Uncle Mose says that when freedom was declared, his father came rushing to their cabin waving his arms like a windmill, shouting: "Boy we is free—you can go and git yourself a job 'cause I ain't goin' to hitch up no more horses". Some of the slaves remained on the plantation where they worked for wages until their deaths. His father was one of them and after his death, his mother moved to another plantation to live with another son. Meanwhile Mose started traveling from place to place as soon as he was told that he was free to go as he pleased. He paid one visit to the plantation where he learned of his father's death. He then asked Manning, who was operating the plantation, for the ox that had belonged to his father and when Manning refused to part with this animal, he made a secret visit back, that night, and took the animal away. He has not been back since.

At this time Mr. Davis stretched himself, saying: "Well, I guess that's about as straight as I can get it—Wish that I could tell you some more but I can't." Smiling broadly, he bade the interviewer a pleasant good-bye.

EX-SLAVE INTERVIEW
IKE DERRICOTTE, Age 78
554 Hancock Avenue
Athens, Georgia
Written by:
Miss Grace McCune
Athens
Edited by:
Mrs. Sarah H. Hall
Athens
and
John N. Booth
District Supervisor
Federal Writers' Project
Residencies 6 & 7
Augusta, Georgia
August 19, 1938

[TR: One page of this interview was repeated in typescript; where there was a discrepancy, the clearer version was used.]

Ike Derricotte's brown-painted, frame bungalow, well back from the street, faces a wide grassy yard where tall pecan trees provide summer shade and winter nuts.

A mulatto woman answered the knock at the front door. Her long, straight, white hair was neatly arranged in a low-pinned coil at the back of her head. Her print frock and white shoes were immaculate. "Yes Mam, Ike is at home," was the answer to the inquiry for her husband. "Jus' have a seat on de porch here 'cause it's so much cooler dan inside de house, and I'll call Ike. He's jus' piddlin' 'round de back yard dis mornin'."

Almost at once a tall, well-built man of gingercake color appeared. He wore an old black cap, blue work shirt, blue wool trousers, and black shoes. "Howdy-do, Miss! Did you want to see me?" was his greeting. His eyes sparkled when he learned that we wished to record the story of his life. "Yes Mam, I'll be glad to tell you what I kin," he promised, "and Miss, I'll jus' bet I kin tell you somepin dat very few folks kin say 'bout dem old days. I was born right here on dis same street, and I'm still livin' on it, but dis house and lot ain't my birthplace. When I was born, dis section was mostly in woods. Jus' look at it now; houses has been built up and down both sides of what was den jus' de big road. Times has changed in lots of ways since dem days.

"My mother's name was Myra, and she was a laundry 'oman owned by Mr. Stevens Thomas. Mr. Thomas was one of de biggest merchants in Athens dem days. He owned de square between Thomas Street and Wall Street, and it s'tended back to Clayton Street.