Old Josh: Sketches of the South by D.L. Siluk

Old Josh Miner of St. Louis, Missouri

2009-12-05T14:16:00.000-08:00

(Steamboats, along the Mississippi, 1906)

“We owned them back then, like horses, worked them like horses too but we had to feed them like cows also,” said old Josh Miner of St. Louis, Missouri, “they were our property,” he remembered, and reminded the captain of the steamboat, “they were the only ones that loved the river more than us, more than us captains and deckhands on those old steamboats going up and down this Mississippi, way back when, yes sir, those niggers, they loved the river more than any other folk I ever knew.
“They worked like horses, and they sang like birds, they did, I reckon they even had a soul, and we paid them all of seven dollars, ef-in we felt up to it. And if one happened to fall over the railing for some snotty-ass attitude, aint nobody made any such inquiry on whatever happened to-um.”
Old Josh Miner sat in the Captains presence (in the pilot-house), sat on a wooden stool behind him, as he navigated down the Mississippi, it was 1906, and he was reminiscing of the old days.
“Yup,” the captain said, “it isn’t like that anymore, old timer!”
He was now a slender, rather small fellow, at eighty-eight years old.
The Captain, Wilkins, of New Orleans, was almost always quite and reserved, but when Old Josh Miner came aboard, similar to other retired Captains—as they often did likewise, for conversations and free rides, frequently did, once Miner started speaking Wilkins, he’d become alive and eager. He knew Old Captain Miner; he was hard-boiled about people and the Mississippi River, with his icy-blue eyes, always acting as if he was sore for getting old, too old to pilot a riverboat down the river any longer, there he sat behind the captain, “Well,” said Captain Wilkins, “life sure isn’t consistent, it’s like the river, not in agreement with anybody.”

The old man watched the black deckhands running about the boat, fixing this and that. It had been hot all day on the narrow-deck riverboat, below and even hotter in the cabin, fiery red hot, and it was seemingly hard work for him to keep up a conversation with his companion, the broad-shouldered Captain Wilkins, rocking side to side with the boat and its steering wheel.
The boat came to a landing, one just before St. Louis, Missouri, where Josh Miner would get off. It was mostly mud under wooden boards, a river levee, a little levee town enmeshed on this parcel of wasteland—further down, only somewhat smaller than a hamlet, the old Captain watched supplies being taken off the boat for the levee folk, with his thick lips hanging open, while he listened to the black folk singing as they trotted up and own the landing-stage, as often he heard them singing in the old days—in his younger days, as he was a known as a harmless lunatic, who got a pilot’s license and knew the river perhaps better than most of the captains of his day.
“All right!” shouted Captain Wilkins voice, “let’s get moving we got to get on down to St. Louis...!”
Captain Miner liked the deep throats of the black men, humming the old songs, they held the tone strong, all thick lipped, “…black spirituality,” he called it. It seemed all the black men sang in unison, with the music, with one another, with the laboring, humming, with the river itself; and you could hear it far-off down the river.

Josh Miner lived in St. Louis, with his grandchildren, he looked in the river, he saw his aging face, and he saw the red-face of the captain, and a mate swearing below the pilot-house, cursing a few of the black men, telling them to shut their mouths and keep on working, work faster.
“The man’s harmless,” said Wilkins, “but he got a big mouth,” he explained to Miner.
Miner stood up straight and tall to get a good look at the mate.
The body of the young man, the mate, quivered as he shouted at the black men singing. Then all the niggers on the lower deck and those carrying the supplies to the levee folk went silent.
And the old man screamed at the mate, “Let them black throats sing, or I’ll have your hide!”
The mate grew strangely exited, and screamed back, “Ah, they’re just niggers!”
“He dont love the river,” said the old man to Captain Wilkins; the captain had been lost in the music himself, even the banjo had stopped playing.
As the boat labored down river, the old man went to meet the mate, there had been something between him and the mate now, something of which of they were both semi-conscious of.
Now the evening sun had come out, and the Captain said, “What happened to that mate, the loud mouth?” to Old Captain Miner. He hadn’t seen him in a while (and the music of the black men had started back up again, as did the banjo.)

Josh Miner told the Captain, in no light tone of voice, “The young man’s elbow leaned on the railing too far out, and he done slipped back yonder some place in the river, I hope he’s a good swimmer!”
And the captain looked at Josh Miner, the old man’s face, likened to his father’s who was a river captain before him, and his grandfather’s who had been a river captain in Josh Miner’s day. He turned around gripped his shoulder tightly, “I understand, old timer…”he said. And the empty night filled with eyes and ghosts as often it did, and a storm was over head—brewing, and stories flooded the old man’s mind, and the captain said, “I’ll have another good story to tell my grandchildren when I’m your age.”

Old Josh, in: Heyo the Road!

2009-09-27T14:10:00.001-07:00

1863, Ozark, Alabama—a Civil War dilemma!

When Josh Jefferson left for New Orleans with Mr. Hightower’s buggy and two horses, Silas and Jordon and I worked on preparing the barn. Silas went off on his own and to mend a fence out in one of the fields and there was just Jordon and me. Granny Mae was looking out of the Hightower kitchen window, at the new corral, Silas and Jordon had build a few days earlier; now they had two, one behind the barn the other alongside the field. That evening I was sitting outside with Silas, Jordon and Granny Mae, and Mr. Charles Hightower came back from the city of Ozark, seventeen miles down the road. He told us he had taken all the money he had out of the bank and bought supplies, and had given Josh a sum to pick up other supplies down in New Orleans, those that Ozark couldn’t provide. The plantation was going broke.
“Okay,” Charles said. “If you think you can run the plantation any better than I, go ahead and try.”
“I done already acknowledge,” I told him, “I couldn’t do any better as his manager, perhaps as a buyer though, you pay full price for everything.”
He turned about, spit out some tobacco, and then laughed. Mr. Hightower was all right in a way, stubborn like a mule, like his whole family. But he got along alright with Josh and his two boys, and Amos from the Stanley plantation, and the Wallace brothers, from their plantation, and Granny Mae, the cook, and sometimes me, his manager of sorts, but at times I think I was more his adviser.
“Yes sir,” said Charles murmuring in front of all of us, a fire going on in the yard—everyone sitting around it crossed legged, “it’s easy enough to talk about running a plantation, setting here without any responsibility to keep it going, no risk to you folks. But I’m the one that has to make friends with the gray and the blue; they all want something every time they come marching by my plantation. This civil war is getting to me. I don’t care for either one of them, Confederate or Yankee patrols; they don’t give a damn for me either, only that I can feed their troops free. Josh is down trying to buy some equipment for the plantation, maybe it’ll help production.”
“I suppose,” I said.
“Youall should sell da food to da soldier’s befur they take it from yaw!” Granny Mae said. Realizing there was a risk of running out of seed and food and soon they’d be eating the horses.
Charles said, “They aint satisfied with making a deal, they think it’s my patriotic duty to give and give until I can’t give anymore.”
“I git an idea,” said Silas, “dhe Yankees pays dare men in gold, wes jes’ gots to wait fur the pay wagon, and steal it, den we aint got to worry ‘bout findin’ money to pay da new bills.”
“Take from da taker,” said Jordon, supporting his brother’s whim.
Granny Mae started to holler now, “No, sir! I reckon wes need da gold, but I got more sense than to take it from da Yankee pay officer, wes niggers and dey hang niggers fur dat, or worse.”
“That’s enough,” Charles said. “Have you folks eaten yet?”
“Wes got our moonshine, that will do,” said Jordon.
“I see—” Charles said. Then Mae stopped yelling: she started to chew some tobacco. “Yessum,” she said, “I guess we-all got to do what we got to do…”
Charles stopped chewing. “Huh!” he said, in surprise. “I reckon they’ll be coming up from Ozark, tomorrow morning with the pay, most likely, very early, they use mules so they’ll be going slow, and a simple buckboard, with several soldiers surrounding it.”
Granny Mae looked at all of us, “So youall goin’ to do it fur sure?”
“You go on in the house, Granny,” said Hightower, “rest up.” Then he turned to me, “You’ll have a chance Fitzgerald, to see if we can get away with it tomorrow, then I can pay you for the last eight months due you.”
Charles stood in the side kitchen doorway, “You all got my respect,” he told us. He knew, and I knew by looking at him, all he really had was a handful of darn farmers, but we all knew he was smart……although, how was he going to pull this off we didn’t know.

Old Josh came back that evening, with only one horse, and Mr. Hightower, just sunk his head into his chest, “What more could go wrong,” he whimpered.
“How far are the Yankees from us?” Charles asked Josh.
“I reckon da is ‘bout seven miles down yonder, campin’…!” said Josh.
Charles explained their little plan, the one he really didn’t have, the one Charles couldn’t figure out how to implement yet. Only Josh didn’t wait for Charles to ask him, or answer him, he told him, “I can git dat dare payroll, quicker than dhey can fill da hole under dare noses with food during breakfast!”
It sounded fine when he said it, like the shrewd man he was, but it baffled Charles nonetheless.
That night Josh, me, Jordon and Silas, went out hunting for forty-large, sleeping rattlesnakes. Josh had said they liked the sun, got their motivation then, and were the weakest in the night, and so we all went hunting. When we came to the first one, he looked at me, “Boy,” he said (Josh being sixty-years old), “when you grow up like me, it aint any no trouble to get dhem critters,” and he took a big swig of whiskey, “they like to bite mules and white folk, not niggers like me,” he commented, then grabbed the snake by the head, and back end and he made funny faces at the snake, and tossed him into a big potato sack.
That night we got twenty-nine snakes, some small, others big, but none too big. In the morning, Granny Mae looked at all the sacks outside her kitchen window, and heard the rattling of the snakes. She watched the sacks while they jumped, “How many?” She asked.
“Twenty-nine,” said Josh, “when they stop to rest the mules, and have breakfast, we is goin’ to release the snakes on the road, and the mules will go crazy, and so will the soldiers, and you can go on and grab the payroll bag (it was near dawn now).
“Yessum,” Silas said, “dhat sounds like a good plan.”
“And when da come a-lookin’ fur us, we goin’ to leave a few more snakes in back of us!”
Granny Mae stepped back from the sacks, didn’t sit down on the steps like Josh, and Silas and I did.
“The troops should be down the road some fifteen miles,” I said, “should we get Charles up?”
“No,” said Josh, “he ant any good fur this, he git us all hung!”

They kept hidden, and kept a fast pace through the wooded area, parallel the dirt road, that led to Ozark. I don’t know how Josh kept up with us all, but he did, stomping through the foliage, each of us with a sack or two of snakes. Granny Mae stayed behind, even though she wanted to participate, she was near as old, or perhaps older than Josh.
All they had to do now was spot the mules and soldiers. At first, Silas wanted us all just to sit still and wait for them, but I objected to that, feeling they’d think we were all from the Hightower plantation.
After two hours, we realized we needed to reserve our energy, and we heard a buckboard, and mules coming up the road, “I’m worried about this,” I told Josh, “perhaps we ought not to risk it?”
He didn’t say a word, just untied a bag, it looked like the five snakes in the bag wanted to jump out and eat Josh. Then he turned and looked at me. “Mr. Fitzgerald,” he said, “youall be ready to grab that leather bag,” it was just sunup.
We threw three sacks of snakes onto the road, the wagon was nearing us, and the mules sensed something was wrong, and we slipped back into the woods. We went just fast enough so they could not get a good look at us, perhaps thinking Josh and Silas and Jordon were runaway slaves. There bivouac was still three miles up the road.
We put the other sacks down on the path we were going to take, running, if they should decide to chase us. But the time they found us, we’d be long gone for sure, or at least that is how I figure it; the snakes would take care of that. So we did exactly that, loosened the sacks, so the snakes could fight their way out if I didn’t have time to completely untie the ropes around the sacks, as we ran through the woods, back to the plantation.

The mules went crazy, and the buckboard tipped over, and the four Yankee guards on horseback alongside the buckboard, got madder by the minute, as the snakes bit the legs of the horses, and they took off everywhichway, as did the mules. There was just enough light to see my way to the wagon, grab the leather bag and hightail it out of there, releasing the ropes around the snake sacks completely, for the snake to block the pathway, and again as the four soldiers came after us, I could hear their once galloping hooves, stomping fast, hard and mad at the snakes, as we all turned off into the woods.
That’s what we did; we couldn’t even see each other, until we got to the plantation. As I ran, I had my doubts about this, and then the sound of horses behind me was gone. We didn’t have time to tell Mr. Hightower a thing, we just all hid in the barn—and caught our breaths, and later that morning Mr. Hightower told us, “They came to my door, and asked if he saw four niggers, and I said, ‘I don’t know what you are talking about,” and I really didn’t. I think they didn’t want to tell me they were robbed, they wanted to see if I might have implied such a thing, thus spilling the beans, but as I said, I didn’t even realize what you did until now.”
And then I began to laugh, I had put axle grease on my face, making me the forth black person, and then I handed him the bag of gold, we never even counted it, and Mr. Hightower busted loose, and said, “What do I owe you now, Mr. Fitzgerald?” and he handed me eight months wages in gold, went into his house, came out with three jugs of whiskey, gave each one to Josh and his boys, with a $20-dollar gold piece to boot.

No: 477 (9-25-2009) Episode number 85/• •

Old Josh, in: Jes' a Damn Nigger

2009-06-19T23:11:00.000-07:00

Old Josh, in:
Jes’ a Damn Nigger
1884

Josh is feeding one of the horses some grass out behind the barn,
With Silas, and Toby from the Smiley Plantation comes
Up to talk to Josh about the trial down in Ozark,
And the hanging of Amos by several hooligans…

Josh: I been down Ozark to da trial today. It been some er dem white folk who killin’ Amos.
Toby: Who you see?
Josh: Two of ‘em.
Toby: Dere been seven of ‘em, but dey ain’ have but two, dey ain’ tryin’ to find dem haw?
Silas: Why I know who dey is, everyone does paw, ain’ dey murderers too?
Josh: Dere’ more reason dan one boy.
Silas: Wuh reason dey say?
Josh: Dey dont say, cuz dey dont want too, so you keep your nose out of it boy!
Toby: To de judge we is just niggers. Amos—a good man— when a nigger is kilt, it aint no big thing. I like to see dat de criminal git his punishment, but da judge I bet bein’ light in punishment of dem white boys.
Josh: I been to de trial, but dere ain’ no trial.
Toby: Well, I been to de court an’ I know how it is, an’ Amos been a good friend to de white folk?
Silas: Paw and Amos dey been raise up together. Dey been friend ever since dey been chillum.
Toby: An’ dey hang Amos cuz dey is drunk and wild boys.
Silas: How come dey kilt Amos paw?
Josh: Dey say he take a white boy and throw him off his hoss, when dey seven boys run on through Shanty Town, and one boy tried to rape a girl, and old Amos stopped him. But you got to know Silas, in de first place, a nigger was kilt, if-in he was a white man, dey hang him fer that, fer anything. Deys boys even plead guilty to manslaughter. I sees da jury have a little conscience, and dey give dem boys two-years in prison, or they fear a great cry ‘bout by us niggers. Amos he jes’ a poor helpless nigger, and they do a-heap er talk for two years in prison.
Toby: Why da court so lenient?
Josh: Fools like us is one reason. Toby, I ask you a question: who been kilt, an’ who de judge, and who de jury? Now brother, who is de sheriff, an’ da police? An’ dey all says: jes a nigger—a damn nigger, that all he is.

Story No: 418 (Episode No: 85) 6-20-2009

Old Josh, in: Sweet Pea hard-hearted, 1893

2009-06-18T09:59:00.000-07:00

Josh’s wife had left him and the kids at an early age, Rebecca Boston Jefferson, nicknamed, Sweet Pea; now that Josh was in his 90s, Jordon wanted to know the story of his mother…

Josh: Well, you axe me ‘bout your maw, Sweet Pea—wey she gone, wuh happen to her. I ain’ knowin’ fer sure. All I kin say is, if-in you know Sweet Pea, you know Sweep Pea? I guh tell you wuh I know cuz I know you dont know nothin’.
Sweet Pea be a bad woman to be wit. She talk kindly an’ she have a look dat satisfy you’ eye, but she be huntin’ for danger. You know Sweet Pea ain’ never known to not meddle in nobody affairs, an’ she pretend she is soft an’ kind to everybody, mens an’ womens, an’ old folk and all. She aint never change she friendly ways to nobody ‘less dey got somthin’ fer her. Your maw waz one of dese kind er niggers dat would cut you’ th’oat in-ef you do her wrong, an’ if-in you didn’t she been polite, a mannerable nigger I ever see. De white folks love her. And when I met her you’ ole paw was crazy ‘bout her, and she give me de chillum like God sent.
Her moest fault waz mens folk, an’ dey ain’ say nothin’ ‘gainst her, none on ‘em. An’ dem mens wuh likes her git tangle up with er other mens and she never have sense enough to stop. She were sure a dang’ous woman. I ain’ never seen a bad woman folk love so much.

Jordon: I ain’ known maw, ain’ nobody knowin’ maw but you paw, the last time I sees maw, was da first time I sees her, and she only wanted to visit wit you fur some money, I reckon, dat some years ago. She a walkin’ like a lion cat, she look back onct an’ den swing her self ‘way like a bird in flight, we ain’ never seen her since.

Josh: Sweet Pea fade wid de sun set an’ dat is good, and if-in I never sees her an’ youall never sees her ‘gain, we is two lucky niggers! Now lets find some moonshine son, and drink to dat.

Short Story /sketch, No: 416 (Episode 83, written 6-18-2009)

Old Josh, in: Catfish Stew (1855)

2009-06-17T15:21:00.000-07:00

Old Josh, in: Catfish Stew
(1855)

Silas: Where you been all day paw?
Josh: Down at Goose Creek, why you ask?
Silas: what you a-frying paw?
Josh: I is frying fish and makin’ catfish stew.
Josh: Aint you hear de news?
Silas: I aint hear a thing, I got to work paw on this here farm why you go fishin’ and drinkin’ all day long.
Josh: Why Amos and Toby they fight ‘bout da fish up yonder in the lake, dat comes down to Goose Creek.
Silas: Dey been up in those woods again…!
Josh: Yessum, an’ dey bring dey fish down to me, with all that fightin’ scare them out of the waterhole, and into mi lap.
Silas: Tell me more paw!
Josh: Dey half naked up there in the lake, and frighten in that slimy yaller mud, like two hogs in a mud-hole, near the edge of da creek, all those niggers goes up there to catch catfish, and they make catfish stew, an’ wey dey guts dey fish, they fish-fry right there, and Amos and Toby git in dis argiment, dey pushin’ an’ shovin’ each udder like two buffalo, and nobody kin ondersand and jes as well cuz the fish git away, and I katch them when they came down yonder…
I done grabbed them under de water, when dey was risin’ up. Amos holler at me, call me an’ try to ‘suade me to give em a few, I gits ten-fish, but I tell em, talk ain’ do no good, to my stomach. An’ I grab up my fish and my pole an’ run out of the creek, and I ain’ hear no more ‘bout ‘em since: Youall hungry?
Silas: I sure is, and that is one good tale pas!

Episode 82 (No: 415) Written, 6-17-2009
Written for the book “Old Josh, in: Poor Black”

Old Josh, in: Funeral from the Rocking Chair, 1896

2009-06-17T11:46:00.001-07:00

Old Josh, in:
Funeral from the Rocking Chair, 1896

Elegy for JoshAsleep in de old Rocking ChairAbove him de mockingbird singsFree of de world below—,Old Josh is dead an’ gone;He at rest, asleep an’ free,Born a child, yet a slave;Guided by de conscience,Loved by those he loved—From de cotton fields of earthTo de mansion in de sky.An’ de white robes of JesusAn’ de black face of time—Yes, o yes, in de arms of GodHis sins are forgiven,Paid in repentance fullSing to de soul dat is flown.(#1686 2-7-2007) by Josh Jefferson, 1896
1896, Josh sleeping in his old rocking
Chair on the porch

Silas: Wakeup paw! You been sleeping in de ole rocking chair again
Josh: Brother Amos was on his knees, son, gallopin’ in heaven—
Silas: Paw yos sleeping again, Miss Emma Hightower back from Ozark, says whe wants to see ya!
Josh: I passed out en de clouds, son I her’ a voice callin’ “come, come, come my brother, come to de angel…” an’ dere Jesus was waitin’ fer me, and He say “If-en you is weary boy, I am comin’ to you all…” An’ I say, “Lord, I is comin’, Ah yes!”
Silas: Miss Emma is comin’ too see yaw paw, and she is in no mood for de chariot and Jesus in de clouds, up yonder; does yo hear dat voice callin’ ?(Josh sits up a tinge listens)
Emma Hightower: Josh, git on out here, I’m by the fence, stop your fiddling ‘bout, I got some work for you to do, if you remember what that is...!
Josh: Everybody should pay proper respect to de dead, even de white folk, she jes’ tryin’ to slow down de ole nigger so he goes first, I’m too old to do any work

Original name, “A Funeral for Josh” 2-7-2007

Old Josh, in: The White Nigger, 1840

2009-06-17T10:04:00.000-07:00

Old Josh, in: The White Nigger 1840

Josh Jefferson is visiting Amos Jackson
Down in Shantytown, about four miles outside of Ozark, Alabama
Standing outside Amos’ shack having a conversation…

Josh: I sees it with me own eye Amos, an’ he a slave, I dont believe it!
Amos: I done hear a heap ‘bout Old man Ritt J.R. and his young-in, Hank, he but ten-year old…dey aint no friend to de nigger, I hear.
Josh: Dat’s de trouble an’ I reckon some er de things I hear is de worse, all bad intentions, like that there sheriff in Ozark, but I has my own idea ‘about da reasons, he rich and wants to be de man, and da Sheriff, wants to impress J.R.
Amos: Wuh de story of de white slave?
Josh: He come from de North he say, and he come to visit his kin, down yonder by Goose Creek, and he stop in Ozark, he a free slave from up in that there Minnesota…so he say, and he lost his paper so he say so, and Old man Ritt, see him walkin’ like he a proud nigger by da sheriff office, but he lookin’ white, hard to tell him from de white man, and da sheriff say, ‘Does you want to buy a nigger cheap?”.
Amos: a white nigger, I’ll be dogged!
Josh: And Old J.R. he say: Who is dat man? An’ he is a gentleman, and lookin’ fine, da white nigger don’t say a word, he scared like a jackrabbit from de wolf.
An’ da sheriff Parker say, ‘He a runaway slave from up North Carolina way, and he wiggle his finger say, ‘Come her’ nigger, open de mouth!’ An’ da nigger he obey, and when da nigger open hisn mout’ and when he do that, the sheriff spit down his th’oat an’ laugh, say: ‘I told you so…!”
Amos: What da white nigger say?
Josh: He dont say nothin’ he jes’ get onto the jail, and sweep it out.
Amos: What old man Ritt says?
Josh: he say, ‘That one humble nigger, I likes him, how much?’ and da sheriff say, ‘How much Youall give me?” And Ritt say, “I give you any hoss Youall wants from my stable.” And I is down there cleaning out his stable. And da sheriff say, “Okey, Youall got a deal.”

Josh: I wrote a poem down at the barn last nigh, Youall want to hear it?
Amos: If-in it aint too long!

The Stable Barn
And da White Nigger
By Josh Jefferson

I work dis barn here
Lookin’ out its iron doors
Its walls er brick?
An’ its roof got rafters
An’ I hear da hosses
Day wail an’ moan
Sound like day in Af’ica
Louder then da lion
And da white nigger
I hears his tale,
An’ I sings his song
Er misery to a nigger from
Up in da Minnesota way,
Here way down in
Ozark, Alabama!

Poem No: 2640 6-17-2009

Note: 414 (Episode: 81 of “Old Josh”) 6-17-2009

Old Josh, in: "Whoes Blacker?"

2009-02-20T10:10:00.000-08:00

Old Josh, in: “Whose Blacker?"

Old Josh and Amos are at the Shanty Town race track (Leastways Downs), a few miles from Ozark, Alabama, it is in the 1870s, and it is summer, and Josh’s horse just lost the race, which often it does, and it always seems Josh knows when it will lose—and win as well—because he always bets on the other horse, that is to say, the right horse, and he never loses. And Amos just lost his last $15.00 dollars…and he’s as mad as a drunken hornet:

Amos, told Old Josh outright, and with mounting anger, after Josh’s horse lost the race at ‘Leastways Downs, ‘
“You done told your horse not to win, didn’t you?”
“Why you big black nigger, youall calls me a fixer I fix youall right her’ and now!” Said Josh in a heated rage, counting his money he just won on Old Ironsides, Mr. Ritt’s horse, the banker from Ozark.
“Who you callin’ big black nigger boy, cuz you is blacker than I is, you is like midnight in the day.” Said Amos, wide-eyed, and with clinched fists.
“I take this big black fist of mine Amos, friend or not, and puts it where the sun don’t shine effen you dont stop calling me blacker than you is, cuz everyone knows you is the blackest nigger in shantytown, maybe in all Alabama!” Said Old Josh hotter than dray wood burning high in a heath…!”
“Hay there Mr. Ritt?” yelped Josh in a hoarse like manner, “come-on over her’ effen you will, settle this her’ argument between me and Amos,” asked Josh.
“What you boys frighten about now?” asked Mr. Ritt.
“Who-da the blackest one of us folk here is?” asked Josh.
“Well everyone knows its Grandma Walsh!” Said Mr. Ritt.
“No, I means, Amos or me?” questioned Josh.
Mr. Ritt looked at Amos, and he often helped him at the Bank, cleaning out the backyard, and burning the trash; and Josh, a few times had help him out at the stables, he had purchased some years back, paying Mr. Hightower, his master back then for the time he had used Josh, but those days were over—far-gone now, slavery had vanished; said Ritt to Josh in a whisper, “Youall goin’ to paint my stable, cheap, I’ll help you out here with Amos then?”
“Amos,” said Old Josh, “I guess you is right, I is blacker than you, and he left counting his money as if nothing had taken place, laughing all the way, his back to Mr. Ritt, walking back to Mr. Hightower’s plantation, where he and his two sons lived, Silas and Jordon.

1-20-2009 Sketch: 77

Old Josh, in: Remembering Lick’Idy Luke Slim

2008-12-15T14:52:00.001-08:00

(1903, Josh telling a story to Silas that took place just after the Civil War)

Old Josh, 100-years old, sat on his porch, laughing, and Silas comes up and stares at his old papa, wondering what the heck in going on, it is the spring of 1903, and because it’s spring, he remembers a girl down in shantytown, named Spring, says Josh,
“Sit on down son, be-fer the day gits on to bein’ sunset, eyes goin’ to tell yaw bout Lick’Idy Luke Sim (and in my better English, I shall tell it as Josh told it to Silas :)

●

It was back in ’46, Lick’Idy, as he was called, came up from the Florida swamps, those marshes you call the Everglades, he rode in on a mare to Ozark, then onto shantytown, I was there with Amos at the time, both of us fixing to sell our homemade moonshine, and here comes this stranger into our Alabama shantytown, I tell you I laughed a mile high when I saw him, he wore a rainbow colored weskit and pigeon-tailed coat and a fox-tailed hat that shined as if he were Davy Crockett himself, on his way to congress, oh we all thought he was mad for the moment, but he was more cleaver than mad.
He was white man in his lat 30s, had long wavy hair, a long picked nose, a big smile, and his teeth were large and white, a thin neck, and a tone to his muscles.
He looked pretty an a Christmas tree all let up on Christmas Day, or even prettier than a steamboat coming down the Mississippi, all decked out, tooting its horn.
He was looking for a wife to take back to the Everglades, down in Florida.
When he had stopped it the township of Ozark, it was just to freshen up a bit, before heading on to Shantytown. They say he blew into his harmonica all the way to Shantytown, some three miles outside the township.
Amos was standing there along side the dirt road, with his friend Josh, with four jugs of moonshine, they had been trying to sell for Granny Mae, and would keep half the profit. When Josh and Amos first caught sight of the stranger, they didn’t know if they should laugh, cry or ask how was business, thinking he was selling something also.
The tall thin white man, pulled out a horn from behind his saddle, said to Josh, “Fill it up with that corn whiskey, and let me know how much,” Josh pulled the cork off the jug, filled the horn up, and said, “Two bits stranger,” and he threw Josh a silver coin, said, “My name’s Lick’Idy Luke Slim, I’m aiming to find me a wife, if youall don’t mind?”
Josh and Amos were so stunned at the man, they just stood there mouth open, and silent, Josh putting the coin in his pocket. Then all of a sudden there was a crowd around him.

“Im goin’ to make youall a suggestion” said Lick’Idy Luke Slim, to the crowd about him, looking at a particular lovely Negress, I see a woman I wants for me wife…”
Said Josh before he could finish his sentence,
“You in the wrong place stranger, you best be headed back to Ozark—that away,” Josh pointed his arm and hand behind him.
There was twenty or more town’s folks standing about, said Lick’Idy with a happy grin,
“Im a bit, white, black and Cherokee Indian, and I wants a woman that is as brown as a dark mushroom, soft as a rabbit, and who was taught to cook well, from the day she waz born, and I give $200-dollars in gold fer her, and challenge anyone here to a cockfight over her…” and he pulled out a wild looking cock from his saddle bag, and he saw who he wanted, a young black girl, perhaps seventeen or eighteen, with a tall black man, twice her age…!
“I reckon I’ll take that one there, she looks like a pretty fox,” pointing at Asbury, but the tall bulky back man said,
“She’s my wife,” and someone behind him said, “And she is his second cousin, and they aint married, jes’ he like her so he support her, her mamma done left her long go,” the bulky man turned about, said, “Shut your mouth, put a lip-lock on that mouth, ole lady, you is nothin’ to her!”
“A cockfight you say, haw mister?” said Burly Sam.
“Well,” said Lick’Idy, “´We all can disburse that idea if these here coins will satisfy youall?” and he threw a pouch of gold coins on the ground near his feet, some fell out of the pouch.

“Whut den happened Pa!” said Silas to Old Josh,
“Whut you think happened?” said Josh, adding “he done grabbed the money up so fast, that he never noticed that little girl jumping up on Lick’Idy’s horse faster than a cat after a mouse and said,
“Git on a-goin’ be-fer he changes his mind,” and they were gone out of shantytown faster than a hundred bees after a bear.”

Note: written in the morning of 12-9-2008 “Old Josh, in: Lick’Idy Luke Slim” in my apartment in Huancayo, Peru.
(Episode 77, written the morning of December 9, 2008)

Old Josh, in: Nelly’s Fine

2008-12-15T14:51:00.001-08:00

(Ozark, Alabama, 1867…s/episode No: 78)

“You got old Nelly the cow, en you aren’t satisfied yet?”
Mrs. Ella Hightower told Josh, standing by his shanty.
“Whut does you want,” exclaimed Josh, looking as if he was puzzled at Ella’s guessing she might have Nelly, but she knew Josh had taken Nelly hidden the cow someplace; Old Josh had taken a liking for the cow, and she for him.
“For the last time Josh, are you, or are you now going to tell me where Nelly is? Because you best be bringing that cow back before the sheriff comes!” Asked Ella.
“Give whut back?” questioned Josh, as if he didn’t know what the heck she was talking about, “…cuz I aint git no cow anyhow, dey think I do but I dont!”

Old Josh had hid Nelly the cow down by Goose Creek, and now Josh as he looked towards the main road, parallel the mansion, he could see the Deputy Sheriff dismount his steed, his silhouette showed, he was framed in-between the mansion on one side and a thick old tree to he others side of him, about twenty feet from the house fence.
Ella turned to see whereabouts the sheriff was, knowing it must be the sheriff Josh was looking at, when she turned back to say something to Josh, he was gone, he had disappeared into the fields quicker than a clap of an eye.

Old Josh was stumbling across the fields, his knees giving in as he tried to rush his getaway, his pace, towards Goose Creek; to Ella and the Sheriff, he was just a dark shadow, like the blackened smoke coming from the Hightower chimney.
Against the receding west, they, Ella and the Deputy, followed Josh, flinging voice gestures for him to stop.
Josh kept his tempo, with clinched fists, saying several times, “Nelly’s fine…Nelly’s fine…!”
Then the Deputy Sheriff pulled out his revolver, shot a round in the air, and Josh halted, waited for his demise, “Josh,” said Ella, before he Sheriff could say a word, knowing if he did, he might say something he could not retract, and thus, have to take Josh into jail, and who knows what would follow, to him, Josh was just another ignorant nigger, who got too good of treatment for an Alabama black. Said, Ella,
“What did you take Nelly for?”
Old Josh leaned forward, whispered to Ella, “They shot her!” he said.
“Josh,” said Ella.
Then the Deputy Sheriff said, in passing, “It’s a damn cow that is all it is…a cow, what in tar-nation is wrong with this nigger Ella?”
“Dat’s whut youall call jestice, that there cow he as old as me,” –said Old Josh.
“Is the cow down by the Creek Josh?” asked Ella.

A tear came from Old Josh’s eye, said chokingly,
“Yessum, Mrs. Ella, dat where she is alright! —she a sleepin’ like a baby, under a willow tree, snorin’ away, I done fixed her wound, she on a bed of green grass she is, she done feels like the queen-bee of cows!”
Ella turned to the Sheriff, said with a half smile, hoping she’d let her handle it,
“I’ll go fetch Nelly, and bring her back to her owners, if you don’t mind, and if you just hush this matter up, I think Granny Mae, she got a quart of her good moonshine in the kitchen she’ll be willing to part with for yaw?”
Said the sheriff, nodding his head up and down, “Aint this been a day!”

Written 12-11-2008, during lunch at the La Mia Mamma, in El Tambo, Huancayo, Peru

Old Josh, in: Corncob-pipe and Matches

2008-12-02T13:05:00.000-08:00

((or, Cold Twilight)(1881))

Josh was looking for his corncob-pipe, he was tiptoeing around his shanty, and it resided in back of the barn on the Hightower Plantation, in Ozark, Alabama. Silas, his oldest son was sleeping, they both slept in the same one room shack, Josh on a cot by the side window, Silas, on the opposite side, more over towards the back, where the small pantry was, which was added onto the shanty back who knows when. He found his pipe alright; it was under his cot, with a small pouch of tobacco. He sat on the cot, put the tobacco in—tightly, and felt for the matches, there were none, so he got on his hands and knees to look closer, the moon gave some light into the shanty, not much but enough to see that there wasn’t any. So he started tiptoeing around the shanty looking for some—checking in every corner, his trouser pockets, on shelves, on the table, none to be found, he stared at Silas, he was sleeping soundly, snoring like a whale blowing air out a mile high from its spout.
“Well, where is it,” he asked himself, in a wild kind of frustration.
“Where are you,” he said in a personification tone of voice, addressing the matches as if they were capable of answering him back.
Josh often in the night, would walk out to the porch and have a smoke, sometimes with a cold cup of three day old coffee, he got from Granny Mae, in the Hightower kitchen, he poured himself a cup, made a little noise doing it, looked at Silas, he was still sawing logs with his snoring, sleeping like a dead man.
He now fumbled his fingers through Silas’ cloths looking for matches, but that didn’t help any, he didn’t find what he was looking for; thus, Silas, like his father, liked a good smoke now and then.
Then he just couldn’t stand it any longer, and he walked over to Silas, nudged him a speck, whispered,
“Im sorry son but I gots to interrupt your dreams cuz I cant find them darn matches!”
Silas moved about, and scratched his back, “Silas!” said Josh, waking him up more, they now exchanged a tense look (Silas still half asleep, but wanting to return to his in-depth, whatever…); and he knew, the longer his father bothered him, the more awake he’d become, so he hid his head under the pillow.
“I apologize son” Josh said, with an encore and demanding voice “but I need some matches for a smoke—now!”
When Silas was in this mode of sleep, the slightest thing, action that is, irritated him, but his father he knew could be unrelenting,
“When youall gits time to listen…” said Josh crossly, not finishing his sentence…

Silas now sat up, quiet as a mouse…, then after a moment’s thoughts, said,
“Pa, you jes’ wants attention day and night, ef-in I don’t answer you, this here is goin’ to go on fer-ever…you gits bored all the time, and gits alarmed over small things, with those big black eyes of yours, I got no chance now of gitten’ back to sleep.”
Josh still annoyed because he had no matches, got even more annoyed at his son for taking the situation lightly, hesitated to answer, then after thinking of what he was going to do, he smiled at Silas, said,
“Since you anit goin’ to look for matches—an’ help your old pa out, I is going to bed, Im all right son, but you is goin’ to be bored to death sitting up all alone all night, cuz Im goin’ to be sleepin’.”
And old Josh fell back in his bed like a log hitting another long going down a river, and fell sound to sleep, smiling.

For Enrique H.

Written on 11-24-2008, at the café, “La Mia Mamma” during lunch.

Old Josh, on Marriage

2008-12-02T13:04:00.001-08:00

Old Josh never married, and there are reasons for that, and I think at this point, we need to look at them; it is an issue that came up throughout his life, for example, with Sweet-Chili (mother of his two children, and to my knowledge, married by common-law), and Sweet Bessie, and Bessie Ann, and Molly, he even had an eye for Lula the Cook, and Granny Mae.
Perhaps he knew better than anyone, why he never married, the only thing I can do is go back throughout his life and come up with guesses, I mean he did have opportunities: even when he went to New Orleans with Mr. Hightower he had the urge, perhaps not the edge to seek out a wife and got into some trouble—and that ended that episode.
But women were not his main concern, although he liked them. Perchance he felt a simple life, less emotional depression was more important, along with raising his boys. I mean he had a bad experience with Sweet-Chili, and the word marriage seemed never to quite develop thereafter.
But let’s look a little deeper into the head of Josh, his heart, soul, the prospect of bring a wife into his life of poverty and struggling more than he had been, or would have to if acquiring a new wife. Would this not put too much strain on a woman’s love? And although he might have found a good woman, his boys may have not appreciated it, it could have been a thankless job, perhaps a conflict arising, such as one or the other demanding he take sides, and once he did, he would lose the other.
Simplify plays an important part here I think. He was being fed and had shelter, like in the Army—they take care of you, and he and his boys were being cared for.
Each time he set out to marry, he hesitated having a wild moment and so breathlessly, with a glare in his eyes like winter windows, simplicity came first, just like when he acquired his freedom, in 1865, he never left the Hightower Plantation, and he could have with his brother. Why did he not? that is a question that comes up in my head—and may have come up in your head, and it seems to be a relevant element in his life, again but why put so much on simplicity (or call it ease): I think when you have an uncertain childhood, taken out of your environment, lose all you have, if you get things worked out later on, perhaps you want to leave well enough alone.
As I stated in the beginning, conjecture plays a big part in this narration on Josh Jefferson on my part.
He always had this exalted look, as if he had a feeling of being free, even when he wasn’t, maybe because he was unmarried—I call them tears of gratitude: furthermore, his eyes were warm, old eyes but refrain, if he had gotten married, then what? I would not be making this “Interlude II” that is for sure.
Josh never put his boys in the background of his life, they were always up front, if they were behind him, he became disturbed, this in itself required him to be unmarried. And once the boys became men, well, they were much like him, in many ways, as we see Silas being a little on the pale, but romantic side, and wanting thinks simple also. Jordan, whose character is never fully developed in these episodes—perhaps unfairly so—liked staying in the background, working at the store in Ozark, matter of fact, as one can see by reading all of the Episodes on Old Josh, he rarely goes to the Hightower Plantation, and he likes his freedom away from it all, not to say he doesn’t like being with his brother or Josh, he does, he in his own way, likes things simple. And throughout his life he works there, neither one getting married.

I hope this little brief helps you understand Josh, it helps me just to write it.

Written 11-24-2008

Old Josh’s Ode to Bessie

2008-11-24T15:01:00.001-08:00

Part I, 1849

[Josh has taken a liking for Bessie, she works with her brother on the neighboring plantation; helps Josh with his two boys, and now Josh has created a song for her, he is wooing her, it would seem. She has come over to his shanty in the back of the Hightower house, by the carrel. They are now sitting on the little porch, in two rockers, and he is singing this song to her; Josh is not know to have ever been too romantic, in the past, or future, nor in the present, but he is here a little more balanced than in most previous episodes.]

Josh’s Ode to Bessie

By Joshua Jefferson

Tonight she come to dhe arms of Josh
I can hear dhe cooing of dhe bird’
dont youall hears whut dhe birds say?
I can hear dhe cooing of dhe bird’
miles an’ miles ‘way…

he stay: Josh he on his way!
Aint you hear whut dhe bird’ say?
Oh, stay, stay dhe birds say,
hush dhe mout’, de birds say
Josh is on his way,

Bessie, Bessie ain’t you here
she a-likeen-to dha sound of dhe bird
ef-in she don’t hurry on up…
dhe bird say, its goin’ to be
way too late, fer Bessie an’ me!

5-2006 (No: 1965)

Old Josh, in: Sweet Bessie
Part II, 1849

Said Josh to his son Silas, sitting one evening on his front porch of his shanty, in back of the Hightower barn, “Bessie in a bad fix!”
“Why you say that pa?” asked Silas.
“She and her ex-husband Hank, be back in the woods fishin’ down by Goose Creek, and they be comin’ out through the ole road in the night, I sees with me own eyes, Sweet Bessie layin’ cross the grass an’ she say:
‘Look here now, Hank, whut is hit youall wants?’ and Hank is this kind of nigger, and he say ‘Youall aint nothin’ to-me,’ and he had haul- off and slaped her in the face—I sees her face, and there she be, on the grass: I got a thinkin’ he dont like her seein’ me!”
“Then whut happened pa?” asked Silas.
“Well, Hank, he gits scared when he sees me, wants to run but he don’t…he have a knife in his hand, and Sweet Bessie she callin’ to the Lord to save her and me. She done tells the Lord, help Josh bite Hank to death, she say, ‘Ef-in he lose his mind Lord, you got to take him, and puts him down yonder…!’ She mad as a Billy-goat.
“Sho’ —enough pa, she luck as the day is long, I reckon,” commented Silas, listening like an owl for the conclusion, a corn-pipe in his mouth, just chewing on its end, no tobacco in it, and a jug of moonshine by his feet, ready to pop the cork, but too intrigued to do so in fear he might miss something his pa will say.
“Well, Silas,” said Josh with a deep inhaling, “I done save her I reckon, and I am his omen to him now!”
“Why youall say that pa?” asked Silas.
“I done thought I knows women, but I finds out I aint known nothin’ ‘bout them, they is like sunshine and rain, every hour of the day, you got to keep your step and eye on them, and you gots to watch you’ own step, cuz you inners dont tell you mind to stop, and youall ready to die fer a hug and kiss, and you know, the birds and the bees want a piece of the pie.”

