Old Josh [From: Ozark, Alabama, 1862]
Episode One/8/11/05
(Old Josh is at a neighbor’s house, Mr. Smiley, and white plantation owner, who has a black workman, and his son Toby. Actually, Josh has a son named Toby also, but in this case, it is not his son we re talking about. Toby Jackson, old man Jackson is friends with Old Josh)
[1862] “I let yu know ‘bout dat whn de time come,” says old Josh, to his neighbor peering through the broken down fence. “Yessum, “Toby said, “I ant doin nothing in tells you let me know!” “Hush, Toby” Old Josh says. He looked about to see who might be listening. “Find de box tis hidden…,” Josh says. “I is,” said Toby, Mr. Jackson’s son. “Dar now,” Josh says, “take yo time I aint gwine no place.” “Wwhut kin happen?” says Toby. “I’se right skeered!” “You go an’ do whut I tells you.” “I hears ya,” said Toby a bit nervous. “I mabe… Eye’ got to brake dat window. You knowed dat.” [a pause] “goes wher…?” added Toby. “To de nordh,” dats whar,” said Josh “we’d go on to de nordh, whn we gits de money.” “Fur what?” asked Toby. “Wes jes’ niggers to wait on white folk’ round her,” says Josh. “Recken so,” young Toby said. “Wat I whuts to break ef fo?” asked Toby. “Cus yu don’t hab de key?” “So,” says Josh (his old hands trembling, Toby unsure of what to do). “Lememe tell yous somthin, nigger boy, yu gits jes es much kicking ‘bout ef yous broke the window or not.”
(Old Josh is leaning both his elbows now on the fence, taking in a deep breath, looking here and there to see who is watching. Toby now moves away from the fence, his father, a servant in the Smiley house, is in the stable getting Mr. Smile’s horse ready to ride into town. He’s an older gentleman in his late fifties; Toby’s father in his forties, and Josh 47-years old.)
“It’s Seven o’clock,” (AM) says Toby to Josh. The sun has emerged, and the morning is coming alive with life, movements all about. Mr. Smiley is heading on down the stairs of his mansion to hab breakfast, and Josh is kind of checking out to see if Toby’s father is still in the stable, he sees Smiley eating breakfast now through the window, and granny in the kitchen preparing biscuits for breakfast for the Smiley’s.)
“He up,” said Toby (meaning Mr. Smiley).
(Mr. Smiley now looking out a window buttoning up his white shirt, not looking at anything in particular, just looking out at the new day; within a few seconds he will be walking down the steps to walk around the mansion as he does every morning, looking for rats or snakes or whatever. Smiley’s wife, and his two boys, and one daughter are in the dinning room eating))
It is Sunday, and Toby is thinking about church, and granny was thinking about it for him also, and his father. Matter-of-fact, he was kind of looking for him, here and there, in the stable, and around the mansion, when all of a sudden he sees Josh talking to his son, and knowing what it was most likely about, trouble he figued; thus, He called his son over, and then Josh, skedaddled.)
“En I wouldn’t blame yu-none ef yus did, but I’tell Josh to stop naggin ya, boy, hush—de ol nagger used to nag me de same ole way…got no sense in him…yu her me?” he looked at Toby strict in the eyes, “…is you gwine to church?” asked Toby’s father still staring… “…I’is gwin to whup ya if granny I; yu’all keep awy fum da fence, I don took all I kin fum dat old man. He sees ya klid, whut he done fur yu?”
“Aint don nothin’ fur me pa,” said Toby, eyebrows up high on his forehead, thinking about telling his father what Josh was up to, or wanted him to do, but evidently he knew better, it would just make him look worse for listen to Josh, and he knew better to keep his mouth shut. Toby’s father was now tightening up the leather straps on Mr. Smiley’s saddle, on the horse, in front of the house “Yu’all git on out-of her, goin to church… I sees him doing hit ev’y time, I care who git klid,” said the father as Toby headed on down the old dirt road, kind of relieved he didn’t hab any expectations to go on and rob Mr. Smiley, because he was sure thinking of it, taking it serious; but it never happened, he just went on to church. Actually me Josh there, and he greeted him as if nothing had ever taken place concerning the matter of robbing the bedroom that made him think, did he really mean it.
