Follyville, Orangeburg County, South Carolina
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. Uncle Henry’s also served homemade
ice cream, but only in one flavor, vanilla. The ice cream was very popular with
everyone, but especially with the children and teenagers of Follyville. When
available, the Henrys would top the ice cream with flavored syrups and fresh
fruit and serve it in big ceramic bowls they kept just for that purpose.
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
on the patio at Uncle Henry’s Place with other young Follyville residents,
enjoying a little something to eat or indulging in one of Uncle Henry’s famous
ice cream concoctions. If not there, especially on colder nights, they
frequented the Willises’ 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 Johnny and
Milton, Olivia’s brother Georgie, and other boys from Follyville and a few guys
who graduated from Wilkinson High have gone, and now it’s my turn.” Thelma
lifted her handkerchief and wiped more tears from her eyes.
“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. In
fact, there had been little or no change there since its first residents had
lived there many generations earlier. The houses still had no electricity, indoor
plumbing, or 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. Thelma first appeared as
she joyfully led a wedding procession of several sharply dressed small
children, all of whom were Thompson and Clayton family members. After a brief
pause, Olivia walked down the aisle wearing a beautiful white gown, escorted by
Jacob. When they reached the altar, they all gathered around the pastor. John
and Mildred 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 old 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
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.
For the remainder of the time they lived in Follyville, Ike parked the Model
A along the highway next to the blacksmith shop. An attempt to take it up the
Follyville lane would most likely have gotten it stuck in one of those deep
ruts, especially when the lane was filled with mud. He was pretty sure it was
safe out there, especially under the watchful eyes of Uncle Henry, the
Willises, and all the Follyville residents who were always coming and going. Every
day, he said a prayer of thanks to God for the car. It made travel to and from
Orangeburg easy, and the trip usually took no more than fifteen minutes.
In the late afternoon, after work on Friday, December 13, Ike arrived home
in Follyville with some very good news.
“Olivia, I just deposited my latest paycheck, $27.00 this week, at the First
National Bank in Orangeburg, and I’m happy to say that we now have about four
hundred dollars in our account. You remember that I first opened that account
with the five hundred I brought home from the Army, and now, minus all of our
expenses for the past few months, we still have a little nest egg to fall back
on!”
He smiled. “And the better news is, even though it’s been a tough search,
this afternoon I looked at a little apartment over in Orangeburg that’s not far
from both Tri-County and Williams Chapel. Of course, it’s in the Black
neighborhood over there, and I think it’s gonna be perfect for us. And although
it’s twenty-five dollars a month, I’m sure we can handle it. The landlord is
ready and willing to rent to us, and he told me we can move in as soon as we
want. And, thank God, we can still use
the car to get back and forth to Follyville anytime.”
“I wanna go over there with you tomorrow morning to see what you think of the
place, but I’m sure you’re gonna love it. I've got a feeling we're gonna be
celebrating Christmas this year with a little extra joy!"
Olivia hugged Ike lovingly, even
though her feelings were very mixed.
This is for real. I never imagined
living anywhere but home in Follyville. What will Mama say?
Orangeburg
On Saturday morning, Ike and Olivia
drove into Orangeburg to see the apartment. The landlord, Mr. Jackson, met them
on the street and showed them into the building and up to the second floor, where
the small one-bedroom apartment was located.
The walls in the stairwell, and everywhere else throughout the building,
were painted white. Everything appeared perfectly clean and well maintained.
The kitchen was equipped with a medium-sized, shiny white G.E. refrigerator
with a big chrome door handle. Mr. Jackson told them it was “a few years old,
but works really nicely.” He also mentioned there was a small freezer
compartment inside, but that it didn’t “hold much.” Olivia opened the
refrigerator door and felt a gust of cold air.
“Wow,” she said.
There was also a large white porcelain sink with two separate basins side by
side. The cabinet under the sink was covered with a simple flower-patterned
curtain.
“You can wash vegetables and stuff on one side, and use the other side for
dishes or whatever,” Mr. Jackson suggested.
Right next to the sink was a gas stove with four burners and an oven.
“Sometimes you have to get under the hood to relight the pilot, so you gotta
keep an eye on that, but otherwise it’s in perfect condition,” he explained.
There was also a small table with two chairs. There wasn’t room for much
else.
“The previous tenant left the table, but I can get rid of it if you want,”
Mr. Jackson informed them.
“That’s okay, it can stay,” Olivia replied.
Beyond the kitchen, toward the front of the unit, was a small living room
big enough for a couch and perhaps another chair. Two windows looked out to the
street in front.
“The last tenants had a big radio in there, and so if you bring one, there’s
a good outlet right there ready for it,” he continued.