(Josh never did answer Silas original question, because he didn’t want to tell Silas, he beat Hank up, and Bessie felt sorry for Hank, and she told Josh to go, and cared for Hank. And I think Josh felt a little foolish after that.)

Old Josh’s Conversation with
and Lula the Cook
Part III, 1849

Old Josh and Lula the Cook, on the Hightower Plantation, in Ozark, Alabama, are talking about the relationship between Bessie and himself: Josh telling her, that it doesn’t seem to be working out, and Lula implies Josh needs to getting a good woman, he’s no spring chicken, matter of fact she says he is in his late forties, close to fifty (Lula, the black cook, assistant to Granny Mae, comes and helps out now and then, when Mrs. Ella A. T. Hightower requests it, often referred to by Aurea )…

“I hears the argument Josh,” says Lula, “You and Ms Bessie fight-in all the time, an ole man like you, whuts got in to you both, shes a young one, half your age?”
“I aint no ole man yet, Lula,” said Josh trying to think of an answer why he and Lula fight all the time.
“You think you owns Bessie, and her family comes to take her home, cuz you and Bessie do all that sugar-eyeing and kissin’ and who knows whut, then fight-in like you are two devils, and her family wants her fresh for a rich man I suppse,” commented Lula, shaking her head to the right and left, not up and down, and letting out a sigh.
“Supposen we do…all that whut you say, why her family git in our way, come her and takes her home, that aint their business, she old enough to say ‘leaves me be,’ but she dont.” said Josh, head up in the sky as if picturing past events.
“Well Josh,” said Lula, with a smirk, “youall got the advantage with that there tongue of yours, it aint got any shame, and Bessie, gits a no-good ex-husband, and a noisy family, but I cant blame her, cuz that there is all she gits to have besides you, and a few young men down there at that Ozark bar, you aint no price for no woman either Josh, so don’t go thinking you is.” Said Lula, adding “I like ya Josh, but likin’ someone and livin’ with the person you like, and is like you, is—well, I hates to say it, a nightmare. Its like jumping out of the chicken coup, into the frying pan, I jes’ as well stay in the coup and wait for the slaughter to come, cuz I know it’s a-comin’. So you see Josh, she aint git no better with our without ya…”
“Well, I reckon that is the way some folks think, I waz kind of wild, stubborn in my younger day Lula, had some bad ways, had to raise two boys, but I aint all that bad anymore.” Said Josh, adding, “I hears Bessie’s Hank, hes-a making bad remarks ‘bout me being ole man, like youall say. He lives in New Orleans, and comes here and goes to the bar in Ozark, and has all them gals, and finds Bessie, I think Bessie and me, we loves each other.”
“You is foolish Old Josh, she loves fire, and you is fire when there is no fire around, and when there is, you is jes’ a candle in a window. She likes the fire in Hank, she jes’ love fire, you is no more than an old horse in a barn to her,” said Lula.
“How come you say that?” asked Josh, with a hurt look.
“I aint see why you fret ‘bout her, I suppose you have changed, but she aint, and ef-in you chase her, you aint never goin’ to keep up with her, her mama wants money for her, thats why she comes to fetch her,” said Lula.
“Well,” said Josh, a little disappointed, “You is right I suppose, but my heart say I loves her…!”
“No,” said Lula, “I knows men, and that aint the heart talkin’ cuz after you and her makes love, youall fight like the dickens for hours, that aint love, that there is wantin’ to change someone, or control someone, who dont want what you want, but maybe jes’t that fire, that there is all you both want, and afraid you cant have sittin’ on your door steps when you wants it.”
Josh didn’t argue about it, he just up and left out the screen door in the back of the kitchen: I don’t think he ever saw Bessie again, I think she left or New Orleans, shortly after that meeting between Josh and Lula, looking for more fire.

The Year set for these four sketches was 1849; all four sketches were made linking to one story in particular, sketch one was called, “I Aint No Nigger!” ((5-19-2006) (Episode No: 9)) this sketch was separated from the other four, and the year was changed to 1863 for the happening, and it was with Bessie Ann, not the original Bessie in Old Josh’s Song to Bessie. Thus, the other three sketches were left alone as they fit more properly together. The first sketch “I Aint no Nigger,” was not changed in content, just separated.
Old Josh’s Song to Bessie, sketch two (episode No: 10) written (5-19-2006), actually five days after; and sketch three, Sweet Bessie (Episode, 11, written, 5-26-2006): and sketch four: Old Josh and Lula the Cook (Episode 12, 5-2006). All sketches or episodes are linked to ‘Old Josh’s Ode to Bessie’ renamed,’ November, 2008.

Old Josh, in: Sugar-eyeing

2008-11-24T15:00:00.001-08:00

((1870s) (Episode: 69))

Sweet Molasses

Silas did have a young lover (a few of them), sweethearts; one of them, her name was Sweet Molasses (Jefferson, if you want to add that onto the name, although they were never married to Josh understands). She was born in Ozark, in the shanty town near by it anyhow, and had a child named Minerva, born 1873. But let me backtrack.

The child was born but didn’t seem to cry enough, as it would have appeared it should have, after birth, and within the following two weeks of the birth.
Sweet-molasses was where she waned to be, it must had been because she could have left, it was no longer the slavery days, she was free to do as she pleased, but she stuck around for some reason.
At birth of the child, it cried once, and she waited or it to cry a second time, but it didn’t. Silas become melancholy, he knew it was his, but Sweet-molasses didn’t announce who the father was, for personal reasons.
Sweet-molasses was no child, not in 1873 anyhow, born 1856, she was seventeen-years old, and she was in love with Silas, whom of course was much older than she. The child was named Minerva.
You might say, Sweet-molasses was a girl of her times, she wanted the child, and the father, Silas, but she didn’t want to live in the south, she wanted to North, her aunt was living in some cold city up in Minnesota, and she was invited to join her.
She begged and cried and shouted for Silas to leave the plantation and go North with her, and Josh heard about it, didn’t take it too lightly. Said Josh to Sweet-molasses one evening, “Enough of those tears, youall want money from boy, take him away up North, an’ he aint got any to give yaw, so take your bastard girl and leave us alone!”
“Much obliged,” she told Old Josh back, and so ended any future conversations between those two.

She then went back to help with the wash at Mr. Henry J. Birmingham’s small farm across the road, he being in his mid-seventies and his maid, as she was referred to, Mahogany, now in her early eighties, and Sweet-molasses asked for her advise.
“Cant find my handkerchief,” she said to Sweet-molasses, she was still crying, and not sure if that was a pun or sincerity that came form Mahogany, but she added to her dialogue, “Maybe you ought to wash those tears off your face, you got a child to raise, no sense in waitin’ for a Silas, youall be waitin’ tell the boy is grown and gone on his own, you gots to figure out a plan, and work it child; Silas he was just sugar-eyeing you for sport, men like to do that, you got to give them an ultimatum, one of those things that say, you will or you wount, and if-in you wount, I is goin’ north, and youall will never see that child again.”
“Ok,” she said, in a rut of dismay, “I be goin’ to tell him this one way or the other, and I goin’ to tell Old Josh to shut up and it none of his business, if´-in he comes to bother me again I mean to be takin’ that train north.”

(A week later, in the afternoon Silas meets Sweet-molasses down at Goose Creek; the child is now two-weeks old.)

“Maybe I could write yaw,” said Silas, “if-in you is set on movin’ up north?”
Silas knew what the conversation was going to be, and said what he wanted to say right away, before Sweet-molasses could even present her case.
“It then sounds like you be still in Ozark I guess, I was hopin’ but no use in talkin’ your mind’s made up I see…”
“I know hit,” said Silas, “that right…!”
“Can you imagine everyone around saying…this and that, and your pa, he sayin’ I a whore, and the child a is a bastard, youall be a-shame of me, soon after ef-in I stay and we marry down here in Alabama. They die laughin’ Silas!”
Silas listened carefully or so it appeared, but didn’t give much sympathy, “Yessum, I guess I understand, but too many folks up yonder there and I hears it cold as that there North Pole, beyond.”

That evening Silas talked to his father about his situation, and didn’t get much sympathy either, he kind of got what he gave to Sweet-molasses, a blank face, “If-if you go sugar-eyen and you anit doin’ any empty talkin’ what-youall think is goin’ to happen? Its better to go possum hunting than sugar-eyein’, cuz you don’t get in all this trouble.”
“Well,” said Silas, “aint we got to make find some moonshine, its gittin’ late, and I bet Granny Mae, or Lula has some in the kitchen.”
“Yessum, lets go fetch some…” said Josh.

Note: written out on Restaurant paper, at the “La Mia Mamma,” 11-11-2008, and rewritten 11-21-2008, at home, in El Tambo, Huancayo, Peru

Old Josh in: Fraternizing with Nelly the Cow!

2008-11-24T14:58:00.000-08:00

[1864] Parts I of II

[Advance] There was a cow over in the pastor across the old dirt road, up a short ways, that separated Hightower plantation from —Henry Jackson Birmingham’s, smaller plantation, almost a hobby farm type—the cows name was Nelly: the maid whom lived with him, and was the talk of the county while living in Ozark, name was Mahogany, Henry was in his mid-sixties, and Mahogany in her early seventies. Folks said they were really married, white to black, but Henry would never admit it, had he, he would have been skinned alive, and her, Mahogany, tar and feathered. Anyhow, the KKK, left well enough alone, as well as Henry kept it quiet, and he did, and some say he even paid them off monthly, that is, until he moved out of Ozark, and into the countryside.

He, Henry J. Birmingham, bought the place more as a retirement home, than a business (in Ozark, he was a shoe maker, seller, fixer), in 1872, several months had passed, and Mahogany had met Old Josh, but had not said much to him about her husband, no need to I suppose, she just thoughtfully talked about whatever came to mind, and Josh was a good talker, and it was a silk like hot afternoon, about it, not much to say I would think.

They had bought the place from Thomas August Smiley, a white neighbor, next to the Hightower plantation, Thomas owned a spot of land there, he didn’t know the history behind Henry Birmingham’s live-in maid being female black, and now body knew she had inherited some money, and got the place for a good price, with cash, but Henry of course was the buyer.
Mahogany, had taken a liking for Silas’ younger brother, Jordan while living in Ozark, as well as for the white neighbor Abernathy, down the road a spell, opposite side of her farm, near the Hightower’s; Jordan who works in the country story in town (Ozark, Alabama) had taken a liking for her (Jordon who lives in the back of the store most of the time, when not helping his pa at the Hightower plantation that is).
Jordon, is now home with his brother Silas for the weekend, to help his pa. Ella Hightower, Mr. Charles T. Hightower’s wife is kind of always in the background, but she is there nonetheless, seeming ill a lot. Charles, also heavy with age, has had his heart trouble in the past.

There was a cow (Nelly) in the pastor, Henry Birmingham had bought him a few weeks ago from the Charles Hightower, it was watching old Josh as he fiddled about—the cow being behind a wooden fence, across the road, up a little ways, and Old Josh, mending the fence alongside the road in front of the Hightower Mansion.
Nelly just watching I’d say, without interest, as Josh fiddled about fixing, or trying to fix the fence door, to be correct, the hinges on the door, and he saw the cow from the side of his eye, over across the fence, borderline between the two properties had there not been a road in-between, the cow was just staring, yawning, as Josh looked, now leaning against the fence a bit, Silas was alongside the barn greasing a wheel for Hightower’s carriage, Josh got annoyed at the new comer in his new neighbor, not because he was white and the maid black, because he was happy to get rid of Nelly. And now she was still annoying him, from a distance.
During dinner the old cow would ‘moo’ throughout the night, like a sick dog, Old Nelly was with the Hightower’s a long time, perhaps 15-years. But he was afraid to acknowledge the cow any longer in fear, she’d moo, more. But he couldn’t take the mooing all night long, so he put on his cloths, and walked up to the fence, the cow recognized him right away, if not by voice, by his mannerisms, somehow the cow acquired some confidence, and stopped its crying.
It was a little past 2:00 a.m. in the morning he slipped the cow something to eat, something fashionable, and the cow took that particular reserve, peculiar, but became quiet, as if Old Josh had re-adopted it. Thereafter, gracefully, the cow lay down in the slightly wet (from the dew) grass.
Now Old Josh simply went back to his hut, and fell back to sleep on his cot.

Night after night the cow seemed to be looking at him, when he did his work, and when he didn’t it ‘mooed’ loudly so he could hear him, perhaps even looking for Old Josh, which annoyed Josh to no end.
It was as if the cow—from its distance, could look at him or looked over him insignificantly, almost to the point of controlling Josh’s temperament. Perhaps it was much like Josh, who craved attention. Often the cow waited for Josh to come over feed him, and Old Josh did. No one knew why Josh did but Josh himself, but people do strange things, perchance the reason might have been, to stop his daily interruption of the cow haunting him, because after the visit, and after the cows moment of the visitation, it went quiet for the day, or night.

Fraternizing

The morning sun seemed to fall directly over the cow’s head, and it seemed to have a smirk on its face this sunny morning, or so it looked as its head was pointed in his direction, where Josh was, a distance away of course, his eyes old, it mind thinking whatever cows think, a jog of moonshine in Old Josh’s hand, hidden in behind his back, the cow was predictable, and Old Josh walked over to it, the cow looked away from Josh as if it was—for once in its life—ashamed of its behavior—but nonetheless, aggravating to Josh, until Josh shared that moonshine, Nelly actually was smirking at Josh, purposely smirking that is.
Josh walked over to the fence, jug in hand, over to the shanty, his hut, looked long and hard at the cow, over his shoulder, then at the barbwire laying against the barn, he had to do some mending today.
“Whut youall git in that jug?” yelled Mahogany to Old Josh. (Nelly was fast asleep on the grass.)
“Spring water—,” quivered Josh as if to say it was none of her business, but didn’t, he just gave her a stare, a long gaze that said what he was thinking.
The growth of the weeds kind of sheltered, and camouflaged Josh, on the other side of the road, the cow had consumed the bulk of the jug.
“Josh,” yelled Mahogany, “If-in you dont stop feedin’ my cow with that there moonshine, youall is goin’ to git in trouble, Mr. Highter dont take to drinkin’ moonshine on his land, nor Mr. Berham…feedin’ dat dar cow of his the same…!”
“Hus,” said Josh, adding, “Black witch… I reckon you no kin of mine, dat right?” And Mahogany just starred not knowing what Josh meant as the cow wobbled up to its feet, as if to stick up for Josh, “Mo…oooo!” said Nelly, and old Josh translated that into more moonshine, and walked over to Nelly, gave him a lick. Said to Nelly,
“I reckon youall wants a drink cup wont you?” And Old Nelly slurped it up, along with Josh.
Then Josh looked up at Mahogany, said with a grin, “If-in you cause me trouble, I might jes’ go on and talk to your owner, and tells him, ‘bout you and Jordon…down in the back of the store in Ozark.”
“I knows how to drink out of jug Josh, here fetch me the jug, ef-in youall dont mind?” And Josh passed the jug, and it would seem they, Josh, Nelly and Mahogany all had something in common.

Part one, “Fraternizing with Nelly the Cow!” was written 8-2-2006, reedited and revised, 11-21-2008 (Part two, not used for the book, “…Poor Black” was written a day later, 8-3-2008).

Old Josh, in: Cold and Hot Veins

2008-11-24T14:57:00.000-08:00

One summer hot day, in 1859, Ella Hightower walked into the study room of her husband’s, Charles Hightower, “Dear, excuse me—“ she said, she had interrupted him, the neighbor Mr. Smiley, was standing by her husband, Charles now stood up from his desk, Mr. Smiley, was shaking her husbands hand, while putting some money in his pocket. It all happened quite fast, too fast thought Ella, as if for some reason, she was seeing something she should not have seen, or they did not want her to see. Mr. Smiley’s eyes were red as if he had finished weeping. He quickly left the room, somewhat giving a look of embarrassment towards Ella.
“What is it?” asked Ella to Charles, sitting her position in front of his desk, hands and eyes, as if to quietly get a direct answer.
“What did he want?” she insisted the second time.
“Nothing really of importance, just conversation,” said Charles.
“What?” said Ella, “it looked more like a transaction of some kind? Adding, “His eyes were red as if he had a hangover!” she implied.
“No, he was not drinking,” Charles responded, looking at her naively, and with a little chuckle.
“Well,” she hesitated frowning, “are you or are you not going to tell me, it was no accident he came here, and you are not being truthful to me.”
“I borrowed him $500-dollars, he said his wife is ill, and the crops are not doing well for him, and he had to hire a wash woman, and another cook, and he has to supervise the fields and now the household, until she gets better, since she’s been down a month or so,” said Charles.
“Why—how much do you think it costs to run this plantation a month?” asked Ella.
“Perhaps that amount, more or less,” said Charles.
Ella shifted her body away from the front of Charles for a moment,
“We could have used this money for next month’s bills, you’ve got two kids to think of, a wife, me, and Old Josh, and his two sons to feed, along with Granny Mae, and the other helper, and this is a mistake to be giving money away when they cannot afford to pay it back, you need to run after him and get the money back now,” she demanded.
Charles lingered about pushing his chair behind his desk back, walked to the front of it, held his wife, “Listen up,” he started, “please understand, I’ve known the family for most of my life, and so has my father, can’t you see, who else would he go ask for the money from, but me?” said Charles to Ella in a soft troubled voice.
Ella gave her neck a twist as if to say, forget this logic, we’re not in the banking business, and said absolutely, “it’s a good way to lose friends, and cause chaos in a family; it’s just a bad policy to lend money out without any collateral, you need to adopt an attitude of saying “no” this isn’t the first time, but it is a bad time, since we are not completely above water ourselves with the bills.”
The argument in the room might have been overlooked, under better circumstances, but war was coming on, and the Confederate Military was building up, and there was talk of having Charles becoming a Captain in one of the Alabama regiments, thus the future looked bleak at best, and there was a chance that Silas and Jordon, Josh’s boys might be drafted into the Confederate Army, unwillingly of course.

Ella walked over to the Smiley Plantation, when her Husband was down in Ozark doing some shopping with Silas, Old Josh’s boy, and she took Old Josh along to see the Smiley’s and see if Mr. Smiley’s wife was really sick.
As she neared the plantation, across the fields, she saw Mrs. Smiley sitting in a rocker looking out her living room window, fresh as a daisy, musing at the workers planting flowers around her Mansion. Ella and Josh didn’t go any further, she didn’t want to interrupt the scene, she turned to Josh as if to discuss the issue, but Josh knew what it was going to be, he saw Mr. Smiley counting the money when he came out of the Hightower house, he produced a grunt, nothing else, as Ella frowned; they exchanged no words, but walked silently side by side back to the Hightower Plantation.
When Josh left Mrs. Hightower, she exploded inside the house, Granny Mae heard her from the kitchen, and so did Lula, the assistant cook.
Then when Charles came back she confronted him, “You silly fool,
Josh and I went over to talk to the Smiley’s and they were planting flowers as if they had a million dollars, and Mrs. Smiley, was drinking tea by the window, with a $500-dress on, our money.”
“Well how could I guess, I would think you perhaps got something wrong during your observation?”
“The trouble with you is, you feel sorry for the wrong persons,” said Ella.

A few days passed and it seemed the unpleasantness of this particular issue had passed, but was not forgotten completely. Ella had went to town by herself to do some shopping, and a few hours after she left, Charles went. It was a very hot, hot day, and Charles had to go to the court house to do some documentation. He sat with a crowd of twenty-other people waiting by two windows, after a few minutes several more folks came in, had to stand in the small overcrowded room, no one willing to give up their seats, and Charles told himself: why should I, my wife always says I’m too much the gentleman, thus, I am older than sixty, let them stand, he took his number (as did the others, and read the newspaper waiting to be called by one of the two clerks.
Now the room was full bodies, body to body, everyone sweating, and the lady in front of him, close to the windows was asking other folks for their ticket, to exchange for her ticket, that she might go ahead of the others, she was a ways up, and it was just a whisper, not easily heard. He, Charles usually would have given his seat and number away to a woman, any woman; today he was not going to, not after his wife said he was easy, maybe to easy.
After three hours, the lady fell to the floor, and there was a rumble in the room, she fell onto someone, bounded off the person, and dropped to the wooden floor, a heatstroke or perhaps just fainted, people were saying; then Charles feeling no one was helping the women, after several minutes, stood up and pushed his way to the woman, out of curiosity and pity, and grabbed her franticly and was mumbling something, as he rushed her out to the fresh air and over to the doctor’s office.
Said Otis, the bartender from one of the local bars nearby,
“Why, that was Charles Hightower with his wife, Ella.

Inspired by my Sister in Law, in Huancayo, Peru.11-22-2008

Old Josh, in: “Black-hide!”

2008-11-24T14:56:00.001-08:00

(…and pumpkin soup)

[Spring of 1885; Ozark, Alabama]

“Say you! whar do ol man Josh live?”
“Ah…down de road a piece,” says Silas to the stranger, “ ‘bout a mile, at the Hightower place, but ef-in youall wants to find him, you wont find him, anyhow, hes gone fishin’ I reckon.”
The stranger had stopped Silas while riding down the old dirt road, that lead towards Ozark, to go to a store where his brother Jordon worked to get supplies, they got a discount there for renting out Jordon.

At the Hightower plantation, the black stranger knocked on the door, and Charles Hightower answered and the stranger asked where Josh was, said old man Hightower, “You should be using the back door, and asking Granny Mae, not me,” yet Charles hollered for Josh, but he didn’t answer, looking toward the back of his house, toward the barn and beyond were the enclosure was.
“He’s gittin’ on with age…” the stranger said to himself quietly.
Old Josh had seen the stranger and was hiding behind the cow corral bend over some, and behind some bushes and jimson weeds, to insure he was fully covered.
The stranger was now sanding looking through the open area of the corral with his owl-like face—Old Josh’s knees bent, acing a tinge, but not willing to stand up yet.
Thus, he remained hidden about one-hundred feet away. The stranger just stood there chewing his tobacco, glancing here and there; up and down over this way and that way—eyes eating up each square foot (Mr. Hightower had left the front door to attend to other business, and Granny Mae, with the help of Lula the Cook, who worked part time help, from the Shanty Town, down near Ozark (who had helped the Hightower’s since 1849, now in her 80s, and was given a lump sum of money to buy her shanty, from Shep Hightower, Charles’ father, and her freedom papers), was peering out the window at the stranger.

“Hey! whuts youall want?” asked Lula the Cook to the stranger.
“Im lookin’ fer Josh Jefferson, my name is Abram!” said the stranger, then he saw his brother,
“There you are,” said Abram, jes’ a-sitten… behind those there bushes…whut fer?” he said; yet old Josh continued to conceal himself, even though Abram saw him and put his foot on the fence, the wooden railing, near Josh.
“Waz you callin’ somebody—? …git your black-hid out of her!” said a voice.
Abram looked deadeye into Josh’s face, from a distance, from where he stood with his foot on the fence, was perhaps twenty-feet.
“Say Josh, whut you doin’?”
Old Josh still remained quiet, then Josh hollered at him, “keep-a right on goin, dont look back, I dont see your-feet movin!”
“Well, I reckon I came a long ways fer nothing…” said Abram still chewing his tobacco, while listening off and on to the mockingbirds singing on a nearby old Alabama Oak.

(There was dust in the air, this early spring morning, blowing about, flowers filling the air with light odor scents; Josh wanted to lay down, didn’t really want his day disturbed; wanted to go fishing, was about to before he saw the stranger coming up the road on a sprinkled old horse. He walked like his brother, didn’t really know it was him, but had a second sense it was somebody from the past, back when he was a boy in the Congo, a little brother, he thought had died, but was being cared for evidently by one of the relatives of his mother, things he forgot; he was not stolen from the tribe like he and his mother, when out one day in the wild meadows (thus left behind); he was really more like a half-brother, same mother, different father.)

“Looks like your in the poo’ house Josh,” he said to Josh with a grin.
“Im goin’ on seventy-nine years old, Josh,” he said, as if his days were numbered—then spat into the weeds some of his over moistened tobacco he was chewing.
“You done left me in the Congo, I waz jes’ a boy—walking here and there lookin’ fer you and ma, till folks say you git picked up by some white gorillas and taken away! and they picks me up, liken did to youall, an’ I be taken to St. Louis, Missouri an’ I be a butler all these days, now I is free like you, an’ I git $2000-dollars fer my services these last ten-years, come-on with me, we can buy land and be free…?”

It showed on their faces, the long and hard years of labor, loneliness, on both their faces, a little less on Josh’s perhaps, or so it seemed: he took things a bit lighter than Abram; accept, or learned to accept what was, was, had Abram showed up twenty-five years ago things might have been different, possibly for this moment, would never had had to occur.
“I’ …s got money to buy your freedom,” said Abram, to Josh.
A shadow of gloom was on Josh’s face, and a bitter sneer that he tried to hide, said, “I is free, been free fer twenty-years, glad to see you is doin’ fine brother, but you got to do whut you think you got to do, me, Im fine here, I got my boys, and—oh well, I got my shack. What more do I need, no big change fer me at 82-years old, jes’ want to go fishin’ and that stuff.”

Now Josh and Abram sat on Josh’s porch (of his two room shack); Abram still chewing his tobacco, slowly. Hightower had departed.
“Josh, come wit me,” said Abram abruptly in a soft voice, as if he was a big brother. They sat there for hours, drinking moonshine, and talking, and both fell to sleep, and Silas come home, tip-toed past them, slowly, not to wake them up, and into the hut, and sat down by the small wooden table, and had some pumpkin soup.

In the morning Abram looked at Josh, they had fallen to asleep and woke up, where they sat, and Abram’s old spotted horse had not been fed, and was pacing, nibbling over in the bushes eating whatever. It had been something like, eighty years since they had seen each other, long years for both brothers.
“Nah…! All right!” grunted Abram, as he stood up, flung his coat over his shoulder, spat out some tobacco onto the dirt a few feet from the front of the porch—put on his hat emerged onto the road in back of Hightower’s house. At the same time, old Josh turned his head to see what his son was doing; he heard a noise in the hut, said to his boy,
“That there chewin’ is goin’ to kill you uncle yet!”
Abram heard it, and I suppose that was good enough for him, he had acknowledged him to his son, and they drank together, and they fell to sleep by one another, like back in the Congo, when he was four and Josh was eight, then he looked at his brother…, said in a murmur, “… damn his black-hide!”

Written 1/20/2006; the Author lived in Ozark, Alabama in the mid l979s.

Old Josh, in: The Borrower's Laugh!

2008-08-20T21:38:00.000-07:00

Old Josh, in:
The Borrower’s Laugh!
(1874)

When Old Josh got thirsty for whisky, and didn’t have a cent to his name to acquire any, he managed to borrow—or better put, utter politely, with what he got used to calling ‘His Borrower’s Laugh,’ Josh never really tried to be humorous, he just was, and when he did try, was when he wanted that whisky from someone, usually Amos, or Granny Mae, and that is when he was obvious, and not very humorous.
It was weeks since Josh had a swig of good old corn whiskey; how he managed to exist was beyond his boy’s understanding.
Josh was now pleading with Granny Mae in the Hightower kitchen of the mansion, for a bottle of corn whiskey, which she sold, and charged seventy-five cents for. Josh told Mae, he’d pay her back later (which often he did, and which he also, often forgot to), and now he gave her an unbecoming laugh, that lingered between a minute and two.
“Com-on...!” he said, in slurred speech.
“No,” said Mae to Josh.
Then Josh made one more nervous attempt, granny Mae stopped cooking her soup momentarily, and saw blank eyes staring at her, and she stared back,
“You’d think Josh, I waz the only one in Ozark that made moonshine!”
Then Granny Mae took a long look at Josh’s gloomy face, and the longer she looked the more she became to sympathize with him, and so she gave in, and gave him a bottle—she had three hidden behind a fifty-pound sack of potatoes.
When Josh got back to his shanty, he waved Amos, Jordon, and Silas over, and they went into the shack, and he pulled out the bottle of moonshine, happier than a bear with a fifty-pound honeycomb in his hands, and poured four glasses half full, “Drinks on me boys…!” he said as he poured with a trembling hand.

No: #75 8-10-2008

Old Josh, in: Cannonballs in the Fields (1862—General Bragg)

2008-08-19T22:01:00.000-07:00

Old Josh, in: Cannonballs in the Fields
1862—General Bragg

Anguish on a plantation is often widespread and most always sharp, if not over sensitive to its workers and management alike at times. Seldom is there not an issue, or mysterious problem at hand, a taxing one often and a silly one just as often, be it someone getting sick or planting, harvesting, or making a concern over something less, and Mr. Charles Hightower and is son often faced it, like Charles’ father did, face such issue right on, courageously, with a few groans at the slaves, of which at one time they had fifteen, presently five or six. That is how plantations are made, and run; so Mr. Hightower would have told anyone had they asked him.
“But this problem has got me down,” said Mr. Hightower, “—because how did these cannonballs get into our fields, artillery rounds from one of the Confederate cannons I expect, I don’t want the Confederates to see this, and say we are helping the North, or the North to see it and say we are supplying a route through our fields for them.”
Mr. Hightower was in his dinning room trying to figure out how the cannonballs got there, several of them, Amos and Josh were standing in the roam with him, he didn’t expect a suggestion from either of them but he had been talking aloud to himself about the problem, which occurred three days ago, and everyday since, several more cannonballs were found scattered here and there in the fields.
“What military units are nearby?” asked Amos.
“General Bragg has some soldiers down younger a ways,” said Hightower indignantly. “Perhaps I should go see him, talk to him about his grand notion of bringing his artillery across these fields, and dropping all these cannonballs about. Maybe we can get to the end of this.”
This brought a glitter to Mrs. Hightower’s eyes, in that they were already having with a failed crop, too much rain, and were thinking of a second growth, replanting.
“The worse part of it is,” said Charles to his wife, “he may tell me that my problem is a little problem compared to men dying for the south.”
“Fine,” said his wife, “then what are you waiting for, just get rid of the artillery rounds.”
“I forgot, I had Silas and Jordon put them in the barn,” said Hightower.
“With the war going on, the general may consider my concern insolence,” added Charles to his dialogue with his wife.
“The General and some of those confederate soldiers may recognize my face from town too, it is best Josh, you sleep in the fields tonight and let me know tomorrow who and what is going on, and don’t get drunk, and talk away and give them any ideas to take this plantation away!” demanded Hightower.
“Not me,” said Josh. “I sees this is all we can do,” and so Josh, lifted up his shoulders, turned about ready to depart.
“Wait,” said Mrs. Hightower, looking at Josh’s red blood shot eyes,
“I got an idea.”
“Go on Josh,” said Charles, “I got no time dear to listen to it now,” he told his wife.
“I’m not selling anything Charles,” said his wife, “there are big rats out there, and wild dogs at night, I hear them around two a.m. in the morning usually, it’s haughtier out their than you think without a gun and a big fire going. When I visited your father’s grave back yonder there, I walked back in the dark, and it was but an hour, there, and the sounds of those wild cats, rats and dogs, are quite embittered toward women, and I bet old men (and she looked at Josh).”
When Charles recovered himself to address the issue with the mixed company around him, he simple said with an air of surprise, “So give me the solution?”
She had now brought him into focus, evidently, he now had second thoughts, didn’t look at the danger before; he gave his wife a suspicious look, almost with predatory eyes. “Have Silas go down to where the base camp is and follow the soldiers, tell them we’re still looking for cloths to mend on the plantation, as we did a few months ago. They will assume, they have something Silas wants, not being a spy then.”
A few minutes of silence passed, all waited for Charles to make the decision, then in a slow, limited turn to his wife, his mind seemed to be clear, he said, “Just bring some of Granny Mae’s moonshine along and sell it, that’s even better, make some money, and return when you find out, Josh can do it better, he likes to talk.”
Mrs. Hightower was flabbergasted, “He’s an old man, Charles, like you!”
“Well then by god, let Silas do it, the hell with my idea,” said Charles.
No one spoke for two minutes.
“What do you think Josh?” asked Mrs. Hightower.
Josh walked to the entrance of the door, “Youall figure it out a8nd ef’in you wants me to do it, I do it, ef’in you wants Silas, he do, youall can tell him to do it.”
“Where you going?” demanded Mr. Hightower, trying to catch his breath from arguing with his wife.
“Amos,” said Mr. Hightower, “bring Josh back here.”
Said Josh, opening up the door, and Amos standing still,
“I is dizzy, youall gives me an earache! Imagoin’ home.” And then Josh left the house.
“How bad do you want to know,” asked Mrs. Hightower to her husband?
“I don’t know whose idea this is anymore, I just want to go to bed,” said Hightower, “this strain is hurting my head, youall are driving me nuts,” he gasped.
“What?”
“I can’t help it—everything seems black, I’m going to bed.”
For a moment she thought he was kidding, until Charles got up and went up to his second floor bedroom, leaving his wife where she stood.
As she stood looking at Amos, with this unsolvable problem, she wished it all could be dispensed with altogether by giving it to any slave, but she knew ideas could not be simply pulled out of the inexpensive air, and told Amos, on his way back to the Smiley plantation, where he was going to stay the night, “See if you can spot any unusual activity, on your way, and return tomorrow, who knows maybe the problem will solve itself.”

8-19-2008

Old Josh, In: Josh's Idea (Civil War Days, 1862)

2008-08-17T21:13:00.000-07:00

Old Josh, in:
Josh’s Idea
(Summer of 1862)

Josh Jefferson worked on the Hightower Plantation throughout the duration of the Civil War, and beyond, so he got used to seeing Confederate soldiers either marching through the woods, the plantation fields, up and down the road, camping out along side of he roads, in the city of Ozark, in Shantytown, everywhere, for the war’s duration.
They often looked like bums, he thought, more or less, ragged looking, they fought for the love of the South, more than money, it was obvious, by their apparel, Josh didn’t really take note of it until 1862, when the plantation lost its first crop to bad weather, and insects in over ten years. Also, there were only a few slaves on the plantation now, to work it, many had left the pat ten-months; many were taken for the Confederate Army, to fight in their war (throughout the south, perhaps 90,000).

It was one morning in the summer of 1862; Josh brought an idea up to Mr. Hightower, standing near the barn, with a worried look on his face, Josh knowing the farm was not paying for itself this year.
Hightower was kind of checking out how much feed was left for the hogs, mules, horses, chickens, cows, and so forth,
“Mr. Hightower,” said Josh, “I got an idea, ‘bout how youall can git out of this here bind, I means, hard times I see is comin’!”
Charles looked at Josh strangly as one might to idiocy, and started to brush Josh off, but Josh kept talking, “you see boss, ef’in we can git all the soldiers to bring their uniforms, and cloths to your plantation, me and my boys and Granny Mae, and so forth can sew those missin’ buttons on their uniforms, and fix their shoes, with some of those horseshoe nails—pound them flat through the soles, and wash their cloths, and fix their holes in their pants, and all that, and wes git some money, or feed or somethin’ in return to help planting again!”
Pessimistically he, Charles Hightgower looked at Josh, “Good luck,” said Hightower, “We’re not in Montgomery (meaning a bigger city)” and laughed as he walked away.

That night, while Charles was in bed with his wife, he couldn’t sleep well, said to his wife, “I was thinking today, while down at the barn, about all those gray uniforms that need fixing for our boys in Gray, maybe we can get Josh, and Granny Mae, and Amos, perhaps even Josh’s boys, and even us, we all can pitch in, and do some sewing of buttons, and holes and all that kind of stuff, make some money for the plantation, so we can buy more seed and do some more planting.”
Said Charles’s wife, “Yes, I reckon so, it sounds workable, we’ll look at it closer in the morning, if that’s ok with you.” And Charles nodded his head yes.

Josh now in his shanty, talking to his boy Silas, telling him he may be doing some sewing of Confederate uniforms soon, telling him he talked to Mr. Hightower about it, and he brushed it off, but that was how all rich folks act, that he’ll think about it, and perhaps change his mind down the road, when he gets hungry, because rich folks don’t like to get hungry because they are different than poor folks.
Said Silas,
“Why you say rich folks deferent pa?”
Said old Josh to his boy, Silas, kicking his feet up upon the table that was really just an old large wooded crate (box) used for a table in the middle of his shanty:
"I is goin’ to tell you somethin’ ‘bout rich folk, they is unlike us poor folk, they knows how to play when they is a day old out of their mama, and when they gits old, they never forgit—this here makes them all soft liken’ to that there wool on a sheep; when we is hard like stone. They is suspicious of their own mama and papa, dont trust anyone, not even the Lord Jesus, that why they is unless without us poor black, youall cant understand this, I knowen that, cus deep in their hearts they done thinkin’ they is better than we is cuz we is born with a cane, ef’in you knows what I mean, and they dont need any. And now he dont knows what to do, cuz he always rich, but you and I, wes got to overlook that, and help, gives him advise, even if he dont wants to think it comes from us.”

No.# 71/ 8-17-2008

Old Josh,in: The Unusual Confederate Soldier (#69)

2008-08-16T17:56:00.000-07:00

Old Josh, in:
The Unusual Confederate Soldier
(September, 1862)

Confederate Soldiers in Alabama, 1862

In September of 1861, Alabama knew they were going to be involved with the Civil War, on October 7, 1861; Alabama supplied 27,000-men for the Confederate cause, which were three regiments, two battalions, ten detachment companies of horses and as many foot solders, and five other regiments. The Choctaw Indian, sided with the Confederates during this time, in particular a Muskogean tribe also known as Chakchiuma, which its ancestress went back to the Mississippi Valley, and some parts of Alabama. It was in August of 1862, General Braxton Bragg, pushed the Union Soldiers out of Alabama, Private Blue, an Indian Scout of the Choctaw tribe, and Sergeant Wakefield, a young Caucasian were three soldiers who fought with ideals, never got drafted, rather joined the Confederate Army, and all carried a flint-lock rifle, the Indian also had a musket, and Blue had two pistols tucked into his belt, and all carried their ammunition in a cartridge box attached to the right side of their belt.
After the last battle, the General gave ten-percent of his soldiers leave, a thirty-day leave; these three soldiers would be together for that period of time, and when they regrouped, Private Blue would go onto fight at Chickamauga, and later on be separated from his unit in Alabama, find it again, and be rejoin to the end of the war, and go on from there, being a gunfighter, and being killed some time in the mid to late 1880s.
But it was in 1862, this took place, September, 1862, all three rode into Ozark, Alabama.
The young sergeant, walked into the main store, called, ‘Dale’s Hardware,’ the sergeant put two dollars on the counter, Old Josh was in the store buying shovels for Mr. Hightower,
“Yes soldier, its two dollar,” said the owner, and that was for a pair of shoes and a quart of whisky, a man came up to the young clean shaven soldier, thinking something was funny, but couldn’t put his finger on it, most soldiers were unshaven, unkempt, gaunt, dough looking, and this one wasn’t. Josh looked on, Blue had gone across to the bar, and the Indian, they called Fox was outside looking in through the window at his companion.
He walked up to the soldier, looked the sergeant over, then in the eyes, said,
“Go ahead buy your shoes, and whiskey, I’ll figure it out in a minute,” and he stepped back a moment, looked at the soldier from behind, looked out the window at a few of the other confederate solders walking about, then looked at the Indian looking in. Most were in their 20s that was all he could say for the sergeant, that he also was in his twenties.
It was Clayton McAllen, from a farm outside of town. He was big and robust; broad shoulders, and had three young boys, no wife. Most of the soldiers cloths were ragged from either having been worn too long, or having been handed down from another soldier, but the sergeant’s was sewed properly, and kept even pressed, it was not uncommon for the uniforms to be ill fitted by the Confederates, but this soldier’s was not, Josh knew something was up, and pretended to be looking at shovels more than he should have, that is, looking over, and over the same shovel, always keeping an eye on the mischievous.
The Sergeant paid the two dollars, and Clayton said,
“Turn around soldier!”
And the soldier did half way, he noticed the sergeant was not missing any buttons, thus, the outfit was not uncomfortable at all, he knew, any soldier lucky enough to have a fitting pair of shoes also, with no horseshoe nails in them to keep the soles on, was more than lucky, he should be an Officer or General. And although most soldiers had white shirts, they were usually not white, but dirty white, his was not. This shoulder was clearly not shabby, but he also knew the Confederates had spirit, that is what made them fight, not the pay, they seldom seen any, if it wasn’t months before a payment came, and they got one regularly, they were more than lucky. Then out of the blue, inexpedient, as Clayton and his family were anyhow for the most part, he grabbed the soldier by the crotch, and squeezed, and squeezed hard but could not grab onto anything significant, and the soldier didn’t scram. Then he knew, the soldier’s appearance was not that of a male, but concealed to be a male, the Sergeant was a woman. This was not uncommon just peculiar, and he said, “Let’s go in the back of the store and find out what you have between those legs of yours!” And started to pull her by her belt, and Old Josh, slipped the shovel’s wooden pole end, to the floor, the pointed long end of the shovel, and he, Clayton tripped, on his way to the back door, and had to let go the Sergeant’s belt, and the Indian came in, aimed his musket at Clayton, and the Sergeant kicked him in the groin as he stood up, and he fell back down onto his knees; aching, with tears in his eyes. She said, “Is that the response you were looking for?”
She had the whisky bottle in one hand, and the shoes in the other. And no sooner had they got out of the store, Blue was staggering across the street, and the Sergeant said,
“Too much trouble in this town, let’s hightail it out of here, get back to our unit,” and it looked like the Indian, never said a word, just smiled. And Old Josh, paid for the shovel, and laughed all the way to the buckboard where he waited for Mr. Hightower.