Old Josh: Fiddlesticks
[From: Ozark, Alabama, 1863]
Episode Two; 8/13/05
(The sun was rising over Ozark, Alabama, soldiers were here and there, bivouacked in pastures, alongside of roads, eating breakfast, marching, exercising, brushing down mares, etc. Some of the soldiers didn’t even hab uniforms, the Confederates.)
Josh was waving his hands with an old wooden stick, hollering at a Captain in a gray uniform, and shaving alongside his tent, as his wagon passed by: “Yawl gonter los, eyes bee a free man den!” Then he said some think like
“Hooraw!” several times.
Josh rode in the back of the wagon, holding onto two sacks of salt on his lap (as his son Toby, scooted on down the dirt path); they had been to town and purchased it for their owner, Mr. Charles Hightower, a retired country gentleman, who had been in these parts of Alabama ever since—or so it seemed—Alabama was Alabama. The plantation was but ten miles up the road. Toby was 24-years old then.
“Pappy, yawl wants to git us in a heap of trouble, jes yu tote dat salt and nummine cusses to the gray sojers. Yos hears me?” Said Josh to son, “Yus han me dat whup, I sho the gry whos I is, a’d yu too; get dem out of de south for god. Hops de blue ketch dem and kild dem.” “Stop dat cussen papa, yous goine git us in trouble talken like dat. Yus the onliest one I’s ev’r her tak like thut!” says Toby. “Fiddlesticks, I’s fixin to whup yu nigger, den wht’s you goina do, asks the gray to helps yu! Yu aint hat any to say whuts I gots ta say. Wher Mr. Hihter, hes sittin his hom doin nothen, watchin us po’ folks do his wok.” “Yessum,” said Toby, “wes be back in an hour or so, efs we make hit ‘fore yus git us kild by the gray! …yus keep talkin de-away.” “De Lawd giv de land to whit fok on’y?” said Josh, “so dey think!” “I reckon,” said Toby, adding, “tole you more dat, nummine me—yu’s jes gitten to be an old man pa.” “Da owns yo flesh, a’d day wants yo soul…Yessem, blind as de bat boy; dey’d got me freedom, don work de plantation all mi life.”
(—They now stopped at the plantation; Old Josh hobbling into the back area behind the barn, where his shanty (hut) is and a few other huts for other workers; where he slept, in what was something like a row of shanties. Waving his stick in the air, shaking it, spurts of hollering at the gray-coats (Confederates), which was some ten miles back, saying something to the effect: ‘…fiddlesticks…; and just caring on as if in his own world, then he turned to see how his son was, he was taking the horse into the barn, and had dismantled the wagon, Josh, saying low, “Dis is America, dis is de great land of de free….”)
Old Josh: Chatting in the Barn
[Ozark, Alabama, 1863]
Episode Three; 8/15/05
“Wor!” he says, ‘we is at wor,” said Old Josh, in earnest.
But Toby paid little attention to his pa, it was as if he felt the old man was losing his mind, talking just to talk, or perhaps talking to himself, he’d not look at Toby half the time when he talked, he’d just talk to talk, and if Toby was listening, oh well, then he was. It was like something in the old mans throat got caught and he had to get it out, and talking did it. And there was work to be done in the barn, lots of work, and if he turned about every time the old man said something, he’d not get it done, and then Old Man Hightower, Charles Hightower that is, would wop his behind good, or worse, slap his head or gee him a kick where the sun didn’t shine. He never used anything other than his hands, or feet, not a whip or shaving strap like other Masters, never once so that was good.
“De is itto recover our freedom!” the old man said, somewhat grouchy. “Wht we want of a white man war?” asked Toby, “who say de warts ours?” added Toby.
