chance on her because I wasn’t sure I was the baby’s daddy. I dropped out of school and joined the Marine Corps. I joined to get away from Mississippi, but I ended up in a more serious racial environment. The Marine Corps Aviation field is one of the most racist environments in the world, to me. KKK literature was everywhere, Confederate flags were everywhere, and so were smartass white people. My first incident occurred when I was going to school in Millington, Tennessee. We couldn’t drink in the barracks so we had to go drink in the words. A classmate and I were in the woods one day along with other Marines and one started calling me a n—- over and over after he got drunk. Before I knew it, I had slapped him upside the head with a tree limb. The next day he apologized to me and he never disrespected any of us again.
My daughter was born a month before I got home from boot camp. On the day of my graduation ceremony, coming from Millington to Pontotoc, a man pulled a gun on my wife, her sister, the baby, and myself in our car. I could have forced his car off the road into a steep gulley. I had his tag number but I just wanted to get home because I was due in North Carolina in ten days. We were traumatized by this incident.
When I got to my duty station in Beaufort, South Carolina, I was the first Black to live on the third deck in over three years. There were only three other Blacks living in the barracks. One night, two of my friends and I went out to the club on base. When I returned, I noticed my wife’s and daughter’s picture was on the floor and broken along with my radio. I shared my room with a white guy from upstate New York. I confronted him and he pretended he didn’t know anything about it. He was a wimp and coward. At that moment I called everyone out of their rooms and asked if anyone knew anything about this incident. No one would say anything. I told them at that moment that if they touched anything else that belonged to me, they would all pay. I wasn’t afraid of them or the Klan. I meant what I said. Moreover, I did not want to be in the Marine Corps anymore. I contacted my congressman and I told my CO what had happened. Blacks were not wanted in that unit. On the job, you had to be on the lookout or you could get hurt or cause someone else to get hurt. In addition to this, my boss did not try to teach me anything, always telling me how to do something wrong.
As a result, I was moved to a predominantly Black squadron. The base was mostly segregated. The brothers in this unit were extremely close with one another. When we did our first physical fitness test, I finished ahead of everyone. At this point I was well known and respected. Our objective was to educate ourselves to the fullest, learning how to fix these fighter jets. At work I was obedient and followed all the rules. I studied around the clock. Within a year and a half, I was in charge of my section. I was responsible for the aircraft, I had to determine whether or not the plane should fly. Our unit took top honors every month for a while, although the squadron was mostly black. And I noticed how things began to change around our unit. Blacks and whites started hanging out together, especially when we went out of town or overseas. Therefore, I finally enjoyed my time in the Marine Corps. I accomplished a trade and received the highest honors I could in four and a half years. I got an honorable discharge.
. . .
[I went to Texas for three months to take a job.] When I left my wife was fussing at me about not wanting to live in Mississippi. I was angry and slept with other women, some of them just one- night stands. Somebody gave me the crabs, which I didn’t know until my wife and I were at a motel together after I got back from Texas. I was infested and all the stores were closed. I was terrified; I had never in my life had anything before. My wife had me by the balls now. I was the bad guy. This was her ticket to freedom from me and she could continue her affair with her lover, with whom she had been involved for eight years. He was ten years older than me, and married. She was fourteen and he was twenty-five when the affair started. She was my first love and I cared a lot about her, but everybody in Pontotoc knew about her affair but me.
. . .
My wife and I tried to mend our marriage, but the damage was done beyond repair. She got custody of the children. I tried remarrying but that didn’t work out. Moreover, I just couldn’t manage being a man as I should. I started drinking a lot and using drugs, trying to ease the pain that I was going through because of my actions toward my wife. I lost my manhood when I beat my wife up and broke her leg. This caused me not to be able to trust another woman, and I didn’t want one. I just wanted my family.
[Editor’s note: I have abridged the narrative about the disintegration of this marriage, the comings and goings of the participants, other persons whose lives intersected with Joe’s, and the crime and suffering involved.]
6 Now
I don’t have much more to say but I will give a little insight as to where I am mentally. For decades I focused on hating myself. Every day was nothing but shame, hurt, and pain. I have had to struggle with the system and society as to the person I am. I am labeled as to the actions that led me to prison. However, you have to be your own man, you have to find ways that suit you. Sometimes you ask yourself, “Does it matter?” “What am I doing this for?” and sometimes you think, “My life is over,” and wonder if you would be better off dead.
Today I am focusing on a new me and a new beginning. I know I can’t change the past, but just maybe I can help one person to get out of prison and stay out of prison. I don’t want any man or woman to become weak to the point that they give up. I had anger problems, drug addiction, stress, depression, and a broken heart. However, I’ve come a long way over the years. I know that I am not afraid to die. I know that my body will return to earth. One day I was talking to Dr. Fisher-Wirth and I told her some things about my past. Instantly, her response was, “That was then. You are not that person now.” Now, I can get back to my purpose.
I’ve been at Unit 25 the past three years. I came over here to take the classes, and was asked by the staff if I would help tutor some of the students. I agreed and have been helping as much as I can. Furthermore, a new Reentry Program started here and I am an Instructor.
The best part of being at Unit 25 is being able to further my education. When I was in school, I just studied enough to get by. I didn’t like to read a lot. However, the Prison to College Pipeline Program has opened up doors within me to learn about things I thought were irrelevant. Moreover, I am able to take my mind away from the prison environment for hours at a time. Furthermore, the staff are so dedicated to their work. It motivates me to want to better myself. It feels good to be around beautiful people inside and out. Saying thank you and we appreciate you is not enough for all that they do for us.
I enjoyed reading The World We Have, by Thich Nhat Hanh. I had heard about Buddhists, but I have never come in contact with a person who discussed or talked about that way of life. Having an open mind helped me to get something out of the book. I will always think about the term “mindfulness.” This term opens up deeper feelings about our planet that I was aware of, but not quite as deeply. Until now, I guess I was hearing things about the earth but not fully listening. However, through this course that I am taking, I am able to understand our environment better. My present state of mind is to continue to be a better person. I can’t change the past but I can plan a positive future. I pray for guidance, strength, and understanding, and to be compassionate toward everyone. Furthermore, I’ve learned to love myself and body all over again. I want to be free in mind, body, and soul, to help others with grace and mercy.