Olivia looked at Ike and smiled at the suggestion of a radio.
Imagine that, she thought.
In the back of the apartment, behind the kitchen, was a bedroom just about
large enough to hold a double bed, but not much else. A window in the bedroom
looked out onto a small grass-covered yard below and an alley where some cars
were parked along its sides.
As Olivia glanced out the window, Mr. Jackson added, “There’s a couple of
wash basins in the basement everyone uses, and the yard has some clotheslines
for drying clothes, but if you want, you can use the line there hooked up to
the window frame.”
The line extended from the window across the yard to a pole on the other
side.
“That makes it a lot easier to bring in the laundry when everything dries,”
Mr. Jackson added. “And heck, you can even do a lot of the laundry right there
in the kitchen sink if you want. Why not?”
Next to the bedroom, a narrow door featuring a frosted glass window led from
the kitchen into a bathroom where there was a large porcelain tub with four
claw-shaped feet. An oval-shaped curtain rod hung from the ceiling above it,
and a strange-looking pipe, ending with something she had only ever seen before
on flower watering cans, extended from the tub fixtures up toward the level of
the rod.
Mr. Jackson reached into the tub, turned on the water, and adjusted a small
valve on the tub fixtures. Suddenly, water began pouring from the strange
fixture overhead and splashing down into the tub.
“That’s a shower,” he said.
Olivia reached in and let the water run over her hand. “We used to have
buckets with sprinkler things like this when we were kids. We’d fill them at
the pump and pour water all over each other, but I’ve never seen anything like
this inside a house. That’s fantastic!”
There was also a toilet with a water tank situated high on the wall above
it, and another large porcelain sink with shiny nickel-colored faucets, one for
hot water and the other for cold.
“Go ahead, turn on the spigot with the letter H imprinted on top. If you
wait a little while, you’ll see that the water goes from lukewarm to hot in no
time,” Mr. Jackson said to Olivia, responding to the curious way she seemed to
be inspecting it.
Olivia turned the faucet and held her hand beneath the rushing water. Soon
thereafter, it became almost too hot to touch.
“That’s amazing,” she said.
After they finished looking at the apartment, Ike told Mr. Jackson they
loved it and that he would soon be in touch with him about the next step.
Once back in the car but before they drove away, Ike asked Olivia, “What do
you think?”
She responded, “I wonder where in that apartment will be the best place for
us to put the Christmas tree?”
Ike looked her in the eyes and said, “I love you!”
Eager for Something Better
They moved into the apartment in
Orangeburg on Wednesday, December 18, 1946, one week before Christmas. As
promised, the first thing Ike did was buy a fresh Christmas tree from members
of the Men’s Club of Williams Chapel, who were selling them at the church. He
put the tree up in the living room, placed a string of colorful light bulbs
around it, and hung some ornaments he had bought from the Willises’ general
store just for the occasion. Ike used the outlet where the former tenants had plugged
in their radio to light the tree.
On that first night in their Orangeburg
apartment, they had only that festively decorated tree, a box of dishes and
kitchenware they had acquired during the previous months while still in
Follyville, the table in the kitchen covered with an embroidered tablecloth
given to them by Jacob and Mildred, a bed they had brought and dressed with
sheets, blankets, and pillows from John and Thelma, and some assorted boxes of
towels, clothes, and personal items, still unpacked.
As they sat together at the table that
evening, they decided not to use the overhead electric lamps while sharing
their first meal together in Orangeburg. Instead, they would dine by the light
of their Christmas tree and the candles of a modest three-pronged candelabra, a
Clayton family heirloom passed down through many generations.
The lights from the tree and flames
from the candles glowed warmly as they enjoyed a simple meal prepared,
packaged, and brought earlier by Ike from Uncle Henry’s Place.
Bowing their heads and joining hands before
eating, they prayed together:
“Good and Gracious God, with love and
gratitude to all who have come before us, we thank thee today for nourishing
our bodies and souls. May this meal, and all of thy marvelous gifts to us,
strengthen us for thy purpose. Through Jesus our Lord and Savior. Amen.”
And they were home!
I Share the
Blood of My Ancestors
The two very quickly adapted to
apartment living and their new way of life. Ike was able to walk to Tri-County
on workdays, while in their home Olivia almost immediately became a daytime
babysitter for children of some of Ike’s coworkers, as well as others from
families at Williams Chapel.
Soon after that first Christmas
there together, they furnished the living room of the apartment with a modest
couch and a matching chair. Against the wall, in the spot where the previous
tenants had a large cabinet-style radio, they placed a small table adorned with
framed family photos and the Clayton family candelabra.
