All God's Dangers (44 page)

Two or three days' time, I deducts back to buy this Ford that I traded for that Chevrolet back. Got there and that car was gone—I always tried to realize and consider when I was takin too much expense on myself and I let them boys drive that Chevrolet to the log woods two or three times across the river at Calusa and out towards Unity. I decided that was too much car for me to be lettin em drive to the sawmill. They drove it two or three times—that was as much as I could stand. And that Chevrolet, when you'd drive it in the shed where that Ford had parked, the bumper still stuck out. It had bumpers in front and bumpers behind, sedan style. I could drive that Ford in that shed out of sight and shut the door. But I had to adjust the matter to get the Chevrolet in there—add more to the station and set the door back. Quickly come to my attention, ‘That's the wrong car for you to let the boys drive to the sawmill.'

So I took off back down to Tuskegee to buy that Ford back and it was gone. Well, I went on then to another dealer, fellow by the name of Leon Montgomery. I knowed his daddy and mother well. His mother was a stepdaughter of Mr. Gus Ames. And Mr. George Montgomery, Leon's daddy, married her. I went up to Leon Montgomery and he fixed me up with another '26 Ford. It weren't nearly the car that that first Ford was. Still I kept that Chevy, I didn't swap it—had two cars then. And the boys drove the Ford but it didn't stand up like that Ford I swapped. Sometimes both of them cars would be on the road and I wouldn't be on nary one of em. One boy goin one way and one goin the other and—see, there was three of them boys goin round amongst the girls at that time—Calvin, my oldest, Vernon next, and Davey, he was older than any of my boys. I never did object to them drivin them cars if they was goin to somebody's home. But I forbidded em of haulin crowds, pickin up all sorts of loafin boys and haulin em, hurrahin. I said, “But if you get you some girls and want to enjoy yourselves, that's all right. But I don't want you pickin up these old loafin boys. I aint goin to have it.”

I took that Chevrolet out of the woods and after a while the boys took a notion they wanted me to change that second Ford and get another one. Calvin come up to me in the yard one mornin and he begin to consult with me—Davey and Vernon was back down
at the barn and Calvin was speakin for all of em. Told me, “Papa, we want you to change that '26 Ford off for us. We seen another car, closed Ford, over there at Calusa and we wants
it.
We want you to take this one over there and change it for us.”

They was cuttin logs down here on the river at that time, workin for the benefit of their family and themselves. I thought a little and said, “All right, son, if you and the boys is sure you want it”—that crowd in Calusa was sellin cars then, new ones and all—“I'll take it down there when I get a chance.”

“Yes, Papa, we don't want you to stop now and do it. When it gets too wet to work outside, some day, that'll be soon enough to change it.”

My wife was standin at the door listenin at us, tryin to catch on to what it was. When the boy left me and went on to the lot where Vernon and Davey was, she come out the door and called me. She said, “Darlin, what was Calvin nuzzlin you so close for this mornin?”

I looked around; it was her spoke, I knowed it was her. I said, “O, he just wants me to change that Ford off and get em a closed Ford with a glass department.”

She said, “Are you goin to do it?”

I said, “Yeah, I'm goin to change it for em.”

She said, “Uh-huh, you just pay attention to these boys and get em everything they want, if you can reach it. After a while we won't have nothin here but cars.”

I said, “Them's my boys, and they're your boys. I'm their daddy. They do whatever I tell em to do without a grumble. They lookin to me and I'm goin to pleasure em just as long as I can. Now, you got anything to do there in the house?”

She said, “Yeah, I got a plenty to do in the house, and I got a plenty to do out here too, watchin you and the boys full up our yard with cars.”

I laughed and I told her, “Well, my boys wants to live in this world—your boys; this is the only world they can do their livin in.”

They was big enough to work and pay for what they got, and weren't disapprovin at that. They was log cuttin kids—Calvin, Vernon, and Davey. Calvin and Davey cut logs as regular as the day come. Payday, they'd bring me the money or check, whatever, and I'd put part of it into home affairs and give them part. Me and Vernon was at home makin the crops. And after he got big enough
I reduced him of farmin, to an extent, and he went on to the woods. Francis, he come of age big enough to work in the field and Eugene could help a little and the girls could help, but not very much; not very much did I exact from my girls in the field.

