Out of Alabama, Into Mississippi: A Tale of Love and Sacrifice

Out of Alabama, Into Mississippi

Out of Alabama, Into Mississippi:

A Tale of Love and Sacrifice

A strong family that lives together shares love together.

By Terry Winfred Williamson

© 2024 by Terry W. Williamson

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

ISBN: 979-8-35098-219-0

Contents

Introduction

Boy Meets Girl and Gets Hitched

Sooie! Sooie! How Many Pigs Do You Own?

Don’t be Afraid of the Choo-Choo

Giddy Up! Whoa!

The Williamsons

Toys We Never Had

My Big Brother Alvin

The Pastor, Jack

The Transition to the North

School #1

The Angel of Death

The Four P’s

Schools and Education

The St. John’s Nazarites

A Trip to Michigan

Music Carries Words

What’s the West Coast Like?

The Assault on South Pearl Street—February 22, 2022

A Strong Family That Lives Together Shares Love Together

Conclusion

Acknowledgments

Special Thanks to the Five Females in My Life

About the Author

Gratitude to the Following People and Organizations

Formal Recognition/Citation

Introduction

My name is Terry Winfred Williamson. I’m a twin, and we are Libras, sons of a sharecropper from the Deep South. I love adventure and excitement; taking long journeys is something my twin and I loved as we grew up. My family had to endure many sacrifices during our stay in the South. We all had our hard times dealing with the struggles, the bigotry, prejudice, and jealousy from the white man, which made our lives a living nightmare in the early 1960s. The words boy and nigger were unpleasant words for us as little boys. My older brother Alvin hated those words with a passion. You will soon see, how his feelings became a great part of what we had to endure. The white man gave my older brother a hard time, and even their children called us those names with smiles on their faces as they laughed at us with pointing fingers—it was so degrading. Treating us like unwanted trash. We never played with white kids in our town, not even out in the country. It got to the point that something had to change before real trouble commenced. My parents had to get Alvin out of this one-stoplight town, with no time to spare. Making a transition to the North was my parents’ only option. The North changed our lives. We settled in the city of Albany, New York. The school system there gave me a great education; I earned my associate degree in the culinary arts. Get ready as I take you on a magnificent adventure of my life’s experience, in the form of words. My greatest hope is that my story touches you: the joy, sadness, drama, comedy, murder and suspense, and some lifesaving situations. Finally,… on to a wonderful love story. Remember, Life is short, but death is sure. Stay safe, and may God continue to bless us all.

T.T.F.N.

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ONE

Boy Meets Girl and Gets Hitched

I was born and raised in a small one-stoplight town called Waynesboro, a town where I was certain to make the expression, Boys will be Boys (repeated often by my mom) live up to its very description. It is a key factor in all that I am expressing and sharing with you and will keep you on the edge of your seat. So much so, that you may have problems putting this book down. There will be some twist and turns, mysteries and revelations; however, no matter which direction you’re taken, it will not let you down.

In looking back,  I now realize that my twin and I were a gift, a blessing given to our parents from God. Remember my mantra—"A strong family that lives together shares love together"—this simple message: this story is for everyone near and far, especially for my own family. My family’s history starts in the state of Alabama, ending in the state of Mississippi. My grandparents were born here during the midst of slavery, during the sharecropping period, working for the white man, sometimes as field hands and sometimes as a stable boy. Although it’s very painful to know my grandparents were born and raised during slavery, the most delightful aspect of their story that I’d like to share with you is about my wonderful mother, Velma Davis, "a tall, slim, beautiful black woman" with self-discipline and a determined mind: characteristic of that Choctaw Indian blood, just like her mom. My brother Alvin told us as little boys, our mom would not hesitate to reach for the shot-gun when needed, and she wouldn’t be hesitant to use it as well. My father was aware of that; he made sure he didn’t make our mom upset in and around the house. Her focus: the ten siblings and their education and well-being, striving for a better life in the Deep South. Making a brighter future for the whole family; demonstrating that "A strong family that lives together shares love together." She took charge of our family back in the early sixties; she’s number one in my book. Way to go, Mom! She was born and bred in the northern part of the good old state of Alabama in a small county town called Choctaw County. She was the middle child of several brothers and sisters. My mom’s parents had a large house, with several large rooms for everyone to share. One thing is for sure, they weren’t farmers. I’m not sure of the means of their income, but they didn’t struggle. I wonder if they had a car or maybe just a horse and wagon. The Davis family during this time considered themselves middle class, and they carried themselves in the same manner. They all went to school at some point or another. I know my mom attended school, but what grade she completed, that, I’m not sure. I do know she was smart just like the rest of her family.