As the months passed, they grew very
accustomed to the modern conveniences they now enjoyed. “I don’t know how I
ever lived without instant hot water in the kitchen, in the bathroom, and for
cleaning,” Olivia would often repeat to Ike and to just about everyone who ever
asked how things were going.
Sometimes, just to entertain
herself, she would simply flick the electric lights on and off, and then do it
again and again. “So amazing!” she would proclaim with childlike fascination.
And Ike often reminded her about
“the wider world out there,” promising even more comforts, wealth, and
happiness. “It’s ours for the taking,” he would say.
Once firmly settled in Orangeburg,
Olivia could not imagine ever living in Follyville again, but she visited
frequently, at least three or four times a week. There was always an important
family or community event that took her out of Orangeburg, onto the highway,
back up the lane, and home to Mama and Papa’s place. Follyville would always be
“in her blood,” as she often assured herself and everyone there.
But she had slowly come to
understand Ike’s passion for “going north.” And her own growing willingness to
consider the idea of making a life with him in that far and distant unknown
place was something she was beginning to recognize.
On Christmas Eve, Wednesday,
December 24, 1947, Ike returned from work at 4:00 p.m., a bit earlier than
usual. As he arrived, Olivia was on the sidewalk chatting with some mothers of
children she had been babysitting that day.
“Merry Christmas,” Ike said to all
of them as he brushed past, carrying a large box in his hands. Although his
words were cheerful, they seemed somewhat abrupt as he quickly vanished through
the apartment building doorway.
One of the mothers rather
observantly said to Olivia, “Oh my, I bet he’s got some kind of special
Christmas gift for you in that big old box, and we caught him red-handed! You
better get up there and see what your sweetheart has for you, Olivia. Merry
Christmas! See you at services tomorrow!”
A short time later, Olivia opened
the door to the apartment and found Ike kneeling on the floor in the living
room, trying to plug in an electrical cord extending from a brand-new Motorola
tabletop radio with a gleaming brown Bakelite cabinet. He had placed it on the
table among the framed photos and the candelabra. There was a huge red ribbon
on top of the radio with a small card that read, “Merry Christmas, my love!”
On the floor around Ike were the
torn-up remains of the box and some packing materials.
“I was trying to get this all set up
before you came back up,” he said, somewhat frustrated but laughing at himself.
With great excitement and joyful
tears welling in her eyes, Olivia dropped to her knees beside Ike, wrapped her
right arm around him, and gently placed her left hand on the intricate face of
the radio.
“Who needs Santa Claus when I have
you, my love! This is something I’ve always dreamed of having, and now we have
it together! Happy, happy Christmas, Ike. I love you!”
Ike turned the power knob on the
radio. After a brief, uncertain silence, a faint glow appeared somewhere within
the cabinet. The radio gradually began to hum, followed by bursts of static.
Ike turned a second knob, and the indicator needle moved slowly along the
numbered dial.
Suddenly, the voice of Gene Autry
came blaring through the speaker. “Here Comes Santa Claus,” one of the most
popular new Christmas songs of the season, filled the room. Still kneeling
together on the floor, Ike and Olivia tightly embraced one another.
“Merry Christmas, my one and only
and forever love,” Ike sweetly whispered into Olivia’s ear as the music
continued to play with words that promised Christmas merriment for all, even
for those who had very little.
Olivia, reacting to the lyrics,
said, “No doubt about it, Ike, we are God’s children, and so we have every
reason to give praise! Thank you, my love, and Merry Christmas to you too!”
The radio quickly became part of the
background and routine of their daily lives. Before anything else each morning,
they would flip on the radio. Daily broadcasts from WRNO in Orangeburg brought
music, newscasts, weather reports, local happenings, and world news into their
apartment and into their daily conversations. In the evenings they would sit
together and often listen to news broadcasts from near and far that Ike
cleverly tuned in as he moved the radio’s indicator to various spots on the
dial.
The radio brought them news about
the unstable situation in Europe, particularly about tensions between the
Western powers and the Soviet Union, the spread of Communism, and what had come
to be called “the Cold War.” The news often focused on reports from Europe, the
Pacific, and Asia, and the rebuilding of a world in many places devastated by
the recent World War.
Then, on Friday evening, January 30,
1948, as Ike and Olivia were listening to Lowell Thomas’s 6:45 daily radio
newscast, they heard awful news from India. Mahatma Gandhi, the Indian
nationalist leader and advocate of nonviolence, had been assassinated. It
seemed to them the world had not learned from the tragedy of war, and that
violence would never cease.
“We still have a lot of work to do
in this world, right, Ike?” Olivia somberly said as Thomas concluded his
newscast.
“Sure do,” he responded, sighing
deeply as he did so.