Written 8-16-2008 Note: Confederate Soldiers also included women (posing as men) No: 69

Old Josh, In: the Halfwit ((Part Two to 'Buckboard to Ozark') (1863-64))

2008-08-15T21:30:00.000-07:00

Old Josh, in: The Halfwit ((Part Two to ‘Buckboard to Ozark’) (1863-64))

Clayton McAllen was a farmer, twenty-six miles outside of Ozark, Alabama, he raised and sold hogs, and mules, and did some planting, and had three sons, Thomas, who he often called the halfwit, being the oldest of the three, and Jessie, and bat. They didn’t take any of the boys in the Confederate Army, they were too aggressive, unpredictable, and never stood still, I suppose if they were to see a psychologist nowadays, they would have been diagnosis as manic, depressive, with borderline necroses, and sent to anger management, and a tinge of antisocial behavior, and Thomas with an obsession to sex; a palmist would have said he had a strong sex drive, and would life a short live, and endure a horrid death. His father overlooked most of this, but now he was in his later twenties, and all these symptoms were becoming pronounced, and more activated, to where the were costly, and out of control, for both his father and Thomas himself.
But to Clayton, what Josh did was almost unforgivable, it was cause for a hanging, but because he protected a white woman, especially Charles Hightower’s daughter, the townsfolk’s were willing to look the other way for once, but it still bothered Clayton that a nigger dared to put his muscle and hand on his boy. He felt it would come up sometime with his neighbors, so he was aiming to go kill Josh.
No one would prosecute him for killing a nigger in wartime, not down south anyhow, not in Alabama, and if they did, he’d only get a light sentence, he knew the judge in Ozark, even in Dothan if they took him there, in any case, he’d shoot him, in the night, and no one would be the wiser, you needed a witness, and he’d be sure there were none. So he kind of had a plan, not a great one, just one he felt would be good enough to satisfy the Judge, to put doubt if need be into the jury’s mind.
Clayton sold several hogs and mules, and stashed the money in his pockets, in case he needed to bribe someone, while on his journey to kill Josh, got his wagon ready, two horses, food for a week, night gear, some blankets, and water in two canteens, and was on his way to Ozark, and then up a ways to the Hightower Plantation.

Thomas, the halfwit, followed behind his father for a few hours without him noticing him on horseback, then got ahead of him, figuring he knew were he was going and would show his face when the time came, he wanted to make sure everything went as planned for his father, however he planned it: he was a mile or two ahead of Clayton, it was near noon, and he was hungry, and had other ideas on his mind, he got thinking of a Spanish couple that lived in a small farm off the main road (from South America), she was a young newly married woman, perhaps twenty, and the husband was near thirty, and he remembered him saying when he and his brothers had stopped their once or twice to water the horses, offered him something to eat, and that if he might be gone, and if he’d be, and she was alone, well, who knows.
He rode up to the small cabin, it was quiet all about, he looked around for Mrs. Maria Duran’s husband, he didn’t see her husband not outside anyhow, Juan was his name.
Maria was in the bedroom with her pajamas on yet, looked out the small open window, saw Thomas McAllen, on his horse, looking about, as if he was searching for someone or thing. Then he caught her eyes, he had taken a few shots of whiskey he brought along, to build up his courage in case he needed it to confront Maria alone.
It was a hot and muggy day, and he had dust all over him, dirty like the hogs his father sold, smelled like a hog.
“Hello,” said Thomas, getting off his horse by the window, “I was headed on to Ozark, wanted to see if I could water my horse, was looking for your husband to ask him.”
He couldn’t take his eyes off her, she noticed that, matter of fact he was looking at her as if examining her; she was small, with long black hair, very shapely, with a very lovely, cut soft round looking face, very feminine.
The more he looked, the more Maria got scared, it even seemed his eyes got a yellowness to it, like a wolf, he was unshaven like a wolf also.
She quickly shut the window, latched it as in locking it, went to the dresser drawer, for a pistol, as Thomas came barging through the front door like a madman, she pointed the gun at Thomas, “Senior, you leave or I will shoot you!” she was trembling.
With his craziness, he didn’t seemed to care, and she shot a bullet in the air, and he still came on to her like a train with no brakes. When he grabbed her he almost knocked the wind out of her.
He picked her up off her feet, the gun dropped from her hands, and threw her down on the wooden floor, ripped her cloths off, wild eyed, and told her to spread her legs or he’d cut them wide open. And she did as he said, with tears and crying, and a prayer.

In the meantime, Clayton was passing by, had heard the gun shot, stopped his wagon, saw the little farm, knew Maria, but not well, and saw a horse. He turned his wagon and horses to the side road, and rode down it; the girl was screaming and crying, he could hear her, in Spanish. Then he noticed the horse and saddle it was familiar, and jumped off he wagon ran into the cabin, Thomas had penetrated her, he told him to stop, “Shut up pa, I’m going to finish this first,” and then Clayton, knowing he was not going to listen to him—him being almost to a point of climax, he hit him over the head, with the butt-end of his gun, and pulled him out and off of her.
She, Maria, sat up; he could see her inner thighs were bruised. He stood there a moment, thinking on what to do, remembering the sheriff said he would put Thomas in jail, and this would be a good enough reason to, along with trying to rape Emma Hightower.
He pulled out all the money he had in his pockets, $120-dollars,
“It’s all I got Mrs. Take it, and never mention this to anyone, I’m sorry about this, but what can I do, I can’t deliver him to the sheriff, and I can’t kill you, but I will if you report this. Take the money, and I’ll be sure he never returns.”
He left the money on the table, pulled his son to his feet, and walked outside.
“We going to go kill Josh Jefferson now pa?” asked Thomas.
Clayton looked at him oddly, as if he must had forgotten already that he just rapped a girl, and if it wasn’t for him, he’d be going to jail.
“No, we’re not going to kill Josh, or anyone (his anger had subsided) we’re going home, and we are never going down this road again, and never will you see Ozark. I got enough trouble just keeping you out of jail.”

No: 66 8-13-2008

Old Josh, in: Syphilis, Gabriela's Fate (#68)

2008-08-15T08:44:00.000-07:00

Old Josh, in: Syphilis, Gabriela’s Fate
(Hospital Number 11, Nashville…! 1891”)

Maria Hamilton, filles de joie

(An Account) Throughout the years, Old Josh continued to spend a little time in Shantytown, he didn’t like going to Ozark all that much, but shantytown, he had lots of friends, mostly dead now, he was in his late 80s, and in 1891, he had learned Gabriella now thirteen and her mother, near thirty was in a Nashville near the “Soldier’s Syphilitic Hospital.” It was a three story brick building completed four years before the war; a 140-bed facility, for soldiers with venereal disease, the surgeons were normally volunteers. She was in a special section of the hospital, a little ways away.
She was considered among the filles de joie, of that time, especial with soldiers, her mother, Gabriela’s grandmother, was in prostitution during the Civil War period, her daughter, Maria, who moved from Nashville, to Ozark, was born in 1861, during the start of the war, and like Gabriela, was brought into the occupation as she was. As often things are, or end up, one generation follows the other, and its behavior is duplicated as well. There in the main part of town were a number of whorehouses madams, at their homes. A dollar was the going rate. There among the hospital complex was Hospital Number Eleven, the Female Venereal Section, located on Market Street near Locust Street in Nashville, Tennessee.
During the summer of 1864, the hospital began admitting black prostitutes, as well as mixed blood, giving them medical care, Dorothy Hamilton, Gabriela’s grandmother, never made it to the hospital, she died in 1863, and they closed it down in 1892. The Soldiers Unit Hospital was on Line and Summer streets in Nashville, an old school house.
Even during this period of time, while Maria and Gabriela were in treatment, they saw the soldiers using a ‘peep-show box,’ which displayed nude photos, which attracted many soldiers, it would appear, even at its deadly points the dying soldiers still wanted a sex show. Mara Hamilton died in 1891 and Gabriela in 1892. Emma Hightower, never saw Gabriela again, her one and only friend, and Josh never told her Gabriela’s fate, but she perhaps knew, folks did talk, and rumors were they no longer owned the little house, Gabriela left for them: Gabriela, she was buried with the red shawl Emma gave her so many years ago.
It might be note worthy to mention, antibiotics were available to help during those days, unfortunately once the scabs and blisters, the supia-type lesions of the third –stage appeared of syphilis, it was pretty much understood, death was immanent.

8-15-2008 (#68)

Old Josh, in: Gabriela’s Red Shawl

2008-08-14T22:24:00.000-07:00

Old Josh, in:
Gabriela’s Shawl
(1889)

In shantytown, eight – year old Gabriela lived in a one room shack, a black negress, mixed with Spanish blood, she cried a lot it seemed, folks heard her all the time anyhow, if you looked through the shanty window, you might have caught her crying on her pillow, her red shawl around her, the one she loved so dearly, the one Emma Hightower (now twenty-seven years old) had given her, the only one she had. She was cut, I mean a pretty, curtness to her rounded face, large eyes, deep dark eyes, so thought Emma, and when she would come to visit her, take her out on picnics, she brought her one rag doll with her and that red shawl on around her shoulders. Old Josh would bring her down to shantytown, and he’d wait in the buckboard, she felt safe with Josh, and he’d walk around town, talk to his friends, buy a biscuit and find some coffee, and if possible put a shot of corn whisky in it, and just wait for Emma.
Gabriela really had no companions speak of, just her mother, whom was always kind of nervous, symptoms from some illness Emma assumed, and she drank to calm her nerves down, so again she assumed, and she often looked as if she was in dream land, perhaps some opium or whatever might have been available in that area. She wasn’t much older than Emma, and was a pretty girl, from mixed stock, she was just worn out looking now, thin, pale. If there was a father for Gabriela, he was never around, and Gabriel’s mother never mentioned him, although she was seeing a mixture of men, Emma always spotted an item of a man here and there when she’d visit, like a end of a cigar, or a pipe someone might have left on a table, even a tie here and there, and a hat now and then.
Gabriela started calling her Aunt Emma, which put a smile on her face, and one day she even bought her a red bonnet to go with the shawl.

She saw Gabriela that first year at least twice a month. The second year was more like once a month, and on holidays she brought over food for her and her mother, always with the company of Josh Jefferson.
During this second year, Gabriela now nine years old, her mother seemed to have been more intoxicated on the occasions she showed up, and Gabriel seemed to be cringing more around her mother, and this day when Emma came in Gabriela was standing stripped naked in front of her mother,
“I’m giving her a examination,” said the mother, she being a little under the influence and slurred with her speech, the child shrinking.

For the most part, it seemed they lived a quiet, silent, and lonely life, until Emma came around, especially for Gabriela, and when Emma brought these behaviors up to Josh, he kind of bit his lip, and remained silent about it, as if he knew something, but could do nothing, thus, Emma remained confused never demanding an answer, perhaps just Josh’s listening was enough. Although, Josh knew things were different here in shantytown, what you didn’t see, is what nobody wanted you to see. Here you had the whole gamut of the good poor black surrounded by the bad poor black, and those just trying to make it, and those who were learned wrong, and their behaviors were not conducive to Emma’s upbringing, I’m sure Josh felt he couldn’t explain what he knew correctly so he remained silent, figuring she’d learn the truth in time on her own.

It was nineteen-month later, Gabriela was now eleven years old, Emma came to here home with some fruit, left it on the table and heard a noise, a light cry, behind a blanket that was used for a curtain-divider where the bed was, and the one window to the shack, she stepped behind it, there was Gabriela in bed, covers over her up to her neck, and to her left, covers over something else, her red shawl on the floor beside the bed,
“Is your mother there?” asked Emma (Emma thinking her mother was sleeping besides her, which she often did), Gabriela didn’t say a word, shook her head ‘no’, and the body was huge as it pulled covers over its head further, and Gabriela simply said,
“It’s my mother’s friend; she’ll be back in a minute Emma.”
Emma stood in shock, unable to say a word, almost fearful to say a word, then she heard under the covers, a roar like a bear, a husky voice, “Git on out of he’r…or youall be next,” the voice said. And she turned about; tears in her eyes, and then Gabriela’s mother came through the door, saw the basket of fruit on the table,
“Thanks for the fruit she said,” and walked by Emma as if she had business to attend to, actually, overlooking Emma as if she was a nuisance, then looked back at Emma as she was going to go around the blanket,
“Youall can leave now,” she said, “and we aint no longer in need of your hand outs!”
As Emma started to turn about she said, “You bitch!” and walked to the buckboard Josh was waiting at.

She never said a word to Josh about that, she didn’t have to it showed on her face, and there was talk about little Gabriela and her mother, some with amusement and some with pity, folks seemed to be concerned for a while, and even said,
“It out not to be allowed,” then went back to their everyday routines.

8-14-2008 (No: 67)

Old Josh, in: Buckboard to Ozark, ‘63

2008-08-13T19:38:00.000-07:00

Old Josh, in:
Buckboard to Ozark, ‘63

Fourteen-years old, Emma Hightower, was a long-legged child, turning into a lovely reddish hair woman, which soon she’d be. Her thick red hair shined like a rainbow cast over the cornfields, with her blue eyes, and Charles Hightower was all too aware of the thumping hearts she aroused in town, but she wasn’t. However for that day in August, 1863 she was more spirited, and akin to a tomboy.
Josh’s two older boys, Silas and Jordon adored her in that special warm way of older brothers do with a little sister, and she often called Josh, uncle, when no white folks were around. There was a side of her that was outrageous, almost flirtatious, a pest if not careless.
Mr. and Mrs. Hightower went to town with Josh, and Emma, and when they, Mr. and Mrs. Hightower went to do some shopping, Josh sat upfront on the buckboard’s wooden seat, with Emma, she could tell him things she could not tell her pa or ma, and so she got chatting away with Josh, and Josh you know liked conversation, and so they were both busy in some kind of dialogue.
Three farm boys came up in a wagon, parked along side of the Hightower wagon, the very side Emma was on, and started talking to her. She liked the attention, and jumped down from the wagon to talk to the three young bucks, perhaps in their mid-twenties. Josh was sixty at the time.
The guys were pulling at her dress, and her arms, touching her hair, and for the first time, she showed signs of real uneasiness. They were confiding all their attention onto her, forgetting for the moment why they came to town,
“Buzzards,” said Josh.
“What did you say nigger?” asked one of the McAllen boys, from a farm some fifteen miles outside of town the opposite way of the Hightower plantation, “What did you say?” he repeated.
Emma started to get back up onto the buckboard and the oldest McAllen boy pulled on her waistband around her dress, pulling her back down off the footstep of the buckboard, and she fell backwards into his hands, and he started to move his hands around her sides to her breasts, folks were watching but no one did a thing.
“Yous hands is like a lizard,” said Josh.
That stopped Thomas McAllen’s movements on Emma for a moment. Tom McAllen looked stern into the old Negro’s face,
“You say one thing more and you’re going to cry for your mama, because I’m going to put this boot where the sun doesn’t shine!”

Old Josh might have had taken any kind of abuse, or harassment, but that was digging deep, he loved his mother, she took care of him on that slave ship, in the Congo, got lost in New Orleans, and here was a young buck thinking he knew it all, and slighted his mama, when he never met her.
“Mi ma’ma waz a good woman,” said Josh, now the McAllen boy let go of the girl, expecting to pull Josh off the buckboard, when he tried, Josh was too muscular, heavy, too forceful, he pulled back, and Thomas ended up looking the fool; next, Josh just lowered his hand a bit, grabbed the boy, whom was close to six foot tall, about 170 pounds, grabbed him by the neck like you would a snake, and started to choke him as if a bulldog had his teeth into his neck. The boy shuttered, clutching the buckboards wooden bottom with both hands trying to pry Josh’s hands off from his throat, he chocked him so hard, the light in his eyes went out, and his face turned pale, and then the other two brothers came to the rescue, and loosened Josh’s big hand from this throat, and Josh let go. By this time, Emma was back on the buckboard.
“We’re going to hang you nigger,” said the younger McAllen boy, and then out of the store came the sheriff and Hightower, Charles Hightower pointed to Thomas and his brothers, he must had seen something of the situation developing through the window, and noticing the sheriff in the store brought him with him to the scene, briefed him, thus, Hightower said “He’s the one,” and the sheriff said, “Forcedly attempted rape how many years in prison is that?” looking at the McAllen boys, “now get out of town and if I see you here again, I’ll put you in jail for that, and if I see you trying to harm Josh and his family, you’ll be in prison quick than you can say Dixie, I’m going to write this incident down. If you want me to forget it, you best get on your way now.”
The McAllen boys nodded almost imperceptibly and hightailed it out of town.
Emma sat close to her pa and Josh in the front of the buckboard, she was shaking, trying to hold a smile, and old Josh said unblinkingly simply, and calmly said to her, “Yous best hide that pretty face of yours, cuz this is only the begin’ Miss Emma.” And she let out a sigh.

Written 8-13-2008 (#64)

Old Josh, in: Burning Fence (#63)

2008-08-12T15:29:00.000-07:00

(1865)

The Fence at the Hightower Plantation, during the Civil War days

The war was almost lost, Granny Mae kept to her kitchen work, and Mr. and Mrs. Charles Hightower, went on as usual with their lives, planted and harvested the best they could, in a way, both the Smiley and Hightower plantations were glad the war was descending, coming to an end, a kind of quiet dust fell over the atmosphere, although the graveyards were being filled up with the dead, a lot of folks on their knees weekly in the church, the sheriff in town and Mr. Ritt, the bank owner felt those negroes weren’t worth fighting for, not to the death anyhow, ‘…forbid it that our southern brothers have to die for it…’ they told one another in private. And Mr. Smiley said many of times, like Hightower did, “I reckon I won’t,” meaning, they’d not die for it, the same feelings Mr. Ritt had from the bank, but nobody ever heard him say that, they heard only Smiley and Hightower say that, forgetting Mr. Hightower was in his 70s, and had fought his war, in 1812. “Yes,” he told folks, “I was there, I saw it, and we were there. I’m not afraid to fight, I’m just tired of it,” he said. But there is always more to it I suppose, he had a wife and land, crops and live stock, a whole plantation to take care of and people to feed.
He, Hightower had built a new fence, a corral for his horses, made out of very dry wood, which would burn easily, especially if someone was to throw kerosene on it. And this was a concern at hand, if he didn’t take sides he had gotten in the past some notes saying, and remaining him being neutral was not safe—the Civil War in particular made men more aggressive and less sensitive to death, for some it was a way of life, and the truth of the matter was, he didn’t take sides for the Gray or Blue, meaning the North or South, and that continued to irritate the Confederates, and… especially now that they were losing the war.

It was a cool night, Old Josh stood near the new fence, Mr. Hightower just had put in, matter of fact, Silas, and Josh and several other works dug the holes, bought the dry timber from a far-off neighbor beyond the woods. And no sooner had they put it up, they saw smoke coming from the Smiley Plantation, Mr. and Mrs. Hightower watched it from their window, and Josh by the fence, and Hightower got a letter, it said,
“You can’t remain neutral forever…” and it implied he was next on the list. Someone had burnt down the hog bin at the Smile’s; it housed some several big hogs, and a few small ones, and had a fence around it; Charles went over to see if he could help put out the fire, as Josh stood watch over the new fence, and Silas by the front of the house, and Jordon by the barn, all anticipating.
As Josh looked out among the yellow fields, he saw nothing, but nearby was a luring shadow, he saw it from the corner of his eye, pretended not to notice it, thought about what he should do, and did nothing.
The smoke now had gotten down to his location from the Smiley plantation, he could taste it, then Mrs. Hightower yelled, “Go around the house, check it out,” she was thinking that Silas could only see what he could see, and if there was someone with bad intentions, he needed only stay in front of Silas, far enough around one corner, and he’d never be seen—but Josh walking one way, in one direction as Silas walked in the other, you might catch the culprit. But in doing so, Josh left the fence unguarded.
By the time Josh had made his walk around the house, the fence was on fire, burning to kingdom come, no horses were in the corral, and as Josh got back, Mrs. Hightower with a shotgun in hand, was running toward the fence, Josh saw a shadow again, with a gray hat on,
“Who you are?” said Josh, someone behind a drinking bin for the horses.
Then the shadow was gone, and Josh just turn about, looking at Mrs. Hightower running, tears in her eyes.
“Did you see who it was Josh?” she asked in desperation.
“No maim, jes’ a shadow, and it gone like the birds!”

As Josh rushed to get some buckets of water and Silas, Jordon and Mrs. Hightower did the same, Silas overheard his father mumbling:
‘If-in you git too much Lord, you gots to worry too much, the truth is, a man sell his soul for things and the robber he done takes them away, so he can go git some more, so he can take more away, and the devil he laugh cuz he keeping youall busy over things, that man dont rest, and if-in he dont rest, he got no time for his family, he jes’ got things, and more things!’
Josh grabbed the bucked of water, looked at Silas, said,
“Come on son, wes got to save the Hightower things!”

8-11-2008

Old Josh, in: "Breathin' Hard" (#60)

2008-08-11T21:23:00.000-07:00

Old Josh, in:
“Breathin’ Hard”
(The Spring of , 1864)

It now was spring, several months had passed since Josh had that sick bout, where Molly came over and sat with him in his shanty, he was sick, and in a way wanted to remain sick if she stayed to nurse him, but of course she didn’t, she simply insured he was ok and abruptly left, because Josh was getting other ideas. And today, as other days, Josh was staring down towards the Creek, where Molly’s little house was. Mater of fact, Silas was kind of getting tired of watching his father night after night looking down that way, and especially this night for some odd reason.
“You don’t move pa, you jes’ stands there like stone, lookin’ down yonder towards Molly’s place, you ought-a, hightail it down there and see her!” said Silas.
“I is jes’ waitin’ fer the right moment—cuz I dont know, and whens ya dont know, its simple, you jes’ wait…!” murmured Josh.
“What is you waitin’ fer pa!” said Silas.
“I done told you all ready. Sometimes I is sad, sometimes I is feelin’ old, and sometimes I feel like a rain drop on that their cob web
(Josh panted to a web by the fence, where he and Silas stood, Silas had a shovel in his hands needed to go put it away in the barn then was going to join Jordon in the house).
Josh remained quiet in the cool silence of the night, the door was closed to the shanty so he couldn’t see inside, and so he continued to stare in Molly’s direction, taking Silas’ advice to heart, thinking upon it anyhow, thinking he might go see Molly this evening, almost made up his mind that he would, as Silas walked away to the barn.
“Yessum!” Josh said out loud, and Silas heard that, and smiled, but Josh didn’t see that smile, it was more of a cleaver smile.
Then Silas stopped between the barn and the carrel fence the shanty, not far beyond the fence, and barn, said, “Pa, I hears Molly, she be a callin’ fer ya!” Then he started walking again.
That stirred Josh up, Silas figured Josh would mossy on down there now, and he was right, Josh did have all such intentions, but decided at the last minute to go inside his shack and get his cane, incase he might need it for balance if he needed to stop and catch his breath, if he got tired that is, and run out of air, and needed to stand and lean on that cane of his, which he seldom used.
Then he, Josh, said, “Amen, I a-going,” and walked into his shanty to get his cane, and saw Jordon there, he was surprised, didn’t expect to see him, sitting at the little wooden table, with a big bottle of moonshine, he had just opened the top, and took a small drink, it was nearly full.
“Where you come from,” asked Josh, surprised, taken back a bit, “I thought you be down yonder in that there grocery store in Ozark workin’.”
“I been here for an hour pa, waitin’ for you and Silas,” said Jordon, adding, “what wrong pa?”
“Nothin’, I jes’ wez lookin’ down yonder way, fixin’ to go see Molly cuz, Silas say he hear her a-callin’ me!”
Then Josh picked up the bottle of moonshine, touched the top of it with his tongue, and took a big gulp out of it thereafter, “That there stuff is strong as a bear claw in the bottom of your gut, I swear!” Said Josh and Jordon laughed.
“Yessum, Jordon, Silas done heard Molly callin’ fer me!
Said Jordon with a sigh, “Pa, Silas knows I got this here bottle sittin’ on this table, he thinkin’ if you go on down to see Molly, he drink your share.”
“Ah,” said Josh, “he cleaver like his mamma used to be,” said Josh. But Jordon knew better, Silas was a lot like Old Josh.
“Ill fix him, sure enough, we best be drinking this up befer that their rattlesnake come back; I git a thinkin’ out there when he say Molly callin’ mi name, he be a breathin’ hard when he takin’ you knows what I mean, gives me another drink son, before the rattler drink it all up on us!”
“What ‘bout Molly pa?” asked Jordon.
“Molly how?” said Josh, “jes’ gives me another drink, and I’ll dream of her later on, and sees her tomorrow if-in she calls me…!” (and they both laughed, as Silas walked in).

Written 8-11-2008 (#60)

Old Josh, in: Walking in Colors

2008-08-11T21:22:00.000-07:00

An Interlude
In the Life of Old Josh

Old Josh, in:
Walking in Colors
((1873-1880) (a short narration, account))

Old Josh when he walked about in those years between 1873-1880, during his seventies he did at a preserved, decent gait—although a bit uneasy, the same way he walked was the same way he felt, and talked, it seemed with life, for him, as if his feet needed to be more grounded, he was feeling hot, apprehensive of his life, perhaps reexamining it. Everything seemed to give him a sensation of irritation of indigestion, and fall was a dim kind of season for him, it didn’t help, he was seeing all his old friends die, one by one, and his boy Silas would often say, “Pa you thinks you is goin’ to live fer-ever!” And perhaps he did think that, but it didn’t get him completely out of his blue moods.
He didn’t have the Civil War to blame anymore for his annoyance, in those years we might want to call green, and it appeared not much bothered him, Mr. Hightower had died in 1869, Molly was still on his mind.
At length, during his 70s, he was kind of mocking things, and folks jeered at him because he didn’t smile all that much, was told even to smile more. He’d find himself kicking stones, barking at dogs, to provoke them to bark back, he even used a lot of quotes, during those years, so saying things like: if you find too much knowledge, you also find too much truth—or, God created religion so man could find faith, I suppose he, himself was searching. These years were his Blue years. Now his boys, and friends, those left, hoped as he got into his 80s, they would be his calm years, hoping for some mixture of colors, like a rainbow.

Written 8-11-2007 (Episode 59)

Up in Alabama (1844, short story)

2008-07-28T18:50:00.000-07:00

Up in Alabama
((Summer of 1844)(story form the book “Old Josh, in: Poor Black”))

Enrique Tapia came up to Ozark, Alabama in 1844 from Lima, Peru; he bought himself a restaurant from old man Ritt, the Banker in town; Enrique was a medium size fellow in height, with a large belly area, clean shaven and big hands. He was a good cook but didn’t look much like a cook even with his apron on. He lived above the restaurant, and took his meals in the back, while his sixteen-year old daughter, Ximena took care of the customers; his wife had died early on during Ximena’s formative years.
The younger Ritt, John, came into the restaurant often that first year they were in business, he liked the way Ximena looked, thought she was the neatest girl he’d have ever seen, and he always had a clean bright tie on when he came into visit the restaurant. even commented her on her legs He liked her face because it always had a smile on it, but he never thought about her otherwise.
Enrique, paid Mr. Hightower to have his slave Granny Mae, help him out occasionally at his restaurant, and Jordon, Josh Jefferson’s son, who worked at the local grocery store, also came over that year to help clean the place, Jordon being in his mid-teens.
Ximena liked John somewhat. She liked the way he walked over from the bank and often went to the kitchen behind the counter, by the half doors to watch her make the food. She even commented on his ties. And she liked how white his teeth were, how clean he always looked, and he smiled, almost as much as she; he seemed well mannered and kept.
One day, he had come over early, and he found he liked her dark black hair, and her small arms, and tan copper skin, and he watched her wash up in the washbasin outside the restaurant, in the back of the building. But this made her feel funny; but he paid little attention to her feelings on the matter and just stared.

From the back of the restaurant, in the alleyway, you could see the Post Office, and the grocery store, the one Jordon worked for part time. And sometimes a wagon was hitched out in front of either building, or close by where the Bank was. Across the street was a small park, elm trees along side the road, the alleyway being sandy. This was farming country, plantation country. A church was down the road a bit. The restaurant was painted Green, called “Mamma Mea’s,” and the back end of he building faced a school.
All the time now, Ximena was thinking about John. He didn’t seem to notice her as much as he first did though, and she noticed that also, and perhaps, just perchance, the enticed her even more. And when they did see each other they talked about the bank or restaurant business. In the evenings, John, if he worked late would walk on by the closed restaurant, talk to Ximena’s father, Enrique, whom would be reading some old books, and its poetry and so forth, or the Ozark Paper, by a kerosene lamp he had sitting on a stool by him, on his porch, along the wooden side walk. Ximena would come downstairs, along side the building, join them, occasionally have to leave and go to the roof where they had two dogs and feed them and rush back down to her room, feed the puppy Rocco, then head on down another flight of stairs to see John, and her father, and he’d often times be gone.

It was John’s birthday the 28th of July, and Ximena wanted to make him a cake, for when he came into restaurant, she’d surprise him with it, but was afraid to ask her father if he’d not mind, eggs and flour were expensive, and Peruvian’s were quite conservative, and he really didn’t like the idea she was seemingly chasing him, not him, her: otherwise it might have been alright.
And so the day came, his birthday, day, and she didn’t make the cake, her father said no, and John ate breakfast, and then went out to the Hightower Plantation, to talk to Charles Hightower, to make a proposition on buying some of his back fields, some what he called loose acreage, he had over twelve-hundred acres. All the time, all that day, Ximena thought about him. It really was awful, while he was gone, not knowing he was over at the Bank, or coming for lunch (as she helped her father with the Peruvian dishes of food, ones that seemed to have become favorites with the clientele in town, such as: Lomo a lo pobre (rice, fried thin potatoes and beef strips, mixed together), Carapulcra, Pachamanca, a soup called Mondongo); matter-of-fact, he didn’t show up for three days, and she couldn’t sleep well from thinking of him. If she just dropped the subject of John it would be better, and that third night she had a dream.

In the morning of the forth day he, John had been gone, she saw John, coming down the road, on his horse, outside of the restaurant window, she became sick, felt weak, she busted out with tears, said,
“Papa, there’s John, he’s all right!” it seemed to her everything would now be fine, ok.
Enrique knew this was not a normal reaction that she had liked him much more than he had figured. He studied the situation at length, not saying anything for the moment, just sizing it up, watching, and deliberating within the vaults of his mind; looking at the expression on his daughters face, then onto John’s.
Now John rode up to the bank, stopped and tied his horse to a post, walked over, across the street to the restaurant, the elm trees to his back, through the restaurant door he came dragging a sack. There were several men in the premises, with beards and long mustaches, and hunting cloths. Outside was a wagon full of boxes. Enrique, kissed his daughter on the cheek, told her to go in the back to do an inventory of what was needed for tomorrow’s breakfast and lunch (kissing was a norm for the Peruvians, and the folk in Ozark was getting used of seeing this affection within this new café environment, although it was a strange custom at first).
“Hello Ximena,” said John, before she got to the archway entrance to the back pantry.
She turned about, grinned, “What happened to you, I haven’t seen you for four days?” remarked Ximena.
“Not a thing happened, I was out at the Hightower Plantation looking at his back lots, his fields, and I want to buy fifty-acres of it. You know what I’m talking about, it’s where Jordon’s father is, where Jordon lives when he is not working here or at the grocery story, his father’s that old big nigger called Josh, he’s kind of bullheaded if you know what I mean—my dad and him don’t get along all that well, too bold for a nigger in these parts of the country—he says, but Charles puts up with him, not sure why. And I stayed with Charles Hightower and his family for those three nights, and we did a little hunting, snake hunting,” said John.
She thought about what he said, about Jordon’s father, then said, refraining from any other question on the matter, “Did you shoot them?” asked Ximena.
“No, isn’t it a beauty?” he commented as he pulled a four foot dead rattlesnake out of a potato sack he had dragged into the café.
Ximena jumped back, somewhat frightened, her father looking,
“You got an inventory to do, don’t you…?” he hollered, reminding her, if not asking her.

That evening, John came over to visit Enrique, brought a two gallon jug of homemade corn whisky over with him, bought it from Granny Mae, it was awkward to even lift and drink out of, and as such, they drank that night—sitting on the porch of the café, Ximena, by her father’s side, John ended up pouring whisky down his shirt trying to hold onto that heavy jug, while Enrique smiled, and his daughter smiled, as Enrique drank his out of a glass—casually as if to be a good host, John took it right from the jug, as clumsy as it was.
“Well, Mr. Tapia, here’s looking at you,” and down went another big gulp of corn whisky, then he pulled up another potato back, he had it sitting on the edge of the wooden sidewalk, took out a six foot snake,
“Damn, big one haw?” he rhetorically, asked, looking at Enrique, who just stood there in dismay, confused at what his intentions were, thinking they were originally for his daughter, but perhaps they were just to have a drinking friend, to get drunk with, but he was not that accommodating friend.
“They taste good for a man to eat raw,” said John, trying to straighten out the long dead slippery snake, and he started to take bite out of it, after cutting into its flesh, saying at the same time “It’s good for what ails you, especially for potency!” (Then laughed like a hyena.)
Then he looked at Ximena, she was not laughing, nor was her father, and so he said, “How about another, drink?” and he took one.
It was obvious, John was feeling great.
Then John stepped back to talk to Ximena, thinking her father could not see what his intentions were, what he was about to do, try to do, and his small white hands went around Ximena’s shoulders, she said quietly, “You mustn’t,” and moved a bit to her right, in back of her father’s rocking chair.
But John didn’t pay any attention to her, and his hand went back over her shoulders and an inch or two down her spine. It became obvious he wanted to do something, and she was getting frightened.
“Let’s leave,” John said to her, a statement not a question, because he stared to pull her his way.
“No, John,” said Enrique, “she isn’t going anywhere….”
“Oh it isn’t right, I really like her,” John said.
“Oh John, go home, go home,” said Ximena, knowing her father was getting upset, and she also (John being in his late 20s, and Ximena, only sixteen, but that wasn’t uncommon for a marriage to have taken place in at such an age, in those days, but it was a heavy scene for Ximena to see this man drunk, playing with snakes, and making her uncomfortable and cramped in the back by her father’s chair; it was in, if anything, showing another side of John, one she didn’t know, hardly expected, and didn’t really want to put up with now, nor later on in life.
She, Ximena, tried to work her way out, from around him, and he, John wouldn’t move, he tried to do something to her hair, then Enrique pulling himself out of the chair, pushing it in back of him, lifted and pinned his head—pushing it against the wooden wall of the restaurant, and shook it, and he rolled his head back and forth, and he started to cry, and she saw all this, and whatever she saw in him before, it was now all gone, a mist had come up, and unveiled the real person he was.
She walked to the side of the building, back up the stairs to her room, to where her puppy, Rocco, was sleeping, she wanted to cry, but couldn’t, it was all so funny, and here a few hours before, it was all so serious.
“Rocco,” she said, “please stay nice as you are!” Rocco stirred and curled up by her feet as she sat on her bed. She took off her shoes and leaned over to cover him up with a blanket, and did, along with tucking it under his belly, neatly and carefully. A cool breeze was coming through the slightly opened window, all the way from Main Street, and John, he was dragging his sack of snakes across the street to the bank, and then she shut the curtain.

Written 7-28-2008
Dedicated to EH and XH

Josh and Arizona Blue "Trading Horses" (part three of three to the "Auction")

2008-07-22T18:47:00.000-07:00

Josh and Arizona Blue
“Trading Horses”

Part Three of Three ‘The Auction’(1865)

Night, in the Smiley and Hightower fields were settling quietly in across the spring plantations, the birds had left their trees for the night, flying back to their own nests, the clouds sunk into twilight, chimney’s were pumping out smoke, the whole country side was rolling over into a sheet of night; with an intermittent and brief sound of sporadic thundering.
Old Josh was at the other end of the Hightower plantation, walking the horse, and on his way back to the barn, he spotted a confederate soldier, a man who at least looked similar to a confederate soldier. When the stranger spotted him, he jumped to his feet quicker than a rattlesnake, with piercing blue´-eyes, pulled out his revolver like a gunslinger, aiming it at Old Josh, said with a grin,
“I reckon you’re too old, old man to do anyone, any harm, which way is out of here?” he asked.
“You sho’ got some springs on those there feet of yours soldier, and yous faster than a whip with that there six-shooter, all you needs to do is head on down younder there a bit, and youall will come to Goose Creek, and find a bridge, takes that bridge, and you is on your way out of Alabama—ef-in thats where you is headed.”
The cowboy-soldier stood firm, put his pistol back into his belt snug against his belly, he was drowsily awaken, the only light was that of the moon, twilight had turned now into night, and the little fire he had going was at its last sparks.
“What’s the name of your horse?” asked the cowboy.
“I calls him, Dynamite, hes got what youall call spirit.” Said Josh with a smile.
“Dynamite,” laughed the cowboy, “Haw, what a name, how about Dan, I like Dan?” suggested the cowboy.
“Listen Mister, yous got the gun, and I is jes’ an ole nigger, yous can call him fish, or bone or rabbit or anything youall wants to call him, cuz you is who you is, I calls him Dynamite, and you calls him Dan, it all is ok, wes can call him Dan Dynamite the hoss, ef-in you wants to, cuz we all got a first name and a last name, and hoss only git one, so this here hoss gits two, cuz you say so, and that is that, and I is getting tired, can I go or does I got to stay here and give him a middle name now?”
The cowboy smiled, “I see you like to talk old man, this here horse of mine is like a mule, I’m taking your Dynamite, and my Dan, and we are heading out of here, now, is there a problem with that old man?”
“The hoss is not mine, it belongs to Mr. Hightower, youall can take it up with him, do as you is goin’ to do, cuz it white folk against white folk!”
The cowboy jumped up on Dan, and started to ride off, then stopped, said, “Tell your boss, the Army needed his horse, traded it for that there horse you got, he’s more on the order of mule I suppose, my name’s Arizona Blue!” and he rode off, and Old Josh, grabbed that horse of his, and named him ‘Blue,’ after the stranger, and walked on back to the plantation barn.

7-22-2008

Old Josh, in: "The Auction" ((1865)(part one of three))

2008-07-21T22:20:00.000-07:00

“There aint a hoss I ever did see that I git a liken for cuz they aint worth it, youall got to feed them, and water them, and bed them, and they cant do a thing fer themselves,” said Old Josh, adding, “they aint worth a dollar for anyone of them, that ther saddle over yonder over that there fence pole is worth more than the hosses. Yessum those hosses cause yaw nothin’ but trouble. And ef’in I had my choice, I’d kill them all fer horse meat, and feed them to the hogs—Yessum they aint worth a cent now that I think of it.”
The Auctioneer told everyone to get ready, the auction was about to start, there were several men sitting on the fence posts of the corral waiting to bid on the five-horses, that is all they had, five-horses inside the corral, and not all that great looking either:
“Come-on boys!” said Josh, but Silas didn’t move, he said, “Wes got to buy a hoss cuz Mr. Hightower done gave you twenty-dollars pa, and I hears him say, ‘Josh now yous better listen up, cuz I wants a hoss, and I wants him today, you hear me?’ and you say, ‘I hears you Mr. Hightower, dont you worry none, cuz I got it all figured out!”

A few of the buyers looked towards Josh, and Josh said in a whisper,
“Shut yo’ mouth, I is doin’ business but yous jes’ dont know it!”
Jordon then said, “Come on now pa, wes gittin’ hungry, buy a hoss so we can go on home and eat.” (It was getting hot, and late in the afternoon,)
“Ok son, I gives them fifteen-cents for that there hoss with the big eyes, brin’ that there hoss over here son, I wants to see him closer…!”
And the stable boy did as he was told, and Josh made faces at the horse to irritate him, and even spit in the horses face, and gave it a good slap on the snout, and the horse jerked and jumped a bit, became unmanageable for a moment; no one saw Josh spit, or slap the horse, no one but Josh, Silas and the stable boy, as Josh evidently preferred it.
“Go on now,” said Josh, “and when yous go around this corral again, bring that there hoss back to me.”

“Ok, forks,” said the auctioneer, “how about five-dollars a head to start out with, five dollars for any one horse you see.”
And some tall white guy, sitting on Mr. Smile’s fence, where the auction was being held, said, “I reckon I can say five for that one with the big eyes.”
Said the auctioneer,
“That there horse is the best of the lot how about ten or even twenty dollars for it, do I hear a higher bid?”
The boy brought the horse with the big eyes back around to Old Josh, and he went to pat the horse on the face—making sure everyone saw him do it—and the horse jerked back, and the man who bet five dollars, saw him jerk back, and Josh made a face, Josh looked as if he was scared (but he wasn’t of course, it was all show and tell), and the tall man, looked like he was going to bid ten dollars, but after seeing the horse buck backwards, and jerk, and Josh shudder, he stopped suddenly with his bid, looked at the auctioneer, said with a sceptical voice,
“I’m a given’ it to anyone who wants it for $6.00 because I’m not bidding another dollar for that wild beast.”
Old Josh quickly said,
“I suppose I gots to take the wild one, cuz I’s a nigger, and youall want the best, so I gits the worse, ok, gives me the hoss for $6.00 and I take him as he is.”
The Auctioneer was dumbfounded, but the horse almost took a bite out of Josh’s hand, so what could he say,
“Ok, Josh, Mr. Hightower’s got a real deal on this horse.” (And the auctioneer went onto the next horse.)