“I says—!“ Old Josh yelled, looking with a stern eye at Toby, looking and kicking a bit of hay about, pretending to work, and not really working, balancing a few work against one of the beams of the barn, that didn’t need to be perfectly placed anyway, just for something to do, perhaps thinking about where he was going to take his afternoon nap.
“…’ts too much fir me pa,” said Toby, adding, “pa, dis here work is de mos’ mixed thing I’d ev’r did see—“
“Dey ‘all thinks wes ole ignorant folk—we is, who don’t know nothin’, cuz ef wes knowed somthin’, dey’d be dey poo’ ole nigger, like us, I reckon, dey’d want gee me—I know a damn thing. But eyes peacable, I’d luv to swat dem like de fly wit my cane.”
Yes in deed, Old Josh was feeling his temper rising, his oats you could say, while trying to help his son Toby clean out the stable, which was more like getting in his way, but it was better than having the old man walking aimlessly about out in the yard, and Hightower seeing him pacing back and forth talking to himself.
Toby was listening to his father, but not listening, and not saying much to his father, if you know what I mean, just working, using up time, his father had been a slave all his life, and Toby also, who had been a slave all his life. It was 1863, the war would be over in a few years, and whoever won—flimsy at this point—as the war seemed, to Toby it wouldn’t make much of a difference, so he and his father thought. He put his pitchfork deep into the hay, and shifted his body a bit, to one of the stalls in the stable, the hay was as yellow as the sun, and Old Josh just kept on a bickering until he got tired, and Toby finished his work for him, as he [Josh] dosed off for a long afternoon nap. Mr. Charles Hightower, the owner of the plantation, had gone to town, to Ozark, he had a son fifteen there to check up on; thus, when he got to town, Charles ended up talking to one of the Military Officers about his son joining a regiment, and perhaps himself, Hightower himself, with his son, but the son was a tinge too young, and Hightower a bit too old, or so it seemed to be, and ended at that, in all respects the officer was apprehensive to taking his son at this point, but his son was in favor of joining no matter what.
Old Josh: The Funeral
[Ozark, Alabama, 1864]
Episode Four; 8/20/05
[Josh and Silas: The funeral] Josh stood by the wooden cross, in the graveyard Jordan Macalister, his cousin, who had fought with the Yankees, had come home—Josh and his three sons Silas Jordan, and Toby had journeyed down to a section of South Carolina know as the Richland Country, they wanted Josh to gee a sermon. Mr. Hightower, his overseer agreed to allow this, and wrote a letter, had it notarized indicating these Negroes belonged to him, and were not escaping or running away, that anyone whom might be in authority, to allow them to attend the funeral without delay.
This part of the country had its share of Civil War problems, or I should say, more than its share of superstitions and war issue going on at the time (having lived in the Carolina’s I can vouch for that). There were tales of African Terror created by the canebrakes and Jungles—its yellow waters, dikes and slave dap. Nonetheless, Josh and his boys found his way to the funeral location.
InterludeThe dialect is of course English influenced by traditions, and sentient of the times, of African slaves. I agree few words are distinguishable, but there is a rhythm to it, and I hab tired to duplicate it. It is a peculiar sound with significance. This is/was of its day pure Negro, not a dialect of the coast, or the Black Border, but rather a distinct product of the soil, race, environment, their world. It is English adapted to the need of its speakers.
In those days many of the Negroes were hybrids to speak of, black with white and Indian blood, or as we would say now, part of their genetic pool. Now back to the story.
The Funeral:
Says Josh, standing by the grave of his cousin, fifty black folks, Negroes there with him: family members—and old friends:
Josh: Is yu here dat news?Voices: wuh news?Josh: white folks da blue-coats goina win da war!Silas: pa… ‘tanint no diffe’ence to me, all da-same effin de white folk free us or not.Toby: yu-all remembers date dere sermon pa?(Josh looking at the crowd, then at his sons, especially Silas)
Josh: wes live on bacon, cornbread an cabbage…Silas: pa, da serman…Josh: so he luhv dem white folk… (Everyone starts to laugh, but Silas, he just shakes his head).