One Monday morning in late February
1948, after Ike had left for work at Tri-County, Olivia cleaned the apartment
and prepared for the arrival of the children she would be babysitting that day.
The radio playing in the background filled the apartment with cheer. Olivia
hummed along with song after song as she went about her preparations.
Suddenly, her attention was captured
by an old favorite, Nat Shilkret and the Victor Orchestra’s recording of “The
Sidewalks of New York,” featuring vocalist Lewis James. As James sang about the
East Side and West Side of New York, Olivia’s thoughts raced to Ike’s
well-known desire to move away from South Carolina.
She hadn’t forgotten his idea about
relocating to a big city up north, and his hope that they might find a better
life and a higher standard of living, “like many Black folks are doing,” he
would say.
Thoughts of South Carolina,
Orangeburg, Follyville, and the Thompsons and Claytons raced through her mind.
I share the blood of my ancestors,
and they will always be with me. That can never change.
She stopped what she was doing as
the song came to an end and the next one began.
New York City.
She smiled to herself.
Maybe Ike’s right. I think the time has come.
Northern Bound
At eleven o’clock on Easter Sunday
morning, March 28, 1948, Ike and Olivia attended services at Williams Chapel.
That morning, more than on most Sundays, the church was overflowing with
worshipers, at least half of whom had roots or relations in Follyville and had
come to celebrate the Risen Jesus. All were dressed in their best church
clothes and shoes, the men with jackets and ties, the women with fancy and
elaborate Easter hats and colorful dresses. Children with fresh, sharp haircuts
sported brand-new Sunday-go-to-church clothes and shoes. The Lord had truly
Risen!
At the conclusion of the service,
the pastor once more stood at the pulpit and offered a few more words.
“My dear brothers and sisters, as we
know, this Easter Sunday also marks a new beginning for two of our dearest
Williams Chapel family members. Tomorrow morning, as our faith continues to
bask in the glory of the Risen Lord, our dear Ike and Olivia will begin a new
life as they put their faith in Jesus and follow a new road on their journey.
They will now join some of our other courageous family members who have, like
Moses and the Israelites before them, gone in search of a new and blessed
Promised Land up north. Safe travels, Ike and Olivia. The City of New York
awaits you, and may God bless you there with the new and better life you seek!
Please join me in prayer over our brother Ike and our sister Olivia as we
entrust them to the Risen Lord’s care and blessing . . .”
After the service, as Ike and Olivia
greeted family and friends outside the church, they were showered with warm
farewells and questions about where they were headed. Ike answered a lot of
questions from a group of men about their immediate plans once they reached New
York.
“We have some Clayton cousins,
Isaiah and Bertha, who moved from Follyville to Brooklyn a couple of years ago.
They have an apartment in an area of the city known as Bedford-Stuyvesant, and
they’ve helped us find an apartment on the same block where they themselves
live. If all goes as planned, we will have a place to live as soon as we get
there. Thanks to them!”
The next morning at 6:00 a.m., the
old 1931 Ford Model A Tudor was packed and ready to go. Among the most
important items they carried with them were the old Clayton candelabra, the
tablecloths and linens given to them by their folks, and, of course, the
Motorola tabletop radio Ike had wrapped in a blanket and boxed up with care.
After driving away from Orangeburg that morning, their first stop on the
journey was Follyville.
At 6:20 a.m., Ike pulled the car
into a spot in front of Jacob’s blacksmith shop. The family had hoped to join
together under Uncle Henry’s patio that morning for a send-off breakfast, but
the weather didn’t cooperate. At that hour, it was damp and cold outside, with
the temperature hovering just above freezing. But the Willises had come early
that day for the send-off and, anticipating the cold, had happily opened the
store, fired up the old gas furnace, and set up some folding tables and chairs
near the pinball machines and radio. Then, inside the store, everyone was able
to enjoy the home-style breakfast feast Uncle Henry, Thelma, and Mildred had
prepared.
Mrs. Willis made room on the store’s
counter for the grand spread of steaming hot grits, scrambled eggs, country
ham, bacon and sausage, cornbread, hot biscuits, gravy, butter and preserves,
fresh milk, and lots of hot coffee. There was more than enough to eat for
everyone who came.
They stayed about an hour, and
before they left, some of the women busied themselves wrapping and bagging most
of the leftover food to send on the journey with them. Olivia knew the
abundance of leftovers would be more than she and Ike would ever need, but she
also knew her family’s customs and traditions and didn’t dare refuse any of it.
Before the goodbyes became
emotional, and as everyone prepared for the inevitable, Mr. Willis stood and
said a few words.