Old Josh, he looked happier than a mouse with a pound of cheese on his back, walked away with the horse, said to his two boys,
“Yo’ ole pa, he aint so dump as youall think he is,” and he laughed all the way back to the Hightower Plantation, which was not all that far, and said with a sly voice, walking with a calm horse now,
“We done goin’ to git fourteen dollar worth of moonshine from Granny Mae. And I thinks we is goin’ to call the hoss, dynamite!”

For Mike Siluk 677 7-21-2008

Zam, in: Kingdom of the Congo (and the Pygmies, 1809)

2008-07-19T23:20:00.000-07:00

Zam, in:
Kingdom of the Congo
And the Pygmies
(1809)

In the Congo, the Congo King welcomed the Europeans, especially the Portuguese traders, and many slaves were taken from this area, war criminals, debtors, captives, and so forth, sold by none other than Congo clan chiefs, and the Congo King, in particular, whom where then transferred to America, on Portuguese ships often; this of course dwindled the size of the population of the Congo down, and one of larger traders of Congo slaves were the Muslims.

Zam, was six years old at this time, he had never heard of such goings on, nor his friend Samba, nor his mother Zambia, they lived in the jungle, and within a tribe, a village. A distance away from Zam’s village, were a group of pygmies, among other groups and villages throughout the area. In all respects, the pygmy village and Zam’s village were made up of simply peasants.

Samba was a pygmy, and lived within a village of a half dozen huts, small in size compared to Zam’s, village, and Samba he himself was small in size compared to Zam, yet they were of the same age in reality.
Zam liked going to Samba’s village, they sang and danced a lot. It would seem to Zam, they were a deeply stratified society compared to his village, an ethnic group in essence.
Very small people they were, even at adulthood, Zam’s mother towered over the tallest adult of the pygmies. And they live, many of them live in servitude to the more populace majority, a form of slavery to the Elite; so Zam’s mother told him, yet slavery was just a word to Zam, one he could not understand, or sense, feel. On the other hand, it was a common slavery within a country that took their own kind, and sold them to strangers to be sold abroad; thus there resided—not far from Zam—discrimination of the minority, and a serious pattern developing, one nobody really saw.

Perhaps it is because the Pygmies were uneducated and the Elite group was the more populace, advanced, that they could and did dominate their own kind. This was the first time Zam, had come into the knowledge of freedom vs. enslavement: whereat, when he would become older, it wouldn’t completely be out of the ordinary to him anymore, although he was a stranger to its sentiment at this very moment.

The pygmies made up about ten-percent of the Congo at this time, and it was by way of Samba’s parents, Zam learned how to hunt and fish, they being very skilled in this area.
Gondi, an Elite Pygmy, had twenty-five slaves, and wanted Samba and his mother to be part of his group. It was said, he did give parcels of land to his slaves, after so many years of bondage.
It happened, during Zam’s sixth year of life on this earth, that Gondi took Samba and his mother, forcefully took them, and incorporated them into his African plantation, had his mother carry baskets of manioc roots, a starchy staple of the Bantu people, the elite of the pygmies, and felt he was generous, at paying fifty-cents a day for her sufferings, plus allowing her a hut to live in with her child (not all that much different than what Zam would experience in future times).
Zam wanted to do something about this, but what could he do, he was six-years old, helpless in an adult world, a cruel world, a world that he would get to know quite well in due time—and what could his mother do likewise but observe from a distance, and his father, as I have previously mentioned, was killed by a great ape. Consequently, he was learning at a very young age, he would need somewhere along life’s line, a helping hand, right now it was his mother.
Accordingly, he was born in time people did not see, or were blinded to such things as personal liberties, fixated in the interest of self-interest. It really was simple I suppose, men had learned how to dehumanize using color or the majority vs. the minority, thus, it was, or it became easy if you could get into such a box to dehumanize in the name of profit, use as a means to an end. And as Zam would find out in time yet to come, Samba was not the only one to feel the lose of freedom, he would have a life time to feel it himself, or close to it.

7-20-2008 (The Bantu language, of the Congo dates back to 3000 BC)

Zam, of the African Congo (Indecision?) 1810

2008-07-17T20:18:00.000-07:00

Zam and his mother sat in their hut in the village, he sat on a stump of a tree he used for a chair, a bit uncomfortable, but his mother wanted to give him instructions, he was now seven years old, and he needed to know a few things about the jungle, in particular, the lion, the hungry beast of the jungle, the merciless savage, the unleashed beast that was untameable. As she readied herself, laying on a cover made out of wood, crossed legged, to tell her son the extent of how to deal with an offensive beast like the lion, in a defensive way, silence overtook the hut, the silence inside of man and beast that is, not the silence of the jungle, for sounds of the jungle, many sounds of the jungle, all seeped in and around the hut, hooked onto the shelter like the grip of anacondas, for the jungle is never ever quiet—and as she went to opened her mouth to explain, she said:

“(Translated into smoother English for the reader, where it was of course in a dialect of the Congo, in the early 19th Century) To capture the big cat, you must be taught, perhaps more told than taught, and I shall Zam, tell you know, what your father had told me (his father had been killed by a great ape), here son, is how to approach, and if need be kill, or run from the predator, the giant cats, like lions, and tigers, of the Congo, and of course we have the great apes and anacondas…” Zamia had heard her husband teaching other children of the village, when Zam was an infant, too young to learn and retain any skill in this matter, the lions, the big cats often snuck into villages, in the high grasses and pulled their children off to a safe zone, and to feed on them; as for the anaconda, they swallowed them whole. “It is best,” remarked Zamia, “according to what your father told me, and those children, ‘…avoid hunting the lion or great apes, they will hunt you, and there is plenty of other foods in the jungle, one needs not take such risks as to catch, the lion, but if you must, follow these instaurations,’ and now son listen closely, I will try to say it as you father told me: you may have to invent along the way, if the cat is next to you, for a moment become a village priest, a king, be all, and the cat will see this transformation, and while he stirs in his mind for hunger or survival, you be ready for which ever one is the strongest he will react to, and while he stirs, moves a paw, or his great teeth he shows, do not move a finger, create mouth sounds but do not move your lips, but only a light distraction, it will chill the blood of the beast, it will darken his veins, the beast will see your quietness, your unblinking eyes, make the lion think you are greater than he, let him see the ‘I am that I am,’ the god in you, let him see you are the chosen one. Then it is your move, and do it slowly but move, steadily, and do not let the beast see your eyelids close—if you blink, make sure the beast is unaware of it—thus, the beast will know you are not like everyone else, and you are speaking a language it can understand, you have reached the skeleton of the beast, you have tamed him for the moment, tranquilized him, and must make fruitful your quest, either attack, or run, for the moment is against time unknown. Your skill with the spear will depend on a quick attack!”

There was such a moment, a reality, that occurred to Zam, and also there was something left out of the speech, something his mother didn’t know, didn’t overhear her deceased husband say, something Zam would now learn. For at this ripe young age of seven, he was faced with this very scenario, and did exactly as he was told, but Zam didn’t run, nor attack, he stood his ground, he became all he could, and beast moved away. He had learned one thing, which could be used for the greater good or a man’s demise, that not moving, was also a decision, and in this case it was the right one, in future time, he would face it again, and soon.

7-17-2008

Zam, in: White Gorillas ((1811-1813)(from the Old Josh series))

2008-07-16T21:22:00.000-07:00

Zam, in: White Gorillas
(1811-1813)

There was no worry, or confusing thoughts of the future, for Zam, and his mother, the black boy was eight years old, it was 1811, the future wasn’t even on his mind, only the occasional recollections his mother told him to remember, his mother Zamia—to remember because of his environment, the tropical forest of the Congo was his home, a most alluring picture of beauty at nature’s best, but also nature’s beasts for his father was killed by one of the great apes, during his infancy. Hence, the equatorial sun beat through the tense jungle, the leafy sea of green overhead, this canopy of leafage devoured much of the sun.
Today was a hot summer’s day, on this side of the world, the year was 1813, he, Zam had just turned ten-years old, and it was a day for loafing, like many days in the rainforest, outside the large village he and his mother lived in, he was running his fingers through his mother’s hair as they lay against a tree, simply adoring her! He had no brothers or sisters.

She, his mother looked at her son, for a few minutes she watched him, caressed his arm, stroked it, she had produced this boy, she was proud.
She had catlike eyes, saw everybody and everything that approached too close, and like a lion she’d even snarl at it, produce a deep growl, if she sensed danger, yet she was a small women, bloodshot eyes.

Zam’s muscles were rigid, and he was a large boy for ten, great shoulders on him, like a bull-ape’s, likened to his father. Gray eyes that would turn dark brown; he stood up, looked about, squatted, played with the monkey’s, and ate some bananas, and even a few grub worms, he was hungry.
He wasn’t sacred of anything except a bull-ape, the kind that killed his father, and to the monkey’s he was their antagonist.
It was a life, for the most part, of brutal content, they lived like the sparrows, bellies full of whatever they found to eat, even monkey meat. He never heard of the white man, or other countries in the world, he was in his world, the jungle, the rainforest—his destiny, according to his mother was to survive each day, and die to feed the earth, to make room for another, to give back something. That if necessary, you court death to save his family from the fangs of the lions, these wild beasts were the enemy, not man per se. Never-failing, as the King of the village knew, this would be Zamia’s down fall as it would be her son’s.
(We must not blame them for their ignorance, in what took place this day for even in the most modern countries of its time, to this very day, man selects leaders, and leaders in most cases work on the theme, of self-interest, and it was to be that way with the king, yet he, himself the king, would have a surprise, you play with the devil, expect no mercy.)

For the most part, Zam was still developing those layers of untried muscles, the ones he would use in future time undeveloped and untried fighting muscles, and he would learn how to bite and fight, and run, and throw the spear, if given time to do so, and his mother was quite proud of his achievements at his present young age. But his attention was distracted when he saw the strangest thing, white men, or were they gorillas, talking to their king. He asked his mother,
“Is this a new kind of ape?”
He knew the beetle, and the caterpillar, the mouse and the elephant, and the lion and many more animals and insects, like the ape and monkey’s, and the many kinds of birds, but this new creature was different, had beards and moustaches, and lots of cloths on, and they were snatching black-men—like catching mice—even as they run off they ran after them, they leaped on them, while in pursuit. The thought in his mind, in Zam’s mind, was: the king must be angry, his face showed it, for evidently they had done some kind of wrong, these comrades, black-men, had done some kind of wrong, and these new creatures were trying to capture the natives for him.

The king approached Zam and his mother, introduced the seven white men to them, not a formal introduction, but one saying in essence, ‘these are my special friends from far away, they came to do business,’ and the king was going to leave it at that, leave the boy and his mother where they were; the boy noticed they had chains with them, having fondness for the king, Zamia didn’t run, didn’t consider an escape. The kind said,
“The boy needs his mother, he is too young for the journey on that ship of yours,” he had said this to the white men, but Zam didn’t know what a ship was, or journey, and felt quite alone with his mother as they talked about him and his mother in the third person, as if they didn’t’ exist. He could scarcely formulate the correct thoughts, to figure out what was happening.
Then the leader of the white men said:
“They’re all savages, even the king, attached or unattached take them all,” and they grabbed Zam and his mother, and the king, these men knew neither fear nor gave mercy, they were to Zam a strange inexplicable force, and now the mother and Zam both fought to gain their freedom.
One of the men dropped a noose around the boy’s neck, this stopped the mother from fighting, and he, the king was unconscious, he was hogtied to a polo, carried by two chained black men, and when he awoke, at the beaches, he was angry as a boar, but his grunts only gave reason to the white men to slash a whip across his back. And the boy looked at his mother, said, “White Gorillas,” he saw them as his enemy, the enemy of his father, the ones that killed his father.
The river winds, the village the huts he was born in, lived in, familiar with, all that was, all that used to be, was no more to be, gone with his youth, for a new tormenting life on a ship he thought looked more like a monster crocodile, than a wooden vessel.

((For Rosa) (7-16-2008))

Old Josh, in: A Delicate Wind (1902)

2008-07-13T00:39:00.001-07:00

A Delicate Wind
(Molly and Old Josh, 1902)

The summer became fall, and the fall itself advanced to a pre frosty winter, a chill in the air, Josh had less and less light to escape from his shanty, and from the fields, to the fishing down at he creek, Goose Creek. Soon it became darker before it got later, when he finished his chores on the plantation, he got ready to go down to the creek, in the dark actually, left the barn, grabbed his fishing pole, and took those big feet of his and nonetheless, dark or not, headed across the fields to the creek, looking back he saw the misty appearance of the barn, his shanty, the mansion, the Hightower Mansion. Molly Benton had her light on in her little house by the creek, usually when he got down there late, especially in December, it was tangible to think the false darkens was late at night, when in essence it was only 6:00 PM.
He sat on the edge of the bank on a large rock, that feeling of lateness was gone on, the birds cheerfully sang, the mocking birds in particular. The world was no longer in a hurry, he sat there without fear, calmly, visibility good, he could see across the creek, down the creek at Molly’s shack, painted grey, the grass seemed to move about him as he sat on the rock, he listened for Molly’s approach often perhaps she’d greet him this evening, sometimes she came out to say hello to Josh. Tomorrow was Sunday, and dawn would come unfilled with the need for work around the plantation, he might just as well fall to sleep he told himself, for he often did, right where he was, he had his jug of corn whisky, If she came, even if he was sleeping, he could smell her, the whole creek, its dew as it dropped down along the creek reeked with her, her approach, he’d remain motionless, just lie still if she came, he liked her, and he liked the smell of the earth, the taste of the creek water, dawn’s reddish pink horizons, it was all at his feet.
Then she’d come next to him, and he’d see her, under the morning sun, he liked that, he’d smell the last of the fire wood, breath it in, feel the wet yellowish grass, no wars to worry about, this was it, there was no more to be done in life just to enjoy her company, his two sons, his little plot of land he inherited, it was 1902, and Josh was 92-years old. His hand had grooves in them now, from old age, yet still a little firm, more gentle than they used to be, as was his voice. He had seen so many of his friends die.

In the morning, Josh lay and waited for Molly, the mist blew away as morning got older, there seemed to be no today, without her coming last night, or at least in the morning. The fire was out, he had caught three bullheads last night. Her not appearing made him disoriented, yet alert, in a spell of juxtaposition. Perhaps she didn’t feel well. He stopped his thinking, his fear, and urgent judgments, nit-picking of what she might be doing, even avoiding him, mulling over what might have happened to her, and laying on his back, pushed his body up, hauling that old savage body to its feet, shirt dirty, he brushed it off, exasperated, he heard some dogs in the distance, and he watched the house. Sometimes we don’t want to know, what we secretly know we know, trying in the process before we investigate, trying to talk ourselves out of moving on toward the sill house, He looked back towards The Hightower Plantation, it was just a spec, the size of a dot, he tried to speak, drooling like a dog, “Easy now,” he told himself as he walked to the small hut. He didn’t hear a thing in the house, he was uncoordinated, and opened up the door, and almost twisted his wrist to it being sprain, and called “Molly, is you ok, is you in there…?”
His eyes were still focusing, his shoulder hurt from laying on it all night, and he tried to twist and look around but his body was not obedient, he had to shift his legs to turn around to see, through the window he could see where he was last night where he fell to sleep, and the rock he sat on, fished from, then he looked at the bed, in her bedroom, she lay still in it, peaceful, he started to whimper, and entered the room.
He couldn’t remember how old she was, but his guess was that she was born around 1821, making her 80-years old. Her head lay softly on a pillow, her arm hung loosely to her side, he touched her arm, it was warm, slightly warm, he stopped whimpering, he tiptoed to her side, closer, there was an astonishing silence, he now knew she was dead, without realizing he kissed her forehead, functioning in reverse, he stepped back, said looking upward, as if heaven itself was listening, his eyes shut, his heart tugging back, “Thank you Lord for giving her such a peaceful death, if only youall give me one like that, I’d be obliged to give a special thank you.”

When he reached his shanty, a ways, away, he turned to look back, saw there was no smoke coming from her chimney, he’d miss that. He couldn’t see the house, but the smoke, the smoke always told him, Molly was cooking, she was alright. He did not hesitate to fall onto his cot, he was tired from the long walk, submerged now in recall, dreams, knee-deep in emotions, tears streaming from his eyes, and he fell to sleep. He felt Molly knew he was outside yesterday, and perhaps this morning, she also knew—he felt—she was dying, and didn’t want Josh to witness it, but it was good he was there, so his dream told him, no one likes dying completely alone, they want to know someone will be coming, or is nearby. Dying is a monster step, in a persons existence, if he is at peace with God, then the step is easier, if not, he is looking into the abyss, and it is pulling at him. The wind from the overhead window, was slightly opened, there was a delicate wind today, and Old Josh had a beautiful and peaceful sleep.

Written 7-13-2008

Old Josh in: The Cigar

2008-07-12T21:02:00.000-07:00

1891

For some odd reason Josh's mind started shifting into a different mode, he was at an old friend's work place, at a party [dreaming, daydreaming, so it seemed]; he always liked a good cigar, just never could afford one, now and then Mr. Charles Hightower gave him one, around Christmas time usually, and he was dead now, died in 1869, twenty-two years ago, it was now 1891; other than that, on special occasions if he had the money, he’d have Silas or Jordon, Jordon in particular, because he worked at the Grocery story in Ozark, buy him one, and today, Molly, Molly Washington Benton, the same person who lived down near Goose Creek, helped him, Josh when he was sick, and worked as a seamstress off and on for the Smiley family, who owned a plantation next to Charles Hightower, asked him if he wanted one, a cigar. He looked at her, in an inquisitive way, said "Yessum, I sho would if-in you have one…" and to his misfortune, it was quite a small stub of a cigar that Molly gave to him, peculiar he thought, but he took it nonetheless. Bewildered somewhat though, if not disturbed, for he had an odd expression on his face, he gave little response back, if any, a shallow of one, saying: "Thanks...!" And went about and lit it.
Then Ms Molly Benton, an old friend the one that mysteriously appeared this evening, appeared you might say out of nowhere, just like that, without a warning, was sitting by him, in his shack, she wanted to try the cigar, check it out also: smoke it that is. But there wasn't much, especially not for both of them, nearly enough for one, and she had already given it to Josh. Plus, there didn't seem to be enough air in the room (this was an unconscious thought perhaps: and of course, you cannot share what you do not possess (he confessed to himself). And if there is a want or need, it is on the beholders side. Nonetheless, he hesitated, and looked stern into her face; her cute and womanly face, a face that didn't age like his, and years have passed, but she looked even younger than he knew her to be, funny he thought,
"I have an idea," she says to Josh (Josh still feeling a bit odd, as if he didn't know something, something he should know, but couldn't put a finger on it),
"…put the end of this cigar Josh into the chimney of your pipe, and then you'll have enough to enjoy of that there cigar (Josh always had a corn cob pipe he carried it along with him, either in his front shirt pocket, or in his jacket pocket, or in his pants pockets, but today he didn’t, and he searched high and low).
The mystic friend, Molly who seemed mystic to him today, looked at him pleased, and just happened to have a pipe on hand—another oddity that struck Josh as being strange, made Old Josh think twice, think that something was peculiar, not right, very wrong, something he should know, but doesn't, and would like to know; in essence, his intuition told him: something was very, very incorrect, in consequence, his lady friend pulled out a pipe, where it came from was, or is also a mystery, Josh thinking he must had blinked his eyes and she had one hidden on her person; fine, at which time Josh put the cigar—what was left of it anyhow—into the barrel of the pipe, and gave it to his Molly, his old girlfriend of sorts, a friend he had known, but again I must add, he could not put his finger on exactly who she was, she looked like Molly, but was ageless, perhaps was Molly, then he got thinking maybe it was really Sweet Pea, his ex wife in disguise, or even perhaps Nelly’ bell, that pretty young black gal that now owns a bar down in Ozark, he used to walk her down and around Goose Creek, him and Mr. Ritt, the bank owner. So he was in question who she was, really was, her name that is was in question, where they had met was still in question, and when (we of course are thinking of his past, before this moment, or at least Josh is), he is searching for that moment when they had previously met, but does not put too much though into it, he has a crisis on hand, something of a crisis, something he can’t put his finger on. He knows his mind plays tricks on him, he’s 88-years old now: mind tricks, and eye blurs and focusing, is all hard on him nowadays.
At that moment, as the friend, female friend, starts to smoke from the pipe she had given to Josh, now she has it, he starts to choke, he is spitting up something, his mind says, it is spitting up tobacco, pieces of the cigar, blood, something, like her she is doing the same, he can’t put a finger on what he is spitting up: in addition, his throat is burning, a fatal burning sensation (actually, Josh is feeling the same as his friend, another oddity he tells himself: how can they both be feeling the same anguish at the same time, at the same place over the same thing?). The best he can come up with, in helping his friend was to tell her, what he did tell her:
"Ah...here, here take some water, swallow it quickly—hold up your head, higher, higher, quickly, to cool the throat, lift your feet up (they are heavy feet, he sees this, his shoes are very, very heavy, and so are her’s) we can put the flame out, the water will put out the flame, swallow…" he’s trying to save her, and the friend did as he asked; moreover all was well for the moment.

Now, Josh walked away from the table, and its festivities, finding himself by the store next to the Jordon’s story, grocery store in Ozark, Alabama, there is another store next to it, one owned by a black man named White Magic, but he thought he was dead long ago, but the store is open, and he looking inside the store, sees cigars for sale, behind the register, also in the window, big cigars, and a selection, cigars everyplace, now he thinks: '...why didn't Molly tell me they had big cigars here, and a choice, instead of the little one, the end of a cigar she gave me, the stub?" thinking of course, it would have possibly solved the difficulty with him sharing that stub of a cigar she had given him, and not caused his and her coughing. (he noticed his feet, and her feet were no longer heavy, he smiled at her, said, ‘I told yaw so, got to lift those feet up Molly…!’

'Peculiar,' he tells himself, very odd indeed, yet it is left at that, the feet, the cigar. Then the old man shook his head, told himself to stop day dreaming, rescue himself, swim to the boat, it had tipped over in the river while he was fishing, and must had been unconscious, kind of, I mean, he felt he was pushed into the Great Food that was in progress at this very moment, down along the river, down near the deep part of Goose Creek, which led into river, he had gone into the river, as it rained, and rained and rained, and something accidentally hit him, and he fell overboard.
As Josh found himself opening up his eyes, he was also spitting out water, he saw Silas was there, in the boat, Silas explained to Josh, of what he could understand anyway: that he, Josh had been pushed down into the river by the storm (it was still raining as Silas was talking, and rowing over to the bank of the river at the same time, explaining to Josh that he had been pushed overboard into the river’s deeper part, the boat was hit by a cockatiel and he fell over board, which evidently even surprised the reptile, because Silas saw it from the bank of the river, and swam out to the boat, turned it back upside right, and the cockatiel headed down river, as if he had simply, and just bumped into a log.
He had been drowning, sinking, in the River, and caught in the mud, it all was but a few minutes, falling down to its muddy and rocky bottom—and he, Josh, was pulled out of the mud by Silas, and somewhere in-between all this, he, Josh had mentally let go for a moment and had a episodic dream; now above water, his mind reactivated, he said, “I need son to git on home, put some of that there moonshine in me, warm these old bones up; and yous know, that big fish, he lucky he did not eat me, cuz I is like leather, and he jes’ has to spit me back out.” Silas wanted to laugh, but it was hard, he just put his arms around his pa, and held him tight.

Asafetida (The Grave and he Noble: old Josh series)

2008-07-12T15:41:00.000-07:00

Asafetida
(The Grave and the Noble)

In the Heart of Niggertown

At one time it was just a cemetery and part of an old field, and before that, a plantation, then it became shantytown, with a nickname, of Niggertown, a few miles outside of Ozark, Alabama. One might even say, the noble face of Ozark, was next door to the grave face of Niggertown. The town itself, smelled like asafetida white folks would say, (devil's dung) (a flower native to Iran, grows seven feet tall, large yellowish in color, it has a foul smell)).
Often times the young Negros, on their way to school, stood aside on the dirt road leading out of Asafetida, or shanty town, it had all three names.
The area stunk because the folks living in Shantytown threw their garbage over into the cemetery with the dead, and rats, and dogs, cats, etcetera, and if a good Samaritan wished to clean up the smell, he or they would simply go burn it sooner or later, and bury the remains.
The white folks rode their buggies, wagons, or sole riders on horses slowly when they came by the road, dirt road that lead up to the shantytown; they almost stopped to get a look at their grave neighbors.
“What, Amos would say to the passersby, often was “What youall looking for?” Then old Amos would shut his eyes count to ten, and hope by then, by the time he opened his eyes, hoped they were gone, and they usually were, if not he’d add, to his monologue, “Dont you see yet, what yous lookin’ for? Is you deaf?”
In a lot of ways, he was like Joshua Jefferson, and we all know how he is, need I say more.
In the back fields of shantytown, there used to be an old plantation, now just ruins, an old scattered foundation remained—a gutted shell of a large mansion that used to be. Even a shell of a frame for a stable could be seen, it burnt down around the turn of the century, about 1799. You really couldn’t tell were the boundaries were, unless you went to the court house, and checked with the records clerk, the fields had not been cultivated for over a half century, or longer, once quite fertile. But who ever would buy the land, needed to build a road around shantytown which really was public land, and who lived there, were called invaders, but left alone, up to now anyhow. The second choice would have been to go through Niggertown, and that would be the shortcut, and less costly. And so when the subject came up, it seemed to die out quick, the investment wasn’t worth the trouble.
Well, Josh had settled his dispute in his brain about who he was, and were he came from, he was Zam, from the Congo, in Africa, or that is what he would have told you had you asked him in 1873, four years after Charles Hightower died, and left him $3000 dollars, and a plot of land on his plantation, and he had given Emma Hightower to purchase a note book concerning the ship he had come over on in 1803, called “The Monk.”
Hank Ritt was going to buy that land back yonder; the fields I was just talking about, and renting them out. There was 1200-acres back there, a lot of land, almost obliterated as a farm, with weeds and rocks, and every kind of creepy crawler you can think of, and the Shantytown was on the edge of the property. They, mayor and his associates, were going to have the black folks removed, regardless, no matter what, and have the huts torn down, burnt to the ground, if necessary, to accommodate Mr. Ritt, for the land would be purchased by him, and the money would go into the city fund, and the Mayors fund, if you know what I mean, he figured they had free rent long enough, and Ritt needed a road into his fields, and wouldn’t buy the land unless there was an easier way to get to it, and he didn’t care to have what he called shiftless people squabbling over his intentions, or stealing his firewood by cutting down trees, or throwing garbage over into the cemetery, so the odor drifted into the noses of his tenets.
They planned on bringing dogs and rifles and bottles of whiskey to make them more brave, and thus, clear the area one and for all of these pests, niggers and whomever else was there, nigger lovers would be welcomed to be removed also, the mayor said, every soul who went on this witch hunt would earn a twenty-dollar gold piece, yes just for one nights work.

Ritt was by far the largest land wonder in the area, but what he didn’t remember, or think about, or even did it come to mind, Joshua Jefferson, that old Josh had two-thousand dollars in the bank. Not a lot of money, but enough to buy one-hundred and fifty acres of that weedy property—and he got wind of what Ritt’s intentions were, Jordon over heard Ritt talking with his entourage in the grocery story one afternoon, and he did go tell his pa, and Josh, not having really any use for the money, didn’t tell anyone, not Ritt, or his son Silas, or even Mr. Hightower, no one, not a soul, and he bought the land, put the land in the name of Zam, and he gave the record clerk an envelope, which had his name in it, as the rightful owner, to put on file, but for the curious, it remained Zam, as long as the taxes were paid on it, the deal was ok. And he gave, the female clerk, the Methodist Sunday school teacher, Molly Brown, a twenty-dollar gold piece to keep it that way, secretive, on her honor, and she gave it, she gave her word not to expose the real owners name, and when Ritt came to buy all the land up, the first one-hundred and fifty acres which stretched from the rim of shantytown, outwards were purchased. Fine, thought Ritt, but he couldn’t buy the land now, he’d have to negotiate with the new owner, maybe the new owner didn’t know who he was, and perhaps could change his mind.
Ritt wanted to know the owner so he could buy the land from him, or make life un-derisible if he couldn’t, or wouldn’t or didn’t; and Molly Brown told her pa, “This here gold piece the man gave me to honor his wishes in not telling a soul who he is, has been the hardest earned money I have ever work for.”
As it was, so it remained, and life went on. In time, Josh would sell the land, but not to Ritt.

Old Josh and the Monk (1870)

2008-07-12T09:18:00.000-07:00

Josh Jefferson, was about twenty-seven years old when Silas, his oldest child was born, and old doc, Doctor Benjamin Lee Ssumsky (who came from Australia in the year 1795 to San Francisco, and then found himself a wife, by the name of Estelle, visiting San Francisco, who lived in Dothan, Alabama, married her, and having enough doctors in Dothan, and not enough in Ozark, they both found themselves down in Ozark because he married that gal from Alabama, and Ozark needed a doctor, and Dothan didn’t and so here he and she was, and in time he would also, deliver Jordon, 1830, and Josh’s wife, wife Sweep Pea gave quick deliveries he told Josh. Doctor Ssumsky was a friend of Charles Hightower so Josh got a white doctor to take delivery of his children, and perhaps it was for the better she had those children when she did, because old doc Benjamin died in 1832.
In 1869, old Josh inherited a plot of land after Charles Hightower died, and $3000-dollars. What he wanted to do, is what he tried to do, in 1870, now that he had money to do it with, money he put in the Ritt bank, but kept $1000-dollars out for this special project.
Silas and Jordon never knew the story behind Josh’s slave ship journey to America, and Josh, himself couldn’t remember all of it, he had some friends old friends mostly dead now, who had come on the ship with him, but they only knew bits and pieces, he figured perhaps he could get a better view, a fuller story, he knew where the Revered Walsh was, he had boarded his ship, heard he died in 1859, but left notes on what he saw when he boarded the ship in 1803, he was what was called an interceptor, and Josh knew where the notes where, at the Georgetown College, where B.J. Walsh had graduated from, in 1801, he read that in the Gazette, paper, what little reading he could do, he made that out.
He gave Emma Hightower, Charlie’s daughter, $1000 to see if she could hire a detective to get those notes for him, and read them to him, and she did just that, and she read them to Josh:

The Monk

“October 1, 1813, we just boarded the slave ship, the captain was reluctant to let us on, but once next to her we scrambled aboard her, and looked about, and then 22-armed men came and cornered us five, and forced us off, but here is what I saw: when I looked around the ship I saw a multitude of black people of every account chained liked dogs, their countenance expressing sadness and grief, I knew and they knew their fate; and I knew soon I and my five companions who forced our way on board the slave ship would be overpowered, and thus, forced off; as a result, the dismay and suffering I knew I would have to witness fast, and I did, I almost fainted because of it; some black people surrounded me believing I was going to save them. Accordingly I noticed they were all placed in different apartments. Evidently from the time of their arrival on the ship to their departure, which is usually about three months, as they go from port to port, the crossing of the Atlantic takes about 15 days, depending, the so called cargo, the slaves were of small and sometimes in large numbers on deck, I was only on the ship for an hour or so, before I and my companions were thrown off. Some of these ships carry 400 to 600 slaves; in one voyage this one I dare say was five hundred or more, packed like sardines. I learned on this ship and others I’ve been on, the Negroes, brought aboard ship, are immediately fastened together, two and two, by handcuffs on their wrists and by irons riveted on their legs. They are then sent down between the decks and placed in an apartment partitioned off for that purpose. The women also are placed in a separate apartment between the decks, but without being ironed. An adjoining room on the same deck is appointed for the boys, there was one boy who stood out with his mother, his name was Zam, his mother called him, he and his mother were sold by the king of a large Congo tribe to the slave traders, so I was told by the captain, who said he was not responsible for the cargo, but not for slavery in particular, that their own kind was selling their own kind, to his kind. Sad to say, but the king ended up on that very ship, and so one should learn in the slave trade, there are not special black folks when it comes to dollars and cargo, the captain was worried only about losing a slave, which meant, less dollars, not the soul of the man. The Captain actually took pride in showing me a few things, saying his ship was not half as bad as a few of his companions. Meaning, of the 500-blacks, perhaps only a few would die, where as half the slaves died on many of these slave ships from disease of every kind. He and all the rest of the slaves were naked, but he had a large mole, this Zam boy, by his groin area, so if he seeks ever identification, and reads this he may know his background, but so many Negros never read, and get lost in the shuffle between Africa and their home destination. Where he will be sold is beyond me. The name of the ship was called “The Monk,” it was to me a massive grave, of confinement of flesh, and contemporary fear. Negroes were all fastened together, two by two, handcuffs around their wrists, irons riveted on their legs, I know I am repeating, but I must. They were stacked like sardines between the decks, in apartments; women were placed in separate apartments, decks and all, with adjoining rooms for the kids.

Plan for "stowage" of a slave ship

(Note: the slave ships were made for 450-slaves had 600 in them; 15- million were brought over to the Americas in 290-years.)

Josh had heard enough, Emma Hightower, also. The book was a copy, but an expensive copy. And for the most part, Josh was satisfied. He was that boy, he felt, thought, he had that mole, which really wasn’t a mole, rather a birthmark, perhaps the Revered got it wrong, in any case, Josh sensed he was Zam.

Nelly'bell (Old Josh/1867-1879)

2008-07-11T13:29:00.000-07:00

Nelly’ bell
1867-1879

Sponge, that’s what they called him, because no one ever knew his last name, he chewed tobacco, and everybody knew it was him when he came around without looking because he spit that tobacco out, and god knows where it would land, and the odor of alcohol was so strong on him, people just jumped out of the way when they heard him wind up that saliva and tobacco in his mouth ready to spit; his wife was called Nelly’ bell, cut as a sparrow, a small lovely, shapely black woman, with a tinge of white in her blood, and perhaps a little Indian, and they’d go down to Goose Creek often, go fishing, build a fire and catch some of those catfish, and eat them. Make sandwiches and drink that homemade Alabama Moonshine, whisky that would knock out a horse after several drinks. He’d pass out always before her, and she’d take off to god knows where, and return and wake her husband up, and they’d go back to shantytown where they had a little hut, her father left her when he died. She was a good wife, so everyone thought, even Josh.
Sponge lived up to his name, he drank like a Sponge, and it seemed he never got sick, just passed out, one might have called him a professional drinker in that he was quite proficient at it. He drank all through the 1860s and ‘70s, none stop, and it was his prime time you might say.
Sometimes folks saw young Nelly’ bell, who was in fifteen years old when Sponge married her, in ’65, he being at the time, forty-six years old, folks saw them on Sunday afternoon’s out by the saw-mill, where Sponge worked.
Sponge, He had a half-dozen kids it seemed, from other wives and girlfriends, I think even he lost track of them, but his Nelly’ bell never had any with him, not any of his or anybody’s else’s up to this time.

Well one day, at the sawmill, Sponge got his leg cut off at and the mill gave him $200-dollars, and instead of him paying for a doctor and care of his leg, he drank half that sum up, he and Nelly’ bell, but before he got to the second hundred dollars, his son, oldest boy, Bugs, robbed his house of one-hundred dollars, while he was sleeping off a binge, and raped his Nelly ‘bell right on their bed while he was on the floor asleep; Bugs was fifteen-years old at the time, in 1867 when this took place, and Nelly’ bell seventeen, and Sponge forty-eight, Sponge had been married two years.

Well, Bugs ran down to News Orleans, right after the rape, and there, outside of the city, he found a job, and worked for a man Dayton Buck (folks called him Buck for short), who owned a farm outside of the city, this all was back in 1867 remember, when he raped Sponge’s wife, and ran off to New Orleans, and got hired by Buck, outside of the city limits, and had that one hundred dollars in his pockets, and there he worked, played some poker with that money, down in New Orleans, and avoided any one who might be down visiting from Ozark, just incase they heard of he rape, but no one ever brought it up to him, therefore he felt safe, and considered going back to Ozark, and visiting his father, and perhaps going into business, maybe even ask for, forgiveness.

Bugs came back to Ozark, in 1875, had enough money on him, and bought himself a farm, that was seven years later, he was twenty-two years old, and Nelly’ bell was 24-years old, and his paw was fifty-six.
Bugs planted a cornfield, and he invited his pa to move on the farm with him, and bring his wife, and they did, old woes were now forgotten I guess, unless they were hidden. Old Josh, told Bugs, “Dont be no fool now, yous got away with foolin’ around with another mans wife, sometimes God gives you a second chance, dont go thinkin’ its luck, when its God tellin’ yaw watch your step, folks forgive yaw now and then, but when yous in another mans bed, its bad news, and no one really forgets, even if they forgive…!” and Bugs shook his head at the told timer, Josh, and didn’t say a word, he was a rich man now, rich in his eyes, or kind of rich, rich enough to impress a few of the black folks, cuz he was black, and sometimes when your poor black, and you become rich black, you like to push it a bit, get the attention you think you earned.
Fine, Bugs had bought the small farm, fifty-acres, with a small house, three bedroom mansion, and sold Nelly’ bell’s house to have enough to plant a cornfield. And they all moved on the farm, more like a farm than a plantation. And he became known as a well to do person of the area, especially a man who had no real skills, a Negro, who worked for seven-years down in New Orleans doing whatever he was doing on that man’s plantation, and then he started to take Nelly’ bell to Dothan, said to his father, said he wanted company, and left his aging father with a few bottles of Tennessee Mash Whiskey. Well it was that year, 1876, when the old man died, Sponge was found dead one day when Bugs and Nelly’ bell returned from a trip, he shed no tears, and gave only a few dollars to have a wooden coffin made for him, and placed it way in the back of his farm, behind a tree, a little stone that read Sponge, no dates on it. Nelly who now kept him company all the time when he went on his trips now, to New Orleans, Dothan, and Birmingham, and even up to Fayetteville, North Carolina, he was getting used to her companionship, used to her love making. She didn’t say a thing, like his father, she just went along with it. But Josh said once to him, “Jes’ because someone dont say a word, dont take it that they aint thinkin’, that will be your mistake if-in you do.”

Across from the Smiley’s plantation was the Beck’s, white folks, and now to the other side of the Smiley’s was of course, Bugs’ place, Bugs Buck.

After Sponge died his wife, who really wasn’t that old still in her 20s started drinking a lot, like Sponge used to. She had loved Sponge in her own way, but did what Bugs wanted and Sponge didn’t really say much, and by the time he did it was really too late, he died of alcoholism. Other than Bugs, Nelly didn’t really fooled around after she married Sponge, and after her rape, she only allowed Bugs to lay with her, thinking almost Sponge didn’t care, or allowed it so he could drink and have a place to live. In all respects, she was still a woman of a good standing, and a fine shape, and her looks we not too bad at all, just a tinge pale. But things always change, and change was in the air.

Hank Ritt, who in 1877 was fifty-one years old, the city banker of Ozark, a short heavy man, thin hair, heavy looking face, came around now and then, to the farm, to see Nelly, and took a liking for the cut black woman, and so did Josh, that was perhaps about 1877 through ’78, both Josh and Ritt came around the farm like hungry dogs Bugs not liking it, but he was unable to stop it, without being hug by Ritt’s associates, and he knew it, plus he wasn’t married to Nelly, and Nelly liked the attention, and Silas and Jordon, would have liked to have stomped on Bugs, should he have tried to push Josh about, if indeed youth and age would have came face to face, and perhaps age might have dominated, because, although Bugs was shrewd, he was careless, and was only five foot six inches tall, and perhaps one-hundred and thirty pounds. No match for Josh, other than age being against Josh.
As it was, or ended up being, Josh and she, Nelly would go catch catfish, Ritt didn’t care for fishing, he just took Nelly one day and laid her on the grass and made love to her, and Ritt took good care of her thereafter, gave her money on the side, enough for her to start her own little bar down in Ozark, which was good, because most blacks had their saloon type halls in shantytown, and she would be set up proper in the city.

Bugs, perhaps like his pa, could never give Nelly a child, and Bugs was mad when she had a half white child nine months later, after that last encounter with Ritt, and she even named the child Hank, and when Bugs came back from Dothan one night, she was gone, child and all.
The few times Josh had went to Ozark, he’d stop into Nelly’s Place, and she never forgot his kindness, and those fishing days, and in 1879, Bugs no longer could take the humiliation, Ritt bestowed upon him, and he went to Ozark, in the back door of Nelly’s place, and found Nelly, and asked her, as she was among her friends, men and women alike, if they could go outside behind the bar and talk. And she did, and he raped her again, right there on in the ally-way on the ground, she didn’t fight, nor gave him all that much pleasure. And when it was over, she stood up, and she told him face to face, shoulder to shoulder, eye to eye, no fear in her whatsoever, as if she had plan B, ready to go,

“Do you remember when Josh told you, not to test your luck the second time under fire, to test it to see if it is luck or God’s hand, that you were given a second chance to take it…?” and Bugs lit up a bit, said, “Yaw, he said somthin’ like that so what?” and she said, “You’s a dead nigger, cuz I got more than you got, but I was willin’ to leave it as it is, but yous jes’ throws a gift in the face of God,” and having said that, she went over to a brink in the wall of her building, by the door she had come out of, part of the brick building she owned, twisted it, pulled out a small danger, and shot Bugs in the heart, and he fall down, and she put the gun back where it belonged behind the brick, twisted it back to its normal spot, and went back into the bar said, “Someone jes’’ shot Bugs Buck, in the alleyway back yonder,” and everyone kept drinking as if they never heard a word.

