Orangeburg

Orangeburg and nearby Follyville

 

The Thompson and Clayton families had roots in the Orangeburg, South Carolina, area for as long as anyone knew. Their surnames had been inherited from families who had once held their ancestors in the bondage of slavery. Thompsons and Claytons born well into the early twentieth century grew up with fresh familial memories of grandparents who had been born into slavery and whose freedom had first been proclaimed by President Abraham Lincoln’s Emancipation Proclamation a little more than half a century earlier. This reality was significant to the heritage of both families.

For generations, the two families, believed by some to be distantly related by blood and certainly connected by marriage, had lived in the same poor, rural African American community just outside Orangeburg. The close-knit families were settled in a cluster of rented homes and small farms on and around the property of a former plantation east of what is now Wilkinson Heights. Among themselves, they called the little settlement Follyville, though the name appeared on no map and was known to almost no one beyond the families who lived there. The lives of all residents of Follyville were deeply intertwined from birth.

The modern world had been slow to find its way to that place. Barefoot children joyfully played together on porches and dusty lanes, sometimes rolling old metal hoops along them with sticks. Ox-drawn wagons often carried farm products as well as residents over those same deeply rutted dirt lanes. The sound of roosters crowing frequently filled the air, while chickens wandered freely between houses, sometimes even venturing onto porches and through open doors. Next to nearly every house was a small, fenced-in and carefully tended vegetable garden. One Follyville family had a small barn and basic milking parlor and kept a small herd of cows in a nearby pasture. Whenever a milk cow was separated from her calf after giving birth, her mournful bawling could be heard throughout the settlement, signaling to everyone that fresh milk would soon be available. Some families kept goats, which occasionally wandered into the lanes and stubbornly blocked the way, completely unconcerned about anyone passing by.

Follyville’s unpaved central lane took its residents a short distance from the settlement to a paved county road. Everyone simply called the road “the highway,” and it led into the town of Orangeburg. On the other side of the highway, directly across from where the lane met the road, stood a general store where just about any necessary goods could be purchased at reasonable prices. The store had been owned by generations of Willises, a white family from Orangeburg known for their kindness and generosity. Everyone knew that, when necessary, purchases could be made on credit, and over the years, various members of the Willis family had offered needed goods at greatly reduced prices or simply never collected what was owed by the neediest of families. Because it was located along the highway, the store was one of the few nearby buildings with electricity, and therefore had refrigerators, a big old radio, a couple of pinball machines, and was usually brightly lit far into the evenings. The Willises also ran an unofficial post office in the store where mail to and from Follyville was sent and received.

Right next to the general store was an open-air restaurant known as “Uncle Henry’s Place.” It too enjoyed the benefit of electricity drawn from lines running up and down the highway. The restaurant’s kitchen was housed in a small, rustic wooden shack, in front of which a wooden canopy extended over a patio of weathered brick furnished with picnic tables. In the evenings, the patio was lighted by naked electric bulbs that hung from wires dangling from the canopy. The restaurant had been established, owned, and operated many years earlier by the late Henry Clayton Sr., a longtime resident of Follyville. When Henry passed, the place was inherited by his son, Henry Jr., whose own son, Henry III, continued the family tradition as he worked faithfully at his father’s side. The Henrys were all excellent cooks in their own right. They were known for their cornbread, grits, rice and beans, fried chicken, ham sandwiches, collard greens and sweet potatoes when in season, and their ability to make something good from just about every edible part of a pig.

For most anything else, the residents of the settlement had to travel into town. A walk into the center of Orangeburg usually took about two hours, but the trip by horse and wagon could take as little as an hour, or even less.

Across the highway from the general store and Uncle Henry’s Place, and just to the right of Follyville’s central lane, stood an old, very large, but somewhat dilapidated plantation wagon shed, carriage barn, and modest stable. Nearby stood a small blacksmith shop operated by Mr. Jacob Clayton. Although rented and used solely by the residents, all of the buildings belonged to the same landlord who owned the land, those buildings, and all the houses in the settlement. The landlord, himself a Thompson, was a descendant of the last slaveholder and plantation owner whose property had once encompassed much of the surrounding countryside.

The stable housed a few horses belonging to some of the families. The animals were collectively cared for by teenage stable boys, themselves children of Follyville, who were cooperatively and modestly paid by the families who owned the horses. The adjoining wagon shed held several wooden wagons used for multiple purposes—sometimes for farm work and at other times for transportation into town. Adjacent to the stable was a small pasture where three or four oxen were usually kept. These were the beasts of burden used for much of the heavy agricultural work in the surrounding fields.

