Miz Suzie's Boy

By Herman Flora

Miz Suzies Boy is a remarkable book about a Negro boy, born into abject poverty during the Great Depression to a teenage mother. Hardships of the depression included shooting crows for meals and keeping hand-me-down shoes together with string and newspaper.

Negroes in the town of West Munden, a few miles south of Norfolk, cared deeply for each other. Poverty was pervasive and the old folks talked incessantly about becoming millionaires, but children were unaware of the degree of how badly things really were. Together, families banded together to combat blatant racism and rise above the negative impact of the Ku Klux Klan.

His early home training fostered a love of God, Country, and Family. He was taught to work hard, practice thrift, speak honestly and with integrity, maintain his individuality, and relentlessly pursue an education. Childhood was a happy time for Herman and he spent many hours playing with relatives, neighborhood children and make believe toys.

Flora moved to an adjoining community, South Norfolk, when he was eleven, and made new friends. He joined the Boy Scouts and strictly lived by the Scout Oath and its precepts. This later helped to keep him mentally awake and morally straight.

Friendship (puppy love) for a classmate hastened his efforts to enter the U.S. Army, as an under-aged youth with the hope of finding her in the Philippines. Flora entered the Army, trained at Aberdeen, Maryland and cavorted with prostitutes and pimps whenever he was granted leave. He journeyed overseas on a troopship with fifteen hundred soldiers. The boredom and tedium of the voyage was downplayed by the laughter, witty banter, and frequent exchange of incredible lies. Arriving overseas, he started his first job as a latrine orderly. Flora found the Army reasonably challenging, thrived, and became Acting First Sergeant of a medial detachment within months. Frequent interactions and frank discussions with long time career soldiers constantly reminded him of the need for a good education.

He returned to Norfolk from the Army, finished his last year of high school and enrolled at Howard University. College was demanding of his mind and time during the week, and only the weekends were available for frolicking, football, fraternities, and girls. Beautiful young ladies consumed every spare moment until he identified and pursued the one, a ministers daughter. Together, they lovingly reared seven college educated, children.

Herman pursued ownership of several businesses and finally decided to make his million dollars brokering real estate. He accepted an Executive Level position with the U.S. Department of Commerce, Office of Minority Business Enterprise (OMBE) where he patiently assisted national minority businesses with their growth and expansion.

In a very poignant letter sent from Africa to his grandchildren and other grandchildren of the world he reflected on several world problems. encouraged them to diligently educate and prepare themselves for the next century and never lose sight of God, goals and a good life.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Sep 15, 2005
• ISBN: 9781469103334

Herman Flora

MIZ SUSIE¡¦S BOY A grandfather¡¦s poignant memoirs of the Great Depression and his pursuit of education, romance, fame and fortune. Herman Flora „« Born September 1929 in Norfolk County, Virginia. „« Attended Public and Parochial schools of South Norfolk ¡§now Chesapeake¡¨, and Norfolk, Virginia. „« Served in United States Army Medical Corps after World War II and United States Air Force Reserves during the Korean War. „« Graduated from Howard University with a Bachelor of Arts in Business. Postgraduate studies at University of Maryland, Arizona State University, and U.S. Department of Agriculture Graduate School. „« Co-owner of Rug Master Cleaners, Florida Avenue Market Meat and Seafood Business and Takoma Produce and Seafood Market. „« Broker/President/Owner of Flora Realty Company, Inc. Retired from the United States Department of Commerce, Office of Minority Business Enterprise. „« Married 50 years, reared seven children, sixteen grandchildren and eight great grandchildren.

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MIZ SUZIE’S BOY

Herman Dick Florav

Copyright © 2005 by Herman Dick Flora.

Photographic Credits:

All photographs are from the archives of Herman Dick Flora, with the following exceptions:

Chesapeake Map—Courtesy of City of Chesapeake, Virginia, Office of Real Estate Assessor

USS Wisconsin—Naval Ship Photos, Courtesy of Juan E. Flora (son)

Providence School—Alfred R. Flora (brother)

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.

This book was printed in the United States of America.

To order additional copies of this book, contact:

Xlibris Corporation

1-888-795-4274

www.Xlibris.com

[e-mail]

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Contents

AUTHOR’S NOTE

PREFACE

GRANDPARENTS’ HOUR

PART 1

MOTHER’S FAMILY

PANGS OF THE GREAT DEPRESSION

MILLION DOLLAR GOAL

KU KLUX KLAN (KKK)

JOBS AND RENT PARTIES

GRANDPARENTS’ HOUSE

CHICKEN AIN’T NOTHING

BUT A BIRD

HEALTH AND HOME REMEDIES

EARLY YEARS IN WEST MUNDEN, NORFOLK COUNTY

HERMAN DICK FLORA

aka MIZ SUZIE’S BOY

ROLAND HOLLOWAY

ALFRED RUDOLPH FLORA (SAM)

ALBERT ISAN BUTTS SR. (DADDY, DAD)

RELIGION

PROVIDENCE CHRISTIAN CHURCH

FUNERALS

PROVIDENCE TRAINING SCHOOL

LITTLE GIRL WITH

THE FUNNY FACE

MRS. WILLIE,

VILLAGE GRANDMA

PLAYTIME

ODE TO THE CITY DUMP

SMOKING AND CHEWING TOBACCO

SUPERSTITIONS, APHORISMS, ADAGES, AND PITHY SAYINGS

THE GENERAL STORE

SEX 101 AND SISSIES

CHARACTERS

RAILROADS

2029 RANDOLPH STREET,

SOUTH NORFOLK, VA

(1940-1946)

WATERFORD AND GANGS

BERKLEY

MILITARY INFLUENCE

BOY SCOUT DAYS

CAMPOSTELLA

LUDDEN TOWN DOG PATCH

COUNTRY CLUB

STREET CORNER

RACE RELATIONS

WORK ETHIC

MILITARY JOBS

CIVILIAN JOBS

(POST MILITARY)

GIRLS, GIRLS, WOMEN, WOMEN,

I LOVE THEM!

