ROBERT SHEPHERD, Age 91
386 Arch Street
Athens, Georgia
Written by:
Grace McCune [HW: (White)]
Athens
Edited by:
Sarah H. Hall
Athens
Leila Harris
Augusta
and
John N. Booth
District Supervisor
Federal Writers' Project
Residencies 6 & 7
Robert lives in a small house so old and in such bad repair that a strong wind would no doubt tumble it down. Large holes in the roof can be plainly seen from the gateway. The neat yard, filled with old-fashioned flowers, is enclosed by a makeshift fence of rusty wire sagging to the ground in places, and the gate rocks on one hinge. There was some evidence that a porch had extended across the front of the cottage, but it is entirely gone now and large rocks serve as steps at the doorway.
Knocks and calls at the front of the house were unanswered and finally Robert was found working in his garden behind the house. He is a tiny old man, and his large sun hat made him seem smaller than he actually was. He wore a clean but faded blue shirt and shabby gray pants much too large for him. His shoes, bound to his feet with strips of cloth, were so much too large that it was all he could do to shuffle along. He removed his hat and revealed white hair that contrasted with his black face, as he smiled in a friendly way. "Good morning, Missy! How is you?" was his greeting. Despite his advanced age, he keeps his garden in excellent condition. Not a blade of grass was to be seen. Asked how he managed to keep it worked so efficiently he proudly answered: "Well Miss, I jus' wuks in it some evvy day dat comes 'cept Sundays and, when you keeps right up wid it dat way, it ain't so hard. Jus' look 'round you! Don't you see I got de bestest beans and squashes, 'round here, and down under dem 'tater vines, I kin tell you, dem roots is jus' full of 'taters. My Old Marster done larnt me how to gyarden. He allus made us raise lots of gyarden sass such as: beans, peas, roas'in' ears, collards, turnip greens, and ingons (onions). For a fact, dere was jus' 'bout all de kinds of veg'tables us knowed anything 'bout dem days right dar in our Marster's big old gyarden. Dere was big patches of 'taters, and in dem wheatfields us growed enough to make bread for all de folks on dat dere plantation. Us sho' did have plenty of mighty good somepin t'eat.
"I would ax you to come in and set down in my house to talk," he said, "but I don't 'spect you could climb up dem dere rocks to my door, and dem's all de steps I got." When Robert called to his daughter, who lived next door, and told her to bring out some chairs, she suggested that the interview take place on her porch. "It's shady and cool on my porch," she said, "and Pa's done been a-diggin' in his garden so long he's plum tuckered out; he needs to set down and rest." After making her father comfortable, she drew up a bucket of water from the well at the edge of the porch and, after he had indulged in a long drink of the fresh water, he began his story.
"I was borned on Marster Joe Echols' plantation in Oglethorpe County, 'bout 10 miles from Lexin'ton, Georgy. Mammy was Cynthia Echols 'fore she married up wid my daddy. He was Peyton Shepherd. Atter Pappy and Mammy got married, Old Marse Shepherd sold Pappy to Marse Joe Echols so as dey could stay together.
"Marse Joe, he had three plantations, but he didn't live on none of 'em. He lived in Lexin'ton. He kept a overseer on each one of his plantations and dey had better be good to his Niggers, or else Marse Joe would sho' git 'em 'way from dar. He never 'lowed 'em to wuk us too hard, and in bad or real cold weather us didn't have to do no outside wuk 'cept evvyday chores what had to be done, come rain or shine, lak milkin', tendin' de stock, fetchin' in wood, and things lak dat. He seed dat us had plenty of good somepin t'eat and all de clothes us needed. Us was lots better off in dem days dan us is now.
"Old Marster, he had so many Niggers dat he never knowed 'em all. One day he was a-ridin' 'long towards one of his plantations and he met one of his slaves, named William. Marse Joe stopped him and axed him who he was. William said: 'Why Marster, I'se your Nigger. Don't you know me?' Den Marster, he jus' laughed and said: 'Well, hurry on home when you gits what you is gwine atter.' He was in a good humor dat way most all de time. I kin see him now a-ridin' dat little hoss of his'n what he called Button, and his little fice dog hoppin' 'long on three legs right side of de hoss. No Ma'am, dere warn't nothin' de matter wid' dat little dog; walkin' on three legs was jus' his way of gittin' 'round.