His Family...

I was born March 23, 1947, in a hospital (Lynn of Jordan) that was considered the only “negro” hospital in Little Rock, Arkansas. I grew up in the country in an area called “Longley settlement.” At the time, in the 1950s, it was my parents and 6 children. We had chickens and hogs that we killed, cooked and ate. We had an outhouse where we used the restroom. Occasionally, we used to go to a spring to get water to wash clothes. We didn’t have a television. We listened to radio programs. We listened to the Westerns a lot on the radio. We played like we were in the Westerns. We would get sticks and form them like pistols.

My mom was a beautiful woman who took care of her kids. My dad was a hard-working man who worked in slaughter and meat houses. He was a good provider, though he might have only been making 50-70 dollars a week. We always had food to eat. Our gas or lights may have been turned off a few times, but we always had meat to eat.

When we moved from the country, we moved uptown to the city. This is when my mom got pregnant again (7^th child). I was 13 years old at the time.

I am the oldest of 7 children. Growing up, as the oldest, my parents often left me in charge. My brothers and sisters (mostly the two closest to my age) didn’t always like me being in charge, since they felt they were close to my age.

As we have matured, I believe my brothers and sisters still see me as the one who can handle or take charge of things that need to be taken care of.

My father and mother were both Christians, but my mom went to an AME church and my dad went to a Baptist church. I mostly went to the Baptist church, but would also go to the AME church. My dad became a deacon at the Baptist church, and he was one of the younger deacons. I watched him change, as he used less “colorful” words around us. The kids would say to each other, “daddy has changed! He’s not using those bad words anymore!”

[All in all] We were a loving family. Though we were poor, we didn’t know it…