PART 2

JOINING UP

BASIC TRAINING:

ABERDEEN PROVING GROUND, MD

TRAINING DAYS

SUCCULENT JAZZY JAZZ

A.P. HILL TRAINING GROUND (FORT A.P. HILL)

REAL SOLDIERING BEGINS

HOME LEAVE

CAMP STONEMAN, CALIFORNIA

ON DECK:

THE TRIP OVERSEAS,

NO PLEASURE CRUISE

LAND AGAIN

OAHU, HAWAII

TRIP TO GUAM, THE ROCK

CHRISTMAS MENU

EDUCATION

ARMY WORK

YALLAR ROSE OF TEXAS

SPORTS

THE THRILLER IN OKINAWA

MOVE TO THE MEDICAL UNIT

TRIP TO JAPAN

LAST MONTHS ON GUAM

HOMOSEXUALITY

RETURNING TO THE USA

FURLOUGH HOME—1948

FORT LEWIS, WASHINGTON

PART 3

BOOKER T. WASHINGTON

HIGH SCHOOL (BTW)—

THE FACTORY

HOWARD UNIVERSITY,

THE CAP (1950-1957)

SPRING 1951

LITTLE GIRL WITH

THE FUNNY FACE REAPPEARS

LIFE WITH KITTY

FATHERHOOD

POST OFFICE YEARS

GRADUATION

A NEW CAREER

NEW HOME

CAREER MOVES

FLORA REALTY COMPANY, INC.

OFFICE OF MINORITY BUSINESS ENTERPRISE (OMBE)

PART 4

FAMILY MEETINGS

RECREATION AND TRAVEL

ANNIVERSARIES—

THE BIG RIDE

GRANDCHILDREN

BIBLIOGRAPHY

ADDENDUM

Dedication

This book is dedicated to mother and Daddy—Mary Susan and Albert Butts: my brothers and sisters; and, all persons assisting with information leading to the publication of this autobiography. I thank my children (my first editors)—Darryl, Don, Scheree’ (Editor-in-Chief), Jose’, Kay, Cathy, and Juan. I must also mention my lovely grandchildren: Angelo, Erick, Jamila, Melvin, Tamica, Sean, Justaa’n, Lauren, Jazmyn, Anderson, Kyle, Jade, Katherine, Deja’, Micah and Justice. I look forward to any new members of the Herman Flora clan that have yet to make an appearance. Of course, I never could have experienced such a fabulous clan without Kitty, a most wonderful wife. Her love, help, and tolerance make life a great treasure.

Special kudos to the editorial staff: daughter and technical editor, Cathy Flora Hall; sister, Ella Otelia Harrison; family friend, Carolyn Cara Wiles; and, Boy Scout friends—Adolphe Braye and Haywood Mayo, who assisted with local history and Boy Scout information. Sincerest thanks to several close friends who assisted by repeatedly reading this manuscript for semblance and errors.

YOU MUST KNOW YOUR ROOTS BECAUSE YOU CAN NOT GROW WITHOUT THEM.

IT IS NOT WHERE YOU START IN LIFE . . . BUT WHERE YOU END!

AUTHOR’S NOTE

Friends have asked, What have you done that is so significant to write about? Very candidly, nothing! However, I feel an obligation to share historical, cultural, and family information with my seven children and grandchildren. My ancestors shared their history with me. It is important to give my family the same opportunity to learn what ties us together.

These vignettes are autobiographical as I best remember them. Others are factual or perhaps lies and half-truths as told to me by family and friends. Many names, nicknames and characters, with the exception of public figures and places, have been changed to protect identities and maintain privacy.

PREFACE

This book has been many years in the making. When I started the book, Mother and Daddy were alive to provide invaluable historical facts and information on intimate family matters. I had reservations about how much could be disclosed in this book without causing them personal embarrassment or hurt. Today, I feel less constrained about discussing intimate family business.

For various reasons, I have not pursued its completion as diligently as I should have. Years ago, I decided to wait until I retired from the federal government. Having been retired for over twenty years, I did very little writing for a long time. Blame can be placed on just about anything; traveling, family, real estate, and other business interests. This would not be the truth. The desire has always been there to complete this book, but the words would not come until now.

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GRANDPARENTS’ HOUR

For eleven years, grandparents Herman and Kitty Flora have been meeting with their grandchildren once each month to discuss personal problems, school, vacations, or just anything of interest. Meetings are held on Friday evenings or on a non-school night. Meetings are a free for all, with no holds barred. The club’s officers have been the same for the past seven years: President, Angelo (17); Vice President, Erick (16); Secretary, Tamica (15); Treasurer, Sean (12); Sergeant at Arms, Justaa’n (8); Anderson (4); Kyle (4); Katherine (2); Deja’ (1); and Micah (3 months); the grandson, who attended his first meeting in October 1997.

Tonight, Grandparents Hour has been going on for the last hour and a half; its business portion is coming to a close. Granddaddy Herman speaks to the children as they sit on the floor in their usual circle. Grandmother prepares to serve ice cream.