The residents of Follyville shared a hand-operated water pump located near the center of their cluster of neighboring homes. Early morning trips to the pump were both practical and social, and it was there that the communal character of the settlement seemed most evident. News and gossip about community events and happenings were often shared there before anywhere else. Water was carried home in buckets for drinking, cooking, washing, and bathing, and fetching it was the responsibility of every able family member, even children strong enough to carry buckets heavy with water.

Nearly every family in Follyville owned a large galvanized washtub, an essential part of daily life. Used outside, the tubs were filled with water heated on the woodstove and equipped with wooden washboards and, where available, hand-cranked clothes wringers. Typically the work of women, and not uncommonly a social event, washing clothing, sheets, and towels and hanging them on lines strung between houses or nearby trees was a regular household chore. The tubs served other purposes as well, including washing vegetables from the gardens and cleaning freshly killed and plucked poultry.

Because the galvanized tubs were portable, they could also be brought inside on Saturday afternoons, usually placed in the kitchen, and filled with warm water so each member of the family could take a weekly bath. To conserve the considerable labor required to carry and heat the water, bathwater was often reused, beginning with the youngest children and ending with the adults, with additional hot water added when necessary. Saturday was the traditional bathing day because everyone wanted to be clean and ready for Sunday morning church services. On other days, washing was simpler and involved a good scrub of faces, hands, and feet over a basin or metal bucket. The men who returned home sweaty and dirty after long days working in the fields washed themselves more frequently, using a bar of soap and a washcloth to clean away the sweat and dirt of the day. Although the people there were poor, they were certainly not indifferent to cleanliness, and preparing the family for Sunday was perhaps the most noble use given to those galvanized washtubs.

Each house in Follyville had its own outhouse, and each family was responsible for its upkeep, cleanliness, and relocation when necessary. Answering nature’s call meant a trip to one of those rustic and not-so-pleasant outdoor privies.

Women labored over wood-fired stoves to prepare meals for their families. Men worked long, hard hours beneath the beating sun, coaxing crops from tired fields and tending to livestock. As sharecroppers and hired hands, almost all worked land they did not own. For many children, if they were so fortunate, completion of the eighth grade marked the end of their formal education. Without electricity, kerosene lamps illuminated their homes after dark, though for the most part people began and ended their days with the rising and setting of the sun.

 

1923

 

Isaac Michael Thompson, always known as “Ike,” was born in his family’s humble home in Follyville on February 12, 1923. He was the last child born to John and Thelma Thompson. Of the seven siblings born before him, two had died, one at birth a few years earlier and another at the age of three, just one year before Ike’s birth.

The sun had not yet risen when he came into the world shortly before seven o’clock that morning. It was chilly and damp, and a lingering rainstorm had left the dirt lanes of Follyville muddy, making the journey to the Thompson home more difficult than usual for the community’s elderly granny midwife, Mrs. Edith Clayton, a widow known to all simply as “Miss Eddy.” By the time she arrived, other women of the family had already built up the fire in the woodstove to better warm the house and heat water for Miss Eddy’s work.

“It’s a beautiful boy,” Miss Eddy proclaimed with a broad smile as she gently lifted the newborn child into her arms. The baby cried loudly, his voice carrying beyond the walls of the little house and into the waking community of Follyville.

Four months later, on June 17, 1923, Olivia Mariah Clayton was born. It was bright, hot, and humid. June flies were everywhere, blankets and sheets gently swayed on the clotheslines in the yard behind the house, the joyful sounds of children playing in the lanes permeated the settlement, and in the distance cows could be heard mooing in protest as they were herded from one field to another.

Olivia’s parents, Jacob and Mildred Clayton, were well-respected members of the community. Jacob was the blacksmith whose shop was located at the edge of the settlement. Mildred, already the mother of six children before Olivia was born, was known as the “Nanny of Follyville,” as she regularly cared for children of the settlement whose mothers took on additional work outside their homes, often as nannies, cleaners and cooks for wealthy families in the county. Jacob and Mildred’s home was the largest in the area, and although humble and poor by almost any standard, the family was thought by their neighbors to be among the wealthiest in Follyville.

