South of Charleston the Journey: Growing up in a Place Called Hickory Hill

By Charles McPherson

South of Charleston: The Journey examined some of the residual effects, which continue to define how black Americans are looked at and how they try to integrate their views of society, the way they live life in a world, which has rejected them at times because of their skin color.

This is a look at one man’s journey and how his story is a small part of the bigger picture that is seldom written about or heard of.

The story is about common lives that are not so common to those who live it. The hope is that my story will open the minds of its readers and bring them closer to some of the daily reality of people of color.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jul 14, 2009
• ISBN: 9781453506882

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Copyright © 2009 by Charles McPherson.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Rev. date: 09/10/2020

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CONTENTS

Acknowledgement

Introduction

My Soul Has Traveled

The Connection

PART I: Lest We Forget

The Family

My Grandparents

A Day in the Country

The Plantation

Hope for Tomorrow

The Early Years

A Time to Remember

PART II: The Things We Remember

Daydreaming in the Summer

Just a Thought

Leaving Home

The Experience

Lest We Forget

On My Own

The Journey

Thank You, Lord

Mom and Dad

For My Daughters

PART III : Never Forget

Special Memories

A Day’s Work

Ms. Mae

The Good and Bad

In Memory

The Rain

25th%20Photo%20%20Dedication.jpg

Mamie Lucas McPherson was born in Green Pond, South Carolina in

June 1929 and died in Walterboro, South Carolina on February 8, 2004

Dedication

This book is dedicated to Eshmell McPherson and Mamie Lucas McPherson for all of their hard work and the many struggles they endured during their lifetime. I would be remiss if I didn’t include the many members of my family whose determination and love has inspired my journey. My father was always manly, standing six feet two inches tall. Somehow to me, he was much larger than that. I love him because no matter what his fears may have been, he never let his family feel them or think he couldn’t handle the situation. My dad’s inner strength is what I admire most about him. I am saddened that I didn’t have a chance or find the time to read a book to him when he couldn’t or ease some of the many burdens that may have been far too heavy for him. I miss you, Dad, and I will never forget you. Thank you for the memories, good and bad; I wouldn’t change any of it. Because of your life, I had and have a chance to live.

Thank you, Mom, for being ever so strong for your children and for always making sure we had something to eat, clean clothing, a clean home and for always being supportive and for encouraging us to do something with our lives. You taught your children right from wrong and helped us to grow strong in our faith. If I could sing, I would sing Your Love Keeps Lifting Me Higher and Higher. Thank you, Eva Mae McPherson-Wright, my oldest sister. You gave up your dreams for our mother, and you made it seem so easy. You have been a rock for your brothers and sisters. My prayer is that God will bless you with the desires of your heart. I love you. To my grandmother Emma Givens Rivers whom we call Sister Emma, God blessed you with a long life. Thank you for seeing your family through good and bad times. You have stood like an old Southern oak tree whose leaves have changed from season to season. I’m glad my daughters had the chance to meet and touch you. To my wife Tauilei, I love you, Snookie; you have been and will always be the woman of my dreams. You have helped me to be the man I am, and you deserve every good thing. Thank you for our two lovely daughters, Yahna Zuri and Kyrah Jewel. You are my witness to God’s grace, his mercy, and his blessing in our life. To my two princesses, Yahna and Kyrah, you still make me weak. I love you very much. To Martha McPherson-Masterson, you have been a rock for your family, and your tenderness can be seen in your smile. I respect you for what you have done for your daughters and son. They are better human beings because of you. To my sister Maimie Lou McPherson-Fergerson, I love you for being willing to take care of our mom in her last years, months, weeks, days, and minutes. Your sleepless nights gave strength and comfort to our mother. Thank you for being there for her. To my brothers, we are so blessed to have had the life that our parents gave us. We should never forget and always cherish every day and breath of life. I love you all so much. It brings tears to my eyes when I think of what we have, and it hurts at times. Continue to seek your dreams and never give up. Thanks for all the memories.

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This is Mamie Lucas McPherson’s sister Elizabeth, and

her oldest sister Janie Mae’s son Arthur.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENT

Special thanks to all the people who were inspirational and supportive to me and my family over the years.

Thank you, Art and Mary Ryan, who were a blessing from God. They have adopted our family into theirs, and they have given us a retreat from the everyday struggles of daily living by sharing their home with us in Manasquan, New Jersey. It was on the beach at their home where the first thoughts and words for this book were birthed. You will always be special to us.

Special thanks to my wife Tauilei and my daughters—Yahna Zuri and Kyrah Jewel—for allowing me to become a hermit in our basement as I struggled to find the words that piece together the journey of my life as a testimony to how blessed I was and still am. I love you so much.

Thanks to Karen Deikun, Lynn Zapata, Wendy Decker, Lynn Toye, Wanda Felicetta and Elizabeth Ballesteros for your support and words of encouragement.