The following day, the sheriff found the body, and there was a little investigation, but everyone said they heard nothing, and it was put down as murder, but without a robbery, for his money was still in his pockets. His farm was sold, and there being no kin, other than Nelly being his step mother, she got the land and farm, and she sold it all except that little spot where her husband was buried, she took the money and built him a mausoleum and beside the mausoleum, she put on a stone, Bugs, no date, but with a question under his name, “Is this luck or providence?”

The Nelly’ bell Hymn”

Nelly’ bell, is you here,”
l say”what you goin’ to tells me—today?”
”Is it Josh or Mr. Ritt, Sponge,
or Bugs, come down to the creek?
all dressed up, kind of sleek, looin’ for Yaw—;
Nelly ’ bell”: they say,
cuz yous sho’s a fine lookin’ gal,
Yessum, the best looker, in all this
here city, I hear tell” And I says,
“You think so?” she says…I reckon so
cuz I loves them all!”

#1686 2-9-2007
(as they sang in the black bars of Ozark)

Old Josh, in: Waterford (1899)

2008-07-11T09:47:00.000-07:00

Waterford
(1899)

In the township of Ozark, Alabama, there was an old framed wooden building built in the 1840s, that had been at the time a barrel making factory, but had stood for years vacant, a windowless building, it was owned by an Irish man from Waterford, Ireland, he was called for short Waterford, his first name being Shawn, if he had another last name, other than Waterford, no one knew it. Mr. Ritt, the banker, who owned a bank in Ozark, and one in Fayetteville, North Carolina, bought it up in 1861, and made it a stable, with many stalls to it, he purchased young colts, and sold them to the Army during the Civil War days. Old Josh was rented out to Mr. Ritt, by Charles Hightower that summer of ‘61 to tend to the stable work, Ritt was short on hands. In the summer of 1864, he did the same, that is, he rented out Josh again for the same purpose, rented out to Mr. Ritt. It was a hot summer and a trying one for the Confederate Army, perhaps a good one for Mr. Ritt, financially; day and night, the stable was active, horses being sold, and being housed, and watered and fed, and for Josh, likewise, it was a trying summer, in 1864, he was sixty-one years old, he was by no means young, and cleaning out those stables nightly on twelve hour shifts, was a lot of work and one night a stallion got loose and ran out of the barn, ran crazy like through Main Street. Tyrone, a big Blackman, who assisted Josh, for a few hours, who had really the day shift, but his shift went into Josh’ shift, purposely, so one could help the other, he, Tyrone, bigger than Josh and who had been working prior to Josh coming on during the day, Josh now coming on at eight PM, was said by Tyrone Gibbons, he, Josh was really the cause of the trouble. That Josh left the stable door open, when in essence, the horse had run out a few minutes before Josh had arrived to work.

And now Josh is recollecting this old happening, and telling it to his son Silas, as they sit on the porch of Josh’s shanty hut in back of the Hightower mansion, it is fall of 1899.
“They had the advantage over me son,” said Josh, in the cool fall air, Silas listening attentively about Tyrone Gibbons “Yessum, they know’ed it also, they have the advantage over me, they wes two of them against me, like two trained dogs. I tells them someone left the stall open…he say Tyrone Gibbons say, Mr. Ritt, it wes Josh, he did it, he the scoundrel, but he know he did it, that he is the scoundrel, cuz I say so, but Ritt he jes’ look at us both, and I hold my respect, tell Master Hightower, Mr. Ritt say ‘That there nigger of your is trouble maker, and I’m goin’ to whip him good, he done left my stallion loose.”’
“Maybe God, he done took a nap; he was sleepin’ and didnt help yaw pa that day, it sounds!”

“God, he don’t git tired, he jes’ git fed up with us all down yonder here, I reckon; anyhow, I goes hide, and Hightower finds me behind the cow in the corral, I guess Ritt he mighty mad, cuz he still is out lookin’ for his horse, and me, cuz I hightail it out of that stable and leavae Tyrone to his own destiny. And then Hightower he done shot a turkey, and he sees me hiding by the cow, and it a big mamma gobbler, that turkey is, and he dont say a word to me, he jes’ walk over to my shanty and leave that there turkey on my porch, and he leave a note, I can read a bit, and it say, ‘I dont think Ritt will be askin’ for yaw in the future, cuz I told him I done whipped yaw good, so if you sees him, tell him ‘woo, it hurt so much!’ and I eats that turkey he left, and you young ones, eats the turkey, but you dont know the trouble I gits into over that there turkey. And Ritt, he never look at this here nigger again.”

Old Josh, in: Poor Black (the Book, first time on the Internet)

2008-07-10T10:47:00.000-07:00

Written in Titled Vignettes

Old Josh, in—
Poor Black

(Sequel to: ‘C raddled by the Devil’: a Novel)

By Dennis L. Siluk
Index

Foreword & Descriptions
(1803-1813)
♦
(1862-1864)

Chatting in the Barn
(And the Slave Ship)
Fiddlesticks
Old Josh, from Ozark, Alabama
(And Memories from Marcus on the Slave Ship)
Josh Laying Sick
Josh Goes Fishing
♦
Yellow Negro
I Aint no Nigger
Josh Sings to Molly
(And the Shanty)
Joshes Ghost
♦
(1868-1913)

Black Stranger in Town (1868)
Across the Moon (1869)
(Charles Hightower’s Death)
The Wild Horse (1872)
Hanging of Amos of Stone Bridge (1883)
Moonshine and the Devil (1886)
Last Day in Ozark (1889)
The Brown Toad Race (1898)
Autumn Quiet (1907)
((1907) (Josh’s Death))
Centipedes in the Shanty (1908-1913)
Gabe and Sweet Chile ((1846) (1909))
The Marsh Angel (1910)

Names and Places (Back of book)

†

Book One

Mr. Charles Hightower, 1813 (23-years old,
In New Orleans)

Foreword: Old Joshua Jefferson (known in his older years as Old Josh), born 1803, died 1907, was found in New Orleans, during the spring of 1810, he was seven years old. Charles Hightower, from Ozark, Alabama found him, like a stray dog eating what he could out of the garbage, looking for mother, they had come over from Africa, and she had somehow escaped the hands of the traders, and Hightower took little Joshua and named him Joshua Jefferson, and when he could fully understand English he explained his name to him saying, “I named you Jefferson for President Thomas Jefferson, since he was born on the year Jefferson made the Louisiana Purchase, 1803, from the French, which cost the Government of the United States a little over $23-million dollars, but added 828,000 square miles to its land mass about one third of the United States ((23% of the United States today)(which also included New Orleans, parts of Minnesota, and down along the rim between Canadian and Montana, and all the way down to New Mexico)); also, he, Jefferson, was sort of a philosopher, and Charles Hightower explained this to Joshua: saying the name Joshua also had a biblical history: Joshua of the Bible was born in a land that was not his, in Egypt, under enslavement, and in his case, in Joshua Jefferson’s case, he was brought to a land that wasn’t his, America, but back to the biblical Joshua, who was a Jew, and when Moses died, he took over where he left off, so he was Moses’ right hand man, and the most militaristic of the twelve tribes of Israel, he was a warrior, and Charles told Josh he would be his right hand man, he’d have to fight some battles in life though, and his name might fit him well for that, for his name meant: to deliver, to be liberated or to be victorious, and Joshua Jefferson would take this to heart in his own way throughout his life.”
And then went and paid for a birth certificate that read 1803, he could have been a few years older, maybe ten not seven, but that is how it turned out, and in time little Josh would learn English, and forget most of his African native tongue.
Joshua had asked Charles Hightower, what his name meant, and he, Charles tried to explain, “My family,” he started out to say, “came from England, came over to America around 1650, or so, first settled in New England, and moved on down to the South, to Alabama and North Carolina, Georgia, and New Orleans and so forth. Charles is an old English name, perhaps extending to and beyond Charles, King of England in 1625 AD, not sure, my mother’s Emily Hightower, she was born 1755, and she died a year after my birth, in 1790, it would seem her system weakened and, oh well, it’s all history now. So that’s me, Joshua.”

It was now 1862, Josh was, 59-years old according to his birth certificate, and he worked the Hightower Plantation all his living days, he had son Silas, and Jordon who was two years younger (Silas being born 1827, now 35-years old, and Jordon being born 1830 now 32-years old).
Across from the Hightower Plantation was the Smiley Plantation, owned by Mr. Jacob Smiley was 72-years old, born 1790, and his wife Maribel Smiley. Toby was the Negro slave on that plantation, the main one, there were several. And Toby was Jacob’s son, the same age as Silas thirty five, born 1827.
Charles Hightower, was born near Ozark, Alabama, in 1779, his family bought the land, 1200-acres back 1779, after the big war, the one Charles’ father fought in, down in the swamps of Florida, with Andrew Jackson, he didn’t rightly know when he pa was born, but he came over on one of those ships from England he told Charles Jr., when he was of formal reasoning. He died in 1800, he said he was 80-years old, so Charles Jr. remembered, but no one really discussed age back then. The called him C.J. or CJ Hightower Sr. or Charles Jason Hightower. Charles Hightower, was never given a middle name, his mother Aurea Hightower, her daughter Emma Hightower,

Descriptions: Josh was a thick boned man, a wide forehead, big hands, broad shoulders, six-foot two, perhaps 200-pounds. His eyes were a tinge small for his big head, and he always seemed to be in need of a shave, but wasn’t unkempt. He had big ears, and moved slow. He had a receding forehead, but enough hair to cover his whole head, not like his two sons, who had little hair to speak of in their thirties. Josh also had big feet, wide, and his cheekbones extended outward by the middle of his nose and up to his eye sockets, a square jawbone that seemed to lower itself a bit, and thick chin, short thick neck, and strong as a bull.
Silas, the older boy of the two boys of Josh, now men of thirty or more, resembled their mother more then their father, in looks, both had round chins, thinned out hair, yet it covered their small foreheads, Silas had big thick lips, whereas, Jordon had thin lips. Jordon took after his father in the lip area Silas was the more serious one of the two, and like his father had high cheek bones, but a longer nose, almost buckteeth, like his brother Jordon, who had really large buck teeth. Jordon played the Banjo, and was more mischievous. Silas and Josh never played any instruments. And they all liked to drink moonshine and dance about at night.
Continuing, Silas had large ears like his father and Jordon small ears like his mother. Silas had thick eyebrows like his father and Jordon thin like his mother. Jordon was the smaller one of the family the three some, perhaps five foot eight inches tall but robust in the chest, and hair on that chest; whereas, Silas, was perhaps five foot nine inches tall, a little thicker in body weight and bones than his brother, a fuller face also, and a little hair on his chest too.

Chatting in the Barn
(And the Slave Ship)
1862
Silas and Jordon Jefferson
Of Ozark, Alabama

“Wes at war!” said Josh ‘at war I says!”
But Silas paid little attention to his pa, it was as if he felt Josh was losing his mind this past year or two, talking just to talk, or perhaps talking to himself more than ever, for whatever reasons, perhaps attention, he’d not look even at Silas half the time when he talk, he’d just talk to talk, and kept on talking no matter if Silas or Jordon or any one was listening, it didn’t matter. It was as if something in his pa’s mind got caught and needed to wiggle free, as if he had to get it out, and talking did it. Right or wrong, talking did it, perhaps past frustration, or hidden anger, who knows, but it got out because he spit it out one way or another, either straight out or sideways, but it got out, and sometimes dangerously.
The problem being, for Silas anyhow, Josh’s older boy, there was work to be done on the plantation, and not enough workers to do it anymore, and today there was work to be done in the barn, lots of work, and if he turned about every time his pa said something, or had something to say, wanting someone to listen, and that someone was Silas, he’d not get anything done, and then Mr. Hightower, Charles Hightower that is, would whip him, will he didn’t whip him anymore, he did once or twice when he was a kid, the worse now was a slap behind his head or a kick where the sun didn’t shine. He never used anything other than his hands, nowadays, or feet, not a whip or shaving strap like the old plantation owners did, but just knowing he could and he might, was good enough. And Jordon was down is Ozark half the time, at that darn Grocery Store working.
“We is got to recover our freedom!” said Josh, with a patriotic arch in his back, and a somewhat grouchy voice, looking at Silas in the barn, then added to that, while Silas was still looking his way, “yes, I is talking to you, Silas, who you think?”
“What we want of a white mans war pa, just let them do what they is goin’ to do? Once we is free, they aint goin’ to free us down south here anymore then, than what we is today, its just a piece of paper that goin’ say we is free, but the mind of the white man aint goin’ to change for a hundred years and we is goin’ to be dead by that time, and if you keeps talkin’ just to talk, I is goin’ to be dead when Mr. Hightower sees the barn all full of this and that, gots to clean the manure before he steps in it,” says Silas.

Asked Silas, “Who says the war is ours?”
“I says—!“ said Josh, looking with a stern eye at Silas, looking and kicking a bit of hay about, pretending to work, and not really working, pacing between the wooden beams holding up the barn, pacing like the devil himself trying to think what he was going to say next, perhaps thinking about where he was going to take his afternoon nap.
“You is too much for me pa,” said Silas, adding, “pa, this here work is done, you go on to the shanty and seep it off, I think you had too much moonshine last night!”
“You young ones think we is jes’ ole ignorant folk—we is sometimes cuz if-in we known somthin’, we’d not be here today, but there goin’ to be a day when poor ole niggers like us, we is goin’ to swat the white man off us like the horse does to the fly with his behind tail,” said Josh, and picked up his cane he had laying against a pole in the barn and pretended to swat flies, and laughed, and Silas laughed and shook his head saying, “Some times pa, I think you is the funniest person I done ever known!
“I reckon,” said Josh, rubbing his eyes, “I is goin’ to take a nap and swat some more flies (ha, ha, ha—he went! as he walked out of the barn to his shanty his little hut behind the barn where he and Silas and Jordon lived).”
Yes in deed, Josh was feeling his temper rising, and lowering like a yoyo this past year, feeling his age, and his oats you could say, while trying to help his son Silas understand his thinking, but Silas was easy going, like Josh used to be, and I suppose Silas felt it better his pa sleep a little more, then he could get a lot more work done, because Josh he just walked sometimes aimlessly in circles thinking, just thinking and Hightower was starting to notice that, although he didn’t say a word, he stared enough.

As time went on, Silas learned how to listen to his pa but not listen to him (something called disassociation), this way he got his work done, and his pa thought he heard him most of the time, and Josh got his attention, and everyone was happy—for the most part; if you know what I mean by being happy, perhaps content might be a better word, but the work got done.
Silas had been a slave all his life. I mean, he looked up to his pa, respectful, but when Mr. Hightower came into the picture, he of course gave him his due respect likewise, not earned respect, but respect by rank, it was given to him because who he was, not what he was, or what he had done, for he had not done anything for the Jefferson’s, or for anybody but himself and his family. And Josh knew this kind of respect, although with Josh, Hightower was more a father figure than a boss figure, where as for Silas, he was more boss figure than a father figure, because Silas had Josh for a father, and Josh couldn’t remember his father, for the most part, and what he did remember was just the beating of drums, and folks dancing around a fire, and him being told to learn all he could about survival in the jungle, the big cats and so forth.

Cargo and Hatches

—What he really remembered, but never really told anyone, at this time, was the five-hundred or so slaves that were on the ship he was on, coming across the Atlantic, a slave ship, how the heat and the odor was horrid, that he and the other five-hundred were in a complete state of nudity, and although the Captain did not want them to go on deck for fresh air, nor even open up the hatches so they could get fresh air, the protest and sympathy for them among the ships mates, and perhaps a few absolutists at heart, was strong, and he allowed it; it was all so suffocating, people of all ages and sexes, children, women, men, old men an so forth, they all came onto deck like a storm of bees, and he was with his mother, that is what he remembered, and he looked up to her, proud he had somebody, but how did they get into this mess, he couldn’t figure it out. How did she allow such a thing to happen, and now look, fifty-years later, he is still a slave.
He wanted to tell Silas all of this, and this was why he was so profound with his anger, it was frozen anger, that now had thawed,, but didn’t have the words to tell Silas, how crowed the ship was, to suffocation from stern to stern, it was amazing when he saw them on deck, how they all had been crammed into the ships bowels, in some places children were pushed or packed into remote areas to make room for adults, not caring of life or death, and when they got on deck many had to be carried, they could not stand: that he, Josh, knew he’d never remembered, although this was something he’d had liked to forget. Eight or nine had died, and they were thrown overboard; some of the slave cargo, Josh remembered, some of the older men, and women were foaming from the mouth, hardly any room to breath. Out of the nearly twenty-days on that ship, some forty slaves had been thrown overboard; he remembered he was under a grated hatchway between decks, the space was so low that he had to—like everyone else—sit between each others legs. He remembered that he and his fellow men and women were called cargo. How could he tell his son this, and be looked upon as his hero, he couldn’t, and he wouldn’t and he didn’t.

I suppose Josh wanted to be able to have that same respect, the kind that commands because of who you are, not earned but because you stand out, above others, and other know you are you because you are more powerful than they while you both live in the same world, drink the same water, breath the same air, walk the same earth. It was hard for Josh in those years to see Hightower get that respect from his son, and perhaps Hightower knew this.
Josh stood at the barn’s door, watched Mr. Charles Hightower, the owner of the plantation, as he got ready to go to town, to Ozark, his son was with him Dylan (now eighteen years old), and Emma (now thirteen years old) his daughter both with him, and they looked at him so proudly, as if he was king, that was the look he was looking for in the eyes of Silas and Jordon.
Josh could see Hightower’s buggy stop, as he talked to one of the Confederate Military Officer’s, Josh thinking: they want him to join their regiment perhaps. Then giving it no more attention, or thought, he walked behind the barn and took a long nap in his shanty.

Fiddlesticks
1862

(The sun was rising over Ozark, Alabama, soldiers were here and there, bivouacked in pastures, plantation fields, alongside of roads, eating breakfast, marching, exercising, brushing down mares, etc. Some of the soldiers didn’t even have uniforms on, civilian cloths, they were Confederates.)
Josh was waving his hands wildly, with an old wooden stick, hollering at a Captain in a gray uniform, whom was shaving alongside the road, in his tent, as his wagon passed by his company of soldiers, on their way to the Hightower Plantation, his son, he even yelled: “We is all goin’ to be free men soon!” he yelled it from the top of his lungs, then he said, several times “Hooray…!”
Josh rode in the back of the wagon, holding onto those two sacks of salt on his lap, as his son Silas, scooted on down the dirt path, a little further, they had been to town and purchased several items there, for their owner, Mr. Charles Hightower, a retired country gentleman, who had been in these parts of Alabama ever since—or so it seemed— ever since Alabama was Alabama. The plantation was but ten miles up the road.
“Pa, you is goin’ to git us in a heap of trouble, jes’ you tote that there salt and stop name calling to the gray soldiers. You hear me pa?” Said Silas angry.
“If-in you give me that there whip I show you who I is, and you too; git them, we is got to git them out of the south for good. Hope the blue kills them all,” said Josh starting to get annoyed with Silas.
“Stop that there cussin’ pa, you is goin’ to git us in trouble I swear, talkin’ like that. You is the only one I hears takin’ thataway!” says Silas.
“Fiddlesticks, I is fixin’ to whip them there white grey folk you call friend, asks them to help yaw, see what they say? You aint got a word to say now I guess cuz I is right. Where Mr. Hightower, hes sittin’ his behind in his home like nothin’ is happenin’ he is watchin’ me like I is his cow, or his horse or his shoe or his fence,” said Josh, talkative as often he is.
“Yessum,” said Silas, “we be back in an hour or so, if we dont gits hung by the gray!
“Yes son,” said Josh, “…you keep talkin’ that way. Mr. Hightower he thinks the Lord done gave the white folk all the land in the world, only to them,” said Josh, “so they think!”
“I reckon so pa,” said Silas, exhausted from talking, and the heat of he day, then added to the dialogue, “you is gitten to be an old man pa, before your time.”
Said Josh so he could seemingly have the last word, which he gloated in getting, and often did get “They owns your flesh boy, and they wants your soul…Yessum, blind as the bat you is, they wants your freedom!”

(—They now were at the plantation, and they stopped at the wagon and Josh hobbling into the back area behind the barn, where his shanty was, and were a few other huts and workers were; there was something like a row of shanties, although his was separated from the rest. Waving his stick in the air, shaking it, spurts of mumbling came from him (not liking the Confederates), which was some ten miles back down the road now, and Silas happy to get back to the plantation. Silas dismantled the wagon, and moved he two horses into the barn, and then joined his father for a few shots of good old mountain style whisky.)

Old Josh, from Ozark, Alabama
1862

“I let ya know ‘bout that when the time come,” says old Josh, to his neighbor peering through the broken down fence, at the Smiley Plantation, only a fence separating the two plantations, the Hightower and the Smiley.
“Yessum” Toby said with a grimace, adding: “I aint doin’ nothin’ until youall let me know what you want me to do, and why!”
“Hush, Toby!” Josh says, as if he was in charge. Then looked about, looked every which way, turned his head over to his left shoulder, as if to clear his right ear, as if he was listening to something, or was expecting to hear something.
“You got to find the box that is hidden…” Josh says, with a serious tone to his voice, still listening, as if to hear foot steps come over his way, or behind him, any which way, as if this was classified information, and it was to him just that, and if it leaked out to anyone other than them two, he’d have to hightail it out of Alabama, right quick.
“Why do we got to be so quiet Josh, there aint nobody for miles around, jes’ you and me…?” asked Toby.
“You got to break that there window in the kitchen, when Mr. Hightower goes on down to Ozark, he goes once a week, on Tuesdays I reckon, you jes’ take your time, and go on up to his bedroom and under his bed is the box, I needs that there box, so I can go on North, I is going soon,” said Josh with a smile.
“Ooo I sees now, you wants me, to brake the window for youall, so I can rob Mr. Hightower of his box, and money in that there box I bet, and gives it to you, so youall can take it to the North, and then they finds me, and hangs me from the tall tree, cuz I help you, and you is in some place I aint never heard of, drinking moonshine, and laughing that Toby done took the box and gives it to you, so you can scoot where you wants to. You go and take that there boy, youall wants it, you gits it. I aint goin’ to do a thing!” Yelled Toby.

(Josh is leaning both his elbows now on the fence, taking in a deep breath, looking here and there to see who is watching and no one is. Toby now moves away from the fence, his son, also a servant slave on the Smiley plantation Todd Brown, is coming up their way, Todd wants to see his father, he is thirty-one years old, he just finished work in the stable getting Mr. Smiley’s horse ready to ride on into town. Jacob Stanley is fifty-two years old.)

“Pa,” says Todd, “If-in you wants to eat, the Smiley’s are done and we-all can go on down to the kitchen and gits what is left. The stable is clean pa, so dont worry ‘bout that. I think wes got biscuits for breakfast, I likes them, I sees it being prepared when I went to fetch you…!” said Todd, expecting his pa to follow, and perhaps Josh.
“Mr. Smiley, he done left, haw?” said Toby.
“Thats what I say…!” repeated Todd.
“What is Mrs. Smiley doing?” asked Toby.
“She is searching the house, and under the porch for rats and snakes with a broom, Clara and Dennis they is helping to clear the cobwebs off he house too,” said Todd.
Yelled Silas from a distance “Mr. Hightower he a lookin’ for yaw pa!
Toby looks at Josh, and Todd he is looking at Toby hoping whatever they were talking about can be finished later, because he is getting hungry.
“See yaw at church tomorrow,” said Todd, to Josh.
“Yaw, I guess I bes’ skedaddle before he tar and father me, the white folk they likes to do that you know, jes’ gives them a reason, and the tar gets hot jes’ lookin’ at it,” and Josh and Toby laughed, as Josh hightailed it back across the fields to his son.
Silas asked his pa, as soon as he got to him, “What youall talkin’ ‘bout up there at the fenced? I means, Hightower he been a lookin’ at yaw for a spell now.”
“Wes jes’ talkin’ …‘bout nothin’ I is nagging him, thats all, jes’ a nagging him, you is goin’ to church with me tomorrow, I hope, the good Lord he is a missin’ you lately cuz you aint been there for a month of Sunday!” said Josh, to change the subject.
“Church aint done nothin’ for me pa,” said Silas, as they walked down a slope to the barnyard in the back of the Hightower Plantation House, Silas’ eyebrows up high on his forehead, thinking about telling his father he didn’t really want to go to church, but he knew Josh felt it important for him to go once and a while, and he didn’t really one to get into a fight with him over it, and so he simply said, “I reckon it wont do me no harm once in awhile pa, but dont be expectin’ me to keep you company every Sunday,” rattled Silas, and Josh gave him a big smile.
“Is your brother Jordon down in Ozark working at that Grocery Store today?” asked Josh, he hadn’t seen him, and often he worked there, and sometimes he worked a week straight, slept in the back on a cot, Mr. Hightower allowed it when there wasn’t a lot of work on the Plantation to be done, and since the war was on, most of the slaves had run off.
“I reckon he be on his way this afternoon for a few days, that is what he says to anyway,” remarked Silas.

The Funeral
(And Memories from Marcus on the Slave Ship)

1863

Josh stood by the wooden cross, in the graveyard Jordan Macalister, his cousin, who had fought with the Yankees, had come home—come home in a wooden box, Josh was at the funeral, with his two sons Silas and Jordon, they had journeyed from Ozark, Alabama to South Carolina, Richland County; Josh was there to give a sermon, Mr. Hightower, his owner, by authority and proxy heretofore, thorough the Southern states, allowed him to migrate for the funeral from Alabama to South Carolina, he had a paper that said so, notarized indicating this Negro belonged to Charles Hightower, and it was permitted for him and his two sons to attend the funeral, by his authority.

Along with this part of the country having its share of Civil War problems, it also had its share of superstitions; from the superstition element, they were tales of terror that came out of Africa, canebrakes and jungles, out of its yellow waters, dikes and slave trade, nonetheless, Josh and his boys were there: perhaps some of this superstition coming also from the new Negro genetic pool in that area of a hybrid form, black with white and Indian blood now mixed.

Memories from Marcus on the Slave Ship

—Josh stood there, with the fifty others family members and all, and other black folks, negroes from families that remembered him as a boy, now in their 80s and 90s, remembered him on the slave ship, just like Jordan Macalister, who took the name his master gave him, he was on that ship, slave ship with Josh, he was a few years younger, Josh being somewhere around eight, nine or even ten, and Jordan being a year younger or so. Marcus Macalister was there also, Jordan’s father, he was 86-years old this year. He came out on the same Slave Ship, in 1813, with Josh and his Mother.
He, Marcus reminded Josh of Reverend Walsh that he was the one who got them to open up those air hatches for them on the slave ship coming over to America, he had been working on the ship, and had it not been for him, he himself might have been foaming from the mouth, and Josh suffocated likewise.
“I remember that big gun aboard the ship, on deck…” said Marcus to Josh, as Josh was getting ready to do his sermon. He reminded him also that there were 560 people on board not 500 as Josh remembered it; Silas overheard Marcus talking about the slave ship and all, it was all new, news to him. The old man also remembered a few of the crew spoke Portuguese, and he had kept in mind the words, they cried out ‘Viva!’ Josh listened, and he knew Marcus had to get it out, and for some reason he could, but Josh had a hard time talking about it.
“I remember brother,” said Josh, “when they done opened those hatches, all the women reached up to kiss their hands, thinking they done come to free us, even my mother did that, I suppose we ought to be grateful for the fresh air, cuz we never got the freedom!”
“Yous sounds a bit bitter yet Josh?” said Marcus.
“Yaw, I supposen I am, hard to bury that damn ship! Wes got to git on with the funeral Marcus stands aside so I can give the sermon!”
Silas was listening to all this, his eyes even got a little moist, he thought, or at least his face expressed it: I guess we really don’t know what is inside the other person the hardships they had to endure, thinking the hardships at hand are the hardest, when to Josh, life was really pleasant in comparison, maybe—just maybe, they gone through much more than they are letting us see, thought Silas, and for good reason, why ask for pity, when God let you find a way out of that black hole.

The Sermon at Mount Calvary Cemetery
By Josh Jefferson

“Jes’ before this day close Lord, my ole friend, Jordan Macalister, he done come with me on that there ship I dont like talkin’ ‘bout, you knows which one Lord, he and me, comes together—Yessum! now that there same ship summons him home, well, he on his way I guess, that there ship come back jes’ for him I bet, sure-enough; he be with you soon, from this here world before this here day is done and gone, shows him pity Lord, and save some for me, cuz I is still angry at that there ship, and I knows it, the young folks cant see how it used to be, cus it a new time now, the old forgotten, and maybe best it stay that way, and that is all I gots to say.!

Josh: Laying Sick
1863

“I is sick,” said Josh, laying quietly on his bunk bed against the wall of his shanty, covered up to his neck, he was shivering. Bone tired, dry mouth, pain in his spine.
“I know you is sick pa,” said Silas “I think I is goin’ to look for Molly, she can tells me what to do for ya pa.”
“Molly,” said Josh, with a weakened voice, an utter that sounded more interesting than his yelping about his aches and pains.
“Where is Molly?” asked Josh.
“I sees her an hour or so ago,” said Silas.
“You git on out of here son, and find that there dark eyed woman, shes alaying down yonder by the creek I bet, I sees here there now and then, tells Molly I is so…oo sick, I needs her right away!”
Silas rushed out of the shanty looking for Molly, she was a freed slave, with papers to prove it, and all the papers were signed officially from the Abernathy Plantation, Mr. Abernathy, of North Carolina, and came down to live in Ozark, a little over a year ago (1861-62) and to Josh, she was as lovely as a peacock, and only forty-years old, Molly Washington Benton.
She now worked for the Smiley and Hightower Plantations as a seamstress when they needed one, but had some medical experience in first aid; she had worked in 1860 and ‘61 for several months worked with the wounded black soldiers in North Carolina, when she wasn’t doing official duties for Mr. Abernathy.
Molly had a little hut, and a half acre of land she bought down by Goose Hill Creek, with the money the Abernathy family gave her, or so she told everyone, and she had family down in Ozark also she said, but nobody ever saw them, just heard about them from her.
How she got her freedom and money to buy the land, no one really knows, but some folks had said—all speculation of course—she was raped by a white man, a soldier who got drunk, knocked on her door in Fayetteville, and said “I come to screw you,” and it was during the day, and the sun was shinning through her window, and some folks saw him as she was pushed about, and this Private Hancock was doing the pushing, and it was also said, these good citizens saw him slap her and kick her. And when the soldiers came to find him, because he had gotten drunk on duty, and left his post, he was hiding under her bed. To keep it all quiet, the Hancock family paid the Abernathy family to free her, and give her $1500-dollars to get out of town and never return. And she did just that. She never did work long for Abernathy family and never spent much time on the plantation, because Abernathy kept her in a small hotel room in Fayetteville, for his personal reasons, told his family she was caring for the sick, and he looked to them, and she did care free for the sick.

Well, Josh got thinking, mumbling a bit (as Silas went to fetch her—): ‘here I am, not a tooth in my head, sick in bed, no wife, and this woman is coming, the only one around I like, the only one available worth looking at twice, 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 looking; like a rainbow; light brown skin, some white blood in her, perhaps, or Indian blood, something mixed anyway: as Josh always acclaimed. She always complained about Josh’s cussing, more so complain is what it really was, more than cussing, and he would agree with her he was a damned sinful man, and needed to stop it (but Josh was simply not ready to obey man, woman or beast, or at least, if he didn’t have to). If he got anything out of this showing, he was hoping he’d get some attention from her; she was kind of cute he thought; matter-of-fact, he needed a woman, perhaps didn’t need one, but would have liked one, and she was the best around. He had religious in him, an ear for a good sermon, and gave a few, a heart for the word of God, and when he prayed, he always told God he was not half as bad as any average white man, so it shouldn’t be too difficult to get through those pearly gates, that all he needed down on earth here now was his freedom and a good woman, and Molly fit the bill.
The weather was damp, it had been raining and that also sapped Josh, and now he was all of 60-years old. Just as he was feeling pity for himself, Molly walked into the shack, saw Josh laying down on a cot, the one Jordon used when he was home, not working at the store in Ozark, a window above the cot, was slightly opened for fresh air, Josh smiled and pulled up the only chair in the shack by his bed, sat up, she 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.
“You got a slight temperature Josh, and a real sweaty neck,” she commented, and then she wiped it dry with a cloth. He never took his eyes off her as she tried to fix the chicken-feathered pillow under his head.
“You is pretty as those peacocks I sees in the magazine, Molly, does youall have a man to make love to?” he asked her, almost in a humble voice.
“You are better already, I 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 aint dyin’ for a while old man,” she said, as she turned around about to leave the shack with a smile on her face, adding,
“I aint begrudging you Josh, cuz you tryin’ to do what men like to do, but you aint getting’ anything free.”
Old Josh smiled; she was right, as always, he didn’t want to marry her, he simply didn’t want to marry anyone, and he didn’t have the money like the plantation owners had, and she was expensive to keep he knew, and she couldn’t be used by men. Then she was gone. Silas then came back in the hut.
“Looks like pa, you is goin’ to die a single man!” said Silas, “but I was hopin’ for yaw.”

Josh: Goes Fishing
1863

Living on the plantation as long as Josh had, he learned where all the good spots for fishing were, and when the chores were done, and sometimes when they were not done, because sometimes they seemed unlimited (meaning: feeding the pigs, milking the cow, husking corn, and so on and so forth), he’d scoot on down to the river or creek, and go fishing for entertainment, he had a way of manufacturing his entertainment, be it with his sons, or himself. And when he didn’t like doing a certain job or chore that was when you couldn’t find him unless you went down to the creek.
There by the creek he’d fish for trout, or catfish, which ever came, he ate or whatever got hooked on his hook, he’d bring back to his shanty and he and the boys would eat, with that bamboo pole of his he caught many a fish, and it was a few times in-between all this fishing, some Yankee soldiers saw him, and tried to persuade him to join their Army, but always Josh told them he had two boys he had to support, he just left out their ages. And plus he remembered his friend, the one he just went a year back to his funeral, back to South Carolina, the one that came over on the ship with him, and his master named him Jordan Macalister.
Well, today was not one of those days where a soldier came to ask him to join, but he was thinking hard on going fishing because he didn’t like the task assigned him, he just got fed up with wringing chicken necks for the cook at the Hightower Plantation. He didn’t mine doing it, he just didn’t want to do it all day long, because Mr. Smiley left a dozen of his chickens with Mr. Hightower for him to wring their necks, and the preacher left a half dozen, and Hightower had a dozen, then he’d have to clean the mess up, but if he didn’t do it, then the cook would have to, or someone would.
He said to Silas (it was still early in the morning, close to 9:00 AM), “Why cant they find their own nigger to ring those chicken-necks, who they think I am? I rather churn the butter today, or help in the kitchen make some of that cornbread, and stir some of the boiling cabbage, not twist necks all day long, and pull those feathers out, and has to make pillows out of them, so the white folk can say ‘woo, how soft it is’ and not think a nigger done made it soft for them.”

Josh was gone now, no one knew where he was…yet everyone knew, or expected him to be, at Goose Hill Creek fishing, if not sleeping.

—Old Granny Mae Mann (79-years old in 1863), the cook at the Hightower Plantation (she had been cooking there when Josh had arrived in 1813), was making ready lunch for the Hightower kids, it was now noon, the boy and girl, had ate biscuits and honeycombed chicken, and after they left, Josh came up with some catfish, two squ rels, and asked Granny Mae to cook them for him and his boys, he’d carry them on over to his hut, as soon as she was done.
When Granny had cooked it all up, she put it in pot for him, and covered it with a cloth. Josh went back to his shack, and found out Jordon went to Ozark to work at the grocery store, he had left a note, Josh could read and write, but at a very elementary level—and Silas was up in the backwoods someplace doing something for old man Hightower. So he sat at his rustic wooden table, in his shanty, on his wobbly wooden chair and ate three catfish, and two squirrels. Then got thinking: I’ll go catch some more fish.
Well, Josh had gotten back to the creek, he tied a fishing line—after taking off his shoe—around his foot, after taking his shoe off around his ankle, laid down under a tree, actually around his ankle, and fell to sleep, he was fuller than a milking cow that had not been milked for a month.

Silas saw his father sleeping, and the string tied around his ankle, and it was wiggling, a fish was caught on the hook, and he cut the string, and let the fish go knowing Josh would stick around all night trying to catch another excited about the first catch; then, Josh woke up, “What you doing boy, you done let my fish escape?”
“No pa, it was the alligator he trying to get your fish, and if I dont let him go, I fear the gator done git madder and come up here and eat your leg, so I save you pa, Yessum, I done saved me pa…!”
Josh sits up, looks at his leg, Silas, the water, “Alligator you say, haw?”
“Yessum, a big, big one too,” said Silas with a grin.
“I thinks you is the alligator, that is my opinion!” said Josh.
“Pa!” said Silas, “nobody lookin’ for yaw yet, so if-in you gits to the barn to help with the work, Hightower, he aint goin’ to be the wiser!”
“I wonder how big that there fish was. I reckon he maybe was a whale, he done pulled my foot almost off my leg,” said Josh, Silas holding out his hand for his father to grab onto, and he did grab onto his hand, and Silas pulled his pa up onto his feet.
“Granny says you done got some catfish and squirrels for me, she say she cook them up…?” remarked, and questioned Silas.
“No, she is wrong, your fish jes’ git away and he down to the river now, the Mississippi, and going down to the Gulf, and he laughing at ya cuz he was your dinner.”

Yellow Negro
New Orleans (1863)
Old Josh got thinking after Molly left, he had laid back on the cot, Silas was out in the carrel, he got thinking of the time he went down to New Orleans, that was in the summer of 1856, with Mr. Hightower. He spent most of his time on the Warf, or pier area, bought some items, Mr. Hightower wanted. It brought back old memories of his childhood being there. His face darkly carved like a bulldog, big feet, large hands, beady eyes, and wide forehead. He walked about like an ape, hands swinging every which way, looking but not looking. Perhaps looking for something he might recognize from his childhood, when he and his mother walked the dock area.

He had been separated from his runaway wife for a long spell now, although I suppose they were never married by a piece of legal paper, never did a judge sign his name onto it that is, just common law marriage; as far as he figured it, he was widowed, and often told folks that if they asked where the boys mother was, she was dead.
Now he was back walking about in New Orleans, the very place Mr. Hightower found him in 1813, some 40-years later. Josh’s dream became quite real for him, and quite detailed. He saw many women walk by, even thought to himself: ‘What would I say to her, to any woman that got interest in me?’
He hadn’t been with a woman for –fifteen-years, and then, then out of the blue, he hears a voice, it said:
“Ha honey follow me, I’ll warm you bones for you…give you some whisky!”
He did a double take on that word…whiskey part, and turned about to see who she was, and if she was really talking to him?” a Negress had spoke those words to him, near him, he confirmed.
“What,” he said, “youall speakin’ to me?”
“Yous not white are you, behind that big black face? Cuz if you are I anit speaking to you, and if you is, I is speaking to you,” she said with a emphatic voice.

Her dress was pink and she had a seductive smile and laugh, and had a nice look to her face and a nice pear shape when she walked; Josh had Hightower’s money to buy some hoes, shovels, axes, and a plow for the plantation. His voice hung back with a laugh—
“Is you a whore?” he asked, and started to follow her. “No, I is no whore, big nigger, I is a woman of the city, who thinks you are a fine looking specimen of a man!”
“What does all that talk mean—spess-men?” asked Josh.
And before she could explain what the word meant, they were at her apartment, Josh sitting down on her cot, and her feeding him several shots of high grain whiskey, and she slipped him a mickie, something in his drink to get him smashed, sick, drunker than a skunk.
Fretfully, when Old Josh woke up she was gone and he was sick, sicker than a drunken pig; that evening Hightower found him staggering in Jackson Square, asked Josh for his money, the money he had leant him to purchase the merchandise, not seeing his hardware anyplace, looking around him some, not even a hoe, he knew something had happened.
Josh was pale as a ghost, his head looking down, sitting on a bench like a droopy jellyfish, with no light in his eyes.
“Pardon me, Josh,” said Mr. Hightower again, touching him on the shoulder, towering down on Josh’s head, “I don’t mind you getting drunk on your own time, but mine I do, especially when you are carrying my money,” he said, as Josh tired to look up at Hightower, straining to do so.
“I be better on down the road a spell, when I gits some food in me, that there alligator meat gits to me.”
Hightower looked surprised that Josh had taken off the shoes he had barrowed him, at the plantation he seldom wore shoes.
“Stand up, up!” commanded Hightower, now pulling him by the arm, Josh confused, wired, his brow full of sweat,
“Damn if the dog doesn’t bite the hand that holds the bread,” said Hightower, as they both walked in the French quarter. He knew what had happened, and in a way he blamed himself, Josh hadn’t been to New Orleans or been with a woman for a long time, and so Hightower left it at that.

“Pa,” yelled Silas, “is you having a dream or nightmare, you are moaning like a sick horse!”
Josh woke up, “Oh, yaw, yaw, I was dreaming I was in New Orleans, back in ’56.”
“Molly say, she hopes you git better and visit her some time down at the creek!” said Silas.
“She say that haw, maybe I be better tomorrow.” Said Josh with a sly look at Silas.

“I Aint no Nigger”
1863

It has been a month since Josh got over his illness where Molly had come over to assist in his recovery. And when he had that dream, about him being in New Orleans back in ’56 again; today he and his boys went to the Hightower picnic, and there he got to talk to Molly, and he was hoping to see Aunt Bessie, she’s helped raise Josh’s boys, she’s the same age as Josh, the picnic was good, and Josh is now back from the river picnic, talking to Bessie, asking a few questions by the fenced in the carrel area, Bessie’s brother, Malcolm works for the Smiley’s, as does Bessie. Bessie kind of likes Josh, and knows he likes Molly.