Josh: Silas wants us niggers to go in dem swamps an’ live like de whte folks want…
A Voices: its best I middle wid nobody, dats wht I say
Josh: I sees a dog guine in da swamp an’ git lost, an’t got much sense as a man. I tells my boys bring ‘em to dere senses wit a stick.
(Josh now moves, waves his cane in the air, up to the heavens, as if he was Moses.)
Josh: Well, aint none er dem white folk—da gray religious help dem?
Silas: Pa, I ain’t guine jine you in all you say; say da sermon.
(Josh clears his throat, looks at his son, smiles, puts his hand on his shoulder, looks up to heaven—)
Josh: I knowed I aint thinkin’ ‘bout no luv er God when eyes all tored up so fir-gee me Lurd, but me bones de is white like de Marster Hightower back in Alabama, he jes cant see dem, and’ now mi sermon folk:
‘Our brother is gone, he dead, he live an’ rest, arms of gloary, he breathes de Jesus, fre of dis world below asleep in da ole graveyard an’ he hear da mokinbird …ol brother Jordan—he looks down wit pity, on us ole friends, smilin’ he is…he free of dis ole world below …he ‘sleep under de earth by de soul dat is flown to de arm of de savior my brotherin an’ sisters—wes here today to pr’y an’ weep, his life full of trouble an’ hardship He wuz suffernin to set us niggers free, hes gone, gave de body of Jordon, stiff an’ cool, life is done…he now at de pearly gates on’y his body left fur us weepers and mourners to sing de songs.
—most of the Negroes had bare feet, folks in cotton bagging and split flour sack cloths. A few umbrellas by their side, some mules tied to a tree. A few grunted faces. The headstone was plain; just a flat stone with his name, and his name carved in it: a date and the date carved in it—: showing his birth and death [1803-1864]; that was the sum of it. Into the dirt he went. It was a bit damp, and Josh’s rheumatism was acting up, his hands were heavy, hard lifting—he hobbled along side his sons leaving the cemetery, using a stick for a cane. Then three men picked up shovels—
Old Josh: Goes Fishing
[Ozark, Alabama, 1864]
Episode Five; 8/20/05
Old Josh lived on the Hightower Plantation where chores were unlimited and entertainment had to be manufactured by it self, or by those who wanted it. He: Josh was a sharecropper when he was young; back in his the ‘60s to ‘80s.
Some of his chores were to: feed the pigs, milk cows, churning milk into butter; his son now went about husking corn. I suppose if you wanted fun, you had to find it, especially in those far off days in Alabama, create it, and Josh and his children did just that.
His younger, half-sister was raised like him, on the land Hightower owned; his wife ran off for a spell, came back and died there and his sons were raised there for the most part. His oldest boy Toby, whom you do not hear about much in the Old Josh episodes, joins the Yankee Army in 1864, and dies that very year, in his first battle.
Today Josh’s job was to wring necks, chicken necks. He didn’t mind doing it, not a bad job, this was during the days of the civil war of course, 1863-64, when freedom for the salves were being churned just like the butter. Most of what old Josh lived on was bacon, cornbread and lots of cabbage (as Josh had mentioned in the previous chapter, at a funeral), anyhow, he’d get a slice of chicken now and then also, those days were thin to say the least.
His sons Silas, Jordon and Toby were all men now, and tried for the most part to keep old Josh in some kind of peaceful mood, he was or could be quite disruptive. Old Granny fixed the food for the Hightower boys, she’d ring the bell and the hot biscuits and honeycombed chicken would be ready; old Josh, thereafter, would go down to the Goose Creek fishing, catch those catfish, a squirrel, and cook them up, and make funny sounds like: ding ring, ding-a-ring, pretending he was calling the Hightower boys for their meals. Oh he didn’t hate anybody, not really, not even the Hightower’s, he was just a tinge resentful, and so when it was working time, he’d go fishing often, not all the time but the older he got, the more he went, to spite them in his silent way I suppose.
