Just So You Would Know: A Family Knitted Together

By Nona B. Watson

Bertha Lee Bethea, a girl raised by a grandmother who was once a slave, adapted to a new way of life in the South during a time not long after slavery was abolished. The African American experience in America is often times seen through the eyes of slavery and the Civil Rights Movement; however, we rarely highlight those unsung heroes and families who endured “hard times” as they transitioned from slavery, through the Great Depression, and persevered.

Bertha is one of many unsung heroes. She gives a personal and detailed account of the state of the African American family during the 1920s, 1930s, and beyond. She shares her life, her heartaches, her loves and her victories. She speaks to families whose ancestors never had the opportunity to tell their stories to their children, while simultaneously educating and broadening the knowledge of the reader.

Bertha exemplifies the epitome of a God-fearing woman to her 12 children and over 170 grandchildren. She leaves a sweet fragrance upon every life she touches. Her story had to be told, for it is an unassuming story of an extraordinary woman who, at the age of ninety-nine, chronicled her life… Just So You Would Know!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Covenant Books, Inc.
• Release date: Jan 26, 2022
• ISBN: 9781638149811

Book preview

Table of Contents

Title

Copyright

Foreword

Introduction

1: Where Do We Go from Here?

2: We Are Family

3: Life with Grandmom Mariah

4: Great Losses

5: Daily Living

6: Heaven Bound

7: The Wedding Proposal

8: All About Baby

9: Community Issues

10: Trying to Survive

11: City Life

12: On My Own

13: Acknowledgments

14: Just So You Would Know

About the Author

cover.jpg

Just So You Would Know

A Family Knitted Together

Nona B. Watson

ISBN 978-1-63814-980-4 (Paperback)

ISBN 978-1-63814-981-1 (Digital)

Copyright © 2021 Nona B. Watson

All rights reserved

First Edition

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods without the prior written permission of the publisher. For permission requests, solicit the publisher via the address below.

Covenant Books, Inc.

11661 Hwy 707

Murrells Inlet, SC 29576

www.covenantbooks.com

Bertha Lee Bethea

My story is your history, so I dedicate this book to my family, with love.

Foreword

Bertha Lee, a girl raised by a grandmother who was once a slave, adapted to a new way of life in the South during a time not long after slavery was abolished. We know the history of slavery and the African American experience in America after slavery; however, never have you heard it the way Bertha Lee shares it in this book. Here, she gives an account of a time that is not fully revealed, rarely discussed, and in some cases, a time forgotten!

Journey with her as she shares pages from the story of her life: her struggles, her love, her heartaches, and her victories. Enjoy her walk and revelation of salvation through Jesus Christ, as well as her innermost thoughts and fears. Experience through her own words how she survived a vast spectrum of changes in America from the Great Depression to her never imagined experience of the first African American president.

This once poor southern girl is my mother. Her story is breathtaking, heartbreaking, and sincere. It is one of amazement, intrigue, and lifelong lessons beneficial to all who read it.

Yes, it envelops our family history, but interwoven in the pages, you will find the history of a people—a people recently freed from slavery in search of a new life, a better life in America. Her generation experienced what some of their forefathers only dared to dream about, never fulfilling the dream.

Through her memories, we are able to watch history unfold. We are able to experience what life was like for a child born in the 1920s.

It amazes me that my mother has lived to experience seventeen American presidents and life as a sharecropper on farmlands that were, not so long ago, plantations.

Raising a family of 12 children with one husband and a total of 170 grandchildren: 42 grandchildren, 111 great-grandchildren, and 17 great, great-grandchildren, with the help of God, is one of her greatest successes. But what is truly amazing is that this almost century-year-old woman is still equipped to tell her story!

To those of you who may not know of this time and place or even of this beautiful woman, I invite you to read her story all the more. Take advantage of her history class, and I guarantee you that you will see pieces of your life written somewhere between the lines.

It is of no coincidence that her favorite pastime is knitting, because she does it so well. It is through her story that we realize we are all simply a family knitted together.

Sitting down at her feet, listening to every word as she expressed every thought and emotion, and researching what she couldn't quite verbalize is an experience I will never forget. Her words are fully in agreement with American history.

I testify to her strength and to the peace and love she brings. Strong-willed and determined, she exemplifies the epitome of a true woman of God, and she leaves a sweet fragrance upon every life she touches. Her story must be told, for it is an unassuming story of an extraordinary woman, who at the age of ninety-nine, chronicled her life…just so you would know!