Back from the Picnic

Says Josh to Bessie, “We all, me and my boys and I been down by the river fishin’!” (Josh a little drunk)
“With who…” asked Bessie?
“With me, and my boys, I jes’ tells you that.” Said Josh a bit irritated.
“Did you talk to that Molly girl?” asked Bessie.
“Me and Silas and Jordon and boss Hightower, and some white folks, we down there fishin’, caught a turtle, and I drank their whisky, and helped pour the white folks whisky, and Molly she say hi, and I say hi, and then I say by. Why?” Said Josh with a laugh, because he made his last words rhyme.
“You aint funny Josh Jefferson, why you bein’ nice to white folk?” asked Bessie.
“Cuz they is good to me today, they done gave me five dollars and all the whiskey I can drink, and Hightower he like my pa, cuz I never had one you know; I mean sometimes he is, and sometimes he is now. What kind of answer yous want?”
“You aint give me a straight answer Josh,” remarked Bessie.
“Cuz I aint straight Bessie, I is drunk, what youall expect?” Said Josh, as her brother tried to pull her away, and take her back to their hut on the Smiley plantation, Bessie had been waiting for Josh all day

“Come on home Bessie, Josh, he done change his attitude, he like those white folks, he a real nigger now!”
“I aint no nigger to nigger,” said Josh, “if you needs a whippin’ to prove I is a better man than you, we can start it right here, and Bessie gits to see her brother beat up by a bigger nigger than he. So you watch your mouth, while you can.” Said Josh, and he meant what he said, and Malcolm knew he meant what he said, and Malcolm was ten years younger than Josh, and three inches shorter, and fifty pounds lighter than Josh, but Malcolm just stood staring at Josh silent, unsure of his next move.
All of a sudden Malcolm threw a punch at Josh, and Josh just grabbed his fist with his big hand, and with one quick twist, and jerk upward, Malcolm leaped a foot off his feet, and you could hear his wrist crack, and when Josh let go, Josh picked him up like a bundle of hay, and tossed him into the horse carrel.
“Your brother he is drummer than I thought,” said Josh as he walked away to his hut.

Josh’s Songs to Molly
Summer of 1863

A few weeks after that Hightower picnic, that is, the gathering down by the river, when Josh had come back to the plantation, and Bessie and her brother had a little confrontation, Josh had went back to his shanty, and made a song for Molly
They, Joshua and Molly are now sitting on the little porch, that porch Josh built in the 1850s, for days just like this, he’s be owing Molly all summer long, and finally she has come to his shanty again, to hear his song, and Jordon will play the banjo to liven the romantic mood up:

The Mocking Bird Song
By Joshua Jefferson

”Tonight she comes to the arms
And ole Joshua Jefferson, he happy
Like the cooing of the mocking bird
As the mocking bird sings…!Tonight she comes to my arms
Do you knows what that means?

I dont worry what the bird say
They like the eagle beak, trying
To listen to everything, so they
Can go gossip, tell what they see:
Wish I could take her today, my
Molly Washington Benton, down
To Louisiana, to New Orleans,
Hush those mean mocking birds
Clip their wings, send them home
To their mamma, one way!

“Oh, that is jes’ fine Joshua, not sure what it all means, except you think the mocking bird is nice, but he gits in your way, and that is not so good,” said Molly.
“Well,” said Josh, “I was trying to say, I likes you a lot, and here, take this glass of corn whisky, Granny Mae made it a few days ago.” And she did take it.
“When did you get your own hut, I mean, all the other slaves got to sleep with one another?” said Molly.
“Yaw, I suppose that the way it looks, bit it was back in 1823 I was a- longing for a place of my own. Mr. Hightower, sees that, and he say, ‘Joshua, I is going to separate you from the others, cuz you are my right hand man, I was but twenty-years old then, worked for Mr. Hightower for ten-years, he in his thirties I think, maybe more, I cant remember, and so he had a hut built for me and he gave me a gives me a steel cot, and in years I buy the bunk bed when Silas and Jordon was born, and I build on the back pantry, to put my coat and shoes in, but I don’t like shoes, Mr. Hightower buy me a pair, ten years ago, wore them twice, two funerals. Then I build this hear porch about five years ago, and the garden jes’ before the porch, and that is about it, oh—I puts in the window by the cot, in 1842, so I can see my garden and not have to out of the hut,” explained Josh.

“Fine,” said Molly, “but I reckon I best be getting on down to my little house by the creek before it gits too dark,” and before Josh could get up and try to kiss her, she was out the door waving goodbye to him, and Josh mumbling, ‘she faster than a rattlesnake.’”
Old Josh’s Ghost
Winter of 1864
Josh is sitting on his wooden porch, the one he attached onto his shanty several years ago, he’s talking to Mr. Charles Hightower, they seldom talk, but when they do it seems to always excite Josh, I suppose it is because in his own way, he has been given a little more respect, regard than the other slaves of Mr. Hightower’s, fellow slaves that once worked for Charles, there really are no more slaves on his plantation, just Granny Mae, and the Jefferson’s now, and the slave days are almost over.
Times are changing, Mr. Hightower is now seventy-five years old, and Josh is sixty-one, when they had met in New Orleans, Josh was ten, and Charles was twenty-four years old, a handsome aristocrat looking gentlemen, and he still was, but old, and his face no longer smooth, and Josh always remembered that; but he still had a mustache and a light beard.
Mr. Hightower’s buggy is sitting outside of the plantation fence on the dirt road, ready to be driven into town, to Ozark.
“Thought I’d stop by to see how you been Josh, are things ok with you and your family?” asked Mr. Hightower.
“I saw an ole ghost, he appeared to me the other day, Mr. Hightower,” said Josh, “the devil and his demons was in this dream also they his friends, he tell me they got different kinds of people in hell, and they got pastures, but I know they is full of fire,” says Josh, and Mr. Hightower smiles, he knows Josh likes to imagine things, and talk, and it is his way of entertaining himself.
“That there ghost was ole Henry, and I hears him say, ‘I is glad to see you Josh,’ but I aint glad to see him, Mr. Hightower, and he knows it, Henry Clayton, he used to live down yonder, by the ole fishin’ hole, by the creek, drinkin’ all the time, died of some kind of stomach thing, from drinkin’ and I tell him, Henry you stay dead, I don’t wants to see you…” chatted Josh.
Mr. Hightower didn’t really know what to say, he had just stopped to see Josh, as if he was his son almost. He saw then, Josh was getting a bit eccentric, like old Mary Lincoln, Father Abraham’s wife, up there in Washington, so folks talked about her, said she was a bit on the odd side.
“In the war of 1812, the war folks all forgot about, I was in it for a short time Josh, and I used to have dreams, perhaps delusions, I don’t rightly know, but I got these nightmares also, where I saw demons and other such things, too much stress on the mind and body does strange things, you raising two boys, and a wife that run off from you years ago, and your mamma who died on you, and that ship that brought you over here, is having its toll on you these years. Listen up, I am going to leave you this land, four acres of land and this hut and $3000-dollars when I die, you’ve been a good man all these years, I’ll leave it in my will, give you a copy of it, and maybe old Henry will disappear someday,” said Hightower.
And Old Man Hightower simply put his hand on Josh’s shoulder, said, “It’s been a busy half century together, hope we got a few more years together,” and walked away to his buggy. Josh just looking, wanted to finish his story, but was taken in by Mr. Hightower; he was the only one that could almost make him stutter and he was the only one Josh would stop and listen to.

Black Stranger in Town!(Spring of 1868)
In the Spring of 1868, Abram Boston, Josh’s brother in law came into town, Ozark, to find Josh, he heard he was still at the Hightower Plantation, and headed on out there (his sister being Josh’s ex-wife, Rebecca Boston Jefferson)

“Say Mrs., I’m looking for a Joshua Jefferson, I hear he works on this plantation?” said Abraham Boston, to Mrs. Aurea Hightower, who was working out in front of the plantation house on her garden, with her daughter Emma.
Emma looked at him, he was a black stranger, with a big smile from ear to ear, and she answered by saying, “I reckon he may be in his house, back yonder by the barn, and who you are?” she asked.
“I is his brother-in-law, and I came all the way from New Orleans to see him.” Abram said in a quiet voice.

Old Josh had seen the stranger and was hiding behind the cow corral and by some jimson weeds, he looked familiar but he couldn’t see all that well, it was a distance. The stranger stood looking, chewing tobacco, glancing toward the barn, as Mrs. Hightower pointed that way. The Abram saw Josh hiding behind the corral post, and started walking his way, said with a yell,
“Haw…Josh its Abram! Your brother in law!”
Josh continued to conceal himself, even though his brother in law saw him. Abram walked right up to Josh, looked him deadeye into his face, said, “Josh, why you hiding, don’t you remember me?”
Old Josh still remained quiet. Then Josh hollered at him, “Keep right on goin’ dont look back, I dont need your kind here!”
“Well, I reckon I cam-a long ways not for nothin’…” said Abraham still chewing his tobacco, while listening off and on to the mockingbirds singing on a nearby magnolia tree.
(There was dust in the air blowing about on this early spring morning, the scent of flowers filling the air and Josh wanted to lay down, didn’t really want his day disturbed; wanted to go fishing later, he was set in his ways, and here comes a stranger, yes a brother in law, but really a stranger, he hadn’t seen him for 25-years, now coming up the road on a sprinkled old horse, ties it to the fence, talks to his boss lady, and now is at the carrel for whatever reasons he didn’t know, and didn’t want to know, because it would cost, it always did. His second sense it was somebody from the past, back when he was married, who wanted to use that for some reason to get into his pocket,.)
“Looks like you are still a poor man, and its 1868, the war is over why you living like a slave?” asked Abraham.
“I’m goin’ on seventy-nine years old, Josh,” he said, as if his days were numbered—then spat into the weeds some of his over moistened tobacco he was chewing.
There was a shadow of gloom on Josh’s face, and a bitter sneer that he tried to hide.
Again out of instinct, or second sight, Josh invited Abram to his shack, for a drink of corn whisky, and as they sat on Josh’s porch (Abram noticing his two room shack, still chewing his tobacco, slowly, Josh noticed Mrs. Hightower had departed, went back into the house, after she saw everything was fine).
“My sister did you wrong Josh, com with me to New Orleans,” remarked Abram you can live in a big house with me and my kids, my sister she’s up north I hear, in a place called Minnesota.”
Then Silas come by, and Josh introduced their uncle to them, and Abram gave Silas a five dollar bill, saying he missed all his birthdays, so this was to make up for it.
Both Josh and Abram fell to sleep on the porch, drunk, and when they woke up in the morning, his spotted horse was in the carrel, and had been fed by Silas.
“Nah…! All right!” shouted Abram, in a rustic voice, as he stood up, flung his coat over his shoulder, spat out some tobacco onto the dirt a few feet from the front of the porch—put on his hat emerged onto the road in front of Hightower’s house, Josh had walked his horse up to the fence. At the same time, old Josh turned his head to see what his son was doing; he heard a noise in the hut, said to Abram,
“I hope Silas aint pick up your bad habit on chewing tobacco, cuz if he has, I goin’ to look for ya and throw all that tobacco away,” Abraham just laughed,”… just like you used to be,” he said, and mounted his horse and rode of.
And old Josh was happy as a bee with a bucket of honey, and ran back to the shanty to get his fishing pole.

Across the Moon
1869

Charles Hightower died in the fall of 1869, eighty-years old, leaving Joshua Jefferson $3000-dollars, and four acres of land, starting from where his shanty was; Dylan Hightower, his son now 24-years old, the same age Charles was when he met Joshua, was in charge, his daughter Emma 19-years old, his wife, Aurea, being forty-eight years old, they would continue to live in the Plantation House, but the days of heavy planting, and big crops were over.
Emily Hightower, Charles’ mother, born 1755, died 1790, died young, at the age of 35-years old, it was her dream to see the plantation strong and in its glory, Charles brought it to that stage, and he always felt proud, for his mother’s sake to have done it. His wife Aurea, was different, her pride was in her children more so than her husband and plantation, like Emily’s was; priorities for each person are often times different. Emily always said, God was first, then her and her husband, and then the kids, and then the plantation; she had it down to a system, Aurea, although a good wife, and excellent mother, never really had a system.
Emily died one night in bed, no one around to watch her, the doctor was downstairs having coffee with a few shots of moonshine them, and not really paying that much attention to his patients symptoms, evidently Emily couldn’t breath for ten to fifteen minutes, because that was the time period the doctor had life his patient alone, who was in a crises mood. When she died, died because of the doctors, carelessness, her Husband, Charles Jason Hightower, shot him I cold blood, shot him dead right at the table where he sat and drank his coffee mixed with whisky, shot him three times in a wild stupor.
The judge said, “We would have hung him anyways, for incompetence, you saved the court time and money Charles, go and have a good day, case dismissed, under the old law of, your weapon misfired, while in a fit of anger, fired accidentally, cuz I’m sure that your intentions were not to kill him, even though he deserved hilling.”
And the judge after Hightower left the court room, told the scribe not to write down the first part of the minutes of what he said, and to let him read it afterwards, in case he needed to fix a few sentences.
Josh still helped around the place, he had come to the conclusion he was going to die there, right on that plantation, it would have been too much a strain for him to have to try and start over in life. He was familiar with everybody and everything in that area, it was his home, and no longer angry at the ship that brought him to America, Mr. Hightower had made-up for that, I guess. He had a new light on the matter in 1869. Silas would remain on the plantation, and do most of the work, and watch over his father, while Jordon spent most of his time at the Grocery Story in Ozark, as a clerk, sleeping on a cot in the back of the room, and flirting with the negress’ as they came by to say their hellos.

Asked Aurea, “Josh, do you want to attend the funeral?”
“It wont be necessary,” he said sadly, and walked away, not to be impolite, but he was starting his grieving process I believe, Aurea heard him mumble as he walked away, “I can sees it from my shanty.”
The old Hightower cemetery was on a slope in the fields, with a fence around it. Someday, whoever bought the plantation would perhaps have to move it back farther, unless they wanted to leave that little patch of land, with several trees around it where it lay, and it was like an oasis, in the middle of the field, and nobody wanted to cut all those tall trees down, and try to even out the mound.
Joshua and Charles saw each other almost everyday for 56-years, more than his wife, children, and business partners, more than anyone alive; it would be hard on Joshua, but once buried, once Charles was six feet under, he, Joshua would do what Charles told him to do: not look back.
“Flowers, I’ll pick some flowers,” said Josh to himself, out loud, he now was 66-years old; still spry and youthful, his bones strong, his face showed time had passed, but not bad.
That night after supper, he walked into the fields, up that mound, and looked at the gravesite, the hole had already been dug he noticed, folks were coming from town all day to say their goodbyes at the house, where his coffin lay in an upstairs guest bedroom. He took in a deep breath, almost breathless before, stood in front of the hole, its edge, dropped his flowers into it, geraniums, blurry eyed, he said, “He be a coming Lord,” his reed-stemmed pipe in one hand, a bible in the other, looking down into the hole, “Yessum, he be a coming soon, tomorrow I expect Lord, his wife Aurea, she say so (Aurea was behind a tree crying, silently, she noticed Josh there, but did not say a word, and perhaps Josh knew she was there, but he did not say a word) but he dead, and we all some day goin’ be dead, so I be seein’ him soon I expect; he done took me out of hell in New Orleans Lord, and he tell me one day, ‘Josh, don’t you look back, its all up front now, nothin’ back there son,’ Yessum, he say son, and I try not to look back, but sometimes I cant help it, but he right Lord, aint nothin’ back there worth looking for or at.”

And Old Josh looked up, and sure enough, He saw Mr. Charles Hightower, or at least he’d swear to it, “There he is, he a riding his horse across the moon,” and he said it in a tinge louder than a whisper, and his wife, hiding behind a tree, watching everything, looked up, and she also would have sworn, at that very moment, her husband was on an old spotted horse one they had in the barn that died a few weeks before Charles had, there, crossing the moon Charles and the horse rode. Perhaps just as figment of their imaginations, but for that one moment in time, it was real, a real greeting, perhaps from beyond the living.

The Wild Horse
1872

“Git away!” yelled old Josh, kind of yelled, in a loud mumbled way, Mr. Hightower was coming near the corral as the horse pulled the old Negro around in circles like a rag doll, Josh being 69-years old, and thinking he can still do what he done when he was twenty-nine, or thirty-nine.
The horse snorted like a train in high gear but Josh hung onto his bridle, the harness, at the horse’s head, trying to restrain him.
“Let him be,” said Mr. Hightower, Dylan Hightower, the son of Charles Hightower (Charles had died three years prior),
“He’s too wild Josh, he’s goin’ to kill yaw, and my paw would kill me for letting you ride this beast!”
“No sire boss,” said Josh with a stubborn grin, “I is goin’ to show this horse who the boss in!”
Dylan looked at Silas and Jordon, “Can’t you do something, I mean he’s an old man, he’s going to kill himself,” said Dylan.
“Yessum, I understand Mr. Dylan, but me pa, he stubborn like a mule, maybe this horse will teach him a lesson, but I try my best…” said Silas, then yelled at Josh,
“You let that horse alone old man, he goin’ kill yaw!”
Old Josh just laughed.
“I reckon so,” he mumbled under his breath, as the horse kept glaring with his big dark eyes at Josh, and Josh doing the same thing back; a quick calculation of how long the old Negro would last was going through Dylan’s head, and it looked like t he horse knew something was up, that perhaps it was a kind gesture by the horse that the old man wasn’t giving him a lick of trouble that was worth much, so let’s have some fun with the old man, and the horse would calm down and then go wild again.
Then all of a sudden, the horse got tired of playing around with Old Josh, lifted his head (as Hightower repeated his warning to let the horse go), the horse now irritated, snorting, rose his head up higher, lifting the old man to his toes as he hung on, held on tight, holding the head of the horse like a snake, being lifted up and down like a yoyo, falling now and then against the fence, but not letting go (Hightower, now seeing enough of this, climbed over the fence, fearing the horse would run wild throughout the fields, after he killed Old Josh, should he open the gate, with Josh’s body being slammed against it).
Old Josh was mad, stubborn, like the horse, thought but Hightower knew the winner was not going to be Josh.
“I is goin’ to ride this beast, this wild horse,” said Josh in a challenging way.
The horse now eluded Josh’s two hands, and old Josh fell back, but dodged the hooves of the stomping horse, unbroken, and newly purchased by Mr. Hightower, and now Dylan Hightower was in the same corral Josh was in, and the horse saw this, and Josh didn’t get all the attention now, laying on the ground, the horse free of him.
The horse now was running in circles with a gleaming tongue as Josh tried to grab the rope, and did grab the rope, hung loosely onto it, from his unsuccessfully though, because the horse started to drag him, and he had to let go, and Hightower was trying to calm the horse down, hoping Josh would leave the corral willingly, and waving to Silas to come in and get his pa; but then Josh leaped, grabbing onto the rope, a second time, as the horse passed by him again; the horse now found his weight easy as pie to drag, and thus, dragged him in the mud around the cage like a rat. Then suddenly both man and beast stopped, both vacillating, the horse lowered its head, and before the horse lifted it again, Hightower grabbed Josh by the back of his belt, pulled him free of the horse, as the horse burst out and upwards on his two hind legs, now Silas was in the cage, and they both subdued Old Josh, and Dylan simply said, “You don’t have to prove it Josh, we all know you’re the toughest guy in town, just don’t do it again, I don’t want to have to bury you by my pa before your time.”
(Nearby, there were a few neighboring onlookers, a few youths walking down the dirt road out in front of the Hightower Plantation. They stopped to catch a glimpse, but dared not enter Hightower’s premises, lest Josh scorn them. The Pandemonium had stopped as Josh was now on the other side of the fence.)

The Hanging of Amos Jackson,
Of Stone Bridge
1883
Amos was born in Ozark, Alabama, lived in back of the cemetery, he often worked for Silas, Old Josh’s boy, in picking cotton for Mr. Hightower. Also worked for the Smiley family, there was a shantytown of sorts there, where huts, where the main building structures, and Amos’ hut was built right into the side of a hill, similar to a dugout house, but only half his house was considered a dugout. There were old dirt roads that lead into the shantytown, one in particular, had an old stone bridge on it, thus, that is how the town got its name, in 1863, “Stone Bridge,” the confederate military had built it, for a quick runaway incase the Union soldiers were chasing them: this way they could lose them in the chase.
Most of the shantytown was built out of sticks and stones, wood thrown away in Ozark, dragged all the way out to Stone Bridge by horse and cart, or donkey or cart, or mule or cart, and even some carried on the back of Negros that lived in the shantytown. It was the year of 1883; the summer heat was getting to everybody. Wild was Ozark, and its youth.

Most of the folks that lived in the shantytown threw their garbage over into the cemetery, and that was the hideous odor folks talked about, when they rode by the cemetery, sniffing it like dogs, and telling jokes in the saloons in Ozark about it coming from the huts of the Negros, consequently creating discontent among the masses.
Hence, it was on a hot evening, prior to dusk, several young white bucks from Ozark, came riding through the shantytown, of Stone Bridge, creating havoc.
You might say, Old Amos, was similar in ways, like Old Josh, but perhaps a less wiser person; but he had Josh’s temper if anything, and liked a good argument, no hair as they say, on the tongue—during such times. And as these young bucks trotted through the shantytown, whisky jugs in one hand, pistols tucked into their pants, behind their belts, against their stomachs, drunk they all started to make advances towards the black young women of the shantytown, and Amos saw one of the white boys leaning against a hut, with Ashley in his arms tightly around her shoulders and across her breasts
Saying: “I’m going to screw you right here and now.”
He, the young white lad, had a jug of moonshine in his left hand. Without any more a due, he walked up to the white boy—Amos (the white boy having his pants down, and trying to have intercourse from behind her) grabbed the jug of whiskey from him, splashed it all over his face, getting it into his eyes, as a result, he let go of Ashley, and she ran down the road, across Stone Bridge, and that was the last he saw of her for the night. But the boy was upset, and Amos, simply sat down on a huge rock, and laugh, drinking the white boy’s whiskey. Rape was common, even more so now than during the Civil war, which had been over for less than fifteen-years.
A few minutes must had passed, when Amos got up off that old rock and started to find his way out of the shantytown, it was vacant now, everyone had run across the bridge and were hiding.
There was a gun shot, its blast of energy passed old Amos’ ear, scared him so, he fell flat on his face, right there in the center of the dirt road, in the middle of the shantytown, and when he looked up, there were several white faces, facing him, it was now twilight. (The Bullet had left a tingle in his ear, so he couldn’t hear clearly what the boys were saying.)
That night, the boys tied Amos with a rope around his shoulders, and one around his neck, and one around his legs, it looked as if he was hogtied, and he was put on a wooden gallows; they had build sometime ago, therefore, he did not die fast at all, it was slow. And Josh, having went down to see him at his shanty dugout, it being the third day he was hung on that tree, down by Stone Bridge, still hogtied onto that tree, Josh not able to save him, or watch him die any longer, cut the rope around his shoulders, and as a result, his body fell a half foot, just enough to where the first rope around his neck strangled him to death had he lived, the white folks around would have hunted Josh and his boys down, and he knew that (his Tombstone read, born 1803, died, 1883). His son, Amos Lee Stonewall Jackson, born 1860, died 1911, was there to take his body down on the forth day).

Moonshine and the Devil
1886
Old Josh drank his share of moonshine, but was no drunkard according to him, and rightfully so, because he never really drank if he had work to do; he said he never craved it, he just liked it at night, said it helped him sleep, and right after that flintlock situation he wanted to prove it, matter of fact, he preached against it, believe it or not; one day, at the local church, he said in his sermon, that he gave after the preacher got tired, and wanted someone to talk about the evils of man, and Josh was always willing, and that day available, he said (and folks kind of thought he was a hypocrite for saying what he was going to say, but he also explained that):
“The devil he takes the fight out of the man, by feedin’ him with the moonshine. He done plays a trick on yaw all, he knows if you is, or if you is not the man to get drunk ever day. The devil, he even knows me, better than I knows me, says ‘I cant stand that Josh, cuz he dont drunk too much moonshine when he a-workin,’’ so you see the devil is not me boss, so I tells him: you is killin’ your time with me, cuz I can out drink you, and not drink tomorrow, he dont like that, he wants you boys and girls to drink all the long day, the moonshine; I is an ole timer, I can drink cuz I is used to it, but you is not, and the devil knows this, so he is waitn’ round the corner.”
It was a day, Silas and Jordon was proud of their old pa, and they showed it when they got home, they hid the moonshine, and Josh went crazy all night long, until he said the next day, “I is your pa, and yous got to tell me where the jug is, cuz the devil goin’ to find it, and gives it to those young ones at church, and he knows I can drink and not drink, its up to me.”
Well, Silas and Jordon felt sorry for their pa, and went to the back pantry, on a high shelf, where that there old flintlock was hiding, and pulled the jug out from behind it, and gave it to Josh, he was as happy as the rat in a hole with a ten-pound block of cheese.

Last Day in Ozark
1889-1890

A day in Ozark, it would be the last day Joshua Jefferson would ever spend sin Ozark, Alabama; it was in November 24, of 1889. He was all of 86-years old, and in the 76-years he lived near Ozark, he had only been in the city a half dozen times, and to him that was enough, but his previous times, the times before this time, which would be the last time, was some forty-years ago, take or give five this or that way.
Today, November 24, was his birthday, and he came down to see Jordon, who worked at the main grocery store, they were going to surprise him, and go have a light lunch someplace, all three of them: Silas, Josh’s older boy was with his pa.
He, Josh, looked about the city, and came to the conclusion it had all changed, since last he was in town. There were now beggars on the street corners with tin cups, a blind man was selling pencils, store windows had toys in some, in others underwear, clerks as young as he was when he first came to America in 1813, found in New Orleans like a stray cat by Charles Hightower—were taking orders from customers. There was also a park, where forty-years ago, there was none. A new courthouse, perhaps not new, new for Josh, new since the last time Joshua was in town anyway; the more he looked about, the more he wanted to escape, it was like being on that ship that brought him to America, he was becoming suffocated.
He had come to Ozark, for three reasons: one, to see his boy, Jordon and he along with Silas to have lunch with; two: to pick up some medicine from Dr. Sharp, for Mrs. Hightower, she was getting sick again, each fall and winter, since her husband died some ten-years ago, she got sick more often, and at longer lengths, that is, it took longer for her to recover; and third, to see how Ozark was doing, the town, the city itself, how it might have advanced, and now he was sorry he came for that reason in particular, and for that matter, the other two reasons Silas could had taken care of, because Jordon was nowhere anyhow to be found.
Josh paused at the Grocery Story, where his son worked, there the owner was, he had met him once, which was the time he had asked Josh if Jordon could live in the back room part time, as he worked during the evenings on inventory and so forth, and be security for the place at night, at times the owner had large stocks of supplies. Josh told him, it was ok, but should he find out he was using this time to do un-virtuous things, he’d grab his boy by the ear and take him back home.
“Hello Mr. Jeff Madison,” said Josh, “I is lookin’ for my boy Jordon, I cant find him in your store, yous know where he is?” said Josh.
“He left for his lunch, perhaps in the park; Silas, you take your paw on over yonder there (pointing at the park) and I bet you two-bits he’s there!” said Mr. Madison.
“Sur’nough Mr. Jeff, I do as you say, and see if he be there,” said Silas, and grabbed Josh’s hand to walk away; but he wasn’t there to be found.

There was a chill in the November air, and Josh pulled up the back of his jacket, a new one Silas and Jordon put money in on, for Josh, he pulled up the back of the jacket so the cold air wouldn’t hit his neck, said, “I hate to be like them, they is like bees looking for their honeycomb, all done lost their way home I swear,” said Josh feeling the impact of the people around him, staring at him, even though Silas would have told him, had he asked, they are just passersby, like the birds in the air going from one tree to the next, it was all cultural shock, he would not believe they were not abruptly paying attention to him, it was all a new scene, and to diminish it, he needed to get out of town, and that is what Josh demanded, and left with no more of a search for Jordon, other than a quick look in the park.

When Josh got back home, back to the plantation, Dylan Hightower, Charles’ son, took the medication up to his mother, unknowingly at the time, she’d be dead in 42-days, January 4th, 1890, she, Aurea Hightower, would die in bed—weakened by the weather, the stress of life, she was always a tinge fragile anyhow, and life in general was hard on her but she was 69-years old, and that was not bad for the times.

The Brown Toad Race
(Summer of 1898)
“Thats right,” said old Josh, “it aint no fun unless you bet!” “Got me a toad already, Yessum I do, fifteen-dollars I paid for this here toad, he goin’ be the winner tomorrow at de toad race…!” said Silas. “That there toad aint worth fifteen-cent son” said Josh, “what if your brown toad git lazy on us…!”
“How so?” asked Silas.
“Give me some of that there corn whisky” said Silas to Josh, “cuz I dont git too excited when I win that there $100-dollars, with this here toad of mine, and youall goin’ wish you invested in my toad, you and Jordon, he like a firewood pa,” said Silas annoyed with is father, both sitting in the shanty looking at the toad in a wooden box on the table, Jordon sitting on the porch playing away on his banjo.
“I can make him jump all the way from go to end, paw, jes’ you wait and see, tomorrow, at the races, you goin’ say: my boy Silas, he got one of those quick jumpin’ toads for sure!” said Silas to Josh.
“Naw, I dont believe this here toad got all that motivation in him son, he look like he want to eat and sleep his life away, lazy as alligator, who eat all day long,” said Josh.

Josh couldn’t think of what he wanted to say, hesitated for a moment, so there was a long pause, then abruptly was going to continue, when Jordon had come in to make fun, or fun at the cost of Silas’ toad, Josh was about to said something, but instead Jordon said: “That there toad puts me in mind of an old pigeon I used to have, I never will forget either,” Josh and Silas turned to look at Jordon, who seldom was around to give his opinion on any such matters, “So say what you is goin’ to day brother, so me and paw can argue some more on this here toad (the year being 1898, and Josh being, 95-years old).
“Well, that there pigeon of mine, I bought from a man who came up to Ozark, from New Orleans, I gives him a buck, one dollar, no more, he say yous got a king pigeon, and there aint no pigeon better than he, like the man tell you when you done gave him all you wages for six months, and give you that there lazy toad, look at him he sleep all right, anyhow, that pigeon of mine, flew back to his boss, and I ran after him, and when I find the pigeon, I find he done called the pigeon back, and he was cooking him in soup so I cant find him, so I say: Mister, you go this way, and I go that way, and maybe we find my pigeon, and he say ok, and the pigeon he is in the soup, and when the man goes that way, I grab the soup, and run to the grocery store, and eat it all in the back room.”
Said Silas with a grin, “So what you expect me to do, eat the toad in toad soup?” and Josh and Silas laugh. And then Jordon starts to laugh, and the toad jumps out of the box while they are laughing, and Silas notices and runs after the toad, and he gets under the porch.
Says Silas, to Jordon, “You done talked so much, the toad got smart and hightailed out, you should pay me for keep us busy why the toad figured out his plan.”
Said Old Josh, laughing, “He goin’ meet us at the fair tomorrow, at the race place (Ha, ha, ha).”

Autumn Quiet
(The Death of Joshua Jefferson of Ozark, Alabama)
1907

“You is getting’ old pa,” said Silas, “me and Jordon we can take more work, you is over a hundred…!”
“I done kept up this place 90-years alone; I can still do it, I sees you kids still cant keep up with your ole pa!”
Josh had to refocus, his eyes bleared, he spit out some tobacco, “Youall git to my age, God knows you aint goin’ to be able to work a days work, us old timers we got the stuff, wes born with it, like on that ship that brought me to this here country, it killed so many of the folk I lost count after I used my fingers and toes, yet I survived.”
Josh continued to scold Silas and Jordon for making him think he couldn’t do any work, where in essence they simply were trying to tell him, if he continued to think he was young as he used to be, it might be his death, but who knows, on the other hand, he never thought he could die, and here he was at a hundred-and-four years old.
“Oh,” said Silas, “now aint you the big shot and we aint kids paw, we is in our 80s.”
Josh looked hard into his eyes, into the eyes of Silas, “I guess you is right son, you look older than me, maybe you is my pa!” and they both started laughing. Sometime when you thought Josh was ready to eat you up, it was when he came down to earth, and was funny and practical.

Everything was still when Silas and Jordon returned back from the fields, a stillness discernible, they had been mending fences, still spry and still limber and still with vitality, both these aging old men, were more like Josh, than they thought, they never considered themselves old, until today, until Silas actually said to Josh, “…we is in our 80s.” it made him think.
As they dismounted the wagon, un-harnessed the horses, they sensed a motionless, windless atmosphere, not one animal sound, no: birds, cats, dogs, or chickens making any sounds whatsoever, Silas and Jordon kind of was spooked, looked about.
A dark long shadow moved across their path, the world they once knew, was coming to an end, change was about to take place, Josh’s voice was nowhere to be found. Then Silas recognized the figure on the wooden floor of the shanty, the door was opened, it was his pa.

He, Silas accepted his death, with awkwardness and stubbornness, not to believing he was really dead, but dead non the less because folks said so, and there was a funeral that proved it, and Jordon who was more practical on the matter, believed it to be so.
He buried his face in his hands at the funeral, his thighs weakened; he almost fell on top of the coffin, as it was lowered into the ground. It was October 7, 1907, he, Old Josh, liked fall, he liked the autumn leaves, the colors in them, and when they were gathered into a bundle, and burnt, he liked the smell, so it was a good time for him to die, and Silas he wrote a poem for Josh:

At The funeralI hear the harps of God,I Hear the voice of JesusRinging, ringing, ringingSinging, singing, singingCome, brother JoshuaCome see you’ mother
Angels’ with hands held outAnd pa he sees the throne,And the children playing the harp Ole pa he was a talkin’ manAlways worried ‘bout us boysOle pa he was a drinkin’ man
But he paid no one no harm
He love to fight Lord, I knowsBut he a quite man anyhowHe fuss ‘bout nothin’ all day longHe like a donkey, but sly as a fox
Yessum, ole pa was a talkin’ man
Who like to go to the creek afishin’
Chase Molly Benton around…
But he meant her no harm anyhow

So I hope you done hear me Lord
Cuz pa Joshua, he be knocking
Oh yes, knocking at your door Here me Lord! Hear me! Amen!Note: Read by Silas Jefferson, October 7, 1907
At his Father’s funeral

Centipedes in the Shanty
(1908)

Old Josh used to watch the centipedes with all their legs speed across the wooden floors of his shanty; he was amazed at all those legs working in unison. He wasn’t sure exactly how they moved, but they looked as if they moved without thinking, and they’d speed across one side of the hut, to the other, spot him, (like they do now Silas), they’d spot Josh, and try to hide here or there, before being stomped on with his big flat bare feet.
Silas, Josh’s oldest son now is doing just that, just like his pa used to do—his pa being dead now going on a year—; those centipedes, in particular, this one, the one that is bothering Jordon (for Silas simply plays with them, and stomps on them like his pa used to do, when he gets tired of playing) Jordon doesn’t care for them, he’s kind of afraid of such creatures, and avoids them like the plague, along with spiders and other creepy crawlers.
Says Jordon to Silas: “They sho have a strange looking body, jes’ keeps that thing away from me brother!”
Silas is playing around with the creature, knowing Jordon don’t like them, says “They move with a greet speed, to bad you aint like them!” (And Silas laughs and Jordon keeps his distance, and an eye on the centipede and Silas.)
Now Silas is following the creature with his eyes, Jordon is sitting on the cot, watching the creatures legs as it runs rapidly to and fro, looking for an escape hole, Silas at the kitchen table, now the centipede starts to zigzag, and Jordon jumps up on his cot (Silas laughs). Then Silas gets a cramp in his leg and falls flat on top of the centipede—with is face under it, and I think Jordon stops breathing for a moment, in disbelief, trying to figure out how he is going to get off the cot and out of the shack, he needs to see where the centipede is before he makes his move— looks at the front door, and if the pathway from his cot to the door is clear, he is not that concerned about Silas at all, nor willing to go see how he is.
Silas gets up, looks at Jordon, his mouth tightly closed, sealed by his tight lips against each other, Jordon asks, “What is you up to standing on like that looking at me?”
What Jordon doesn’t know, is that the centipede is in his brother’s mouth, Silas is a bit fogy looking at the floor and Jordon, trying to get his balance, Jordon is standing up on his cot, also trying to keep his balance, there are bricks under his cot so he is not fearful it will rip and he will fall through it like into hole under it, there is no hole under it, just bricks and more bricks. Silas walks over to Jordon, a bit dizzy, stands a foot from him now. He opens his mouth, and spits out the centipede onto Jordon, and he, Jordon, like a wild cat, jumps out the window, break the glass, and frame and all, undresses himself once on solid ground, and runs back into the shanty naked.
Jordon is not happy by all means—he’s got a look on him that could kill, but Silas of course is too big and broad and strong for Jordon to test his brother’s willingness to be pushed around, thus, he takes a plan B, and he grabs a bottle of moonshine, drinks half the bottle down, and passes out on the cot, and Old Silas (for now he is getting old like his pa got old, he’s 81-years old now, and his brother is 78-years old, both still playing like they are kids; Silas finishes off the bottle, and laughs his way to the buck beds, sleep on top, where he usually slept when his pa was alive.

Silas will die in 1909, a year from this centipede episode, and Jordon will be left alone, he will die in 1913. Silas, will have left a boy he named Josh, and thus, the name will carried on, for awhile anyways, Jordon, will not leave a link to the future.

Gabe and Sweet Chile
—1846 (1909)

Advance, well, the truth of the matter is, Josh had a wife, believe it or not. And her name was Marinutita Boston Jefferson Georgia, in short, she was called Sweet Chile. Her and her boyfriend, Gabe Georgia, visited Josh once and to Silas and Jordan’s surprise, they met their mother. She saw at first her two boys from a distance, then came closer to get a better look, but she wasn’t really there to see the boys, she wanted money from Josh, she was on her way down to New Orleans, and during that visit, Amos had been picking cotton over at the neighbors plantation, and stopped to see Josh, and got an eye full of Sweet Chile (and that was that), and she even winked at him, so he says.
Josh had married her in 1825, and she run off with Gabe, in 1831, and the boys had never seen their mother since. Silas was six-years old, and Jordon, six months old when she left.

Sweet Chile has a different story of course on everything, and Gabe, he is mad as a disturbed hornets nest, that Amos, who works on the Smiley plantation, is checking out Sweet Chile. Josh, he don’t care one way or the other, to be honest, he just wants her gone, and the sooner the better.
Mr. Charles Hightower, the owner of the plantation, has gone to New Orleans also, he often does, and only God knows what he does down there, but Josh kind of knows, he’s been down there before with him. In any case, he is due back tomorrow, and he’d not take a liking to seeing Sweet Chile around, she can make a scene. So here we are, all in the back by the corral, where old Nelly the cow is, the boy’s are staring at their with wide open white eyes—like eggs, and their mouths open like hungry lions, and Gabe pushing Amos away from Sweet Chile, and Josh saying he hasn’t any money to go on back to where she came from (Silas is nineteen years old, about, and Jordon a few years younger).

The Get-together
Silas is rather sick, and he is in his shack, thinking about the time he met his mother, it was back in 1846, he only saw her once, and her boyfriend, who call her his wife, but it was really not by law, but common law, he proclaimed her to me so, it is 1909, and he will die in a matter of weeks, he’s been ill a while now, and Jordon is caring for him, it would seem along with old age, his heart is weakening, he is of course, up in years, he is 82-years old, and here is what he remembers as he lays on his bunk bed, on the bottom of his bunk bed, he has changed from the top, to the bottom, because he no longer can jump up and onto it:
“Sweet Chile, I done thought you flew the cope, that you’d be down in New Orleans doin’ what you do best, and we all knows what that is?” said Josh, with a sour tone to his voice.
“Is you callen’ me a whore?” said Sweet Chile.
“No, cuz my boys is here, but if they be not, I’d be so doin’ jes’ that”
“No need to cause trouble over spelt milk, Josh, I is the better man, cuz I got Sweet Chile!” said Gabe, with a proud and provocative tone.
“I done married a mule, you is too good for her, but you is a fool to say, I is dumb, cuz yous got to be dumber than I, cuz you is still with her, she done flew the cope long ago, I is the lucky one, you…hummm—still the dumb one and dont rightly know it,” said josh.
“That there friend of yours, Amos, he best keep his eyes on the sun or the ground, cuz I is aiming to pluck them out from those big sockets in his head, for lookin’ like his is lookin’ at my wife!” remarked Gabe.
“I is ready ole man, cuz I pick cotton, I gits a good right arm, and aiming to punch you in that there big snoot of yours, and Sweet Chile, she gits a good man like me, and gits rid of you once an for all!” said Amos, with a serious look, Josh not believing Amos would really be interested in her.
“Youall dont know what you is saying, she is like that moccasin snake, she kill yaw with one bit,” said Josh.
(Sweet Chile is just looking and laughing, at these men fighting over her, and giving Josh a smirking smile back, kind of saying, ‘Look, I still got what it takes,’ and Josh nodding his head, the boys looking at Josh and their mother, and wanting to have a conversation with her, and Sweet Chile wanting to ask for money from Josh, because she hinted she was broke, and wanted to head on down to New Orleans, she was coming down from North Carolina, and nothing is happening that should be happening, because Gabe is mad at Amos.
Now Charles Hightower came back early, saw all this commotion going on down by Josh’s shanty, and he recognized Sweet Chile, and she knew Mr. Hightower of course, and was a bit afraid he might call the sheriff, and have them tar and fathered, if she caused Josh too much trouble, so she told Gabe to shut up. She looked at her boys, said, “They gittin’ big, I suppose they goin’ to be like you, and god forbid,” and she grabbed Gabe’s hand and pulled him along, towards the corral fence, and out to the dirt road, saying “I told yaw Gabe, he aint got no money, and my kids aint got no time for me, so wes jes’ go on our own way like we been doing,” and they left as mysteriously as they came.)