“Ike and Olivia, I’ve known you both
since you were still in diapers, and Mrs. Willis and I think of you as our own
family members. We’re going to miss you terribly, and we hope, no doubt like
everyone else, that when possible you will come home to visit. I hope you don’t
mind, but I picked up a little book for you and Olivia that might be helpful on
the journey.”
He presented them with a copy of the
1948 Negro Motorist Green Book.
“I think this might be a valuable
resource for you, Ike. It lists hotels, tourist homes, service stations,
restaurants, and other businesses from here to New York where Black travelers
can find accommodations. Sad to say, Ike, but you won’t likely find a welcome
everywhere you go. Please be sure the prayers of all of us in the Willis family
go with you too.”
Everyone left the general store
together and crossed the highway to the car parked beside the blacksmith shop.
Before Ike and Olivia got in, they spent some time hugging and kissing everyone
goodbye. John and Thelma stood close to Jacob and Mildred. Both couples wrapped
their arms tightly around their spouses, while both Mamas fought back tears and
tried as best they could to maintain brave smiles.
Then they huddled together in a
close circle: John and Thelma, Jacob and Mildred, Ike and Olivia. Everyone else
gathered in a second circle behind and around them, and spontaneously they
began to sing the hymn, “Guide Me, O Thou Great Jehovah.”
“Guide
me, O thou great Jehovah,
Pilgrim
through this barren land . . .”
They sang through all the verses,
and after the song ended, they continued to stand together quietly for what
seemed a small eternity. Then they broke into the following words together:
Our
Father which art in heaven, hallowed be thy name.
Thy
kingdom come, Thy will be done in earth, as it is in heaven.
Give
us this day our daily bread.
And
forgive us our debts, as we forgive our debtors.
And
lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil:
For
thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory, forever. Amen.
Ike cleared his throat. “Mama and
Papa Thompson, Mama and Papa Clayton, the time has come for us to say goodbye.
But you can be sure that we love you more than you know, and that our families
and homes in Follyville will always be at the center of our hearts.”
Through tears and some genuine
laughter and kind words, they all hugged and kissed again, and soon thereafter
Ike and Olivia were back on the highway and heading north.
Olivia turned and looked out the
back window of the car as it moved slowly away from Follyville. Wiping tears
from her eyes, she proclaimed to Ike, “We share the blood of our ancestors, and
they will always be with us. That can never change.”
A long silence followed.
On the Road
For the journey north, Ike had told
Olivia if everything went as planned, they would be on the road for about three
days, traveling well over a hundred miles each day before reaching New York
City. He had specific goals for the route they would take, the distances they
would travel, and possible places where they might find overnight
accommodations along the way.
Their first hope was to travel north
from Orangeburg to Summerton, South Carolina, where they would pick up U.S.
Route 301, and spend the night in Ettrick, Virginia, a small town between
Petersburg and Richmond. Ike knew of a Black boarding house run by a Mrs. Agnes
Marietta, located in Ettrick. He had phoned Mrs. Marietta a few days earlier,
as their travel plans were being finalized, and confirmed their intention to
arrive at her place before 9:00 p.m. on Monday, March 29.
“Well, alright, darling,” she had
kindly responded before the call ended.
Ike had told Olivia, “It’s important
that we make it as close as possible to Richmond.” And that was their
destination for their first day on the road. From there, they would leave U.S.
301 behind and follow U.S. Route 1 north through Washington and Baltimore and
all the way to New York.
Somewhere near Petersburg, Virginia,
after they had traveled more than three hundred miles and had been on the road
for about ten hours, they began to hear a disturbing grinding sound coming from
somewhere in the car’s engine. Ike’s first reaction was to simply hope for the
best and ignore the strange noise, but not long after, the engine began running
noticeably hotter. Then they both smelled something unusual and saw steam
rising from beneath the hood.
“Oh my gosh, Ike, are we gonna catch
on fire?” Olivia asked with great alarm.
Ike, although trying to keep calm
and reassuring, responded, “Oh, Lord, this doesn't look good, but I’m sure it’s
not the end of the world. Don’t worry, Olivia. I’ll pull over at the next
service station and we’ll have someone take a look at it, and I don’t doubt
we’ll be back on the road in no time.”
Soon thereafter, Ike pulled the old
car into a Gulf service station along U.S. 301. He knew they were fairly close
to their Ettrick destination, but they simply couldn’t go any farther with the
engine failing as it was. It was about 6:00 p.m. After stopping the car and
shutting off the engine, Ike cautiously lifted the hood. He immediately saw
water dripping steadily beneath the front of the engine and suspected the
problem might be with the water pump.
Holding his chin in his hand, Ike
contemplated the problem for a moment and shook his head.
Oh my, sometimes things just aren’t easy, he thought to himself. “Olivia, something's gone wrong with
the car’s cooling system. We're not driving this thing any farther for the
moment, but don’t worry, sweetheart, all will be well. I promise.”
