The very last paragraph of this post will give an explanation and story about the photograph you are presently viewing on the right.To further enlighten you about your baffling classmate, (Dixie), I am forwarding this addendum to the first communiqué.
Rosa Parks passed, I can relate to Rosa Parks! Spending five impressionable years of my life in a geographic location North of the Mason-Dixon Line and having entered an untoward culture, I learned of prejudice, I felt prejudice. Rosa Parks passed, she sat in the wrong seat of the wrong bus in the wrong city, so did I.
Abraham Lincoln in acknowledging the written word in America's Declaration of Independence: "We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among them are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness", understood it left no other inference than it regarded the Negro Slave as a Man.
Living my five impressionable years in Chicago, I rode in public transportation with Negro Men and Women, I drank Cokes at lunch counters with Negro Men and Women, I ate lunch with my mother at "The Forum Cafeteria" in downtown Chicago with Negro Men and Women, I consumed "White Castle" hamburgers with Negro Men and women and I worked with Negro Men at my after school employment.
I came back to Tennessee in 1955 and I understood prejudice.
Riding public transportation in Nashville during 1955 was an unforgettable experience, no bus schedule proved to be correct, no service to all parts of the city and making a trip "cross town" was a combination of riding and "hoofing it", irregardless of the weather. One particularly hot day in August, 1956, I stood up and tried to give my seat to an old Negro Woman who was trying to balance herself while standing with two heavy shopping bags. I was living under the controls of the "Jim Crow" laws in Nashville and almost caused a riot. Yes, I can relate to Rosa Parks.
Before I left the agrarian influence of my childhood and traversed North, I was unaware of the loathing between the races. There were many "Black Folk" who lived in "Black John Hollow" across the hill from the family farm. These folk were descendents of the slaves owned by my Great Grandfather; my Great Grandfather on my mother's bloodline side of the family. There are no people of color who have the surname, McClurkan, (at least there are none of which I am aware) because the McClurkan bloodline were basically mountain types and were too poor to own any slaves. Slaves took on the surnames of their masters who owned them. On the other hand, my matriarchal side was Adams, and they were very affluent and owned a large stable of slaves. My Great-Great-Grandfather was a member of the Tennessee Volunteer Army who accompanied General Andrew Jackson to the Battle of New Orleans in the War of 1812. Presently, a National Park Scenic Parkway runs along the old Choctaw Indian Road, it is the "Natchez Trace Parkway" traversing from West of Nashville to Tupelo, Mississippi. This is the trail taken by Andrew Jackson's Army to New Orleans. Returning to Tennessee at war's end, many officers received land grants as payment for their services to the United States. Tennessee joined the union in 1796, having separated from the territory of the Mother State, North Carolina. My Great-Great Grandfather received a grant of 10,000 acres of land in Dickson County, Tennessee. (None of the acreage is in the family anymore)
During The mid-1800's there were rumblings in the South about cessation from the Union; my Great Grandfather became a Colonel in the Confederate Army. He lost a leg in the "Battle Above The Clouds" at Lookout Mountain in Chattanooga, Tennessee; his leg was shattered by a cannon ball. During my childhood I heard many stories that were passed down from the Civil War days about the lifestyle of the family during those war years. Well I remember, as a boy, creeping into a storage room in my grandmother's house and touching the Confederate Uniform worn by her father in law. There was a Confederate Battle Flag and a big drum with a regimental name imprinted thereon and an old tattered Bible which had evidently been carried on the battlefield. I have no reference to these item's location today, but would they not be a great museum addition?
As a boy raised in the Yellow Creek Valley, I spent time in Black John Hollow visiting with the Negro Families who worked on our family farm. We were taught to refer to the grown up Black Folk as Uncle and Aunt. So, I would go spend the night in the log cabin with the dirt floor where Uncle Joe and Aunt Tishie lived. My, how delicious were the suppers Aunt Tishie prepared in the iron kettle over the fire in the fireplace. There would be greens and cornbread and squirrel or rabbit with gravy and grits and all the folk would sit around and spin yarns, (tell stories or tall tales) and what more could a boy delight in? When I read about Tom Sawyer and his friend Huck Finn, I felt I had done most of what they had done; I had "white washed" a fence using the ingredients of spring water and lime, but I had never seen the Mighty Mississippi rolling South,. I had learned where the best tasting possum grapes grew wild, the most luscious persimmon trees stood, where the buzzard's roosted at night, where the best grapevine was growing, to be cut next summer to swing out over the creek and plunge into the deep cold pools of fresh Yellow Creek Water.
