Henry Clay aka George Washington Claridy
I
was bo'n in Centerpoint, Howard County, Arkansas, October 5, 1853, so dey tel
me; dats all I know'd 'cep' what dey tel me for de truth.
Well,
its kinda surprise for someone to come around to talk to me. I never gits to
talk to anybody much; folks don't care nothing bout me; dey all calls me de
drunkard, gambler, horse thief and murderer. I'se been practically all dem
things to. I'se been a wicked man ever since my first wife died. I confessed
religion in 1863 and lived like a gentleman until de death of my wife; den I
felt lak everything I had was gone so I jes started getting drunk, gambling and
raising hell. I'se never fooled with any woman to mount to nothin since my wife
died; I jes got drunk, gambled and forgot about de women.
I've
made lots o' money gambling and selling whiskey. I've seed de time when I could
write a check for five thousand dollars any day. Cose I ain't got nothin' now.
Jes lak I made it I let it get away from me, jes dat quick. I got in jail once
bout some whiskey. I had a fellow to build me a barn right dare on dat corner,
(1st and Central) and underneath dat barn I had him to build a place for me to
hide my whiskey. I done good business for a long time den I decided to have me a
house build so got dis same fellow dat built de barn to figger wid me on de
house. Well, he knew I had plenty money so he tried to skin me, so I got anudder
fellow and he figured de house three hundred dollars cheaper. Well, I let him
build it for me.
Now
here's what happened: dat other low down rat, jes cause I wouldn't let him skin
me out o' my money he went to the sheriff's office and told him about dis place
he built fo me to keep my whiskey. Well, de sheriff come out dere and began to
look around fo de stuff and when he found de place, it was locked in. He told me
to unlock it and he would tare de place up, pore out de whiskey, and let me go.
Cose you know I was lak most Niggers would be wid a little money; I cussed him
out, told him dat was my place and he better not put his dam hand on it. He
didn't say a word; he jes went back got some mo fellows and dey come dere, broke
dat place open and carried away seven hundred and seventy-five dollars worth of
whiskey for me.
Well
dey put me in jail and I stayed dere one hundred and fifteen days. It cost me a
lot o' money to keep from going to the penitentiary. I gave ole Norman Pruitt
nigh five thousand dollars to git me out of it.
Ah! kid, I tel yo I am George
Washington Claridy; I'se been into a little o' everything; I know de ropes.
Cose dey call me a murderer, but I ain't never killed nobody. De jes put dat on
to it case I'se such a wicked fellow. I ain't no count now. I'se such a wicked
fellow. I ain't no count now. I jes drag around; I don't ask nobody fo nothin'.
I ain't never a asked anybody for a dime in my life. I gits a little $21.50
check from de pension folks each month and I makes dat last me.
Now you want me to tell you somethin'
about slavery times: sorry I got away from you in de beginning, but I jes lak to
tel folks de kind o' life I've lived.
Well,
my father and mother was named Cats and Clarenda Claridy. Dey came
from
We
were good livers on plantation, ole Master laked us a lot. He let us live in de
best house on de plantation. It was as good as a lot o' dese little shacks you
see over here now. De beds was alright; cose we slept on straw mattresses but
dat didn't make no diffunce to us; dey slept mighty fine.
Well, I don't recollect nothin' bout
my grandmother, only a little dat my grandfather told me. Now, I know a lots
bout him cose we stayed on with ole Master for six months after freedom den we
started to workin on halves for a nudder fellow down there in Arkansas. We
started out hoping dat we would soon be able to buy us a farm of our own, so we
began saving every dime we could git our hands on, and we did dat for eight
years, den my grandpa got down wid de rheumatism. Dere was a ole lady in dat
country dat was a good doctor fo dat kind a stuff; so we sent for her.
She
came over dere and doctored on my grandpa and it seemed to have done lots o'
good; so after dat, we would send for her every two or three days, and he kept
on getting better and better. Now we jes kept our money in a sack hanging on de
wall and every time she came, I would git de sack off of de wall, pay her and
put it back. So finally, one day after Pa had got up enough to walk and thought
he could make it alright from then on. We decided we would go out and git the
ole lady some vegetables to take home wid her. While we were gone, I be-doggone
if that ole lady didn't git that sack and we haven't seen or heard from her
since. We had purty near a thousand dollars in that sack too.
Wel,
I'll tell you how I feel bout religion. Now I jined the church once, but I soon
found out dat most o' de folks in dere didn't have religion, even de preacher.
De biggest thing they want is money. Since I'se found dat out de only thing I do
is read my Bible every day and try to treat my fellow man right; cose I tel you
I don't believe in dis here singing and shouting on Sunday and raising de devil
wid yo neighbor on Monday.
I
neber did no nothin bout Abraham Lincoln, Jeff Davis and dem
fellows. I jes heard bout 'em. Cose dey was mighty big men from what I could
hear.
Wel, I'll tell we lived mighty good in
slavery time days, dat is, our family did, but, even at dat price, I would hate
to have to go over it again; yes sir I sho' would.
Transcribed
and submitted by Laurel Darden