CM

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Summer Peace

INTRODUCTION

South of Charleston, South Carolina, the small town of Hickory Hill is tucked away in the low country along the banks of the Combahee River. This is where I grew up and where my life was molded and shaped amid my family and the close-knit community during the fifties and sixties. My life’s journey began even before my birth there. My family are descendants of slaves. The plantations that formed the backdrop for the culture of master and slave still surround Hickory Hill. Many of my relatives and friends worked on those plantations where reminders of that heritage shadowed our lives. South of Charleston, The Journey is the story of my life in the towns of Green Pond and Hickory Hill and their impact on me, not only in childhood, but through my life’s journey. I am touched and colored by the strength and determination of the people in that town. I have tried to capture the beauty and poetry there. It was a nurturing place for a growing boy, although the obstacles of daily life challenged my family as well as others. As a young adult, I longed to leave but found that I would always carry it with me. My book is the story of my family, the town, and the lives of past generations that made me who I am.

The road to Hickory Hill passes through Charleston, South Carolina, which was and still is one of the largest seaport cities in the United States. It is also known as one of the main ports of entry for slaves as they entered this New World. The city is known today for its pristine beaches, Southern cuisine, and low-country hospitality. Tourists crowd the downtown markets, looking for souvenirs and bargains. Few remember that these same-selling blocks were once filled with weary Africans being auctioned off to the highest bidder. These are painful memories of my ancestors who lined the selling blocks—some to be sold as domestic help, but the vast majority sold to plantation owners to serve as common laborers in the rice, cotton, and indigo fields—never to see their loved ones and family again. Forty-two miles south of Charleston, tucked away in the low country, are several large plantations, which were the final destination for some of these slaves after their weary journey. Who I am is shadowed by those events that preceded my birth. I will forever be thankful to my family who chose not to instill bitterness and hatred in me. Instead, they taught me right from wrong and how to be good and kind to all people. They protected my brothers and sisters and me by choosing not to burden us with any of the scars of injustice that they may have endured. Life was far too great a gift. Life for me has been filled with special moments, which demand that I tell my story about family and community. The stories reflect the daily lives of common people with little fame or fortune. It’s about a simple way of life that escapes the masses in this fast-paced society we live in today. Many books have documented the stories of the African American journey in the United States. Stories like Roots: The Saga of an American Family by Alex Haley, which gave us the hope of tracing our genealogy; The Color of Water: A Black Man’s Tribute to His White Mother by James McBride, relating his issues of race and self-identity; and Barack Obama’s Dreams from My Father: A Story of Race and Inheritance. W. E. B. Du Bois also expressed the life of blacks in his book The Souls of Black Folk.

These stories allow us to come together and share some common bonds that are not the norm, but are common to many people. South of Charleston, The Journey seeks to share a not-so-familiar story about an African American family living in the South during the postslavery years and the pre-civil rights era. The story spans five decades of my life. The Soul of Black Folk written by W. E. B. Du Bois was first published in 1903, and it examined the life, the struggles, and contributions of African American in the United States. There is no doubt that he may have been the first to cause Americans to search their souls for an understanding of race relations. Dr. Du Bois was one of the first writers to evoke thoughts on the treatment of blacks that led to the many violations of human rights in America. South of Charleston, The Journey seeks to examine some of the residual effects that continue to define how black Americans are looked at and how they try to integrate their views of society and the way they live life in a world which has rejected them because of their skin color. This is a look at one man’s journey and how his story is a small part of the bigger picture that is seldom written about or heard. The hope is that my story will open the minds of its readers and bring them closer to some of black Americans’ daily reality.

This is the story about how I grew up in a small Southern town in South Carolina. The Journey looks at one African American family living in a small town in the South and how they approached life. The experiences of their everyday life, their struggles, and how they handled their problems were a part of a long family tradition. Families lived from day-to-day and cherished each moment.

This story is based on how I feel about everything that influenced my life as a child and teenager, living in the South. My view of the world was confined to Green Pond and Hickory Hill. My desire to leave my hometown in search of a better life never could take away my feelings of pride of where I came from. My decision to leave was based on all the years of dreaming about traveling to far-off places. A part of this desire was the feeling that I could not achieve any level of success staying in the South. I never shared my feeling with anyone, but deep inside my heart, I grew tired of seeing people that I knew and loved living in poverty with little or no hope of elevating themselves or their family. I wanted to leave because I thought that other places were different, and people in other places had more. Nothing could have prepared me for the journey I was about to begin. As time passed, I was confronted with many obstacles of life and the decisions which make or break the human spirit. In spite of what was happening, I maintained the burning desire to do something that would make my family proud of me. As I continued on my journey, I began to look at the world differently. I sought to improve my situation. Each time I was confronted with the fact that if I am to achieve more, I would need to elevate my thinking and believe that all things are possible. While serving four years in the military, I had the opportunity to travel to different countries; including Japan, the Philippines and Thailand. These places opened my eyes and broadened my perspective on how other cultures lived. After receiving an honorable discharge from the military, I returned to New Jersey and decided to enroll in college, which would provide me with more opportunities. As the journey continued, I could not have imagined that I would meet the woman I would fall in love with; and that later on, we would get married. During these life-changing experiences, I continued to wrestle with some of the decisions I made in my search for purpose and peace. During this time, while I was off chasing my dreams, my mother became ill. I began to feel a sense of sadness for the series of events that were happening to my family. As time passed, several people who were very close to me died. My great-grandfather, my grandparents, my younger sister, my father, and then my mother. This book serves as a lasting memory of the people who are dear to me. It is my testimony of how family tradition and love helps to determine our journey.