Then a very friendly station
attendant walked over to the car and asked, “Hey, my name is Timothy O’Connor,
but everybody calls me Tim. Can I help you?” Tim was a short, freckle-faced
young man with bright red hair and appeared to Ike to be about the same age as
he and Olivia. He joined Ike as he peered into the engine compartment beneath
the raised hood of the car. Olivia had stepped out and was standing off to the
side, anxiously looking about with her arms crossed over her chest. After
inspecting the engine for a few minutes, Tim confirmed Ike’s suspicion.
“For sure, you've got a bad water
pump, and she’s leaking pretty badly. I can fix it for you, but I don't have
the parts here this evening. But I’m sure I can get it done for you first thing
in the morning.”
“Ugh, tomorrow morning?” Ike asked
with obvious desperation.
“My friend, I’m so sorry, but that’s
the best I can promise, and I sure wouldn't drive this beauty of a car any
farther tonight, that’s for sure.” Then, without saying another word, Tim
quickly disappeared through the wide-open doors of the station’s car service
shop and garage.
“Olivia, it looks like we are stuck
here just where we’ve stopped,” Ike announced with a rather melancholic voice.
“I think we now have to come up with some type of plan for what to do for the
night. So much for making it to Mrs. Marietta’s place. I guess if we have to,
we can sleep in the car. I’m just not sure what to do right now.”
“Ike, I think we are in luck,” she
responded. “While you and the gas station guy were looking at the car, I
noticed a motel just down the road from here with a flashing sign that says
‘VACANCY.’ Can you see it?” she asked him confidently, pointing in that
direction. She was sure an easy answer to their lodging problem was right in
front of them.
“Thanks be to God,” Ike responded.
“Let’s get over there and get ourselves a room. It’s been a long day, and now,
especially with our little car issue, we really need all the rest we can get.
And thank God, too, the motel is so close to the service station. Yes, luck is
surely on our side after all, Olivia!”
They retrieved some small travel
bags from the car, as well as another containing some leftover breakfast foods
from that morning, and then walked the short distance to the motel. It was 7:00
p.m. Within minutes, they walked through the doors leading into the motel
reception office and were greeted by a very obese, tired-looking gentleman. He
was sitting in a wooden desk chair behind a wide, nearly chest-high counter
covered in pale-green laminate that stretched across most of the small office.
Without getting up, he peered over his eyeglasses and a newspaper he had been
reading and, almost as if astonished to see them, said, “Can I help you
somehow?”
Olivia’s eyes were drawn to a couple
of plaques on the wall behind him, one of which read, “Our Chamber of Commerce
Welcomes You!”
“Good evening, sir,” Ike responded
to the man. “We’ve been traveling all day, and unfortunately have had some car
trouble that can’t be resolved ’til the morning. So, we’ll need a room for just
one night, as we’re definitely planning to be back on the road as soon as
possible in the morning.”
“I’m sorry, you said you need a
room?” the man asked as if confused. “Truth is, man, we don’t have any rooms
available right now.”
“But the sign outside says
‘VACANCY,’” Ike responded with a similar sense of confusion.
“Oh yes, that’s right,” the man
responded, “but those vacant rooms are already promised to others. We don’t
have rooms here for . . . for . . . you.”
Ike and Olivia looked at each other
with sadness and a clear understanding of the obviously hostile reception and
blunt words the man had spoken.
“We understand,” Ike said to the man
before he and Olivia turned to walk out the doors they had entered so
confidently just minutes earlier.
They
walked back to the service station and to their car without saying a word.
When
they arrived back at the service station, Tim approached them and said, “I’m
sorry I missed you before you left here earlier. I was in the back room of the
shop searching all around, hoping against hope that maybe I had the parts after
all that I need to fix your car. But, unfortunately, we don’t have them
anywhere. You guys got away from here so quickly, I didn’t even know which way
you went.”
“Oh,
we were just seeing if we could get a room at that motel down the road, but
they told us none were available,” Ike answered.
“No
surprise,” Tim responded. “But I think I might have a solution for you, and you
won’t need to sleep in your car or anything like that.”
“Tell
me, please,” Ike said, almost as if begging.
“There’s
a Black boarding house not too far from here over in Ettrick, run by an old
widow named Mrs. Marietta. Me and the boss here have sent other folks there,
and we have a good rapport with her. I’m sure she’ll take you in for the night
if you want. I already called Miss Agnes to be sure she has space. She does,
and I’d be happy to give you a lift over there. No doubt the boss will let me
take a little time away from the station to help you. After all, my boss has a
heart of gold, and there are two of us on duty at the pumps anyway this
evening. No problem!”