On that June day, Mildred had taken herself to bed shortly after 11:30 a.m. and, pausing to catch her breath, announced to the family, “The time has come.” Her oldest child, a ten-year-old daughter, was immediately sent running down the lane to the blacksmith shop to fetch Jacob. Miss Eddy, who had been checking on Mildred every day, came to the Clayton home shortly thereafter. Jacob arrived home only minutes before the baby was born. Shortly afterward, Miss Eddy held the newborn up for all to see and loudly proclaimed, “It’s another precious little girl!” As the baby cried out, Jacob’s eyes filled with tears of pure joy.

 

Church and School

 

Like almost everyone from Follyville, the families of Ike and Olivia belonged to the Williams Chapel African Methodist Episcopal Church in nearby Orangeburg. Both were baptized as infants at the church, and the congregation’s strong and dedicated community life profoundly influenced their neighbors, extended family members, parents, and siblings, as well as their own upbringing in the Christian faith and its call to care for others. Weekly Sunday school classes and church services at Williams Chapel usually meant traveling into Orangeburg in a procession of horse-drawn wagons carrying almost everyone from the settlement. On those days, everyone proudly wore their Sunday-go-to-church clothes and shoes. Adults and children alike knew that, from the moment they climbed aboard the wagons, they were on “God’s time,” as the pastor often reminded them. Their memories of those days were filled with happiness, fellowship, and a sense of deep and abiding faith.

Ike and Olivia had no memory of their first meeting. Neither could remember a time when the other had not been part of life. Even as babies in diapers, they had been carried back and forth between their families’ homes. They played together as small children, grew up among the same extended families, attended the same community gatherings and church services, and eventually became teenage sweethearts. “They only say we are cousins because we come from the same place,” Ike assured Olivia the first time they talked about the possibility of “going out” together.

Ike and Olivia were among the more fortunate children of Follyville who completed the eighth grade. They had attended the “colored school” located less than a mile up the highway from the settlement, walking there, rain or shine, throughout those early school years.

After completing the eighth grade, Ike and Olivia were able to enroll in the newly established and nearby Wilkinson High School, which served African American students in Orangeburg. Another first for them during their freshman year at Wilkinson was being able to take a school bus from the Follyville entrance at the highway to and from school each day. In 1942, they were among the graduates of the first class to complete four full years at the school. By the time of their high school graduation, their childhood affection for each other had clearly blossomed into love, and they had even spoken of a day when they might marry and have children of their own.

On the day Wilkinson High School held its graduation ceremony in June of 1942, almost everyone’s thoughts were also preoccupied with a world engulfed in war. The United States had itself been involved in the war for the previous six months. For nineteen-year-old Ike Thompson, the reality of war was particularly personal. A few young men from Follyville, including two of Ike’s older brothers and one of Olivia’s brothers, had already been drafted into military service. By then, it also seemed certain the draft age for young men would soon be lowered from twenty-one to eighteen. And so, Ike was fairly certain his life, and the lives of those he loved, including Olivia, wouldn’t continue to escape the reach of the conflict. In fact, within weeks of graduation, on June 30, 1942, Ike was required to register for Selective Service. Then, in November 1942, President Roosevelt signed into law legislation lowering the induction age to eighteen, making Ike’s eventual draft into the military seem almost inevitable.

 

The Letter

 

In the days and months that followed their graduation from Wilkinson High, Ike and Olivia began to settle into lives and routines familiar to others within the Follyville community. Ike took a job alongside his father as a sharecropper in the nearby cotton fields, while Olivia began to assist her mother as a daytime caretaker for numerous children of Follyville. During those months, Ike and Olivia continued to build their relationship and even met once with the pastor of Williams Chapel to discuss their hopes of one day being married at the church. Many a night they could be found sitting together with other young Follyville residents on the patio at Uncle Henry’s Place, and sometimes at the general store, where Ike was an expert pinball player, and the big AM radio blared the latest popular songs.

In December of that year, as everyone eagerly awaited the celebration of Christmas, preparations for the holidays were on the minds of all. On Monday, December twenty-first, Thelma stopped at the general store to pick up some wrapping paper and tape for gifts she had purchased earlier that day at one of the larger department stores in Orangeburg. After chatting for a while with Mr. Willis at the cash register, Mrs. Willis approached her and handed her a letter addressed to Isaac Michael Thompson. The return address on the envelope read:

SELECTIVE SERVICE SYSTEM

LOCAL BOARD

ORANGEBURG COUNTY, SOUTH CAROLINA

As she looked at the envelope, knowing immediately what it meant, her eyes welled with tears. She went home that day with a heavy heart and waited anxiously for John and Ike to return from their work in the fields.