While I was livin on the Pollard place, I rented a few acres from Mr. Lemuel Tucker and put my boys on it and let them make a crop theirselves. Mr. Tucker agreed to furnish me fertilize and fifty dollars—weren't no groceries and nothin else in the deal; land rent and fertilize and fifty dollars was all I allowed him. I gived my boys a mule and told em go to it. Well, Mr. Tucker gived me the land right on, but he got so weak he couldn't furnish me nary a bit of money. I could donate to my boys enough little change along to keep em goin. And was feedin em right at the table where they had always et. That carried em through; they went on and made the crop.

Them boys toed the mark; they done what I told em even-up. One time I got on my car and went to Fort Payne, Alabama, to the death of one of my uncles. I was gone Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday before I could land back home. My boys was home plowin and workin in the crop and when I arrived everything was as jam-up—they was still in the field. I drove in there early that Wednesday evenin and that house just emptied out; my wife and children run out to the car and covered me, kissin and huggin, glad to see me. I'd never been away from em more than one day or one night in their lives before that. I asked my wife and the girl children, “Where is the boys?”

I couldn't see em nowhere in the field around the house there. She said, “The boys got through over yonder on the old place”—that was her mother and father's old home place, workin that, too—and said, “they said they was goin on down on the Meade place—” that's where I'd rented from Lemuel Tucker—“goin down on the Meade place, found out that stuff needed plowin and they down there now, plowin.”

I was always satisfied with my boys, the work they done. They knowed their daddy didn't leave his home less'n he had to. I didn't get on the car, run up and down the road to frolic. And they was
dutiful boys in my absence. Sometimes they would be plowin in one field and I'd be over yonder in another field by myself and I was just as well satisfied with their work as I could be with mine. And when I let my boys loose on that rented land, they made me ten good heavy bales of cotton. That was my Calvin and Davey, my sister's boy.

M
R
. T
UCKER
had a big poultry yard, these old white-legged chickens, and he was sellin eggs—doin every way he could to make a dollar. Had his hands on places up near Apafalya, had hands back down in here. And when they commenced a pullin him across the coals, he commenced a hollerin. One day he come by my house talkin bout his chickens and eggs and how much he was gettin out of that poultry yard.

I said, “Well, Mr. Lemuel, it's none of my business but like I see things gettin now, somebody goin to fall out the bottom. It's got to where these people can't stand in this country for nobody to have nothin but what they got to have it too. The land and country through here and everywhere I go, it's a poultry business, a poultry business. Watch out! None of you won't get no good out of it after a while. Everybody goin into one kind of business, I reckon nobody won't get nothin good out of it.”

He jumped up when I told him that.

“Uh-uh-uh-uh, by George, you just got to know your onions.”

Them's the very words he told me. Well, I told him the business was goin to weaken. Next news I heard, he was haulin eggs to the market by the bucket, one or two little bucketsful. Well, that weren't profitin him enough to buy gas. Next news I heard, he got into it with Mr. Grace at the bank and Mr. Grace tore him all to pieces.

Nothin never goes over the devil's back but what's goin to latch on to his belly—business went bad for Mr. Tucker. Before it was over they cleaned him out. He used to stand good at the bank—went down to Mr. Grace and wanted to borrow money to take a big trip. He owed Mr. Grace at that time twenty-five hundred dollars, which is two thousand five hundred. So he went up to Mr. Grace to borrow money so he could take a trip to California. Did he get that money? Did I give it to him? Did I let him borrow it? Mr. Grace turned him down, told him, “Tucker, you owe me twenty-five hundred dollars,
hear? If you'll pay me that and get straight with me, I'll let you have it.”