I played with the older Negro Boys, the likes of which I'll never forget. L. B. Pollard who taught me, at 8 years of age, the proper way to harness a mule, Leonard Elliott who taught me how to bark a squirrel so as not to bruise the meat with the rifle bullet, and how to track a rabbit on a frosty morning. There was so much to learn and do, we were all people of the soil, who never really discriminated because of color. In the winter of Aunt Tishie's and Uncle Joe's life when they became very old and feeble, my family took care of them, administering to their needs financially, medically and in supplying food and fuel to their cabin.
Before my time, as I was told, my grandfather was threshing wheat for a family in another community. At dinner, (noon meals were dinner and evening meals were supper) when the men folk came to the house to eat, the lady of the house prepared a tin pie plate of food to carry outside to the Negro Men working with my grandfather. My grandfather told the family that his men worked beside him and they would eat beside him, not fed like a pack of dogs. He never went back to thresh that family's wheat again.
So, I was raised in an agrarian society with a mixture of races and we treated each other with respect and never taught prejudice because someone was different. Then I came to Chicago and learned about differences, but it prepared me for the future and what I'd see and experience in the "New South"!
Arriving at Nashville in December, 1955, I checked into the YMCA which would be my home over the next several months. I ate breakfast in "hole in the wall" cafes where I sat at counters on stools, inside, out of the weather. Negro Men and Women coming into the cafe for breakfast were served on paper plates and made to eat outside; it mattered not if the weather was inclement, they were not allowed to sit on a vacant stool at the counter, inside. This bothered me because Abraham Lincoln had acknowledged in the Declaration of Independence, the words which left no other inference than the Negro Slave should be regarded as a man.
Yes, I can relate to Rosa Parks, she sat down and got arrested, I stood up and almost caused a riot.
There is a place where wild strawberries grow in such profusion
And Honeysuckles climb rock walls in riotous confusion.
(I have saved you a sun colored blossom to hold
...but I ate the strawberries
You see, they don't keep.)
There is a creek for catching minnows
And cooling dusty feet
And a gnarled tree with young green apples
Temptingly hung to eat.
(I saved you a skipping stone to throw
...but I ate the apples.
You see, they don't keep.)
How strange it seems, I no longer recall
Where to find these sanctuaries
When their familiar essence lays sharp on my tongue
As the taste of wild strawberries.
(Oh, if I could have saved you all my happy yesterdays
...but I ate them.
You see, they don't keep.)
These thoughts crossed my mind this past week and as old men will do, I pondered the thoughts laid down here. I wanted to share with you, and before I leave I want to share the following writing by Anon. Isn't it amazing how "Anonymous" writes such fantastic food for thought?
"Thoughts O' You"
Got to thinkin' O' you today,
Don't know why nor how,
Jest sittin' an' thinkin'
As folks'll do,
An' I thought O' you somehow.
Thought O' what your friendship means
What life would be without it,
In fact, I'm thinkin' a heap O' you
An' I like to tell you about it.
______________________________________________________________________________
Located here in Franklin, TN an old factory has been restored to serve as a venue for shopping and studios for working artists, also large halls for concerts and special gatherings. I have photographed much of this factory because of it's interest to me as a part of the industrialization in this area. I am attaching a photograph for your viewing with the explanation of what you are viewing.
A website for this edifice is: www.thefactoryatfranklin.com and www.thefactory.citysearch.com
As with all photographs there is a story behind the reasoning for the photograph. Back in the 20th Century, during the time The Factory at Franklin was in the production stages of manufacturing cooking stoves, society was operating under the "Jim Crow" laws in the South. Segregation was a way of life and co-mingling between the races of man was against the law, it simply was not allowed.
The Black Race was considered inferior during this dark time in our nation's history. When traveling throughout the South, the observance of a human hanging by the neck from a railroad trestle or in a rural setting, from a tree, was not uncommon. At the end of Building 14 there is an area of concrete where the showers for the Black Employees were located. On the end of the building was an "H" fixture which was the first attachment for electrical power service to enter the building. (Building 14 was the location of the great Worthington Air Compressor) which supplied the operative force for various machinery within The Factory.) One night as I was making my rounds I noticed on the ground, a shadow cast by the "H" fixture, which resembled the shadow of a gallows. Since this was the location of the Black Man's Showers and the conditions under which they had to live, it struck me as a meaningful photograph, as though the ghosts of the past were beckoning me not to forget their plight but to record it in photography before the walls were painted or further restoration was begun. You will notice in the foreground the steel which was a part of one leg of the electrical attachment. (The photograph is located at the begining of this post)
God Bless You All,
Robert McClurkan (aka) DIXIE
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