“Mama, please don’t cry,” Ike pleaded as he opened and read aloud the contents of the letter:

Isaac Michael Thompson:

You have been selected for training and service in the land or naval forces of the United States. You are hereby ordered to report to your Local Board at Orangeburg, South Carolina, at 9:00 a.m. on Monday, January 11, 1943, for delivery to an induction station. You should bring with you sufficient clothing and personal effects for your immediate needs. Failure to report promptly at the hour and on the day named in this order constitutes a violation of the Selective Training and Service Act of 1940, as amended, and may subject you to fine and imprisonment.

Ike looked at his worried parents. “Mama, Papa, I’m not afraid. Please don’t worry yourselves sick over me. My brothers and other guys from Follyville have gone, and now it’s my turn. I’ll go and do what I’m called to do, and I’ll serve my country the best I can. And whatever happens, we’ll put it in God’s hands. Like you’ve always told me, ‘We are people of faith, and we walk by faith, not by sight.’”

 

I Fear no Evil

 

The evening before Ike left home to report for duty, many family members and friends gathered in the Thompson home to bid him a proper farewell. The house, aglow with the flickering light of kerosene lamps, overflowed with those who came. Although the mood was somber, there was lots of food, and they read Bible verses and sang Gospel songs together. Olivia held back tears as she read from Psalm 23:

“The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want . . . Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.”

Olivia was the last to leave the Thompson home that evening. Ike walked her the short distance home, and as he embraced her at the door, he reminded her, “Everything’s gonna be just fine, now don’t you worry. Just like you read in the Psalm earlier, even the Lord is with us!” After assuring her, Ike pecked her on the cheek and made his way down the steps of the porch. They planned to travel together, and with Ike’s folks, to Orangeburg the following morning for their final farewell. She knew it would probably be one of the most difficult moments of her life, but Ike’s steadfast and positive outlook gave her the strength she needed to face it.

The following morning’s departure and final goodbye were just as heart-wrenching and indeed brought many, many tears. Over and over, Ike repeated the same words to them: “All’s gonna be well! Remember: The Good Shepherd will lead us to green pastures and still waters! I’ll be home again before you all know it!”

“I love you!” he said, and then, with many other draftees, disappeared through the ominous doors of the Selective Service Local Board. They would not see Ike again until a brief week-long home furlough in August of 1944, only a couple of months before his regiment was sent overseas that October, and after that, not until May of 1946, a full year after the war in Europe had come to an end, and more than three years after he first left home on that chilly January morning in 1943.

Most of those long months and years, particularly after he was deployed to Europe, were filled with heartache and worry for Ike’s folks and family members, but most especially for Olivia. In her worst dreams, she imagined she would never see Ike again. She spent many sleepless nights filled with fear and with quite a few very dark thoughts.

Olivia’s greatest consolations during all of that time were the letters Ike sent her. She received them first from Fort Jackson, South Carolina, where Ike was formally inducted into the United States Army. Later, after he was assigned to the 1321st Engineer General Service Regiment, a segregated African American unit, his letters came from Camp Sutton, North Carolina, where the regiment underwent extensive military and engineering training. The letters continued to arrive regularly.

Following extensive training, Ike and his regiment arrived in England in October 1944 and later crossed into France, where the 1321st supported the Allied advance by maintaining and repairing roads and bridges and performing other essential engineering work. The regiment eventually entered Germany during the final weeks of the war in Europe.

Each one of Ike’s letters brought Olivia great consolation and hope. She quickly answered each and every one, and her letters provided Ike with tremendous comfort as well, along with a never-ending supply of news about events and happenings back home in South Carolina, and in particular about the people and goings-on in Follyville.

After the war in Europe ended in May 1945, Ike’s service overseas continued. The 1321st was sent toward the Pacific, eventually reaching Okinawa and then Korea, where the regiment performed additional engineering work during the final months of Ike’s military service. The letters between Ike and Olivia continued throughout that time. In one of the last letters Ike sent Olivia before returning home, he wrote the following:

My Dearest Olivia:

There are just a few words that are of any importance to me in this letter. I love you, and I miss you very much and wish that I were with you now. But I can’t be with you, and that causes me great sadness, at least for now. The only consoling thought is that I will be with you again soon, and then we will be together for the rest of our lives.