Your first grading period results were not very good. Maybe you haven’t been too excited about your classes, but grades are very important! That’s why you attend school, preparing for the future. For your next grading period, I will pay you $5 for every ‘C’ you raise to a ‘B’; and, $10 for each ‘B’ you raise to an ‘A’.

Angelo, the oldest grandchild speaks. That could be a lot of money, Granddaddy!

Yes, I know Angelo. I want you to break my bank! OK?

OK! is the chorus.

"Granddaddy," says Tamica, you promised to finish telling us how you grew up in the olden days and about . . . the Ku Klux Klan and your quest for a million dollars.

Yes, I did, didn’t I, Tamica? Well, maybe I will.

Not again, Granddaddy! You’ve told us those old stories over and over again! chimes Erick, with exasperation.

"Yes, Erick, you and Angelo have heard these stories, but Tamica, Sean, Justaa’n, and the five tots haven’t heard many of them. Please tolerate hearing the old information again. You don’t know the whole story of my life—only bits and pieces. Listen carefully because I might ask questions when I finish. Keep your ears open! OK?"

And so, with the grandchildren sprawled comfortably around their best buddy, Granddaddy Herman begins…

PART 1

GROWING UP IN VIRGINIA

(1929-1946)

Genes and life experiences make each person unique. We are products of what we experience. Knowing family history is invaluable for future reference!

I was born in La Belle Virginia (Beautiful Virginia). The state was named after Queen Elizabeth I, she was called the Virgin Queen because she never married. Old Dominion is its nickname and its motto is Sic semper tyrannis, which means Thus always to tyrants. The lovely dogwood is the state flower. Carry Me Back To Old Virginny, which was written by an African American, James A. Bland, is the state song. It’s a song I have never been proud of, because the song is disrespectful and demeaning to Negroes. Virginia is known as the Home of Presidents. Seven of the first twelve presidents were native Virginians: George Washington, Thomas Jefferson, James Madison, James Monroe, William Henry Harrison, John Tyler and Zachary Taylor.

The Blue Ridge Mountains, Shenandoah Valley, and verdant forests populate the west. Winding rivers, crystal clear lakes, and white sandy beaches are abundant on the east coast. The eastern part of the state (Tidewater area) is dominated by water-related activities, including shipping and the U.S. 5th Naval District. One can visit the naval installations and find several ships in port—submarines, guided missile frigates, aircraft carriers, destroyers, and in the old days, battleships. The Eastern Shore and Southside Virginia consist of mostly rich, flat agricultural land. Richmond, the state capital, is located in the central area. It was the capital of the Confederacy during the Civil War. Northern Virginia abuts Washington, DC, the nations’ capital.

Early settlers inhabited the Atlantic coastal areas and moved inland via the James (named after King James), Elizabeth, York, and Rappahannock rivers. Eighteenth-century Norfolk was divided into upper and lower Norfolk—Upper being Norfolk County, and Lower being Princess Anne and Nasmond Counties. The Norfolk area sprang up where the Elizabeth River met the Atlantic Ocean. Norfolk is nearly an island, connected to other areas by bridges and tunnels. The first permanent English settlement in the New World was Jamestown in 1607. It was later expanded into the Colony of Virginia. As one of the first colonies in the New World, it contributed enormously to the growth and development of this country. Our first Negro ancestors arrived in 1619 in Virginia. This was the beginning of slavery in North America.

That’s enough about other parts of Virginia. Let me talk more about the Tidewater area, specifically Norfolk County, Norfolk, and South Norfolk, where I grew up, and move on with my story!

Granddaddy, wait a minute! says Erick. You didn’t mention that there were Spanish missions before the English arrived.

You are correct, Erick, but they weren’t permanent settlers and furthermore, I am telling this story and can’t tell everything or I’ll never finish. Now let’s move on with the story, OK?

Norfolk’s early commerce of meat, coal, cotton and tobacco was mostly shipped to the West Indies. Ships leaving for the West Indies were frequently intercepted and raided by pirates led by the infamous Captain Kidd, Blackbeard, and others. During the Revolutionary War, British ships shelled Norfolk, causing great destruction. Norfolk Town, as it was called, nearly burned to the ground. St. Paul’s Church, located on Church Street near the harbor, survived the attack. A British artillery ball is still lodged in its outer wall. It used to be one of Norfolk’s main tourist attractions.

GREAT DEPRESSION (1929-1946) WEST MUNDEN, NORFOLK COUNTY, VIRGINIA

Desperate men and women do desperate things, including stealing, bootlegging, running numbers, and engaging in acts of prostitution! These behaviors affected the health, morals, religion, and living conditions of family and neighbors. The Roaring Twenties came to a screeching halt on October 29, 1929; a day called Black Tuesday by investors. It was the day the stock market crashed. Wall Street panicked. People jumped out of windows, and like Humpty Dumpty, they could not be put back together again! The beginning of the Great Depression created havoc in America and around the world. Economic ramifications were not divided along racial lines; the entire population felt the impact. A pall fell over Virginia, especially in our small section of Norfolk County, West Munden. As we used to say down home, it was like Train #90 (the fastest passenger train in the area) going south. It engulfed us quickly and completely, like a plague. Negroes endured greater hardship because they were already dirt poor. They had been freed from slavery less than 65 years and were still enduring many injustices.

For the first sixteen years of my life, the lives of my family, and neighbors were heavily influenced by the Great Depression. The Depression had an impact on every facet of our lives, including food, clothing, housing, health, education, work, moral development, and race relations. Even as a child, I was cognizant of its effect. We were all dirt poor, and lived in abject poverty. Some families had a little more than others, but were still poor! Welfare, as we know it today, was unheard of! There was a great spirit of caring, sharing, and love of neighbors—elements that made survival possible. Economists will say that the Great Depression ended in Virginia before 1946, and they might be correct. However, when I went into the Army in 1946, I knew people, both Negro and white, that were still trying to recover.