Ike
laughed out loud. “Mrs. Marietta? Tim, you are a gift from God! That’s where we
were headed in the first place!”
“Let’s go then,” Tim gleefully
proclaimed. “I’m just sorry I didn’t think quick enough earlier to suggest it.”
The three of them squeezed together
onto the wide bench seat of the station’s tow truck, and twenty minutes later,
Tim dropped them off at the boarding house and wished them a good night’s rest.
But before leaving, he added, “I
tell you what. I’m gonna get those parts for the car first thing in the morning
and have that old Ford up and running well in no time. Then I’ll come back over
here and pick you up, so you don’t have to worry about how to get back to the
station. I think it’s possible to get you back on the road no later than 10:00
a.m., but just in case, I’ll call Miss Agnes in the morning to keep you guys
posted, okay? Oh, by the way, it’s nice to meet you guys!”
Mrs. Marietta’s boarding house was
an old two-and-a-half-story Victorian-style building featuring fancy cornices
and a gabled slate roof. A wide front porch wrapped around the front and sides
of the house. Several rocking chairs were arranged along the porch, and on one
side hung a two-seat porch swing. Mrs. Marietta opened the front door and
welcomed Ike and Olivia into a beautifully appointed entrance hall featuring a
wide wooden stairway with an ornately carved banister. It was a gorgeous old
mansion.
“Please, call me Miss Agnes, like
everyone else does,” she insisted as she shook their hands.
“I hear you had a little trouble
getting here this evening,” she said with some concern. “But thank the Good
Lord you made it before nine o’clock as you had hoped. Now, it’s time to get
you settled in your room, and then to get you back down here to the dining room
for a nice Virginia-style supper. I’ve been warming on the stove some fried
chicken, collard greens, mashed potatoes with gravy, biscuits with butter,
coffee, and sweet potato pie, just for you!”
“I’m giving you the best room in the
house.” Miss Agnes led them to the second floor and to a beautifully decorated,
large bedroom. It had a canopied double bed, two sitting chairs, a dresser with
an ornate mirror attached, a tall wardrobe, and a small writing desk. There
were framed prints on the finely wallpapered walls depicting various types of
agricultural scenes. A large and ornate fireplace dominated one of the walls,
and on the mantel was an antique clock that chimed very softly on the quarter
hour. The room was marvelous.
“The washroom is just down the hall
to the right,” she informed them. “And if necessary, there’s also a small
powder room on the first floor under the stairway,” she added, with gentle
humor in her voice.
After they placed their bags in the
room, Miss Agnes immediately escorted them to the dining room, where a large
table was ready for them with two place settings at one end.
“Now, you two darlings sit
yourselves down, and I’ll be right back with your supper. You’re gonna love
what’s served, I promise!”
The following morning, as Olivia
woke, she opened her eyes to find Ike awake and looking into hers. “I love you,
sweetheart,” he said, and then, after a brief pause, added, “Good morning!”
Olivia, nearly whispering,
responded, “I love you more!” They remained still and quiet for a few minutes,
and then Olivia added, “Miss Agnes is sweeter than sweet, and this is the most
beautiful house I’ve ever slept in. God has been good to us, Ike!” The clock
chimed softly. It was 8:30 a.m.
A short time later, they arrived in
the dining room to find several other guests seated at the table eating
breakfast and engaged in lively conversation. They all stood to welcome Ike and
Olivia, shared their names, and expressed their happiness in meeting them.
Within minutes, as she had done just
a short time earlier with the others at the table, Miss Agnes served the two a
hearty breakfast of scrambled eggs, sausages, home fries, and grits. She also
gave them glasses filled with orange juice and poured freshly brewed coffee
into their cups. The meal, the company at the table, and the friendly breakfast
conversations with the others were delightful.
Although out of sight, a phone rang
in the adjacent kitchen. Miss Agnes answered, and after obviously listening
intently to whatever the caller had to say, she could be heard responding with
excited words and a bit of pleased laughter.
“Okay, I’ll tell them the good
news,” she was heard to say before the call ended.
She came into the dining room and
announced to the whole group, “Praise the Good Lord, Ike and Olivia’s car is
back in service! Timmy will be here by 9:45 to pick you up, my darlings!”
By 10:45 that morning, Ike and
Olivia were back in the old 1931 Ford Model A Tudor and once again headed north
on U.S. Route 301. Before departing the Petersburg and Ettrick area, they had
thanked Miss Agnes profusely for her wonderful hospitality, and although they
tried, they didn’t have enough words of gratitude to shower upon Tim for all of
his kindness, professionalism, and decency as a human being. Ike did, however,
give him a generous tip after settling the repair bill with him. Tim’s parting
words were, “May the Lord bless you and keep you, my friends! Give my regards
to New York when you get there. Someday, I hope to see the city myself and
maybe take in one of those Broadway shows, and of course, visit St. Patrick’s
Cathedral!”