And that stuck Mr. Tucker with true force. He got mad as a wood hammer and he went to Montgomery—he had a lot of dairy cows and he went to Montgomery and mortgaged them fine dairy cows he had. Right there he sold hisself down the river. Mr. Grace wouldn't let him have the money—that was sung all over the country amongst white and colored too—went to Montgomery, got the money anyhow, mortgaged his cows to get it, took his big trip to California. And when he come back, he went in the bank there in Apafalya and Mr. Grace just let down to him. Told him, “Well, Tucker—” that was the pressure time, too—“Tucker, I'm gettin tight and I need the money you owe me.” And he insisted on him to pay it. “I just have to have the money, Tucker.”

When he took that trip to California, by his way and actions it made a new man out of him. He come back to Apafalya and he killed himself dead there, in a way. He didn't kill himself, understand, but he killed his influence. He went around the streets there—and I knowed some of the fellas, colored fellas, Tucker runnin up shakin hands with em and familiar with em. Told em how he had such a good time and such good treatment from colored people on his trip and all—O, he just courted my color. There was one special fellow, by the name of Caleb Moss. He owned a good deal of land down there between Sinking Creek and Apafalya, colored fellow, owned one or two nice places. He could go to Apafalya and get anything he wanted, or anywheres else he was known. He was recognized. Of course, they'd a tied him up hand and foot if they got a chance at him quick as they would anybody. So, when Mr. Tucker went out to California and come back, O, he was just changed so bad and he was just whoopin about it. And right there in Apafalya he runned up on Caleb Moss and good God, he just went up and grabbed him by the hand, shook hands with him, other white folks lookin on—and this is true facts. Some of em said, “I wonder what's the matter with Tucker. He's goin around here shakin hands with niggers. Must be losin his mind.”

Throwin off on him because he was doin somethin that they wouldn't do and didn't like for any white man to do it.

One night he come up to my house. I was settin inside and a car drove out there in front of my door. I got up and went to the door and it was Mr. Lemuel Tucker. I walked out to the car—didn't
know what he wanted—and when I walked out there he let into talkin. Well, the weather was quite ill that night—it was in winter time—and he said, “Get in, get in, Nate, and sit down. Get in out of the cold and shut the door.”

I got in there and set down and he just preached me up a sermon. I didn't know it was in him. Told me bout his trip to California. He went over there to see his son Rex Tucker, that was his name, his oldest son. I don't think he ever had over a couple of boys. And his other ones, if he had any more, they was younger than Rex. I knowed Rex well. And Rex told his daddy to come visit him in California. He was out there makin a big man of himself, handlin a big trade there or big concern someway. All right. Mr. Tucker went off to see him and when he come back home off his trip he come by my house one night on his car and called me out for a long talk. And he told me these words: he was awful familiar with me, tellin me about what a big time he'd had on the train and how the colored people, the colored porters on the train treated him and just made him welcome to anything and set him up. “O, Nate, they was nice to me, I'll just tell you.”

He was braggin down to the brick. He said, “Now you don't say nothin bout this—” They know their color is treatin you wrong but the most they'll do is whisper it to you. He said—he was so tore up and stirred up until he told me, “Don't say nothin bout what I'm sayin. This country lacks for
honestry.
It lacks for
honestry.
They don't recognize people—”

I said to myself, ‘Good thing you went off somewhere and found out something.'

Next time I saw Mr. Tucker, I went down to his house and paid him the land rent what I owed him for the place I'd rented for my boys. It was a pretty cold day and he told me to come on in the house to the fire. I walked in, set down, and he talked: he laid his troubles to me and all. Told me he went in the bank there to Mr. Grace and Mr. Grace let down on him for that twenty-five hundred dollars. Then wouldn't nobody take it up but Mr. Alf Grinstead, man supposed to have more money than any one man in Apafalya. Mr. Grinstead walked right on into the bank and paid the debt off for him; then he took his business over and took title to all his property. When they wound up with him, in a few days—he told me, I didn't see it, but I know they got it all—three big trailer trucks come out from Montgomery and loaded all them
dairy cows and pulled em out of this country. Mr. Tucker had to make his wife guardzine
^†
over what he had. Still they took his land, took everything he had but his home place, the house he lived in and the farm it was on. Didn't take that. But he had a lot of places he had bought and they took all them, he lost em all. Even had to sell them chickens out for cash.