Norfolk County was one of the major counties in the State of Virginia from my infancy to the age of eleven. It had a population of approximately 30,000 (U.S. Census, 1930). Negroes comprised one-third of the population. Adjoining counties were Princess Anne and Nasmond, where Suffolk is located. Princess Anne County was noted for beautiful Virginia Beach where Negroes were only allowed to work, but not swim. Norfolk County was significant because Norfolk and Portsmouth became international seaport cities. Norfolk became the center of international commerce. Portsmouth’s Navy Yard became one of the most significant naval ports on the East Coast. It has one of the world’s largest natural harbors. Hampton Roads has become one of the world’s great ports by joining with shipbuilders in Newport News.

Negro families, including Daddy’s family, had been around West Munden before slavery was abolished. Once slavery ended circa 1863, several former slaves continued working for their masters. A search through the Federal Archives in Washington, DC and the State Archives in Richmond, VA listed many of the family names listed in the U.S. Census in the late 1800s. The names were of families or persons still living in that area today—both Negro and white. Some Negroes today still bear names of their former slave masters.

A handful of mulatto families continued to work as butlers, chauffeurs, houseboys and maids for rich white families. There wasn’t open hostility towards them, but there was some envy. Mulattos were treated better in school and other places. Their lighter skin tones allowed them to receive preferential treatment for jobs and municipal services. The local police didn’t bother them as much as other Negroes. A few went away to college and became professionals. Others left the area, passed for white and never returned. Many light-skinned Negroes in this area were called moonlight or high yallar by the old folks because of their color. As a child, I never really saw the relationship! Sometimes a genetic flaw occurred and swarthy or Negroid looking children were born to white families. These dark children were usually sent to live with their Southern Negro relatives. Parents sent their children the very best material things, clothing and toys, etc. When the parents visited their children, they arrived after dark and left before sunrise. They did not want to be seen by white or Negro neighbors.

MOTHER’S FAMILY

The origin of mother’s family is somewhat of a mystery, at least on her father’s side. She had relatives in Camden County, and Elizabeth City, North Carolina, and other parts of Virginia. Virginia relatives knew very little of my grandfather’s family or how they acquired the Flora name. It wasn’t an African name, but neither were my neighbors’ names—Smith, Brown and Jones. I believed relatives refused to talk about our family because there was white blood in it. My grandfather’s sister, Lillie, passed for white and ran away with a circus and was never seen again by her family. Our family was the only Negro family named Flora in Norfolk County or perhaps the entire Tidewater area. There had been at least one other Negro family with the Flora name, but that was before the Revolutionary War. Ms. Edwards, my sixth grade teacher, talked about a famous Negro soldier named William Flora. She always endeavored to make him part of my family and encouraged me to emulate him. She said, Flora, your relative would turn over in his grave if he knew you were cutting-up, monkey-shining, and wasting your time. Even though she was an educator and perhaps knew more about some local families than most of the old folks, I still thought she was nuts when she talked about my supposed ancestor. Despite numerous searches, I have yet to establish kinship with this illustrious Negro soldier. He lived in Portsmouth most of his life before and after the Revolutionary War. Apart from this old soldier, I know of no other Negro Floras. In over sixty years, including military service and world travels, I have never met another Negro with my surname. Despite the lack of evidence linking me with William Flora, I have adopted him as part of my family until proven otherwise. After all, we hail from the same county with less than five miles separating our homes. The world needs to know of his exploits at Great Bridge. Several white families in the Norfolk area have the Flora surname. When I last perused the Norfolk telephone directory, there were eleven persons with the Flora surname and two with my exact name, Herman Flora. Of course, some were relatives. I am sure my military or college friends, passing through the Norfolk area, thought they were calling me.

William Flora of Virginia

Because of William Flora’s exploits in the Revolutionary War, the following information appears in the Journal of Negro History, pages 269, 272, and 283 (published in 1942) and the Virginia Historical Register Vol. VI, No. 1. The information on William Flora was last researched in 1970 and 1971.

Records revealed he lived as a freed Negro in the Portsmouth Section of Norfolk County. From this area, he entered the Continental Army and distinguished himself at the Battle of Great Bridge, December 9, 1775. Most of Flora’s service was in Captain Grim’s Company of the 15th and 16th Regiments of the Continental Army of George Washington; and Woodford’s Second Virginia Regiment.

Great Bridge was a vital supply link for the Continental forces. It was the main link to the Southern Colonies. Destruction of the Bridge would have created logistical nightmares and diminished the valiant fighting efforts of the colonials. In crossing the Great Bridge south of Norfolk (now Chesapeake) on December 9, 1775, a detachment of a small army of Dunmore was met with a volley of gunfire from a group of sentinels in Woodford’s Second. Flora was among this group of sentinels firing at the British, and was the last to leave his post, after his comrades had retired to their breastworks (a barrier to protect gunners). Enduring a shower of musket balls from the Redcoats, Flora fought them alone. Author Alex Hailey’s bestseller Roots indicated that Flora ripped up the planks before departing the bridge. This act and similar acts won Flora the respect of his officers and members of the regiment. Flora wasn’t the only Negro Patriot defending Great Bridge. Other patriots with very prominent names in my community were Braye, Butts, and Portlock.