That thought gives me great joy, Olivia, even though it’s hard to believe it will be true for us at last. I’m sorry to make this letter so short, Olivia, but I would rather just think about you than write a lot of words that seem so useless to put on paper without being able to say them to you in person.

I love you so very much, Olivia! I think of you always, and about how wonderful it’s going to be when I’m home again and finished with my time in the Army. I can’t wait to see you again. Can’t wait! I love you!

Take care of yourself, and please give my regards to all. God bless you, my love!

With never-ending affection and great love,

Ike

Home at Last

 

After a long military transport trip back to the States, Ike was finally home in South Carolina. The last leg of his journey home was aboard an Atlantic Greyhound bus traveling toward Orangeburg. Ike asked the driver if he wouldn’t mind making an unscheduled stop to let him off on the highway in front of the general store near the lane leading into Follyville.

“Sure, soldier. I’d be more than happy to let you off there,” the driver responded.

At 11:25 a.m. on Wednesday, May 22, 1946, the Greyhound bus pulled onto the shoulder of the highway right in front of Uncle Henry’s Place. The door squeaked as it folded open, and Ike stepped off. The restaurant patrons, seeing who it was, rose from their seats and clapped and hooted loudly.

“Welcome home, Ike!” Henry III shouted enthusiastically from the kitchen window.

As the bus pulled away, Ike’s heart raced with joyful anticipation. He quickly crossed the road and began his walk up the old lane into Follyville. Children playing in the lane knew the man wearing an Army uniform and carrying a large duffel bag was someone important, and so they ran toward him with excitement, eager to welcome him. They had no idea how much joy their greeting brought to Ike at that moment.

Olivia sat on the living room floor with several small children whom she was babysitting. They were all doing their best to make small walls and towers with the colorful building blocks she had given them.

“Try this one. It’s a little bigger,” she said to one of the children who seemed unhappy with his version of the block-building project.

Her Mama Mildred suddenly came bursting through the front door and cheerfully shouted, “Olivia, Ike is coming up the lane! Ike is coming up the lane!”

Olivia jumped to her feet and rushed past her mom, still standing near the doorway. She bounded across the porch, raced down the steps, and ran as fast as she could toward Ike. She first caught sight of him when he was still about a hundred feet away, walking up the lane.

A neighbor, the old widow Mrs. Debbie Thompson, was sitting on her porch a short way down the lane, two houses from the Claytons. As she saw Olivia run past, she stood and looked down the lane, curious about all the commotion.

She shouted after her, “Oh, yeah! I did the same thing when my old man came home from the first big war. You go, sweetheart! Oh Jesus, my Lord, what a joy!”

As Olivia ran a bit farther, she came upon a small flock of chickens that had been pecking at the ground in the lane. Startled by her approach, they fluttered and scattered, squawking as they ran off in every direction.

And then Ike caught sight of her. He dropped his duffel bag and ran toward her with unfettered delight.

Then, right there in the middle of Follyville’s central lane, the two ran into each other’s arms and embraced with ecstatic passion. Holding him tightly, Olivia whispered into his ear, but loud enough for others to hear, “I love you so much! Praise be Jesus, you are home!” Tears flowed freely from them both, tears of relief and absolute jubilation.

The children who had been accompanying Ike up the lane stood aside, all of them smiling widely. Several women who had been nearby, busy with their laundry duties, dropped everything and rushed into the lane to join the others. One of the older children retrieved Ike’s duffel bag and stood by, ready to help carry it the rest of the way home.

Then, as in procession, the whole crowd continued up the lane toward the home of John and Thelma, who by then were also hurrying toward their son.

“Mama, I’m home. I’m home!” Ike cried as he ran into his mother’s warm embrace. Thelma wept with overwhelming joy as she held her son tightly. “My baby’s back! He’s back!” she shouted for all to hear.

John wrapped his arms around them both and, laughing through his own tears, shouted, “Praise the Good Lord! Praise Him! Welcome home, son!”

Before long, many of the people of Follyville arrived at the Thompson home. There, well into the afternoon, they sang songs together, laughed and cried, danced a little, shared food and, most importantly, took time to give thanks and praise to the Lord.

That evening, as the sun set over the horizon, Ike walked Olivia the short distance back to her home. On the porch, as they embraced one last time, Ike whispered into her ear, “I want to marry you, Olivia. Please be my wife!”