As they drove away, the traffic
caused them to inch slowly past the motel near the service station. A teardrop
fell from Olivia’s eye.
At that moment, Olivia burst out
saying, “Hey, Ike, remember that national hero Mahatma Gandhi who they killed
in India a couple of months ago? I bet he wouldn’t have been able to get a room
in that stupid motel either. Just saying . . .”
Then, without continuing to share
her thoughts aloud, she thought, We still
have a lot of work to do in this world, right, Ike?
On to Baltimore and Beyond
“Olivia, we have to make it to
Baltimore, Maryland, today, but don’t worry. We don’t have to drive as far
today as we did yesterday after we left Orangeburg. It’s just that from now on,
for a lot of the way to New York, at least after we get into Northern Virginia
and Washington, we are going to be going through much more populated areas with
a lot more traffic lights and traffic. You’ll see,” Ike announced once they
finally moved beyond the heavy traffic of Richmond and onto the open road.
It then took them a few hours to
drive through the rest of the Commonwealth of Virginia, much of the way through
rural farmland and forests. Once through Fredericksburg and finally through
Alexandria, Virginia, they crossed the Highway Bridge over the Potomac River
and continued onto 14th Street in Washington, D.C. As they entered the center
of the District of Columbia, the Nation’s Capital, both of them were amazed by
the sight of the dome of the Jefferson Memorial, the height and majesty of the
Washington Monument, the brief glimpse they had of the dome of the United
States Capitol Building in the distance, and the hustle and bustle of the city in
general.
Departing the Nation’s Capital city,
they first passed through College Park, Maryland, then Laurel and Elkridge, and
after a stretch of U.S. Route 1 that went through Howard County, Maryland, they
drove through a small section of Baltimore County, Maryland, and then finally
over the city line into Baltimore City.
“An interesting piece of trivia,
Olivia,” Ike mentioned as they crossed from Baltimore County into Baltimore
City in an area known as Lansdowne. “Even though they share the same name and a
lot of common history, Baltimore City and Baltimore County are two completely
separate jurisdictions. The city isn’t even part of the county. Maryland has
twenty-three counties and Baltimore City, which pretty much functions as if it
were a twenty-fourth county. One of my Army buddies was from Baltimore City,
and believe me, he never shut up about it! So since we’re here now, I thought
you’d need to know too.”
They continued into the city along
Washington Boulevard, one of the important avenues of approach into Baltimore.
Their travel destination in
Baltimore on that Tuesday was Mrs. Etta S. Watson’s Tourist Home, located at
340 Bloom Street, just a block south of North Avenue in West Baltimore. U.S.
Route 1, in that area, was known as North Avenue, and it would be their route
out of the city the following morning.
Mrs. Etta’s place, although clean
and welcoming, had none of the grandeur of Miss Agnes’ boarding house. It was
located in an apartment building and, while more than sufficient for a restful
night’s sleep, it was somewhat small and cramped.
“I have no complaints,” Ike
proclaimed as they packed up to depart the tourist home the following morning.
“God is good, and we know it!”
Ike turned the key, and the engine
of the car started. “God is good,” he repeated.
“Amen, brother!” Olivia replied with
vigor, as if at a revival at Williams Chapel. And then up to North Avenue, over
to Belair Road, and toward New York they went.
Turning left from North Avenue, they
traveled north on U.S. 1, a busy avenue in the city called Belair Road. The
route was laden with streetcar tracks and vehicles, with lots of shops and
pedestrians along its commercial hubs. Reaching an area along the way called
Overlea, just a few short miles from North Avenue, they crossed the city line
again and once again, as they had while approaching the south side of Baltimore
the day before, drove through a section of the separate jurisdiction of
Baltimore County. Soon thereafter, they drove into the small town of Bel Air,
and then a little farther north crossed the impressive structure of the
Conowingo Dam, a hydroelectric dam stretching from one side to the other of the
broad and mighty Susquehanna River. Before they knew it, they crossed the state
line into Pennsylvania and drove through the small town of Nottingham.
“Olivia, did you see that sign a
little while back that said, ‘Welcome to the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania’? Did
you know that just like Virginia, and I think a couple of other states, they
call themselves a Commonwealth here? Anyway, think about it, our trip has now
taken us from South Carolina, through North Carolina, Virginia, Washington,
D.C., Maryland, and now Pennsylvania. We’ve been in five different states and
the Nation’s Capital, and we still have two more states to go!”
Philadelphia