The British forces were facing a shortage of soldiers. Led by Lord Dunmore, they promised freedom to all slaves who made it to the British lines to fight the Colonials. Many slaves made it to the British lines, and Lord Dunmore was able to form what he called an Ethiopian Regiment. This regiment was part of the British forces fighting at Great Bridge, and marked the first time Negro troops fought each other in America.

Flora returned to Portsmouth and led an outstanding life as a very prominent citizen. In later years, he received 166 acres of land for his military service, the predetermined amount for privates. Officers received the highest amount. He was a businessman, and was one of the first free Negroes to buy town property. He bought two half lots on King Street at the cost of twenty-two pounds and thirty-five pounds, respectively. He operated a Livery Stable for thirty years and enjoyed the patronage of the white citizens of the town. He owned many horses and carriages.

In the War of 1812, William Flora again rose in defense of his country as a sailor/marine in the U.S. Navy. This time, the war alarm was sounded by the attack on the Leopard on the Chesapeake Bay, off the coast of Norfolk. Strange to say, Flora brought with him the same musket he had used at the Battle of Great Bridge. The old veteran seemed as eager to fight the British on this occasion as he had been during the initial phase of the Revolution. However, this time his actual service only involved his enlistment on a gunboat as a Marine under Commodore Decatur.

It was common for all recruits to serve for a short period during emergencies. After the British lost the war in Norfolk area, Lord Dunmore evacuated the Tories (who continued to show their allegiance to the British) and what was left of his Ethiopian Regiment. He took them to Canada. Some of the troops settled near Nova Scotia, Canada. Many of the descendants still reside in a little town near Halifax, Canada called Dartmouth. Granddaddy?

Yes, Angelo.

When we were in Nova Scotia two years ago, we saw a map of the evacuation route from the War of 1812. The British evacuated as many slaves as they could, especially those who had assisted their efforts in both wars.

That’s Right, Angelo.

Flora had a family; at least one son, and a daughter named Grace. He later purchased their freedom. He died in 1820 and willed his estate to his son and grandson. It consisted of two dwelling houses and a vacant lot.

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We have two William Floras in my family—William Thomas Flora, my deceased uncle; and, his son, Retired United States Army Master Sergeant William Flora. I still don’t know if the names are coincidence or ancestry.

GEORGE FLORA SR.

My maternal grandfather was born in Camden County, North Carolina (a county adjoining Norfolk County, Virginia). His father was George Washington Flora (1850-1898), an itinerant Baptist preacher. My great aunt, Ada, said George Washington Flora’s parents were from Virginia. His children thought that his family left Virginia, moving just across the Virginia line into Currituck or Camden Counties, North Carolina. In the mid-1800’s, the slave laws in Virginia became very oppressive. Many former slaves left the state as Virginia tried to enslave some of these freed people. Laws in North Carolina were less oppressive.

His grandchildren affectionately called him Papa George. His friends called him Capt’n George. He was 5’ 8’’ tall and approximately 165 pounds. He had a ruddy complexion and eyes that quickly changed from their usual placid blue color to grayish green when he became angry or displeased. His gray stubby beard scratched my face when he embraced me. I didn’t mind the hugs because they were usually accompanied by treats of candy or pennies to purchase candy. He would say, Come here boy, give your Grandpa a big hug. I don’t know where he got the name Capt’n. He was never in the Navy. He only liked water for drinking or bathing on Saturday nights and he didn’t like fishing, because he couldn’t swim.

His mother, Emmaline lived with him and died when I was six years old. I vaguely remember her in her later years. Emmaline had a beautiful olive complexion, grayish white hair, and a heavy-set, short build. During the summer months, I remember her sitting and fanning herself in the yard or on the front porch fanning. She was the mother of eleven children: Samuel, George, Claude, Annie, Ada, Amanda, Almeda, Francis, Lilly Mae, Beulah, and Elisha. Most of her family migrated to the Tidewater area, but several children remained in North Carolina. I met all of her children residing in the Tidewater area, but knew very little of my North Carolina relatives until I was an adult. Papa George died in Norfolk County, Virginia in 1958.

I was told he was only jailed once, and that was for making and selling whiskey. In Virginia, they called it White Lightning. In North Carolina, they called it Moonshine. He was slated to serve six months. Mr. Blitz, an influential white farmer who knew him casually, decided to bail/bond him. This released him from serving additional time. He agreed to move to Mr. Blitz’ farm and work off the bond money. Each week, a specified amount of money was deducted from his wages to pay the fine. Later, Papa George discovered Mr. Blitz exploited him. He worked for more than a year and owed just $10.00 less than the original amount.

Farm work occupied most of Grandpa’s time, but his evenings and Sundays were free. He was energetic and wanted to raise money to open a soda/ice cream shop. He applied for a license, but the white people in the license office kept finding ways to deny the license. One day, another white man in charge recognized him. He asked if he could help. His name was Mr. Winton. Papa George told him about the difficulty he was having obtaining a license and how he was being exploited on his job. Mr. Winton asked Papa George to work for him and paid the balance of the bond money to Mr. Blitz. Terms were agreed upon, and Papa George moved to Mr. Winton’s farm. This relationship lasted for many years. Several of Papa George’s children were born on Mr. Winton’s farm. Papa George was unlucky farming and selling moonshine. He quit both and started making whiskey again.