And this is what Silas remembered, as he lay in his bunk, shaking his head haply, and almost laughing, saying to himself, “Maybe it was better we had never seen her, pa was good enough for us,” but sometimes it is nice to fill that gap of curiosity, if only to find out, God saved us from a worse upbringing.”

The Marsh Angel
(1853)(July 10, 1909)

Advance (Genealogy): Josh Jefferson, as we know, was born 1803, died in 1907, at the age of 104, and yet his birth date could be older he was brought from Africa, and found by Charles Hightower, also he could be younger by a few years, but his birth certificate which Charles had made says 1803, and his death certificate reads 1907. His Silas Jefferson, was born 1827, died 1909, and left a son, by Louise Montgomery, she was born 1837, her date of death unknown, she was known in the Ozark, Alabama area although, as the Marsh Angel, and may have died in that old shantytown outside of Ozark, where Amos was hung. Silas Jefferson, dated her for a short period of time, and she, Louise, had a child by him, one he never talked about much, never seen, if only at a distance, named Josh Washington Jefferson Montgomery, born 1853, and died in 1927, to my understanding in New York City. Josh W.J. Montgomery had a son Josh Jefferson Montgomery Jr. born 1890 and died at the ripe old age of 82-years old, in 1972; and that was when, to my understanding anyhow, the legacy of Old Josh Jefferson, the first, ended, or died out. But who knows, there could be a descendent here or there.

Josh Washington Jefferson Montgomery is at a funeral, it is July, 10, 1909, Ozark, Alabama: it is being held at the little cemetery in the back of Silas’ old shanty, the one his father lived in, and he and Jordon, his brother lived in. I repeat, Josh W.J. Montgomery is present, it is his father’s funeral, and Jordon Jefferson is present, and he can see the similarity in Silas son. Silas never had spoken to his son, not actually spoken, once in an Ozark bar, when Josh W.J. Montgomery was working, washing dishes, Silas came in for a drink, and a few of his friends pointed out Silas’ son to him, and someone even said, “Your paw is over there, go say hello!” But the boy was but fifteen at the time, didn’t know what he looked like, and wasn’t sure if they were kidding, and although he looked about, he didn’t recognize anyone, but who would he, he never say him to his knowledge, and so that was left alone. But today he is seeking closure on this long saga for him, he will talk to Jordon, and get the full story behind his prior existence, the one that brought him into this world, and I shall tell it to you, as Jordon had explained it to Josh W.J. Montgomery (Jordon has agreed to tell him the truth and nothing but the truth, if only he can stand it, and if he can’t then he shouldn’t be asking for it because he is going to get, perhaps more than he bargained for):

“Silas, was 26-years old, Louise Montgomery, was a thin tense light skinned black sixteen-year old girl born and bred in Ozark, Alabama, down by the bluffs, in a shanty hut, by Goose Creek Wells, a location that has but several huts along the creek, she had sex appeal at a very young age, at thirteen, quite developed, and she is getting a name for being a prowler or stalker or even could call her an intruder into the affairs of other folk’s marriages: she is of mixed blood, black with white; she likes white folks who have money, older black folks who have influence and young black folks who can show her a good old time and remain fancy free. She perhaps is ahead of her times; the Civil War is mounting, but not present yet.

“She walked the dark streets of Ozark at her young age, and left Mamma at home, at 13-years old, she had her first affair. Old Josh called her: The Marsh Angel, because she was pretty, and the opposite of an Angel, rather a dark-angel, which he couldn’t say because it was a pun on words, he really meant she was what she was, a soiled young tramp, plus, Silas would have gotten mad, had he not averted the name in his heart out loud.
“Josh knew she needed looking after, that she had surrendered to a number of men, and to his boy, Silas, also.
“When she first met Silas, she sat bolt upright, looking at him, as if he was to be her instructor. Silas had a blind spot, he didn’t know, or see her reputation—too close to the forest to see the trees I suppose, it was not good nor evil, but perhaps somewhere in-between, good being unconditional, evil being conditional, she had a quality though, beyond sex appeal, not sure what you would call it, perhaps passionate beauty, mixed with tense expectations, with some kind of edgy secret in her countenance, a glow beyond normal in her fresh composure, depending on who you are, were, and what she wanted.
Goose Creek Well

“Silas felt his father knew about him and Louise, and Josh knew that Silas felt he knew he knew of their relationship, yet still uncertain he was, because it wasn’t mentioned, not out right anyhow, perhaps by mannerisms, and facial expressions, but to no end it remained a quiet known secret, and that was that, the eyes perhaps told an element of truth, that he was involved beyond the petty stage. But that was as far as it went. They met for the whole summer at Goose Creek Well, but when a stranger, a Blackman came to town, a tall handsome Blackman, said he was from New York City, a free Blackman at that (free, not because the Yankees won the war, there was no war yet, it was brewing thought) but free because he was free long before the Yankees stepped foot in Alabama; in any case, a romance started up, and Silas was overlooked; his name was Alvin G. Thomas.
“Josh had watched Louise grow up and the New Yorker, whom looked more white, than black, had told Louise he had went to Yale, perhaps to impress her, for who could prove otherwise, Josh often saw them together, standing and touching and all that kind of stuff on the local corner, he was in his mid-thirties, so to Louise, he had youth, vitality, and it looked like money, he didn’t need the white folks money, and therefore, she didn’t need white folks either.
“Throughout the summer of 1852, Silas and Louise had their fling you might say, she portrayed a woman twice her age; week after week, and into the months, they were seen together, into the first weeks of fall actually of 1852,
“She wants to marry me,” Silas told his pa; but Josh just laughed, putting in the groceries onto the wagon’s wooden floor, he was doing some shopping for Mr. Hightower at the time. Silas got a bit disturbed. Josh knew Louise would not make anyone a good wife, or so he thought, and didn’t speak his thoughts out loud, perhaps because Silas would take offense, and he’d not have anyone to look after him, in old age; but this of course is just a guess, but a pretty good one.
“Hightower once said to Josh—and he never forgot it, remembered it when he needed to, ‘I’ve come to believe Josh, it isn’t all that important what you do, as long as we here in our home (mansion) are comfortable in bed,’ that is what he said, and what Josh remembered, Josh of course, never ceased to take advantage of that, took it to the edge of reality you could say at times, and did only what was necessary. So he was thinking for a while, he may have to raise another kid, because he knew, Silas had gotten pregnant, but it turned out this stranger, this Alvin G. Thomas, stole her heart, and when the child was born, she was in New York City. As far as Silas knew this slick New Yorker took care of the child and it was said, and now one knew for sure, Louise had died around 1867, they say of childbirth; perhaps Thomas’ child.
“Other rumors were, and they came from a man named Gabe, is that he saw her in New York City once, and she told him she was raped, that was in 1866. After that, no one knows for certain.”

Said Josh W.J. Montgomery, “I suppose we all got to live our lives out as we see fit, and if we have expectations of others, we is just goin’ to be let down, so thanks, Uncle Jordon, cuz you is my uncle you know, and a good honest uncle, I cant ask for more than that.” And he left the way he came, quiet, but a little more content. He told Jordon he was heading up to North Carolina, he had some business up there, whatever that was, he didn’t say, and Jordon didn’t ask.

About the Book: The stories of Old Josh, have been read worldwide, in particular on the internet, by over 60-websites, and translated into several languages, and read by thousands of readers in the past four years. The first six stories of Old Josh were written in 2005, and the following twenty stories thereafter in 2006. In 2007, a dozen or more were written, and a few in 2008, with a total of 47, plus two more written for the new book, making the number 48-stories in four’ years, about 24-are involved here in “Old Josh…”. They were all combined, in July of 2008, to form a book, linked together expanding over two-hundred years. Old Josh was not meant to be a book per se, but has now ended up being just that, and now being added into the collection of two other books of stories making the book a saga: “Cradled by the Devil,” and the short collection of linking stories called, “Mayhem, in the Countryside.” Once put all together, it has formed created a legacy, a work scarcely done by authors, or attempted.
The stories take you from Africa, on a slave ship, to New Orleans, and onto Ozark, Alabama, on the Hightower Plantation, where Josh will spend his life. In the linking books, or stories, the saga continues, by taking the reader to and through WWI, and the Abernathy, Stanley, and Wallace plantations in North Carolina, and on to the Vietnam War, all the way to the turn of the 21st Century.

Centerpedes in the Shanty (an Old Josh tale)

2008-07-09T21:07:00.001-07:00

Centipedes in the Shanty
(1908)

Old Josh used to watch the centipedes with all their legs speed across the wooden floors of his shanty; he was amazed at all those legs working in unison. He wasn’t sure exactly how they moved, but they looked as if they moved without thinking, and they’d speed across one side of the hut, to the other, spot him, (like they do now Silas), they’d spot Josh, and try to hide here or there, before being stomped on with his big flat bare feet.
Silas, Josh’s oldest son now is doing just that, just like his pa used to do—his pa being dead now going on a year—; those centipedes, in particular, this one, the one that is bothering Jordon (for Silas simply plays with them, and stomps on them like his pa used to do, when he gets tired of playing) Jordon doesn’t care for them, he’s kind of afraid of such creatures, and avoids them like the plague, along with spiders and other creepy crawlers.
Says Jordon to Silas: “They sho have a strange looking body, jes’ keeps that thing away from me brother!”
Silas is playing around with the creature, knowing Jordon don’t like them, says “They move with a greet speed, to bad you aint like them!” (And Silas laughs and Jordon keeps his distance, and an eye on the centipede and Silas.)
Now Silas is following the creature with his eyes, Jordon is sitting on the cot, watching the creatures legs as it runs rapidly to and fro, looking for an escape hole, Silas at the kitchen table, now the centipede starts to zigzag, and Jordon jumps up on his cot (Silas laughs). Then Silas gets a cramp in his leg and falls flat on top of the centipede—with is face under it, and I think Jordon stops breathing for a moment, in disbelief, trying to figure out how he is going to get off the cot and out of the shack, he needs to see where the centipede is before he makes his move— looks at the front door, and if the pathway from his cot to the door is clear, he is not that concerned about Silas at all, nor willing to go see how he is.
Silas gets up, looks at Jordon, his mouth tightly closed, sealed by his tight lips against each other, Jordon asks, “What is you up to standing on like that looking at me?”
What Jordon doesn’t know, is that the centipede is in his brother’s mouth, Silas is a bit fogy looking at the floor and Jordon, trying to get his balance, Jordon is standing up on his cot, also trying to keep his balance, there are bricks under his cot so he is not fearful it will rip and he will fall through it like into hole under it, there is no hole under it, just bricks and more bricks. Silas walks over to Jordon, a bit dizzy, stands a foot from him now. He opens his mouth, and spits out the centipede onto Jordon, and he, Jordon, like a wild cat, jumps out the window, break the glass, and frame and all, undresses himself once on solid ground, and runs back into the shanty naked.
Jordon is not happy by all means—he’s got a look on him that could kill, but Silas of course is too big and broad and strong for Jordon to test his brother’s willingness to be pushed around, thus, he takes a plan B, and he grabs a bottle of moonshine, drinks half the bottle down, and passes out on the cot, and Old Silas (for now he is getting old like his pa got old, he’s 81-years old now, and his brother is 78-years old, both still playing like they are kids; Silas finishes off the bottle, and laughs his way to the buck beds, sleep on top, where he usually slept when his pa was alive.

Silas will die in 1909, a year from this centipede episode, and Jordon will be left alone, he will die in 1913. Silas, will have left a boy he named Josh, and thus, the name will carried on, for awhile anyways, Jordon, will not leave a link to the future.

Last Day in Ozark, Alabama (Short Sketch)

2008-07-09T20:02:00.000-07:00

1889-1890

A day in Ozark, it would be the last day Joshua Jefferson would ever spend sin Ozark, Alabama; it was in November 24, of 1889. He was all of 86-years old, and in the 76-years he lived near Ozark, he had only been in the city a half dozen times, and to him that was enough, but his previous times, the times before this time, which would be the last time, was some forty-years ago, take or give five this or that way.
Today, November 24, was his birthday, and he came down to see Jordon, who worked at the main grocery store, they were going to surprise him, and go have a light lunch someplace, all three of them: Silas, Josh’s older boy was with his pa.
He, Josh, looked about the city, and came to the conclusion it had all changed, since last he was in town. There were now beggars on the street corners with tin cups, a blind man was selling pencils, store windows had toys in some, in others underwear, clerks as young as he was when he first came to America in 1813, found in New Orleans like a stray cat by Charles Hightower—were taking orders from customers. There was also a park, where forty-years ago, there was none. A new courthouse, perhaps not new, new for Josh, new since the last time Joshua was in town anyway; the more he looked about, the more he wanted to escape, it was like being on that ship that brought him to America, he was becoming suffocated.
He had come to Ozark, for three reasons: one, to see his boy, Jordon and he along with Silas to have lunch with; two: to pick up some medicine from Dr. Sharp, for Mrs. Hightower, she was getting sick again, each fall and winter, since her husband died some ten-years ago, she got sick more often, and at longer lengths, that is, it took longer for her to recover; and third, to see how Ozark was doing, the town, the city itself, how it might have advanced, and now he was sorry he came for that reason in particular, and for that matter, the other two reasons Silas could had taken care of, because Jordon was nowhere anyhow to be found.
Josh paused at the Grocery Story, where his son worked, there the owner was, he had met him once, which was the time he had asked Josh if Jordon could live in the back room part time, as he worked during the evenings on inventory and so forth, and be security for the place at night, at times the owner had large stocks of supplies. Josh told him, it was ok, but should he find out he was using this time to do un-virtuous things, he’d grab his boy by the ear and take him back home.
“Hello Mr. Jeff Madison,” said Josh, “I is lookin’ for my boy Jordon, I cant find him in your store, yous know where he is?” said Josh.
“He left for his lunch, perhaps in the park; Silas, you take your paw on over yonder there (pointing at the park) and I bet you two-bits he’s there!” said Mr. Madison.
“Sur’nough Mr. Jeff, I do as you say, and see if he be there,” said Silas, and grabbed Josh’s hand to walk away; but he wasn’t there to be found.

There was a chill in the November air, and Josh pulled up the back of his jacket, a new one Silas and Jordon put money in on, for Josh, he pulled up the back of the jacket so the cold air wouldn’t hit his neck, said, “I hate to be like them, they is like bees looking for their honeycomb, all done lost their way home I swear,” said Josh feeling the impact of the people around him, staring at him, even though Silas would have told him, had he asked, they are just passersby, like the birds in the air going from one tree to the next, it was all cultural shock, he would not believe they were not abruptly paying attention to him, it was all a new scene, and to diminish it, he needed to get out of town, and that is what Josh demanded, and left with no more of a search for Jordon, other than a quick look in the park.

When Josh got back home, back to the plantation, Dylan Hightower, Charles’ son, took the medication up to his mother, unknowingly at the time, she’d be dead in 42-days, January 4th, 1890, she, Aurea Hightower, would die in bed—weakened by the weather, the stress of life, she was always a tinge fragile anyhow, and life in general was hard on her but she was 69-years old, and that was not bad for the times.

Written 7-9-2008, Poem left out

Across the Moon
1869

Charles Hightower died in the fall of 1869, eighty-years old, leaving Joshua Jefferson $3000-dollars, and four acres of land, starting from where his shanty was; Dylan Hightower, his son now 24-years old, the same age Charles was when he met Joshua, was in charge, his daughter Emma 19-years old, his wife, Aurea, being forty-eight years old, they would continue to live in the Plantation House, but the days of heavy planting, and big crops were over.
Emily Hightower, Charles’ mother, born 1755, died 1790, died young, at the age of 35-years old, it was her dream to see the plantation strong and in its glory, Charles brought it to that stage, and he always felt proud, for his mother’s sake to have done it. His wife Aurea, was different, her pride was in her children more so than her husband and plantation, like Emily’s was; priorities for each person are often times different. Emily always said, God was first, then her and her husband, and then the kids, and then the plantation; she had it down to a system, Aurea, although a good wife, and excellent mother, never really had a system.
Emily died one night in bed, no one around to watch her, the doctor was downstairs having coffee with a few shots of moonshine them, and not really paying that much attention to his patients symptoms, evidently Emily couldn’t breath for ten to fifteen minutes, because that was the time period the doctor had life his patient alone, who was in a crises mood. When she died, died because of the doctors, carelessness, her Husband, Charles Jason Hightower, shot him I cold blood, shot him dead right at the table where he sat and drank his coffee mixed with whisky, shot him three times in a wild stupor.
The judge said, “We would have hung him anyways, for incompetence, you saved the court time and money Charles, go and have a good day, case dismissed, under the old law of, your weapon misfired, while in a fit of anger, fired accidentally, cuz I’m sure that your intentions were not to kill him, even though he deserved hilling.”
And the judge after Hightower left the court room, told the scribe not to write down the first part of the minutes of what he said, and to let him read it afterwards, in case he needed to fix a few sentences.
Josh still helped around the place, he had come to the conclusion he was going to die there, right on that plantation, it would have been too much a strain for him to have to try and start over in life. He was familiar with everybody and everything in that area, it was his home, and no longer angry at the ship that brought him to America, Mr. Hightower had made-up for that, I guess. He had a new light on the matter in 1869. Silas would remain on the plantation, and do most of the work, and watch over his father, while Jordon spent most of his time at the Grocery Story in Ozark, as a clerk, sleeping on a cot in the back of the room, and flirting with the negress’ as they came by to say their hellos.

Asked Aurea, “Josh, do you want to attend the funeral?”
“It wont be necessary,” he said sadly, and walked away, not to be impolite, but he was starting his grieving process I believe, Aurea heard him mumble as he walked away, “I can sees it from my shanty.”
The old Hightower cemetery was on a slope in the fields, with a fence around it. Someday, whoever bought the plantation would perhaps have to move it back farther, unless they wanted to leave that little patch of land, with several trees around it where it lay, and it was like an oasis, in the middle of the field, and nobody wanted to cut all those tall trees down, and try to even out the mound.
Joshua and Charles saw each other almost everyday for 56-years, more than his wife, children, and business partners, more than anyone alive; it would be hard on Joshua, but once buried, once Charles was six feet under, he, Joshua would do what Charles told him to do: not look back.
“Flowers, I’ll pick some flowers,” said Josh to himself, out loud, he now was 66-years old; still spry and youthful, his bones strong, his face showed time had passed, but not bad.
That night after supper, he walked into the fields, up that mound, and looked at the gravesite, the hole had already been dug he noticed, folks were coming from town all day to say their goodbyes at the house, where his coffin lay in an upstairs guest bedroom. He took in a deep breath, almost breathless before, stood in front of the hole, its edge, dropped his flowers into it, geraniums, blurry eyed, he said, “He be a coming Lord,” his reed-stemmed pipe in one hand, a bible in the other, looking down into the hole, “Yessum, he be a coming soon, tomorrow I expect Lord, his wife Aurea, she say so (Aurea was behind a tree crying, silently, she noticed Josh there, but did not say a word, and perhaps Josh knew she was there, but he did not say a word) but he dead, and we all some day goin’ be dead, so I be seein’ him soon I expect; he done took me out of hell in New Orleans Lord, and he tell me one day, ‘Josh, don’t you look back, its all up front now, nothin’ back there son,’ Yessum, he say son, and I try not to look back, but sometimes I cant help it, but he right Lord, aint nothin’ back there worth looking for or at.”

And Old Josh looked up, and sure enough, He saw Mr. Charles Hightower, or at least he’d swear to it, “There he is, he a riding his horse across the moon,” and he said it in a tinge louder than a whisper, and his wife, hiding behind a tree, watching everything, looked up, and she also would have sworn, at that very moment, her husband was on an old spotted horse one they had in the barn that died a few weeks before Charles had, there, crossing the moon Charles and the horse rode. Perhaps just as figment of their imaginations, but for that one moment in time, it was real, a real greeting, perhaps from beyond the living.

Old Josh and the Civil War Days (Chapater Eight of, "The Last Plantation")

2008-06-20T23:24:00.000-07:00

Old Josh and the Civil War Days
(With Silas and Jordon, from Ozark, Alabama)

Part of “The “Last Plantation,”
A mixed chapter No: 8

Silas and Jordon Jefferson
Of Ozark, Alabama

(Background) Old Josh, Josh Washington Jefferson (Born 1853- 1903) worked for the Abernathy family for many years, and his son works for him now, Josh Jefferson Jr. ((Born 1890) (died 1972: 82-years old)) but the family dates back farther. His family dates back to 1810, and beyond, and when I say beyond, it means Josh, the old Josh, came from Africa, because, Charles Hightower, of the plantation in Ozark, Alabama found him in New Orleans during a flood, he and his mother got separated, she was supposed to have died in the flood. How long exactly he was here fore 1810, I can’t rightfully tell you, but when Charles Hightower (the same Hightower family that lives in New Orleans, by the name of Jason Hightower, married to Betty Hightower, great grand child to Charles Hightower, they sold the plantation and moved to the city as most folks did in and around the time of the Civil War. In any case, Josh Washington Jefferson’s father was Silas Jefferson, whose brother; younger brother was Jason, who worked at the Ozark’s main grocery story during those far-off days. When Charles Nightgown was in New Orleans, back in 1810, he found little Josh, ten-years old, wandering about, looking for his mother, and they could not find her, folks implied she was dead, among many dead, and so Hightower took the boy to his plantation, back to Ozark, Alabama.
So Josh, who worked for the Abernathy family was well acquainted with plantation work, although he left the plantation sometime in the 1920s, to wonder about in New Orleans, and through the Hightower family there, he got work in North Carolina, as you can see, for the Abernathy family.

Langdon Abernathy often listened to his father talk about his grandfather, who was in WWI, died in 1947, a hero of sorts, but so was the old Josh, the one from the Civil War days, and I suppose that helped him decided later on in life that he would be a soldier, and he would end up being a Corporal in the United States Army, in Vietnam, instead of going onto College, Harvard, as his mother Caroline wants him to.
One night, while sitting out in the back area of the plantation, by Old Josh’s shanty, he told the following story, or stories, stories his father Silas told him, Langdon was sitting on Josh’s wooden steps leading up onto the wooden floorboard of an outside porch, Josh drinking some moonshine, a pipe in his mouth, Amos from the Stanley and Minnie Mae from the Wallace Plantations were there also, it is 1965, Langdon is 16-yeaqs old, and Minnie Mae has come to work for the Abernathy family on a permanent bases (there has been some drastic changes to the plantation and Wallace family):

“Son,” said Old Josh W.J., my pa, Silas, he told me his pa,
Old Josh, is what they called him, like you do for me, and he say, back in 1864, his pa, Old Josh W.J., had to work for da Army for six months, ole man Hightower, Charles Hightower done leant him out, he say he had no choice, and he up in went to Vicksburg of all the darn places the Army done takes you to. He say he wes working as a mule driver, with da 32d Ohio folks, company E, for a spell, and me pa say, when his pa come back he raised his voice so high and he made new recorded involving profanity, he say it was normal for those guys, and habit forming, dat he raise his voice so high he done scared the birds in da tree to flight. He said once he met a man who guarded prisoners, and he told them, ‘he’d kill the damned white-livered, red-headed, son of a b… ‘and then later on hit the corporal for calling him the same back. It a fever it is inside of you, pa say, thqat took pa Josh a year to get his language back to normal. But dhat wes da way it wes back in those days, so may pa say to me, that his pa say to him.
“Matter of fact, heres another tale my pa Silas done told me: back in those days, men went to war, women stayed home, and nursed the wounded, and when dhey done come home, they did the romance thing, and it was between men and women, no other way, but there were a few exceptions, so pa say, one being, some women dressed up like men, put on the uniform, combatants, disguised like men: many passionate encounters pa say during dhe war were between men and other men too. So you see there was this homosexual activity and pa say no one was disciplined for it, because no one ever knew what to call it, the term, homosexual didn’t exist until after the war. So pa say, dhat old Josh say, what can you say? He jes close’ his eyes he tell me, and go on to sleep and pray no one of those kind of folk come to him, cus then he goin’ fight, and they hang him.
“Pa say, he saw a many of dhe high ranking officers with women in those there tents they done lived in, dressed like men, so they could have what they want when they wanted it. Generals mostly; matter-of-fact, right here in North Carolina, by Monroe’s Cross Roads, General Kilpatrick escaped with only his pants on one day, during a battle, and his gal Alice, was said to have saved dhe flag. But it was really not true, a soldier named Miller held the flag pa say, he saw it wit’ his own eyes. So you see son, the birds and da bees, they were busy back then.
“Pa told me he saw so much prostitution, so much venereal disease and alcoholism, dhat he had nightmares he had to go to church and denounce the evils of dhe skin trade before he go-on wit’ dhe mules, and he say, when he went to church there were more prostitutes there than Methodists, and they were not there to ask for forgiveness of sin but to lure the soldier out after he done went to church, and he say the soldier he gone to church not for church sake, but to get out of KP, or kitchen duty.
“Anyhow son, dhat there is all dhe story for da night, I sure hope if yous a goin’ to be a soldier, and go on to war, you don’t forget what my pa tell me, and be a good soldier. Now its time you git-on to bed, your pa goin’ git his dander up if you don’t.”

Old Josh and the Civil War Folly Flock (Chapater Nine of, "The Last Plantation")

2008-06-20T23:22:00.000-07:00

Old Josh’s Civil War Folly Flock
(or, the Birds and the Bees)
Chapter No: 9

Old Josh and the Mule train

“It was in those far off days,” said Cole Abernathy, to his son Langdon, one evening when he and Cole Abernathy outside of the Plantation House, sat on the steps in the chilled air (fall of 1966, Langdon seventeen years old now, talking about going into the Army again, the Vietnam Conflict had started).
“It was, Josh’s Great Grandfather in the 1860s, Old Josh the first, when he went for those six months driving mules for the Army, with the military he ran into many things, and back then back 100-years ago or so—as it might not seemed odd today, but did back then, a woman was to be celibate or have a dozen kids and die normally of childbirth, somewhere along the road, and many a soldier, or even family man, wore out his share of wives in a life time.
“Well,
Old Josh fell into a colony of women and men during the Civil War, that he said, prohibited both love and monogamy, but if a male wanted to have sex within the group a female, he simply asked her, or had someone else ask her for him, and they went into a private room, and made love, in particular he mentioned the Oneida Colony, and some of the young soldiers wanted to go AWOL, to join the Colony, along with other colonies of that time and day.”
“We have such Colony’s nowadays I’ve read about them pa,” said Langdon.
“But let me finish what Silas, told his son Josh, which the old Josh, told Silas, and I am now telling you, it was in the 1860s this took place, and all the way to about 1880; anyhow, if the couple agreed, they retired to a private groom, I think I said that already, and this helped the soldiers at times when they ran into these so called colonies, and it helped the young men of the times from ejaculation I suppose, you do know what that is son, right? (Langdon nods his head yes) and the women were not limited to one orgasm, which at times I suppose can be a real frustrating experience. So after the sex the couple returned—or couples, if it was couple sex—to their separate rooms, perhaps some pillow talk in-between, and between several couples of the colony and a few visiting soldiers, you had couple-bonding, especially if the soldiers had their future wives that belonged to the community.
“The complexity of marriage was abandoned for this commune sex, which was organized for the most part. Old Josh must have thought it the strangest thing, nowadays folks think it a new deranged obsession that is taking place among the young folk, when the subject of commune living becomes the subject of conversation, but it is old stuff, bringing brought up again, I don’t say it is right, but it just is, especially in California. Who knows, maybe we even have some of those groups over here in North Carolina. Anyhow, the birth rate of such colonies was actually very low. The folks of the commune felt the sexual please of all this was simply a divine gift; opportunity was for both male and female or couples. Men often told their superiors when in the military surroundings, after their adventure, reported might be a better word, and so reported satiation after an hour of coitus. The women even signed a manifesto, indicating they belonged to nobody, only themselves, but acknowledged belonging to God. And again, old Josh had the hardest of times to understanding that.
Of course what you don’t hear about is the massive sexual related diseases that plagued the Army during those days, as it went from one location to another, and this was a fear within the communes also, for loose women in those days followed the soldiers wherever they went and sold themselves also, built tent cities a mile or so away from the soldiers. So what I’m really trying to tell you Langdon, in a nutshell, is if you go into the military, and as these years pass on, you seem to want to, play it safe if you have to play at all, you do understand what I am saying do you not?”
“I understand pa, I’ll be careful,” remarked Langdon.

Gabe and Sweet Chile--1846 (in, Memories of Old Josh)

2008-02-27T15:33:00.000-08:00

Gabe and Sweet Chile—1846
(In a wink of an Eye (in, Memories of Old Josh)
Episode #44, 2-25-2008

Advance: Well, the truth of the matter is, Josh had a wife, believe it or not. And her name was Marinutita Jefferson George, for short, she was called Sweet Chile. Her and her boyfriend, Gabe, visited Josh once (perhaps twice), and to Jordan’s surprise, met his mother. She saw at first her two boys from a distance, then came closer to get a better look, but she wasn’t really there to see the boys, she wanted money from old Josh, she was on her way down to New Orleans, and during that visit, Amos had been picking cotton over at the neighbors plantation, and stopped to see Josh, and got an eye full of Sweet Chile (and that was that), and she even winked at him, so he says. Sweet Chile has a different story of course, and Gabe, he is mad as a disturbed hornets nest. Josh, he don’t care one way or the other, to be honest, he just wants her gone, and the sooner the better. Mr. Charles Hightower, the owner of the plantation, has gone to New Orleans also, he often does, and only God knows what he does down there, but Josh kind of knows, he’s been down there before with him. In any case, he is due back tomorrow, and he’d take a liking to see Sweet Chile around, she can make a scene. So here we are, all in the back by the corral, where old Nelly the cow is, the boy’s are staring at their with wide open white eyes—like eggs, and their mouths open like hungry lions, and Gabe pushing Amos away from Sweet Chile, and Josh saying he hasn’t any money to go on back to where she came from (Silas is thirteen years old, about, and Jordon a few years younger).

(In actuality, Jordon is down in the grocery store in Ozark, in the backroom, where he has a cot, it is the year 1909, and he is in his seventies, he is daydreaming of that day he and his brother met his mother, kind of a sour day, because they really didn’t get to say much, and pa, he was in such a hurry to get rid of her because Gabe and Amos were going to duke it out, but this is how the dialogue went, how Jordon remembers it anyhow.)

Josh: “Sweet Chile, I done thought you flew da cope, you’d be down in New Orlean’ doin’ wuh you do da best, and we all knows wuh dat is?”
Sweet Chile: “Is you callen’ me a whore?”
Josh: “No, cuz my boys is her, but if da not, I’d be so doin’”
Gabe: “No cause for dat now, Mr. Josh, you done married dis woman, so you is not so hot!”
Josh: “I done married a mule, you is too good for her, but you is a fool to say, I is dumb, cuz yous git be dumber dan I, cuz you is still wid her, she done flew da cope long ago, I is da lucky one, you…hummm—still da dumb one!”
Gabe: Dat dare friend of you, Amos, he best keep his eye on da sun or da ground, cuz I is aiming to pluck dem big eye’ out of his head, fer lookin’ at me gal!
Amos: I is ready ole man, cuz I pick cotton, I gits a good right arm, and aiming to punch you in dat dere big snoot of yours, and Sweet Chile, she gits a good man like me, and gits rid of you once an fer all!
Josh: You-al dont know wuh you is saying pal, she is like dat moccasin snake, she kill ya wid one bit.

(Sweet Chile is just looking and laughing, at these men fighting for her, and giving Josh a smirking smile back, kind of saying, ‘Look, I still got what it takes,’ and Josh nodding his head, the boys looking at Josh and their mother.)(What happened after all this was simple, Mr. Hightower came back early, and saw Sweet Chile in the backyard by the cow fence, and when she got a look at him, and he just stood there like a stone statue, she and Gabe took off, because she knew Old Man Hightower from when she was married, he was no one to fool with, he would have called the sheriff, and she had no papers to show she was a free slave, and she wasn’t, Gabe was though, and that usually worked, because he’d show his papers, and say ‘this her is me wife,’ and that would usually work, if not, they’d run like hick into the nearest woods, or down the quicken ally in town to avoid any more trouble.)

"Flintlock" (in, Memories of Old Josh)

2008-02-25T08:52:00.000-08:00

Flintlock (in, Memories of Old Josh)

(Forth Series, Episode: # 42)(Part one of two))

(1871) Old Josh is playing with his flintlock pistol ( a 1774, revolutionary pistol, smoothbore, iron, 69 Caliber, nine inch barrel, with some weathering to it, and one can tell it has some combat use on it), he is oiling it with axle grease, looking down its barrel, testing its spring, pulling the hammer back and forth, and then to its semi locked potion, semi lock, because there is really no locked position, thus, it is cocked.
He and Silas are down at the creek, Old Josh took the old flintlock out of the closest, where it’s been for ages upon ages, Old Man Hightower gave it to him as a gift one year, a gift Old Josh says, was because he had no more use for it.
Silas shakes his head, nods it back and forth, knows something is going to happen if Josh doesn’t take better care with that pistol, meaning, if he doesn’t stop playing around with it carefree like.
“Pa, be careful you is goin’ to kill me or yourself with dat dere gun!” says Silas in a hesitant voice.
“I is you pa, dont tell me wuh to do, son!” responds Josh, twirling the gun as if he was a shooter, or gunslinger.
“Her Silas, you carry da gun back for me!” Says Josh in a demanding voice…

(It’s a chilly morning in Ozark, Alabama, and Silas has just woken up from a dream, one of those awakening dreams, sits upright on his cot, Jordon, his younger brother has gone down to Ozark, to work in the Grocery store, it is 1907, Josh has been dead going on two years, Silas is remembering the time at the creek with the flintlock, he is starting to laugh out loud, as he puts the pictures of the event back together in his mind.)

Says Silas to Josh, facing the creek, Josh thinking, contemplating if they should head on back, they got a few bullheads in the creek, “Pa, why cant you carry your on gun, it ant mine?”
“Son, you done git lazy like dat dere fish, if he was looking wuh he was a doin’ he’d not be my dinner tonight.” Said Josh is a rustic deep voice, one that he had to dig low to bring up, to show his son he was not happy about totting that heavy gun back to the shanty, looking for a little pity.
Old Josh put his pistol between his wide belt and his stomach, snug as bug, as they say, then all of a sudden Silas got a fanatical face on him, Josh looked, “Wuh you look so strange…?” asked Josh (with a low hum ‘humm’to it).
“A small, moccasin just crawl under your pants legs pa!” ((A deadly snake from the waters of the south.)(See notes: Cottonmouth Water Moccasin))
“You done seen its yell belly son?” asked Josh, not standing still, pulling out his flintlock.
“Sho did pa,” responds Silas.
Then Josh started shaking his leg like crazy and looking for the snake, and his yellow belly, and aiming the pistol ready to shoot, and he fell backwards, caught off balance, and the flintlock went off, and it blew his hat right off his head five feet in the air, and back another ten-feet, and he fell on his butt.
“Pa, dat dere moccasin got so scared he done hightailed into da creek.” Said Silas.

Josh was so happy he scared the moccasin, he talked about it for twenty-fiveg-years, thereafter, the only problem was, and it wasn’t a real problem, but now Silas sitting on his cot, is feeling guilty, a little bit, he never got to tell his pa it was a trick, there was no snake. But his pa bragged his heroism up so much, he couldn’t swallow, or bear to undo it, and tell the truth.

Note: There is only one North American poisonous water snake - the Cottonmouth Water Moccasin! Not to be confused at all with its many nonpoisonous neighbors, this snake is a pit viper in the same general family as the Copperhead and the Rattler. I saw them once in the waters of Alabama, in a group form; written while having coffee at El Parquetto’s Café in Miraflores, 2-23-2008.

"Moonshine and the Devil" (in, Memories of Old Josh)

2008-02-25T08:51:00.000-08:00

Memories of Old Josh, in:
Moonshine and the Devil
((Series Four/Episode #43)(Part two of two))

(1871) Old Josh drank his share of moonshine, but was no drunkard according to him, and right after that flintlock situation he wanted to prove it, matter of fact, he preached against it, believe it or not, one day, at the local church, he said this that Sunday morning:
“Da devil he, takes da fight out of da man, by feedin’ him da moonshine. It da trick he plays ya know, he knows if you is, or is if you is not da man to get drunk ever da. Da devil, he even uses me, says I cant stand her because I done drunk too much moonshine in me da, but da devil is not me boss, so I tells ya, boys and girls not to drink da moonshine, I is an ole timer, I can drink caz I is used to it, but you is not.”
It was a day, Silas and Jordon was proud of their old pa, and they showed it when they got home, they hid the moonshine, and Josh went crazy all night long, until he said the next day, “Please sons, tell me wey you done put my jug?”
Well, Silas and Jordon felt sorry for their pa, and went to the closest, where that there old flintlock was hiding, and pulled the jug out for Josh, and he was as happy as the rat in a hole with a ten-pound block of cheese.

Notes: Written at home, in Lima, Peru, the morning of 2-24-2008; the author is a recovering alcoholic, has not drank for 24-years, and does not promote drinking in anyway, but realizes there are those folks that can drink, perhaps sociably, but often it is not that way (because everybody wants to say that), and hopes people will look at their drinking, if you cannot stop drinking for a year, you got a problem, so the author believes. Also he is a good shooter, has several guns, and was in the Army for a decade. Shooting is a hobby for him, and so he wrote the sketch “Flintlock” again hoping folks take a look at how they use their guns, and to be careful, as well as with their drinking. He believes in the 2nd Amendment, the right to carry arms, totally.

Centeripedes (Memories of Old Josh, #38)

2008-02-22T21:08:00.000-08:00

Memories of Old Josh, in:
Centipedes

(Forth Series, Episode: # 38)

(1908) Old Josh used to watch the centipedes with all their legs speed across the wooden floors of his shanty shack; he was amazed at all those legs working in unison. He wasn’t sure exactly how they moved, but they looked as if they moved without thinking, and they’d speed across one side of the hut, to the other, spot him, and try to hide here or there, before he stomped on them barefoot.
Silas his oldest son now is doing just that, just like his pa used to do, watching those centipedes, in particular, this one. Jordon don’t care for them, he’s kind of afraid of such creatures, and avoids them like the plague, along with spiders and other creepy crawlers.

Says Jordon to Silas: “Day sho hav a strange looking body keeps it ‘way from me!”
Silas: “Day move wid greet speed, to bad you ant like dhem!” (and laughs)

Jordon keeps his distance.
Now Silas is following the creature with his eyes and feet, and Jordon is in back of him, looking but keeping a safe distance from the creature; now it starts to zigzag, and Jordon jumps up on a chair (Silas laughs). Then Silas gets a cramp in his leg and falls flat on top of the centipede—with is face under it, and I think Jordon stops breathing for a moment, in disbelief, trying to figure out how he is going to get off the chair and out of the shack, he needs to see where the centipede is before he makes his move—he is not that concerned about Silas at all.
Silas gets up, looks at Jordon, and asks, “Wuh is you up dere brother?”
The centipede is in his mouth, and Silas is a bit fogy, if not down right off balance, the fall made him dizzy. He swallows the centipede when he opens his mouth to take in a big gulp of air (later on he will get diarrhea).
Jordon is happy—he’s got a smile from his upper eye to his lower chin, he gets to get off the chair now, for he knows where the centipede is.
Says Jordon to Silas (Silas now sick as a hog):
“Pa never did eat one of dem critters (with a depraved smile).”

Note: Perhaps this story originates from my childhood. My mother, brother and grandfather all lived together, and when my mother saw a centerlines, she’d scream, and old grandpa would come out from wherever he was, and swear, and step on the creature with his bare feet. And my mother would come out of her frozen state, or trance. I suppose I was the one more amazed at how those legs could coordinate with the mind to work in unison, written at Starbucks, in Circle, 2-19-2008, in Lima Peru.

Memories of Old Josh, in: Alligator Moonshine (#37)

2008-02-22T20:16:00.000-08:00

Alligator Moonshine
((in: Memories of Old Josh) (forth Series; episode #37))

Silas was remembering when his father Josh had stepped off, and in the process, slipped from the last step of the porch in 1904, a year before his death (it was now 1909; he caught his pants leg onto the an edge of the end, or last wooden step (Old Josh, had made those steps, built those very same steps himself, he had to cut down a tree by the creek to make them, drag it up hill, across the cornfields, through the backwoods, back in the late 1880s, all that to make those stairs; thought Silas, on top of his other thoughts, of Josh falling flat on his face, he had made some homemade moonshine that evening and tried it out, it proved to be as good as ever, ah, he was thought to be dead though, and he was bruised for a week, Silas murmured out loud).
Old Josh liked his moonshine, and used to say, “I tell ya boys, it git da bite like da Alligator,” and so the country folk, all called his moonshine, ‘Josh’s Alligator Moonshine.
Sometimes, especially when Old Josh was broke, he’d have his son Jordon, who worked at the town grocery store in Ozark (Alabama), take a few bottles, and jugs down with him in the morning, sell some of it under the counter, or through the back door, so his boss would not notice, although he bought some of it himself, now and then.
Well, everyone had thought—even Jordon and Silas—Old Josh was dead on that warm dark soil that summer evening, in front of his shanty, in particular Silas. He looked dead as a door nail. Silas even told his brother, “Ole pa, he done git stiff as a frozen carp…go fetch me a priest Jordon!”
Jordon hesitated, thought about that request, then asked, “Wuh, a priest, why not a doc?”
Hesitating, Silas looked in Jordon’s squinty dark eyes, “Da doc he cant do a thing for pa, he’s too old, da priest, he can help pa into da pearl gates, he done talk ‘bout all his life.” Jordon shook his head, but did as his older brother told him to do.