—He was today, at the creek fishing, talking to himself, and doing his little bell play. The backwoods was his getaway. Today Silas was looking for him, and found him fishing as he expecated, a string on his big toe, and two fish cooking, laying back on a rock with his jacket under his neck.
Josh (To Silas): Des here fish wants to git off dis here string, sos he kin swim all da way down the creek to de river, find da Mississ-ippy…. Woops-he gon, he done escape I kin see him, I suppose wit his boys (Old Josh looks deep into the waters)
( The fish did escaped, and Silas was now looking down on him, kind of standing over him, and old Josh knew he had come to try and talk him into going back to help with the work.)
Silas: Ain’ nobody lookin’ for ya pa, eyes jus’ got worried some, an’ could use some help at de barn…(he hesitates, then adds) I sho’ aint luves to wander ‘round des here woods by mi lonesome pa, Yu aint taken nothin’ to eat wid ya?”
Josh: I reckon dat dere ole fish must er had some kind er trouble…
(Silas approaches his father closer, stoops down to help him up, and takes him on back to his shack)
Silas: Yu sho’ looks like you luves to fish dis here creek pa….
(It soon would be twilight)
Old Josh: Laying Sick
[Ozark, Alabama, 1858]
Episode Six; 9/26/05/Revised 11/05
“I is sick,” old Josh said“I knowed you are sick,” said Silas, Josh’s son. And he was lying boned tired, it was a long way back from a funeral he had went to a month ago.“Wher is ms Molly?” Josh uttered.“She lying down over yonder by de creek. Eyes sees she hab an hour ago.”“Git out er her,” Josh said, “guin tells Molly I is sick!”
The old man waited for Ms Molly, a free slave with a hut by Goose Creek, and a fifty foot lot of land, given to her by a cousin, of Mr. Abernathy’s down in Ozark, some five years ago upon her 60th birthday.
Now Old Josh got thinking, mumbling a bit (as Silas goes to fetch her—) here I am, not a tooth in my head, sick in bed, no wife, and this old woman coming, the only one around, the only one available, who thinks I am…dying… (he sees her coming up the road through his hut window) ‘…here she comes like a darn nurse—a man doctor…’ he murmurs…
She is small ((short)), and fragile; like a rainbow; light brown skin, some white blood in her: as Josh always acclaimed. She always complained about Josh’s cussing and he would agree with her he was a damned sinful man, and needed to stop it ((he was simply not ready to though)). If he got anything out of this meeting, he was hoping he’d get some attention from her; she was kind of cute he thought. Josh was not religious but he had an ear and heart for the word of God. And would always say: he was no better or worse than any average white man. But felt God would take him on a trial bases, as he would perhaps do with his Master, Mr. Hightower.
The weather was damp, it had been raining and that also sapped old Josh.Molly walked into the shack, saw Josh laying down on his cot against the window, smiled and pulled up the only chair in the shack by his bed; lifted his hand, took his pulse, wiped the sweat from his forehead—; Josh waved Silas on, to go, get out of the hut, and so he did.
She told him he had a slight temperature, and wiped his sweaty neck dry. He never took his eyes of her as she tried to fix the chicken-feathered pillow under his head.
“Make love to me Ms Molly, eyes guine to join de Lord soon,” old Josh said with a humble voice.
“Yus better already, see Josh—“said Molly. But Josh’s mind was on other things, as Molly knew. He then got a pain and arched his back: then with his hanging hand he went to grab Molly’s dress (or perhaps it was something else): “You ain’ dying for a while ole man,” she said, as she turned around about to leave the shack with a smile on her face, adding, “hit ain’ I begrudging yu, jes for tryin’ but I ain’ offerin’ kaze yu keer on’y fur yu self Josh.”
Old Josh smiled; she was right, as always. Then she was gone. Silas then came back in the hut.
“Sh’ gone, is she?” said Josh, “I knowed hit, she like me, darn good thing I ain’ sick too pa.”
Silas sits back on the chair motionless, with his mud packed overalls, just smiles at his pa, shakes his head once or twice, and drifts off to sleep, while Old Josh mumbles on.