Nona B. Watson

Introduction

Bertha Lee Bethea

September 13, 1921

Today, I am ninety-nine years, one month, and twenty days old.

I thank God for the opportunity to share the details of my life with my wonderful family, friends, those I met along the way, and others who are simply interested in knowing my story or more about the African American experience in America.

So, dear family, I now share with you memories from the pages of my life that you will know your past. I hope you hold them close to your heart and share them with your children's children, cherishing them forever.

I also hope through this book, others are encouraged to sit at the feet of their elders and learn, understand, and preserve their God-given family heritage.

1

Where Do We Go from Here?

It amazes me to the core when I think about the fact that I have been in this world for almost an entire century; my, how things have changed from one decade to the next.

I am no longer that little girl who made her own baby dolls out of wires and yarn because toys were too expensive and too few. I am no longer that little girl who loved the color pink and who took walks in the warmth of the sun, exploring only as far as behind our old wooden family house, escaping to the barn to gather my thoughts or to explore a world, sometimes of make-believe and certainly large than I could have ever imagined.

Journeying to a quiet place was my destination, a place where I couldn't see anyone and they couldn't see me. No, I am no longer that girl; instead, I am a woman of almost one hundred years, whose assignment is to share my story about life on the other side of freedom, after the ringing of the bells!

Oh, how I can even imagine myself today in that quiet place. Reading and escaping to a world, sometimes of make-believe, and certainly larger than I could have ever imagined.

Out of all the places I could have shown up in this world, I arrived in Dillon, South Carolina, on Tuesday, September 13, 1921. Yes, Dillon was the place I called home!

Author William W. Sellers provided historical information about life in Dillon County in his History of Marion County as it was once called (also known as the Pee Dee Region). The total population of Dillon County from 1921 to the 1930s was approximately 25,733.

You will see on the below map Dillon, as well as various other townships within Marion County, with names I will mention in this book. Names like Carmichael, Manning, and yes, even Bethea. These are very well-known names in the African American community in the South, but they originated with white slave owners. Many of us inherited our names through the whole slave trade.

Mr. Sellers records that

The City of Dillon owes its origin to the building of the Florence (Short Cut) Railroad. The City of Dillon, county seat and largest municipality in Dillon County, was established in 1887, shortly after slavery was abolished. At that time, it had a population of but 87 persons, but with the coming of the railroad, it didn't take long to grow. By 1897 the population was 1,015 and by 1920 (a year before I was born), the population had grown to 2,205.

The current population as of today is 6,788.

Dillon Train Depot

Swamps and rivers kept this section of the Pee Dee isolated for many years, but the construction of a railroad in the nineteenth century brought increased development. The residents primarily engaged in cotton and tobacco farming and in timber harvesting. Definitely, life as I knew it.

Dillon, in the 1950s, became well-known for its South of the Border attractions and provided jobs for local residents down through the years.

South of the Border

The national economy experienced growth during the 1920s; however, the 1930s would soon bring about the Great Depression.

The Great Depression was a worldwide economic depression that lasted ten years. It was caused by the stock market crash of 1929 and ended in 1939. It sent Wall Street into a panic and wiped out millions of investors.

We didn't understand much about what was happening in the world of politics, but we knew that African Americans were disproportionately affected by unemployment. We were the last hired and the first fired. I can't even begin to explain the devastation we experienced or the number of families that went hungry. All we could do was pray.

Bertha Lee

September 13, 1921

In the midst of all that was happening in the world… I was born.

The Wright Family

I am the daughter of William Lee and Elizabeth Wright Lee. My parents were both born in South Carolina, my father in 1895 and my mother in 1896. The below census tracks them together in 1920.

Most of my life as a child was spent with my mother's immediate family: the Wright family! So it is with the Wright family that I find my true existence and the details of my childhood. But that doesn't negate the importance of my father's side of the family. Although not equally present in my life, they were yet significant and impactful. I've often heard it said down through the years that it takes a village to raise a child. I lived in that village!

My grandfather George Wright was born in 1858. The exact date is unknown, which is a common experience during that time. Grandmother Mariah McDougal was born in November of 1859. In 1877, the two became one, and together started the family I've grown to know and love—Mr. and Mrs. George and Mariah Wright.