—It was an hour later when the priest showed up, said, “Would you all like me to say a prayer for your pa, before you get the doctor, and sheriff out to witness this death?”
(Silas and Jordon were sitting on the steps and Josh laying flat on his face in the dirt.)
Said Old Josh, with a harsh rustic voice; “Forget da prayer, an’ gits me my moonshine son!” he demanded from Silas, trying to push himself upward.
The white priest said, “Absolutely not, you’re not in any condition to drink.”
Jordon whispered to the priest, “It’s kinda like his petrol.”
“Your pa just overindulged tonight, he’s ok.” Said the priest, and jumped on his horse to ride back down the road a spell to his little church, and pulled out a little bottle of corn whisky, to help him through the long and dusty ride back.

Written 2-19-2008 (Written at Starbucks, in Circle, Lima, Peru, 1:00 to 4:00 PM)

Memories of Old Josh, in: Dugout Canoe (Episode:#36)

2008-02-20T21:31:00.000-08:00

Memories of Old Josh, in:
Dugout Canoe
((Episode: 36)(Series Four))

(1909) Old Josh and his neighbor, Toby Jackson, also a neighbor slave by Hightower’s plantation, called: TJ, for short (his mother being Lucy Jackson, born 1810; wife to Hank, born on the plantation, was sixteen-years old when Hank married her, in 1826, had their first child Toby, in 1826 also). In any case, at this time, Josh was 21-years old when Toby was born, but we really talking about the year, 1877, when Toby was 51-years old, and Josh, he was 72-years old. They had went to Hidden Creek (as they often did, when they were allowed to) to smoke some grass, took their dugout canoe they built together, and swung the canoe out into the midstream of the creek, and walked down the creek pulling the canoe by rope and muscle. Once they got into the lake area, they lazily lay back and fished, drank some corn whisky (Silas and Jordon, was remembering this, as they sat listening to the cricks, and the cow in the corral, mow, and a rat and cat fight it out); those were the days, thought Silas, as Jordon as Jordon picks up his banjo and plays it lightly.

Old Josh liked the creek, it led into the big lake, and he got to get his feet wit, cause he always had to tug that canoe down in that shallow water to get to it. They could have used the river, but they both were a tinge afraid they’d tip the canoe over.
This day, in the summer of 1877, they were on the lake, not many signs of life, a few birds crossing over, other than that, it was quiet. A few alligators were spotted off, and near the shoreline, absorbing the sun, reenergizing from the night. They fished for hours and hours, then as it became close to sundown, they had found a gravel bank, and made a fire, cooked the fish they caught, and had a feast.

Silas, now with his pipe in his mouth, drew in some smoke, then let it out slowly, put his hands on his stomach, rocked back his chair against the shack wall (Jordon asks Silas):
“How da heck pa ever steer dat dere canoe, half lit up wid dat corn whisky?”
“Dat dere lake ant but five feet deep, pa jes gits out of da boat and pushes it, after he aims it…! says Silas, adding, “and funny dat dere varmint never did get pa either.”

2-19-2008 (Written at Starbucks (at Circle), in Lima Peru)

Memories of Old Josh, in: The Hanging of Amos..." ((Episode: #39)(forth Series))

2008-02-20T20:29:00.000-08:00

Memories of Old Josh, in:
The Hanging of Amos, of Stone Bridge
((forth Series) (#39))

The Hanging of Amos Jackson, of Ozark, Alabama,
1883 (From the shantytown of Stone Bridge

Amos was born in Ozark, Alabama, lived in back of the cemetery, he often worked for Silas, Old Josh’s boy, in picking cotton for Mr. Hightower. There was a shantytown of sorts there, where huts, where the main building structures, and Amos’ hut was built right into the side of a hill. There were old dirt roads that lead into the shantytown, one in particular, had an old stone bridge on it, thus, that is how the town got its name, in 1863, “Stone Bridge,” the confederate military had built it, for a quick runaway incase the Union soldiers were chasing them: this way they could lose them in the chase.
Most of the shantytown was built out of sticks and stones, wood thrown away in Ozark, dragged all the way out to Stone Bridge by horse and car, or donkey or cart, or mule or cart, and even some on the back of Negros.
It was the year of 1883; the summer heat was getting to everybody. Wild was Ozark, and its youth.
Most of the folks that lived in the shantytown threw their garbage over into the cemetery, and that was the hideous odor folks talked about, when they rode by the cemetery, sniffing it like dogs, and telling jokes in the saloons in Ozark about it coming from the huts of the Negros, thus creating discontent among the masses.
Hence, it was on a hot evening, prior to dusk, several young white bucks from Ozark, came riding through the shantytown, of Stone Bridge, creating havoc.
You might say, Old Amos, was similar in ways, like Old Josh, but perhaps a less wiser; but he had Josh’s temper if anything, and liked a good argument, no hair as they say, on the tongue—during such times either. And as these young bucks trotted through the shantytown, whisky jugs in one hand, pistols in tucked into their pants, behind their belts, against their stomachs, a reins in the other hand, drunk they were and they all started to make advances towards the back young woman, and Amos say one the white boys, leaning against a hut, with Ashley in his arms tightly around her waist. He had a jug of moonshine in his left hand.
Without any more a due, he walked up to the white boy, grabbed the jug of whiskey from him, splashed it all over his face, getting it into his eyes, thus, he let go of Ashley, and she ran down the road, across Stone Bridge, and that was the last he saw of her for the night. But the boy was upset, and Amos, simply sat down on a huge rock, and laugh, drinking the white boy’s whiskey.
A few minutes must had passed, when Amos got up off that old rock and started to find his way out of the shantytown, it was vacant now, everyone had run across the bridge and were hiding.
There was a gun shot, its blast of energy passed old Amos’ ear, scared him so, he fell flat on his face, right there in the center of the dirt road, in the middle of the shantytown, and when he looked up, there were several white faces, facing him, it was now twilight. (The Bullet had left a tingle in his ear, so he couldn’t hear clearly what the boys were saying.)

That night, the boys tied Amos with a rope around his shoulders, and one around his neck, and hung him on a wooden gallows they had build sometime ago, thus, he did not die fast at all, it was slow. And Josh, daily went down to see him, and on the third day, Josh not able to save him, or watch him die any longer, cut the rope around his shoulders, and as a result, his body fell a half foot, just enough to where the first rope around his neck strangled him to death (his Tombstone read, born 1803, died, 1883). His son, Amos Lee Stonewall Jackson, born 1860, died 1911, was there to take his body down on the forth day.

Written 2-20-2008/at Starbucks, Lima, Peru

Memories of Josh, in: The Poet (#35 Episode)

2008-02-20T20:26:00.000-08:00

Memories of Old Josh
((Born 1805, died 1905) (Series Four))

Index
(New episodes)

Old Joshin, the Poet
Episode: #35

Old Josh in: Alligator Moonshine
Episode: #:36

Old Josh in: The Dugout Canoe
Episode: 37

Old Josh in: Centipedes
Episode: #38

Old Josh, in:
The Hanging of Amos, of Stone Bridge
Episode: #39

—Forward

A while back I wrote three dozen sketches called “Old Josh”, and got a lot of respectful feedback, liking the series. The story takes place in the 1800s Old Josh was born b, up between 1805 to 1810, nobody really knows, because nobody kept records of black folks back then, he died around 1905, so the records say, but still others say it was 1910, we shall go along with 1805 to 1905, for the record here. He had two sons, the youngest is Jordon, 1837 or ’39, was his birth, he died in 1920, and his older brother, Silas, was born around 1833, died I hear in 1913.Everything is conjecture thought, as I mentioned, records were hard kept, and messy.
Old Josh, was taken out of New Orleans, during a great flood, he told his boys he was about seven to nine years old, perhaps even ten, when Mr. Hightower, a white plantation, farmer from him, and took him to Ozark, Alabama, his mother whom had perished in the flood, being the main reason. Thus, he is raised on the plantation, where he lives and dies, and in-between like all of us, has some good and bad times.

The 34-sketches, which started with seven, and went to fourteen, through out the past four years, about ten sketches a year, is turning into a novel of sorts. Now we have in 2008, several more, it should reach 40 to 45 sketches in all; but who knows. In addition, we have three prior series, the first “Old Josh, of Ozark,” then, “Old Josh, in Pure Nigger,” and the third, “Old Josh, in: The Plantation.” Now we have the forth, “Memories of Old Josh.”
In no way are these series trying to insult, or degrade the black race, rather, to introduce to the new generation, and perhaps to some of the old generation, the generation long lost, a if not a language in itself, lost. I learned, and lived in Ozark, Alabama, in the back of shantytown areas, in l977 to 1980, (some 30-years ago). The language is very distinct, and perhaps is embedded in the soil, of long ago, longer than they cared to tell me. It is the English language, adapted here, meaning, a dialect if you don’t mind, but sounds a bit different, or will once you read the stories. Although in this series, the stories will mostly be narrated by me, whereas, it was more of a dialogue in the past series. The second series, “Pure Nigger,” was picked up by over 50-sites, and the first and third series, perhaps by more, or less, I’m not sure, but the first seven was picked up by more internet sites than the other two, perhaps 60-sites, so the Old Josh has been read in the last four years by thousands of readers, I have at present about two-million years a year on all my 2300-writtings, world wide, on about 400-internet sites, about 150,000-readers a month. And Old Josh seems to be ahead or equal with any of my writings.

Back to the language of that area: you may find that several sounds in the same sentence seem familiar, don’t look for rules. If this offends you, then don’t go beyond this; the language is almost a chant here, as I remember it, and took notes on it, in which recently I re-found in my library.
Living in Alabama in the ‘70s, in an area I did, and talking to the folks by the cemetery, they were of an unusually breed, in that, they themselves were of an unusually high type. Some had white and Indian blood in them, you could tell. Here are some new sketches, some done in the same format.

Memories of
Old Josh, in: the Poet
((in: Memories of Old Josh) (forth Series; episode #35))

Advance: Josh was about 27-years old when Silas, the oldest child was born, and old doc, Doctor Benjamin Lee Ssumsky (last name being his family’s name, whom came from Australia in the 1795, he was born 1796), and was the doctor who spanked both Silas and Jordon on the butt, he said “To wake them up” (old doc, Benjamin, died in 1869, so folks say, at the ripe old age of 73).
Jordon a few yeas younger than Silas, neither child ever knew there age, not event Old Josh, he and his brother inherited a plot of land, Mr. Charles Hightower’s land, in the back, where Old Josh raised those kids, they still have the old shack, and Jordon still works down in Ozark, Alabama as a clerk, at the same store, he’s been there ever since he’s been fifteen years old.
The year is 1909; Old Josh has been dead going on four years, come July 1. Silas’ date of birth, on his birth certificate reads 1832, but the ink is smuggled so who can tell, (about 77-years old now), and Jordon’s is 1837 the same smug, from Doctor Benjamin, who had a good hand in writing words, but bad handwriting (about 72-years old now), not sure if that is correct, but the best I can do for you. They have a retired 8not sure from what), and they have four acres of land.
One of the things Old Josh wanted to be was a poet, like Walt Whitman, or Henry W. Longfellow. He couldn’t read much, but he had Silas and Jordon do that.
On another note, Charles Hightower has now been dead for many years, he took Old Josh in when he was a boy, if you read the first series, this will come to light. Old Josh was found in New Orleans, abandoned during a flood. Jordon is perhaps the smarter one of the two boys, but Silas, he is the more down to earth, if not harder worker. Half the time they don’t realize they are old.
I often think, did I use my brother and me when I came up with Josh’s two boys, I really don’t know, it was not planned that way anyway. Now we must get into the story (s). It is 1909, and Old Josh’s name has come up, Jordon is talking to Silas, on the porch, on the plantation where his hut is. The Hightower’s still live in the large front house, similar to a grand house you could say, a mansion of sorts, and Jordon makes his first statement:

Jordon with the Banjo
And Silas by their Shanty

Jordon: Why is you always’ gits to tell me wuh to do, I wants to a poet like pa!
Silas: But pa had da wit an’ wisdom, you is jes a fool boy!
Jordon: Why is you call me boy…dat dhere name, I is no boy da whites folk say when dhay wants to make us beg…!
Silas: you is jes like pa, you gits it in for all da white folks dont ya?
Jordon: I tells you da poem, and you tells me if yu’ all likes it? Ok?

(Silas kicks his feet against the wooden railing on the porch, the back of his chair moves back against the wall of the house, he got a smirk on his face, his eyebrow is up, Jordon moves his banjo)

Silas: Wuh is you all waitin’ for?
Jordon: I is getting tuned up, you knows poems is like songs, so I will sing you da poem, ok?
Silas: Sho’ brother, I knows it from the first I hears you say poem, you is going to pick dat banjo up and sing it (ha..ha…ha, Silas laughs)
Jordon: so now you is like pa ’gain, Lord! Lord! It were a time. You think you knows wuh in me head before I knows it!
Silas: Jes gitten’ on an’ sings da poem brother, ‘fore I finish da corn whisky her off an’ falls to sleep, you talks so much, like pa used to, never could shut him up, unless I done fills his head with moonshine.

Jordon Sings and Plays the Bingo:

I is an ole cowhand
From da rio grand
An’ I likes to eat pig feet
But I can’ afford dat
So I eats black-eyed pea
Pork shanks, and cornbread,
Cuz I is an ole cowhand
From da Hightower plantation!

Silas: You is best stay a clerk now in Ozark, Ha, ha, dats better dhen your rhyme, you ant no cowhand, cuz we only git one ole cow in da corral, and I takes care of him.

2-19-2008 (Written at home, Lima, Peru)

Index to the most common word Dialect

Old= ole gal er (her)
Why=
Where= wey
You=
Ignorant: ign’ant
Darn the varmint=
Because= cuz

About= ‘bout
Busted= bu’sted
That’s= dat’s
Feeling= feelin’
And= an’
What= Wuh
The= de
Difference= heap of differ’ ent
Isn’t or is not= ain’
With= wid
They= Dey
When= Wuh
Just= jes
Rambling=Ramblin’ (for many words, the ‘g’ is removed)
Around= ‘round (in many words, the front ‘a’ is removed)
Something= sump’n
Hollering=hollerin’
Expression: he heart in he mout’ (instead of using his, he is used)
He change he name

Am I= Is I
Sure= sho’
Was= wuss
Near= er
Cause= cus
Rise up= riz up
Before= ‘fore
Poison= pizen
If= ef
Get= git
Leave= leff
Becoming night= getting’ nigher

The Ozark Plantatin, in: Mammy Mae (1802))Series #3/#2))

2007-03-06T20:43:00.000-08:00

Series #3
The Ozark Plantation, in:

Mammy Mae
(1802) #2 (3-4-2007)

The wick was burning in the porcelain, “He comin’ back from New Orleans,” said Judith Hightower, to Mammy Mae, “Dat dere man, he never quite, foolin’ around does he Ms Judith?” She didn’t answer, not a word, just listened, a smirk on her face, “He aint never had any mercy on nobody—aint satisfied, drive a woman crazy—yous should up and leave him!”
“You’re sure right,” said Judith, standing by the kitchen door, releasing a sigh, as if she was coming out of a trance, out of some deep thinking, yet she was clam, too calm, for her agitated nature living with Shep Hightower.
“He a comin’ in today, he say so when he left a month ago!” Said Mammy Mae to Judith who seemed to have gotten lost again in her daydreaming; “I never known anyone dat needed to get away as bad as dat dere man of yor’ does,” said Mammy shaking her head.
“Not much I can do, Mammy,” said Judith, with a half smile, seemingly fatigued from thinking.
“I knows wat to do wit him, tie himup in an empty boxcar an’ let da hoboes take care of him.” They both started to laugh, and then Judith commented, “I’ll have to think hard on that one.”
“Yous look so sad, child, wha’ da matter?” said Mammy.

Judith stopped looking at Mammy Mae, heard someone at the door, it opened, and then slammed shut, it was Shep, her husband. “He’s come home Mammy!” she said with a hard jaw, and gritting teeth, disturbed face. She was not open for any more suggestions.
“How was your New Orleans whore?” she asked Shep.
“You shut your mouth, just shut your mouth!” he replied.
“Stop what, the truth?” she calmly said, adding, “oh, it doesn’t really matter anymore.”
“You shouldn’t be saying such things when our Negros are nearby, gives a bad impression,” said Shep, looking over her shoulder to the kitchen seeing Mammy Mae sitting behind the table.
“Is that so…?” responded Judith, “you want to protect her ears do you…!”
“What’s come over you?” he asked Judith.
“Are you home on a friendly visit or leaving again tomorrow?” asked his wife (for some reason Judith was out of character, much more bravado than she usually was).
“Yes I’m home, for a spell, if that matters to you someway or another—anyhow, now shut up, I’m hungry….!” Then Shep sat down at the dinning room table, as Mammy Mae fixed up something hot for him to eat.

“Aint you comin’ to dinner?” he asked his wife.
Judith went to a back room, grabbed a horse blanket and walked out through the side door that lead to the kitchen, and out that door as well, as Mammy was bringing in some hot stew for Shep, Mammy got only a glance of her walking behind her, thinking she was going to the barn to put the blankets on the horses, it was a chilled evening, but she didn’t stop at the barn, she kept on walking, walking out into the fields, as the negro slaves watched her from afar, then she disappeared, just like a horizon.
In the morning, she was found dead, the blanket wrapped around her, expressionless, exposed to the chill of the night.
When they brought her back to the house, when Shep saw her, he simple said, “Godalmight, now what did that woman go and do!”

Epitaph and Funeral

The preacher, Bruce Danbury, from Dothan, Alabama, was in town, in Ozark, and came out to the Plantation, for the funeral, came to give the elegy, as Shep and several Negros, along with Mammy Mae, and a few towns’ folks, stood and listened:

“She was not so sophisticate or a connoisseur of course, and she will find a place similar to suite her in heaven I’m sure. She had few people to instruct her in life, down here Lord, and she never hurt anyone, nor really hated anyone but I would undoubtedly guess, she isn’t losing anything by dying, or staying down here (Shep looked hard at the preacher, very hard), likely she’s having more fun up yonder.”

Shep started to walk away, mumbling, “I got to feed the horses!”

The Ozark Plantation, in: Warehouse on Fire (1804))Series #3/#4))

2007-03-06T20:37:00.000-08:00

Series #3
The Ozark Plantation, in:

Warehouse on Fire
(1804) #4 (3-6-2007)

“You sees wha’ I mean,” Mammy Mae said, “can yous imagine any woman livin’ wit dat dare man?” She hesitated, then added, “…well, now can you?” Young Charles smiled looking up at her in the kitchen; Shep was pacing the floor in the living room talking to Mr. Ritt, the banker from Ozark who was drinking a beer as Shep listened to his proposal.
Said Mr. Ritt in a calm but stern voice, “If we don’t work together on this, you’ll be working alone.”
“What,” said Hightower.
“Unaided…” added Ritt.
A hauntingness came over Shep Hightower’s face, he needed to build a fence around his property, lest the sheep, and cattle, dogs and wolfs, strange and wild mustangs, horses from other plantations, and invaders, gypsies remain on it when he was gone, and they were coming, at all different times now of the year, and the Negros wouldn’t tell them to go unless he was there.

(It was a time the whole countryside was filling up with profiteers, the sheriff couldn’t make the law stick to the hides of everyone, and often by the time he got to the issue, with a neighbor, or stranger, someone was dead, and it didn’t matter anymore, the issue was settled, and all knew this, collateral damage, or whatever you want to call it, it kept your land safe by acting quick, and that was ok with most of the plantation owners, and the sheriff. Much of the land they had in many cases was not registered legally anyhow, and thus, void of taxes, yet used by the farmers, or plantation owners, and when they went to register it, they often found to their dismay, they were a day or week too late; and so little land wars prevailed throughout this area.)

—Shep built a warehouse and loaded all the lumber he could put his hands on, in it, along with wire for a fence to circle his property—borrowed the money from the bank, in the process he cursed quietly, the following months at the entire Negro crew. He even had them work at night with lanterns.
One night he decided not to go back to the warehouse, to insure all was locked up as he usually did, he had left early that evening, and expected the two Negros that usually slept in the warehouse to do as usual to sleep there again, crowbar the door from inside, and have another lock it from the outside until morning, when one would open it up from the outside, and unbar it from the inside. The lanterns were kept inside the warehouse like all the tools used for making the fence.
Hightower was with J. Ritt, in town, it was Saturday night, and he had a few drinks. Ritt told him to go on home, make sure the Negros had everything in place. But Shep remained at the saloon, and slept it off at Ritt’s place down the road from the bank. It was at 2:00 AM he was waked up by Sheriff Smiley, a brother to Hightower’s neighbor, Sheriff Stan Smiley, he said in no kind voice, “Dem there blackies dune burned your warehouse to the ground Mr. Hightower!” Hightower shaking his head every which way got his horse saddled and high-tailed it to his plantation, only to find it burnt almost to the ground, ablaze from the wood inside was still producing some clouds of smoke.

(Monday at the Bank) “Alright, Alright,” Shep told Ritt, “you were right I should have stayed at home Saturday night, I suppose one of the crew laid a lantern lit in the warehouse when they were locking up, but they said they didn’t, no one remembering who did what, an accident, but I’ll ask Mammy Mae, she’ll tell me the truth, she’s on my side.”
When Shep got back to the plantation Monday evening he asked Mammy Mae if she knew anything about it, but she wouldn’t, say a ward, just said she didn’t hear or know a thing, though everything was fine, until someone came running saying, “Fire, fire…!” that is all she said, all she knew, all she said she knew anyway, who did it she said she didn’t know because she was in bed; how could she say anything, the horse doesn’t bit the hand that feeds them.

The Ozark Plantation, in: Mammy Mae's Secret (Series #3))1803))

2007-03-06T19:29:00.000-08:00

Series #3
The Ozark Plantation, in:

Mammy Mae‘s Secret
(1803) #3 (3-6-2007)

Almost everyday, everyday that is when Shep was gone, Mammy Mae, went up the hill to the little plot sectioned off for a family graveyard, Judith Hightower was buried there, her tombstone read: “October 7, 1803, died Judith Hightower (Abernathy),” nothing else. This day, as others when Shep was gone on business or in New Orleans, she’d take an apple and some peanuts with her, stay for an hour or so, talk to Judith, or the headstone as if she was alive inside of it listening, and when she saw Shep, saw him like this day, Shep Hightower’s wagon approaching the plantation, from the dirt road along side the house, she ran down the hill, as if in a trot, almost head first as if to keep pace with the velocity of the nearing wagon, and right to the back side door of the kitchen she scrambled to and then through, into the kitchen and sat down behind the table, her table where she cut up most everything, and huffed and puffed to get her air back into her lungs. She was not young, nor slim; it was all she could do for the moment.
When Shep entered the house, he was still talking to himself, as usual, ‘…it didn’t take him long to get over the death of Judith,’ his wife, mumbled Mammy Mae, she was talking to the baby actually, little Charles, in the kitchen, him standing by her chair, holding onto her leg. She had taken him out of his crib, woke him up, there was three cribs in the house. In his bedroom, in the kitchen, so Mammy could watch him, and one in the main room by the fire place, so Shep could look at him at night by the heath.
She still had peanuts in her hands, she quickly put them back into the dish she had earlier taken them from, and they were moistened with her sweat.
“The town is too small for me,” said Shep aloud, so Mammy could hear.
“Dont New Orleans need folk like you…” whispered Mammy, playing with little Charles.
“What did you say?” asked Shep.
“I says, Mr. Hightower, dat dere tooth of Charles is jes’ peeking out…of de roof…!”
“How long do you reckon it will take for it to surface…I mean come out all the way?”
Before she could answer, Shep’s mind was back on money matters.
“You know where he’s at now…?” said Shep.
“Who!” asked Mammy?
“That banker, Mr. J. Ritt?”
“He dere in Ozark I reckon so,” said Mammy.
“No, he never got that far, he was in New Orleans with me, saw him there, I bet…him I’d beat him back home, .85-cents bet.”
He had run the horse almost to the graveyard to win that bet. Then he started laughing. “But tomorrow I’ll see him, get my money,” then he went and grabbed a handful of peanuts’, “I bet him .85-cents…” he said again, assuming Mammy didn’t hear him because she didn’t pay him any attention when he said it the first time. This time she looked up at him, away from little Charles and said, “Yous dont say…”; then speaking softly to little Charles, as Shep walked away, she said, “I dont think you’ pa knowd you mama is buried up dere on dat hill, buried up yonder, but I reckon I won’ forget.”

The Ozark Plantation (Series #3))Old Shep Hightower (And a boy named Josh) #1

2007-03-03T20:53:00.000-08:00

Series #3
The Ozark Plantation
(and a Boy Named Josh)

Old Shep Hightower
(And a boy named Josh) #1

The Ozark Plantation (Series #3)) Old Shep Hightower (and a boy named Josh) #1

Shep Hightower came from New York State, in the Mid 1700s, they say around 1759 he appeared off a ship with some sailors, he was at that time, twenty-five years old, and made his way to what now is called Ozark, Alabama, in the dead of summer, perhaps around the year 1761, or so. Mrs. Hightower, back then, a Miss when she came up from New Orleans, some time thereafter, she was quite young, a few months past sixteen years old, she sat high-headed in a wagon, Shep remembered that, so he would tell in later years: they never even kissed until they got married, so he told everyone likewise, all the folks said in Ozark years later they just kissed where no one could see them.
John Abernathy, gave his brother, for his daughter $25,000-dollars to give to her upon her marriage day, this was in his will, and Jeff kept his word, a the wedding gift was all Shep needed to purchase what would turn out to be one of the riches plantations in and around the Ozark area, all 450-Acres of it.

It was the turn of the century when Charles T. Hightower was born (1800). This was also around the time the plantation was self supporting, and had a good cash flow, when he could afford, and purchased several Negros for his labor in the fields; in addition, it was also the time when Shep would take his trips to New Orleans, excursions he called them, and he never mentioned why to anyone, he just went, and met a Negress, a black woman he fancied, and paid her well for his pleasures, so he could keep it fancy free. Mrs. Judith Hightower, never could, if she wanted to, leave, where would she go? So she put up with, what she felt she had to put up with.

Somehow Shep dodged the war, and continued his affair with his—as he called her, ‘My New Orleans, Hussy,’ he didn’t think anyone knew of the affair, or what was going on, too close to the forest to see the trees, as they say, but Judith new it, and perhaps all of Ozark.
“You shut your mouth,” said Shep to his wife, “if you can give me a child, do it, or I’ll find a way in New Orleans…. (which he had anyway, already done)” And she simply would turn about and walk into the kitchen, sit down at the table, cutup tomatoes, or lattice, and talk to the old black cook, Mammy May, she called her. At night Mammy and Judith would sit by the heath and she’d rock in her chair, feeling the warm flames of the fire, and she’d talk about meeting Mr. Washington, and so forth and so on, and Judith loved those evening, Shep would be in New Orleans usually during those nights.
No one knew how Judith actually got herself engaged with Shep, he would never tell, it just happened one day, people said. Mrs. Hightower didn’t live a long life, although Shep did. Old Shep changed the birth certificate of Charles Hightower, his first son, and child, it was hard for Judith to live with knowing the truth of the matter, that his hussy gave birth to the white boy, and she raised him, “Well, that’s business,” Shep once told her, she was at his mercy but no gentleman would have believed that, had she screamed it to high heaven, after Charles was born. I mean, she lived well, and there was poverty all around her, who would want to believe it.
It was in the year, or thereabouts, 1807, when Hightower was in New Orleans, when he had met another black woman he took a liking to, she had a boy, and there was a deluge in the city, the Mississippi had flowed over its banks, as a wind and storm filled up the city likewise with its debris, and in the process of the flood, he took the boy, at her request, back with him to his plantation, his name was Josh.

3-3-2007

Notes: Grandpa Hightower [Shep Hightower] 1734-1829 Charles Terrance Hightower [1800-1880]: died of heart attack after years of dealing with his son’s death]

Old Josh, in: Ole White Magic (1869))Pure Nigger: 2nd Series)) Episodes: 27, 28 & 29))

2007-02-16T15:52:00.000-08:00

Old Josh, in:
Ole White Magic (1869)
Part I of III (Episode #27)

(This is a story about Old White Magic, an old timer in Ozark, Alabama, a Negro, who was a favorite Blackman among the white race, the chosen one, the black folks, used to call him, he was a clock maker, or fixer, his image really nondescript, but I shall try boldly to describe him now and then, throughout this sketch, and two more of him. He was so black and ugly the black men of Ozark didn’t look twice at him, and the white folk laughed holding their bellies looking at him. He was something of a legend in his own time, he came from the unfathomed jungles of the Congo, from Africa it was said. And up until his death in 1870, no one knew his age, or thereabouts. He had old papers showing he was a free man, and thus, some fifty years from the year 1869, he had come to Ozark, a stranger then, came out of nowhere it seemed at the time, and opened up his shop.)

Silas: He come from Afr’ica like you pa, maybe he knowed your pa? He as ugly as de bulldog, and black er den de rich soil in de Hightower garden!

Josh: Yessem, he still cant speak but ten words of de English, but he can count de money well!

Silas: Da only thing diff’erent I sees in he since de dey I wuz born is he done changed his cloths a few times, but de white folks like him.

Josh: Mr. Clayton, he likes Ole White Magic, dat some of it…

(A mild man he was Ole White Magic, it seemed in 1869, he was about to die and be buried, he bought a plot of land in the old cemetery, his clocks were not selling, and folks in Ozark, thought maybe he’d take his own life, he seemed to be depressed. He joined the Presbyterian Church, but that was back in 1850s, yet seldom did he attend, and folks said he had money, but he never seemed to spend it. So it was a life he led of secrecy. But he and the Clayton family got along well with him, especially, Anthony Clayton.)

Josh: I done told him ‘bout a hundred times, enjoy wha’ you hab, kaze you jes look at it and den you die… (Meaning money)

Silas: Pa, you should hab pulled his chestnuts to he foot, he jes a fool of a man

Josh: I mean no offence son, he ain’ no bad man, he jes secret; a man can be worn out in three score and ten, I think he six score and twenty, he look it anyhow, maybe he jes come to Ozark an’ dont knowed how to die.

Silas: I is jes curious…

Josh: He come in so long ago to Oark, folks dont remember da year, he tells men to go takes care of dere own private affair, I think he is right, who care how ole he is, he jes taken a long time to die.

Silas: Who signed his paper pa, his free paper?

Josh: Some General called Washington, I sees it one day…dats all I knowed of him, he wuz a boy den.

2-16-2007

Old Josh, in:
Ole White Magic & De Rat house (1870)
(Episode #28/Part II of III)

(Josh’s Conversation with Silas)

Josh: Human nature an’ self interest son is de debil-bird singin’ in de ear whn yous doing nothin’ (said Josh to Silas) adding: Yessum, de debil-bird if you don’t knowed him, you is better to stay in bed, you is safer…

Silas: Ole White Magic die, guine now on six month’ pa, no one can find his money, da say it in de walls some place…! He ain’ had good sense … wha’ you think he did wit de money?

Josh: When da die, everyone think dey leave money here and dere…da paper say he 120-year ole, when he die, dat he a boy when ole Washington sign his paper, dat his pa fough’t in de war, de first war, his pa a hero wit him…!

Silas: He alway’ unshaven pa!

Josh: White Magic—Yessum, he wuz da same old dirty trouser’ he come to Oark with, all de time, but he hab a white clean shirt on for de white folk to see. I sees him tremble de last few days, his eyes ole, ole…!

Silas: Des here is a hot dey too much for me pa, I dont wants to et…

Josh: Yessum, ole White Magic wuz a right hearty eater, until de last deys of his life. I even bring he meat, but he protestin’ to et… He jes say, ‘Josh, it suits me here,’ an’ he sits in de chair in his shop, all clutter, things here and dere, night an’ day. I hear de many de rat in de attic—his house de rat house of Ozark, I hears de foot of de rat, moving here and dere… but I tells myself, I am twenty-years past worryin’ ‘bout such things, let de ole man be, he like de rat, let him hab dem, keep him compan’y. An’ I sees his bed, jes ole tile roofing, a board over dat, and tarred paper over dat. He a quie man, no laundry no nothin’—jes an ole bed…an’ a picture…!

Silas: Wha’ de picture of pa?

Josh: A little white girl, from New Orleans, dat is it…!

Silas: I wonder why de white girl.

Josh: Nothin’ ever looks de same to two diff’ant people…

Old Josh, in:
De Tadpole & Ole White Magic (1871)
(Episode #29))Part III of III))

(Mr. Carter, was Mattie’s Lawyer, they were both on their way to Ozark, Alabama, after hearing the news that Ole White Magic had died.)

Silas: Wha’ de tadpale, pa?

Josh: It a man born to steal—dat wha’ it is son, like de white an’ black folk of Ozark who tryin’ to find ole White Magic Money an’ keeps it for dem self. When dey knowed he have a white daughter in New Orleans coming to Ozark to claim her pa’s things, she ain’ suffern any I suppose, but it belongs to her.

Silas: Ole White Magic like de red grape wine, it makes he live long!

Josh: Dat it did, Siles, he never use tobacca, or liquor, jes de wine, he guin to heaven I suppose kaze of dat, he like de bible too, but he jes cant read it.

(That evening, Josh and Silas, discussed ole White Magic’s life at length, sitting on his porch, twilight appearing, and the blue print of his life was interesting to them…)

Silas: I like to make jam or jelly out of de grapes pa, not de wine, maybe I should change to de wine, lives long like him? Maybe he makes de wine for de white folks, sells it…?

Josh: No, da neighbor folk never sees him do dat, but ole man Anthony Clayton used to go over to he shop an’ dey drink all de day long, a white man wit da nigger, when he wuz in town dat is. De white folk talk, but dey both got more money den all de folks in Ozark, so dey say nothin’.

Silas: maybe pa I will et now—! I don’t reckon Ole White Magic was married ever, but his pa a hero an’ all.

Josh: Mattie Washington Westchester, dat her name, I hears da sheriff call her dat, an’ she a comin’ with de Lawyer from Orleans, called Carter. I sees her picture in de paper, she is white as cookin’ rice… an’ she be here soon…sometimes men got better thinkin’ den women, dey know how to let go of things, dat why Ole Magic send her all de money, kaze, here da guin cause her trouble…!

Old Josh, in Hightower's Death (Episode...#26)) Part I of II))

2007-02-15T16:48:00.000-08:00

Old Josh, in Hightower’s Death (Episode…#26)) Part I of II))

(1880) When Hank discovered his father’s death he was motionless, stood erect over his father’s body which was on the bathroom floor, I should say, between the bedroom and the bedroom, it looked as if, as if he was trying to pull up his pants up, they were halfway up, when Hank found him, and seemingly, it looked like the old man had, or must had died from a stroke or heart attack, he leaned, Hank leaned, forward, for a moment, just a moment, his mind escaped his helpless body, like an eclipse (likened to the moon covering the sun for a moment, just a moment). He stood there for a time, it felt as if the morning was drawing on, moving forward without him, no expression found on his face, it was as if they (he and his father) were crossing the plantation fields, the four hundred square acres they owned, the Hightower family owned since the mid 1700s, and he said, “I reckon I better go and get help.”
He, Hank Hightower, had been in what some folks might call, or thought anyways, to be shock—for a short spell. He went down stairs and asked Granny Lula the cook, if she had a slice of bread, coffee and oatmeal, and sat in a chair in the kitchen against the wall. Granny said, “I git along all right wit yu Hank Hightower, but I ain’ heard you say nothin’ to me dis dey, is yu mad?”
That is how it was, the day Charles T. Hightower died. Hank was 55-years old then, thereabouts, and his father was 80-years old, born in 1800. Granny had been on the Hightower plantation a long time, perhaps over 35-years; no one knew her age exactly,
Nor would she tell, but she was several years older than Hank, and came from the Clayton’s plantation, where she had worked for several years prior to her arrival on the Hightower plantation. And when she had arrived there, she was perhaps the same age or older than when Josh, had arrived at the Hightower Plantation, and he was perhaps seven to ten years old back then.

2-15-2007

Old Josh (Three Episodes: 23, 24 & 25))Pure Nigger: 2nd Series))

2007-02-14T15:39:00.000-08:00

Old Josh, in:
And His Grandson’s Question
(A lost and now found: Episode: 23)) 7-23-2006))
1905 (spring)

(A conversational Sketch with Silas and Josh ((Silas’ son, Caspy, is sitting on old Josh’s porch at the Hightower plantation, it is 1905, Josh is 90-years old. Caspy is four. And Caspy, asks his grandpa a question, but Josh talks about
What happened in 1825))

“Umupuh,” said Caspy, watching his Grandpa rock back an forth on the porch, Silas with a pipe in his mouth, leaning against the frame of the shanty hut, Caspy in front of Grandpa’s legs, looking upward.

“Whut does dey boy look at me fur likes dat?” Josh asks.
“Hes a looking wuh yu-all dont hab de ole cob pipe like me pa,” said, Silas with a laugh. But old Josh was not laughing.
“Naw, suh,” said Josh, his old eyes gazing at his grandson, big old black hands holding onto the wooden arms of the chair, Josh bringing his coffee can to his lips, drinking the coffee in it down, kind of staring at the boy’s eyes.
“Sho…” Caspy murmured with his four year old curious eyes.

“Dey wuz a time me an’ a boy wuz gowin down dat dere road (Josh points to the road in front of the plantation) I gits tired unloudin’ da wagon fur Mr. Hightower, all de dey long, so dat day de Marster, Mr. Hightower passes and he look, and my friend he wuz a schoolen boy, so he writ on a page of paper his school work an’ wes git along fine, he wuz tryin’ to explain to me how to writ, so he turn de other way and I reckon dey wuz a hundred shootin’ soldiers nearby, it wuz back in ’25, he gits hit by a bullet, I knowed the boy fur guine on five year’.
“Did dey kuilt de boy pa?” asked Silas.
“Yessum,” said Josh with a tear in his eye, “you’d better guin in da house, Silas, need you to make somethin’ for Caspy, hes hungry.”
“It was bad times, so I find a hole and I hide in it a while (Josh can hear from his porch Hightower’s phonograph)…I forgeits Ihad his pipe in me pocket, as he writ. De white bos cold writ, so he wants to. Dat writin’ stuff git him in trouble, well, he was kuilt.”

Old Josh, in:
Mule-Ears (1902)
(Episode #24)

“Yes pa, I knowed, she’s right sick, ole Nelly the cow.”

(Two Negroess entered the Hightower born to the left side of Josh’s shanty hut´, it was late at night, or as one may say, early in the morning, it was 2:00 AM, Josh couldn’t sleep, and woke up Silas in the process of trying to get back to sleep. And started laughing for no reason and heard the barn door open, moonlight shinning down, chatter somewhere about.)

“I got ears like de mule I do, an’ hears something in de barn; Silas, it best yu go on over an’ tell Mr. Hightower, ‘efore he blames us for somethin’ we didn’t do…” said Josh.

“I reckon so,” commented Silas, half dazed from his sleep.
“How many robbers you see pa, over dere by de barn?”
“None, but I hears two, I knowed dere is two, moest all my life I hears good as a mule, ain’ no trouble wid my hearin’ jes my seein’.

(…said one Negro to the other… ((the cows in the background, in the far back of the barn moving about, so they moved quickly with agility of apes in motion) “stand still,” said a voice. It was an October evening, perhaps a tinge past 2:00 AM, a chill in the air. Motionless was Hightower standing outside the barn door, with a ten-gage shotgun, the two Negroess drunk, perhaps wanted to sleep the night away in a warm place, but found two cows, and figured they could take them, and sell them, everyone was sleeping and who would be the wiser, so alcohol will dull your senses, and so it did in this case. They overlooked the horses, because they were too much trouble, stomping about, and all that.)

“Hurry on up wid de cow…” said one of the voices in the barn.

(The Negroess stood by the door now, laughing about the cows being so big, and the money they’d get for it, one spat on the cow deliberately. Then he saw two eyes in the doorway, Hightower’s, and Hightower saw four eyes next to his cow, and likened to a hammer blow, the shotgun hit their chests, two shots, that is all it took.

2-14-2007

Old Josh, in:
Skinn’ Bessie (1896)
(Episode: #25)

(There were a few Old Josh stories, made by way of fragments, instead of the usual, sketches and longer conversations; this short fragment of a conversation is an example. I was going to leave it out, but it seemed for the reader to really get to know Old Josh, even the fragments that were meant to be longer, but never got to that stage, might be of interest.)

Josh: Amos wid dat ole gal?
Silas: Wuh ole gal?
Josh: Skinn’ Bessie!
Silas: Wuh he do to git her so mad?

Josh: Yu ain’ heard ‘bout de time Amos token horse meat over to Skinn’ Bessie, she gits so mad she wuz a bilin’ she wuz! She com to meet Amos at de Cotton Mill de next day, on her bare foots its so hot, gus she mule lay down dead in da heat. Well, yu knowed how Amos is he says ‘Bessie,’ an’ she hits him in de mill. He squeal like de pig. Well, she gits so mad, she takes de horse meat, grabs dat meat and cooks it right outside de mill, and slap ole Amos in de face wid it. I reckon he is hurt, he jumps ‘bout like de grasshopper. He run in de cotton mill tore cloths an’ all, fur a while, kaze Bessie wuz jes warmin’ up.

2-8-2007