Without hesitation, she answered, “Yes, yes, yes!”

 

A Changed Man

 

During the three years Ike was away in the Army, there were no substantial changes to the conditions and way of life in Follyville. The houses still had no electricity, no indoor plumbing, nor telephones. Food was still prepared on wood-burning stoves. Laundry was still done in those large galvanized tubs and then hung to dry on lines between houses and trees. The same tubs were still used to wash vegetables and slaughtered poultry, and families still followed the tradition of taking weekly baths in those same tubs on Saturday evenings with water heated on stoves. Smelly backyard latrines were still the only places families had to relieve themselves. The central lane remained unpaved, dusty or muddy depending on the weather, and it was filled with the same old ruts dug by wagons that still traveled the length of the settlement. Chickens and goats still roamed freely, and children still ran barefoot through those same lanes, playing with sticks and old metal hoops. Still, the only way to get into town was by walking long distances or by hitching a ride on a horse-drawn wagon. The residents still owned no property, and the landlord still controlled many of the necessities upon which their daily lives depended.

Follyville had not changed, but Ike had.

“Olivia, do you remember those days when we were at Wilkinson High? We thought it couldn’t get any better than that. We took the bus to school, sat in classrooms with bright overhead electric lights, had special lavatories just for the boys and the girls, and ate in a real lunchroom. We even had a water fountain in the school hallway. We thought those things were just for kids like us who were lucky enough to go to Wilkinson, and we definitely believed only rich people, and definitely not poor Black folks like us, would ever have anything like those things at home. We knew we were poor, and we were sure we’d always be that way.”

“But Olivia, I now know there’s a whole different wide world out there most of our families and friends would probably never even begin to imagine,” he said to her repeatedly as he told her about the many places he had been. “Even Fort Jackson here in South Carolina, my first stop in the Army, and not all that far from Follyville, had things most people in the world take for granted.”

“They have electric lights inside the buildings, electrical outlets everywhere, clean indoor toilets, and hot and cold running water. Shower rooms where people can bathe every day if they want to, and even special closets with big sinks where you can clean mops, brushes, and brooms. There are electric fans inside buildings to help cool the place in hot weather, and even cold-water drinking fountains all over.

“They have big machines for washing clothes and modern kitchens with gas stoves and all kinds of equipment to make the work easier. All the important roads are paved, and automobiles and buses are used even for everyday traveling from here to there. The mail comes right to the barracks. And on the base, there’s a commissary, a store where you can find just about anything you might ever need, even things we’ve never heard of around here, and nothing seems to cost a fortune.

“And all that is just on a military base. When you get out into the real world, in other parts of the States, in Europe and Asia, you wouldn’t believe some of the things I’ve seen, even in places touched by war!”

“I love my family. I love my friends. I love Follyville. I love Orangeburg. I love South Carolina. I love my country, and I love my God. But here in this place, how many generations of Claytons and Thompsons have lived the same way? And it’s not our fault. We still live like it’s the 1800s. And I think most of our family and friends are perfectly okay with that, but I’m not. And now, I never will be again!”

“When we get married, I want to move away from Follyville, maybe to one of those big cities up north. You know, a lot of Black folks are moving north to find a better life and a higher standard of living. I think that’s the future for us, Olivia. We’ve got to get off this old poor plantation and move to a place where our future kids will have better lives and more chances to make something of themselves in this world.”

Olivia sat quietly for a long time and thought about the things Ike had said.

I’m gonna miss my Mama and my Papa, my family and my friends, and I’m gonna miss the Carolina way of life. But maybe Ike’s right. We’ve gotta consider our own future and the family we hope to build together.

“Please, Ike. I’m gonna need time to think about all this. I’m gonna need some time.”

 

Man and Wife

 

Soon after his return to Follyville, Ike returned to working in the fields with his Papa and other men from the settlement, but after seeing a world beyond cotton, he itched to move on, gain some independence, and find some kind of employment in town. He also wanted to marry Olivia as soon as possible.

And so, the wedding date was set.

At 11:00 a.m. on Saturday, August 17, 1946, nearly everyone from Follyville gathered inside Williams Chapel A.M.E. Church for the big day. It was a simple ceremony. Ike stood at the altar with the church’s pastor and waited patiently for Olivia to appear at the entrance. When she did, she walked down the aisle wearing a beautiful white gown, escorted by her Papa. Ike’s Papa and Olivia’s Mama stood to the side and served as the official witnesses to the marriage.