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The Combahee River

MY SOUL HAS TRAVELED

My soul has traveled back to the place where my ancestors first lived. The place we call the cradle of civilization. My soul is connected to the past, and my thoughts are on a day in time which started like so many days in that place called Africa.

The elders of the village have always been the keepers of history, and their wisdom has been passed down through many generations. They were awakened by the sound of a beating drum. A drum that beats to the pulse of the earth, a drum that speaks to each soul. This land is the beginning of life, and maybe it will be the ending. This village is just one of many, with houses formed from clay and roofs lined with dried bamboo leaves, which shade and cool the dirt floor. The movement of the village people echoes life in the coolness of the early morning. The village women begin their daily rountines, one is measuring a portion of grain, another moves gracefully with a clay pot filled with water balanced on her head. An elderly man makes a fire while two young men greet each other, habari gani, as they smile at each other. The children are beginning to awake from a good night’s slumber. Their tiny bare feet hug the ground as they begin their daily runabout inside the safe boundaries of the village. The morning sounds of the jungle give rhythm to the daily routine of the people.

The sun spreads its energy to every living creature as this new day takes form. The children stand in a circle; in the center is an elderly man who is teaching them how to tell time by looking at the position of their shadow on the ground.

The silence that is seldom becomes a warning. They watch and listen, for something has changed. How could this happen? The crying begins, and many ties between family will be broken. Oh, Lord, help us. They come with nothing, and when they leave, they will have taken everything. A woman may never know motherhood. A man’s hands are bound, and he loses a chance to be a father. How will his seed grow?

A child is taken; there are no games to play. The ships are anchored, awaiting the cargo; the first of its kind to be taken from these shores. The lives of many will never be the same. The footprints in the sand show signs of the struggles. The tides cannot wash them away. The ships are leaving at dawn to cross the sea. These souls will never return; voices cry out, Come by here, Lord, help us on this journey, for we do not know why.

For some of the captives, the journey would end in the middle passage, and their bones will forever cry out for a place to rest. Others will finish the journey and live to tell their children’s children about a people and a place that time did not forget. Those left behind must face the void, a journey they will never know.

Life has been and continues to be filled with struggles for these proud people. Those who suffered ask for nothing more than respect and dignity; this cup they would gladly drink.

Many years have passed since that day long ago, but the memories remain. My childhood memory in many ways reflects the emptiness felt that day so long ago in my homeland where my soul has not yet traveled. I can faintly hear the lone drum beating, and my heart aches sometimes for those I did not meet. I have never been to that place called Africa, but my soul longs to go where my mind continues to soar, back across the sea to a shore where footprints still remain in salted sand. I do not know the long lonesome journey my ancestors made, and I do not know their pain.

I don’t understand all the stories I’ve heard, but there is something I know and feel in every moment of my existence. Their love for me is an unknown link, someone’s seed that somehow survived and has been given a hope for the future. This journey I am on has just begun. The faith I have knows no failure, only the successes I have found. My soul has traveled on the wings of my mind, and this journey is not complete until I am homeland bound.

THE CONNECTION

Pompey Harvey

Family records that have been passed down through the generations have Pompey Harvey being born in Africa in the early 1800. Pompey’s journey took him to Trinidad, Jamaica, Jamestown, Virginia and finally Charleston, South Carolina.

In Charleston he was sold into slavery to the owners of Laurel Spring Plantation for twenty dollars. It is believed that he spent more than twenty years of his life in slavery. Pompey was probably freed after the signing of the Emancipation Proclamation by President Abraham Lincoln.

Sometime after the Civil War ended, blacks were given tracks of land. Hickory Hill was a plantation and it is believed that one of the owners last name was Nowell. As a free man Pompey moved from Laurel Springs Plantation to the small community of Hickory Hill. Pompey and his wife Alfie started their family and had three children, January Harvey, Elijah Harvey, and Sarah Harvey. January and Sibby had eight children, Elijah and his wife Celia had no children. Sarah Harvey married Pino Mitchell and they had eight children.

These are the heirs of January and Sibby Harvey.

These are the heirs of Sarah and Pino Mitchell