Fannie Carson Flora

Fannie Carson Flora was also known as Mrs. Fannie, and Ma Fannie. She was my maternal grandmother, affectionately called Mom Fannie by all of her grandchildren and many of the children in the neighborhood. It was not unusual for adults to be addressed by first names prefixed by Mr. or Mrs. (e.g., Mr. George or Mrs. Ruth). It was a sign of respect. Mom Fannie stood about 5’ 2’’ tall and weighed 140 pounds. She was the color of hot cocoa. Her family resided as slaves in the Norfolk area prior to the Civil War. They later owned considerable property in Norfolk County. Alexander Herbert, her great grandfather, received a number of acres for his military service in the Civil War. He was born in 1834 and died on February 26, 1904 in Portsmouth, Virginia. His army discharge papers are still in our family records. Some of her family’s property was still under family control when I started this autobiography. The Chesapeake City Government through the Right of Eminent Domain has since seized the property. Mom Fannie was born in Norfolk County in 1889 and died in 1960.

When I was five, mother’s immediate family consisted of her parents and ten siblings. My uncles were George Jr. Buddy (15), William (13), James Edward (6), and Raymond Rainbow (4). They were my favorite playmates because I lived with them for several periods of time.

Sister Shaw

Mom Fannie had an older sister named Martha Shaw, but we called her Sister Shaw. As the eldest, Sister Shaw was the caretaker of her grandparents’ property and controlled everything until her death. She stood 5’8’’. That was considered tall for a woman. She was attractive, terribly skinny and was quick to let you know she had a sharp, intelligent mind. Frequently she doted on us and brought us gifts because she was childless. All gifts came with a price, however. A ton of questions needed to be answered before she gave us the gifts. We often wondered if the presents were worth all the questions.

Sister Shaw lived approximately a mile from grandmother’s house. My grandparents were always dispatching us to visit her and to make sure everything was OK. She appreciatively sent back dried fruits that she had received from the Relief Program or Works Projects Administration (WPA). This was a combination of a government-financed program for the arts and a welfare program for the elderly.

Her husband was a soul saving minister and eccentric carpenter. Quite frequently, he rearranged the appearance of their house. Sometimes the house had two porches and two stories. Other times he removed both porches and the upstairs. I used to think something was mentally wrong with the old gent—I am still not sure. He stayed busy with his hammer and saw, either building structures up or tearing structures down. After his death, Sister Shaw lived alone until her death many years later.

There was an old piano in their living room, but no one played it regularly. On one occasion, the piano suddenly started playing without the assistance of the automatic roll device. We looked into the room, and it was empty. Everyone said the room was ghostly or haunted, especially after her husband’s death. Several months later, a long black snake was found in the piano. The snake came in through the loose floorboards and warmed itself on the piano keys, sounding musical notes as it moved. The warm sunlight made the piano an attractive spot for the snake.

Uncle Buddy

My Uncle Buddy was the athlete in the family. He gave me my first baseball and taught me how to play. Uncle William was like a big brother and was forever taking me with him when he went to the movies or hunting. Uncle James Edward died from spinal meningitis when I was five years old. He was six or seven. It was the first time I encountered death. I knew you went away and never returned. I dreamed of James several times after that. I sorely missed his friendly face and racing up trees together. Uncle Raymond was like a younger brother. It was great to have male relatives and a grandfather to fill in as role models. Chronologically, my aunts were Lillie, Hazel, Emma, Irene, Amanda, and Fannie Mae.

Almost everyone heated and cooked with wood and coal. Additional coal was always welcomed, especially in winter when snow prevented us from gathering wood. Trains transported coal from the West Virginia coalmines to the docks at Norfolk for overseas shipments. Often several hundred-coal cars waited in the holding area for almost a week before being transported.

The Depression caused many honest men to commit dishonest deeds. Uncle Buddy and a friend were caught taking coal from railroad coal cars. They decided to remove coal from the top of a coal car, thinking it would not be missed. Quickly, they filled their bags and started home. A railroad detective riding a bicycle stopped them and placed them under arrest for stealing. He made them climb the ladder to the top of the coal car and return the coal. They dumped the coal, but jumped from the top of the car on the opposite side from the detective and raced into the woods. The detective chased them for a while, but my uncle and his friend lost him in the woods. They knew the area so well that it was like chasing rabbits in a briar patch. My uncle was ridiculed for many years, not for stealing—but for getting caught.

Uncle Elisha

I didn’t know my grandfather had a brother until I met him shortly after his release from prison. Grandpa never mentioned him. I later learned that fate dealt Uncle Elisha a bad hand that nearly cost him his life. He was falsely accused of raping a white woman in North Carolina. The story I heard was that Uncle Elisha was on the way to work at the local sawmill at seven o’clock on a Saturday morning. A white woman, who had stayed out overnight and was afraid to go home, lied and said that she had been detained and raped by a tall Negro wearing blue overalls. The alleged rapist kept her overnight and released her around 7 am, just when Uncle Elisha was starting his morning shift at the sawmill.

Uncle Elisha was the only worker skilled enough to operate a special machine for splitting logs. Work at the sawmill could not have started without his presence. The white timekeeper at the sawmill said Elisha was working at the time the rape took place. He had recently purchased new blue overalls, and he was the tallest Negro in the area at 6’ 4’’. Most workers wore blue overalls. He was arrested because he fit the description of the rapist. His sentence was predetermined and he wasn’t even represented by an attorney. It was the victim’s word against Elisha and the timekeeper’s. The court believed the woman, and Elisha barely escaped the death penalty and the wrath of the Klan with a life sentence in prison.

Eighteen years later, the woman confessed on her deathbed that she had lied. Elisha was innocent and eventually released from prison. He moved to Suffolk, Virginia and renewed acquaintances with family in the area. He was a very pleasant man, who stuttered terribly while speaking. It took him at least five minutes to finish a sentence.