 

The pastor declared, “By the authority vested in me by the State of South Carolina, I now pronounce you man and wife,” and everyone in the church clapped with exuberant jubilation.

Later, back at Follyville, everyone continued the celebration inside and around the plantation wagon shed, which had been dutifully cleaned and festively decorated for the occasion.

When the newlyweds arrived, after all the others had assembled there, they were invited to jump over a broom placed at the entrance to the shed. “It’s tradition,” they were reminded by the now very elderly Miss Eddy, who had brought the tattered old broom, decorated with white ribbons and bells. Ike and Olivia joyfully complied, held their hands tightly together and made the jump. Then everyone cheered and clapped with jubilation!

And the party began!

Every family of Follyville had contributed food. There were various types of lovingly prepared casseroles, trays of assorted meats, mixed vegetables, cookies and cakes, and of course huge platters filled with Uncle Henry’s special pork fixings. And the celebration went into the night!

 

Moving On

 

Once married, Ike and Olivia moved into a small, mostly run-down house located just off the central lane in Follyville. The house, the former home of the late Mr. Zack Clayton, an elderly widower, had been unoccupied for a number of years. At least temporarily, it was enough for them.

They wouldn’t stay there very long.

During the first week of September 1946, Ike announced to Olivia that he had been offered the type of job for which he had been searching.

“Good news, my love! I’ve been hired by Tri-County Hospital in Orangeburg to work as part of their maintenance staff. I start there on Monday, September 9th, at 5:00 a.m., and I can’t wait! And as soon as we have enough money saved, we’re gonna rent a nice apartment in town too! Now, at least until we do that, I have to figure out how I’m gonna get from Follyville over to the hospital every day by 5:00 a.m., but I’m sure God will provide a way!”

And God did provide a way.

Early one morning a couple of days later, Olivia sent Ike to the Willises’ general store to pick up some eggs, cheese, and milk needed for breakfast. Mr. Willis very cordially greeted him as Ike placed the items on the counter and handed him the cash.

 

“Good morning, Ike. I’m really glad to see you. Olivia told us you’ve gotten yourself a job in town at the hospital, and well, me and the missus were wondering how you plan to get there and back each day, and if you’re interested, we have a solution for you.”

He continued, “My brother-in-law, who recently passed away, left an old 1931 Ford Model A Tudor that’s been sitting in his garage collecting dust for the past four years. I can’t convince my sister to outright give it to you, but she’s willing to let it go for fifty dollars, if you want it. I’m sure it’s gonna need a little work to get it running again, but knowing you, you’ll make that happen. Are you interested?”

“Interested?” Ike practically squealed in a high pitch. “Yes, sir! When and how can we figure out how to go and get it? And thank you so, so much, Mr. Willis. My Mama always talks about how good and Godly you and Mrs. Willis are. ‘Salt of the Earth,’ she always says. And I’ve always known it too. Thank you, thank you!”

The very next morning, a tow truck pulling the old jalopy arrived in front of Jacob Clayton’s blacksmith shop and dropped it off. Mr. Willis, Jacob, John Thompson, and Ike walked around and inspected the car for a few moments. Then Ike opened its creaking door and sat behind the steering wheel, holding on to it like a child with a brand-new toy.

“I love this car!” he proclaimed with utter excitement, as he smiled from ear to ear.

“Papa and Papa Clayton, I probably never told you this, but when I was in the Army, I learned a lot about car engines by hanging around the guys who kept all the Jeeps running. I even helped those guys when I could, and that’s how I learned so much. Sometimes I’d get as much grease on my hands as they had on theirs. I have a feeling we’re gonna get this old Ford running in no time. Matter of fact, I’m sure of it!”

And just two hours later, the car’s engine rumbled and roared, and a big black cloud of smoke poured out of the exhaust pipe. Ike put the car into gear, lifted the clutch, and it rolled a short distance down the highway. Although it stalled very soon after that first start-up, Ike was absolutely sure he would have it running well in no time at all.

He was overjoyed!

 

Tri-County Hospital, Orangeburg

 

Soon after Ike began his job at Tri-County, he began to search for an apartment in town. It wasn’t easy to find a landlord willing to rent to a young, newly married Black couple from “the sticks,” as Follyville was known to most locals.