Where were they born? Both of my grandparents were born in South Carolina; however, according to Ancestry.com, the largest genealogy company in the world, my roots extend back to Cameroon, Congo, and Western Bantu Peoples and Nigeria, Africa.

Ethnicity estimate—Indicate distant origins (500–1,000 years ago)

Additional Communities—Indicate more recent origins (50-300 years ago)

They were both born into slavery; however, they were blessed to experience freedom during their lifetime. Well, freedom to a certain extent because the struggle after slavery certainly was real, and the transition, slow. However, this newly found freedom also produced excitement along with those challenges.

Our family began and developed in various communities in Dillon County, South Carolina. It is there, and all around the United States, that new communities were established shortly after slavery was abolished.

My grandparents survived slavery and went on to learn a new way of life, never forgetting the importance of strong family ties and values. I wish I could tell you that I learned the details about their early life and my great grandparents, but I can't. These things were not openly discussed, and I never even thought to press the issue; I really didn't even know to ask. Those details would have definitely been priceless. I must admit, there is a part of me that wonders just how close was Africa in my own home?

The early 1900s presented an era of silence, and children especially were expected to be seen and not heard. A practice I believe was taught by our parents, and to some extent, a by-product of slavery (to speak only when you are spoken to). However, there were some things Grandmother Mariah chose to share that I will never forget.

I never learned the names of Grandfather George's parents, but he had one sister whose name was Janie Wright Higgins. Janie was a midwife by profession (as a matter of fact, she delivered my younger brother, Howard).

Grandmother Mariah was born to my great-grandparents Charles McDougal and Anne Bethea. (Yes, I recently found out that my great-grandmother was a Bethea; Bethea was in my blood.) Both of my great-grandparents were born in 1820, also in South Carolina.

I am grateful to have a most treasured picture of my grandmother Mariah. She is pictured here with her youngest child, (my aunt) Sarah!

Mariah Mcdougal Wright

Yes, this is the matriarch of the Wright family. The woman who provided support to her strong husband, while masterfully providing a firm foundation of cohesive family living for years to come. She was an awesome woman who believed in God and who was instrumental in shaping the lives of our family members. She also represents the typical matriarch of the time who eventually found themselves at the head of the family.

Grandmother Mariah had three siblings (two brothers and one sister). Her brother Jacob had two daughters, cousin Maribelle and cousin Nancy. Grandmom's youngest sibling, Samuel, had no children. Then there was Grandmom's sister, Hannah. Hannah was sold into slavery at a very young age, so I'm sad to say, I have no further information pertaining to her life.

Grandmom and Slavery

It's now hard to see Grandmom as a slave, but she was. While enslaved, Grandmom served as a babysitter to her master's family. She never said so, but I believe that her maiden name (McDougal) was their family name, which again was common practice during that era.

Slaves had no real identity. On official documents, they were listed by their first names only, with the last name of the owner sometimes attached. Not that they became part of this new family, but part of their property instead, passed down from family member to family member, generation to generation. Kind of like land, forks, and spoons, etc.

Slaves, also called Negroes, lived on what is known as plantations. A plantation is usually a large farm or estate on which cotton, tobacco, coffee, sugar cane, or the like is cultivated, usually by resident laborers or slaves. The slaves worked the fields and the gardens (cornfields, cotton, tobacco, wheat, and hay fields for the cattle). Their days were long and hard, and they worked from sunup to sundown.

Picking cotton (or anything else) is something I try not to think about very often. It is hard, back-breaking work, and for years, it was picked by hand. Cotton grew on a tall green stalk with a closed boll on the end. When it was ready for harvesting, the boll would turn brown and open up, revealing the cotton inside. Laborers would spend hours pulling the cotton out of the boll and stuffing them in sacks for harvesting.

Below is a picture of a cotton field and a cotton boll ready for harvesting.

Since slaves were the property of their masters, everything they did was to the benefit of the slave owner, not just economically speaking but in general. Their lives were not their own. They had to get approval to participate in all things pertaining to their own lives.

To leave the plantation at any given time, they were required to receive an approval pass from their master. Lawmen would patrol the countryside on horseback at night looking for anyone traveling without permission. If the slave had escaped or was caught in violation of any law, he would be severely beaten or have his heel-string cut to prevent him from ever running away again. Even after such abuse, they were still required to work just as hard upon their return.