We cherished his visits. He gave each child a few coins, from two cents up to ten cents for the older children. He said, Ta-ta-ta-take this tw-tw-two ce-ce-cents and buy and buy so-so-some can can-can-candy—and we did! Mother wasn’t always happy to see him. Our house was usually his first stop after getting off the bus from Suffolk. He invariably visited on Sundays, just before breakfast and would help himself to a dozen rolls, half dozen eggs, and a half-pound of bacon. This feast was washed down with a quart of coffee. When he finished breakfast and it was time for him to leave, he would say, Tha-than-thanks for the snack! He then visited other family members and sometimes repeated his gluttonous feat. Elisha came so frequently that if we spotted him first, we pretended no one was home. Thinking we had gone to church, he went on to visit other relatives.

Toi

My mother had an older, distant cousin, Toi. Toi was called Gus. He fought in France during World War I and was wounded and gassed. Gus had a mangled leg and limped very badly. The war ravaged his body and affected his mind. Sometimes he did strange things, like walking outside naked during the winter. He sang French songs and spoke to himself in French all day. Most people avoided him because of his bizarre habits.

The only white people we saw during my childhood years were the rent man, insurance man, and owners of the local grocery stores. Rumor had it that on a hot summer’s day an insurance man asked Gus for a glass of water. Gus told him that he didn’t have a glass, but he was welcome to use the gourd dipper and pump. The insurance man pumped until the water was cool and began drinking. While the insurance man was pumping water, Gus got his shotgun. The insurance man finished drinking and thanked Gus for the water. Gus raised his shotgun, pointed it at the insurance man and said, You white people always want something. You want water? Drink until I tell you to quit! Thank God, a neighbor saw what was taking place and persuaded Gus to stop. He told him that if he killed this man, the Klu Klux Klan (KKK) would destroy the neighborhood. The insurance man was able to leave on his own, but his stomach looked ready to burst. The old people said the insurance man never returned to the area again. They don’t know whether he changed insurance debits or changed jobs.

Gus was one of several veterans who was militant and swore to take no shit from the white community. There was militancy among the men who had fought in WWI. They were waiting for and expecting large Army bonuses. Some planned to leave the area as soon as the Government paid them for their military service. Gus always teased the non-veterans about being afraid of white people. Sometimes, the arguments became very heated and vociferous. Most of the Vets carried guns and could shoot straight. I believed this cadre of veterans caused the Klan to think twice before inflicting destructive behavior in our neighborhood.

PANGS OF THE GREAT DEPRESSION

Some of my contemporaries don’t believe that I can remember the Depression, until I inform them that it lasted until the early ’40s in Virginia. My recollections are vague, but my parents and relatives filled in the gaps. Too many situations can be recalled as if they happened yesterday: wearing perpetually tattered clothing, and shoes with holes, neighbors sharing food and the Klan’s frequent beating and killing of innocent people. People were out of work and loitered on corners, begged for food and waited hungrily in soup lines. Substandard housing was not much better than sleeping in the streets. Women took in washing, men worked wherever they could, and even undependable and inadequate medical and dental services disappeared.

Economic opportunities were virtually nonexistent until after World War II was declared. Then, defense related opportunities became plentiful. Negroes were always the last hired. In most cases, if they were hired, it was only for menial jobs. Of course, any steady work was better than most of the farm jobs that paid so little. Prior to World War II, it wasn’t uncommon to work for three to five dollars per day. Sometimes my father would work for less. His position was I will do any kind of work to feed the family! Daddy even worked all day cutting cornstalks for one dollar.

Old folks used to say, President Hoover is going to have Negroes and poor white people eating their children. I never believed this statement; but strongly believed that the President didn’t care about Negroes, or poor whites. So many were unemployed and begging for food that it sure didn’t look like he cared. There were people on the streets of Norfolk begging for food, or enough change to purchase a cup of coffee.

Similar to Charles Dickens’ Tale of Two Cities, the Depression was the best of times and the worst of times. There were many people who exemplified the very best of humanity—kindness, compassion, fortitude, thrift, innovation, cooperation, pride, understanding, true grit, and damned toughness. Others showed the worst—greed, selfishness, inhospitality, theft, mayhem, and sometimes murder. The burden of living in profound poverty and uncertainty caused people to act in ways they would never have acted in better situations.

West Munden was just one of the many Negro enclaves in Norfolk County. Norfolk was the largest city in the area, with a population of 129,710 (U.S. Census 1930). The city was quite urbane and sophisticated. The county and its people were just plain country and agrarian. I was country too, even though I rarely admitted it. The population of West Munden was about nine hundred people. There were about 300 hundred houses scattered over about one square mile. There were various sections: Dog Patch (Ludden Town), Edmonds Corner, and the Atlantic Avenue Section. There were pockets of Negroes all over the county: Queen City, New Light, Gibson Hill, Oak Grove, Gilmerton, South Hill, Portlock, Fentress, Hickory, Crestwood, Deep Creek, and others.

Negroes from our community greeted each other by looking into each other’s eyes and saying, with a friendly smile, Good morning, how are you? They were genuinely concerned about their neighbors. Very infrequently, did we receive salutations from whites. More often than not, they acted as if we were invisible.

As is the case anywhere, there were a few bad people. One friend of my grandfather’s would steal pigs and chickens and sell them to his neighbors without telling them that they had been stolen. One night, he was stealing chickens when the owner shot him in the buttocks with buckshots. He was afraid to go to the hospital or to a doctor for fear that his crimes would be discovered. The men started calling him Old Lead Hips and his real name was never mentioned. As a child I knew I was not permitted to call him Mr. Lead Hips. He was one of my grandfather’s best customers, but when they yelled, Here comes Old Lead Hips, everyone felt for their wallets. Not only did he steal chickens, pigs, and crops, he stole anything that wasn’t nailed down. The men liked him because he was friendly. Still, they didn’t trust him, and he knew it! He lived with buckshots in his buttocks until his death many years later.

We lived less than a hundred yards from the main highway to North Carolina and less than thirty miles from the North Carolina line. Frequently federal agents (Feds) chased cars laden with moonshine/white lightning from Virginia to North Carolina, or from North Carolina to Virginia. Local police could only go as far as the state line in either direction. If a bootlegger crossed the state line, he was relatively safe. Feds had unlimited jurisdiction and chased cars in either state. These cars passed our house like bats-out-of-hell!

Sometimes, my Uncle Raymond would leap out of bed, late at night and awaken me yelling, They’re coming—they’re coming! He’d hear their cars screeching and their engines gunning as they rounded the curve at Forehands’ store, about a quarter of a mile away. Occasionally there would be shootouts between federal agents and bootleggers. We would run to the window and hear shots—a rat-a-tat-tat from a tommy gun, or single shots from a shotgun, rifle, pistol—or maybe all three. Most of the time it would be the revenue agents chasing folks coming from North Carolina. We knew they weren’t shooting ‘coons, because people hunted them after dark, usually aided by flashlights.

When the Feds weren’t chasing whiskey cars, they hunted the nearby woods, for hidden stills. Telltale aromas often saturated the air and smoke curled suspiciously in the darkness. Other seek and destroy targets of the Feds were the nip joints" that proliferated our community. Seemingly, every other house had an illegal activity going on—numbers, gambling, whiskey, or prostitution.

Uncle Buddy specialized in souping up whiskey cars and removing their back seats to maximize space for five gallon cans of moonshine. The cars were easy to spot because their rear ends often dragged the ground from the excessive load. Sometimes we knew the drivers. Occasionally they were relatives. At least two relatives were jailed for illegal whiskey possession and distribution and spent time on chain gangs.

Chain gangs were composed of incarcerated men, chained to each other, or to a heavy ball which made it extremely difficult to move around. They were used in Virginia and other Southern states to cut grass, dig ditches, and repair roads. Most of the prisoners were Negroes, guarded by white guards with shotguns. We saw neighbors who had broken the law, perhaps by stealing or bootlegging. If persons were caught in Norfolk with illegal whiskey, or found guilty of other crimes, they were sent to the City Farm. Inmates there served their time by raising and cultivating crops.

When the Feds blocked the highway coming from North Carolina, bootleggers used nearby tributaries to transport white lightning. Hauling moonshine by boat was much slower, but safer. They landed in places along the Elizabeth River, or navigated the Atlantic Ocean to the Back Bay Area. Before Prohibition ended in 1933, there was a tremendous demand for corn liquor.

The whiskey business was the death of many young men and women in my area. Families were wiped out by whiskey activities and its criminal by-products: prostitution, gambling, numbers, etc. There were people who had every reason in the world to be successful, but being too close to bootlegging caused them immense problems. The prospect of fast money had a deleterious impact; generally they started drinking and they just couldn’t shake the attraction. Some went into the military, came back, and started over again. A cousin got involved, as had his father before him. Neither one could escape the bootlegging allure. Of course, having only a grade school education was partly responsible. There weren’t too many jobs available for people with limited education, especially Negroes. I often wondered whether I would have gotten into that lifestyle had my environment not been different, or if my parents had been less vigilant.

Young men were enticed into the business through fast women and the use of fancy cars, since most young men didn’t own vehicles. The transport of liquor required youth, strength, vigor, and iron nerve. Since we were in the middle of the Depression, many young Negro men out of work had these prerequisites. They weren’t afraid of anything! The big money they made attracted women, young and old. If they were caught and imprisoned, the head bootlegger assisted the inmate’s family. When they got too old to drive or were hurt from accidents, they started selling whiskey or making it for the head bootlegger.

Some entrepreneurs had nip joints or speakeasies (places selling corn liquor). Others had hot sheets or cat houses (whore houses), places where one could meet prostitutes. Of course, the women didn’t call themselves prostitutes and a few good Christian women could be seen singing and shouting in church on Sunday. I suspect Papa George operated both activities at the same time. For most of my youth, he was either a bootlegger, selling or making moonshine, or operating small confectionery shops where he sold pastries, ice cream, tobacco products, soft drinks, and other sundries.

In addition to cat houses, there were other places we called juke joints. They sold food, soft drinks (soda pop), and some of the best barbecue in Norfolk County. Of course, good white lightning could be purchased in the rear room, by the shot, and by the jar. The loud music up front was a camouflage for the good times going on in the rear. Children could only purchase soda pop, but we knew things—they couldn’t fool us! We knew there were strange things going on back there, because everyone came out of the back room smiling happily.

Children were never openly permitted to drink spirits of any kind. Our parents occasionally let us taste a little wine or beer. We drank home brew, a mild wine made at home with various fruit. Our favorite homemade wines were made from peaches, strawberries, cherries, grapes, and, of course, dandelions. There were always plenty of dandelions. Even though we made wine, we weren’t allowed to drink it without permission, even when we had to taste it to see if it was fermenting properly.

After my grandfather stopped making whiskey, he ran a nip joint. He always kept a fresh supply of quality whiskey since he knew most of the distillers. Nip joints had to be careful about serving improperly distilled whiskey. Improperly distilled whiskey could cause blindness or death. Grandfather loved to explain how he used three necessary pieces of equipment to make corn liquor. A