I don’t know when or how my grandparents managed the hard times during that period. One thing is for sure—they all were Alabamians. It was before the period of the 1920s, and during this time my parents were born. My mom was born on September 28, 1919, and my dad on August 27, 1917. They both lived and grew up in the state of Alabama until young adulthood. Later, my mom would devise a plan that would change the lives of those two young people forever.

That change would involve eloping and

crossing that mysterious Choctaw County line. This would turn out to be one of the best love stories ever lived. My mom is very smart and had a strong will and determination to boot. Here’s two young people making plans to one day cross over the state lines from the state of Alabama into the state of Mississippi (making me part Mississippian, and part Alabamian) just to make a better life for themselves. Looking back, I now have a clearer understanding of the hard times they had to endure. But look at the Williamson’s and Davis’s today, they are all doing well! I’m glad I had the opportunity to share this phenomenal history with my four sons.

Figure 1 Choctaw County Line

At an early age, I do remember some of my mom’s brothers and sisters. I remember Uncle Jack—I’m not sure if he was one of the oldest ones or not, there’s Uncle Herman the contractor and builder of homes, and Uncle J.C. He was the quietest one in the family. My mother’s sisters, as far as I can remember some of their names … there was Aunt Betsy and Aunt Irma Dee. They were all still living at home at the time with their parents, Vaden and Mary, during this time. We all know how parents are when it comes to their children, and they were very strict and protective, especially of their young girls.

My dad’s name is Andrew, he was also born and bred in the small country town called Deer Park in the southern part of the state of Alabama, and he was also a son of sharecroppers. Some folks had the tendency to look down on people who worked in the fields, but my dad had no care in the world. He was just a hard worker; he worked very hard every day.

My dad comes from a large family as well, there were ten brothers and sisters. On the boys’ side, not in any order—though I do believe my father was the second oldest—were

Dan, Michael, Andrew, Stan, Jim boy, and Uncle James. Later, you will see why Uncle James was my favorite.

They lived in this old, rusty house of a shack with no more than three rooms; the size of the rooms, I’m not sure. But there was room for everyone; my dad’s father, Augusta Williamson, and his wife, Mary Williamson, were strict. My grandfather was a very stingy and demanding man who controlled the house and all the finances. My father told me a story of how one day, my grandfather and his wife got into an argument. At one point my grandfather hit his wife on the head with a piece of firewood for not doing what he told her.

Figure 2 My grandfather Augusta Williamson, on my father side

Figure 3 My grandmother Mary Williamson, on my father side

In my grandfather’s house, all the cooking and heating was done with firewood. They had to cook with a potbelly cast iron stove. During this time every house had a fireplace; it was common all through their neighborhood in the South. They did all they could to make ends meet. One of the most important things is that they were all healthy, making life a little better for themselves. Even though my grandfather was a demanding and controlling man, he helped with the chores. Everyone did their share of chores around the house, and that’s the only way things could ever be. My mom had several girlfriends in her hometown; they would walk and talk about schoolwork and, of course, boys.

One of her friends came up to her, saying, Velma! Have you heard?

My mom said, Heard what?

She said, There’s a fish fry this weekend next to the county fairground hosted by Choctaw County. There’s posters and flyers all over the area, I think we should make plans to attend. There will be lots of food and fun and it will last all day.

Figure 4 This is my Grandmother Mary Davis

My mom said, You don’t know my parents.

Her girlfriend replied, Yes, I know, I know! Are you okay with the plan?

My mom said, Girl, I’ll be ready.

During this time my dad wasn’t attending school because everyone had to work the white man’s fields - this was common for Black families in the Deep South of Alabama at the time. The fish fry at the fair is the event that would bring two young people face-to-face for the first time, and change their lives more than they could have ever imagined. Well, that day came sooner than they expected. Everyone was there from all over the different counties, and my mom and dad met for the first time. My mom didn’t tell my dad about her parents, Mary and Vaden, and how strict they were - she was too focused on having a good time. After all the food and fun at the fish fry, they went back to their own counties. Soon after, they began seeing each other. The courtship went on for a while; they had no problems and nothing to worry about at the time… not until my mom’s parents found out what was going on with their daughter—because she started slacking on her share of the work around the house, and often daydreaming. They didn’t realize their daughter’s life was beginning to change.

They began to see this strange boy around the house a lot, and her parents asked her, Velma, who is this boy? He doesn’t look like he’s from our neighborhood; we’ve never seen him before.

She answered, His name is Andrew, and he’s from the other side of town.

Insisting on finding out more about him, they asked, What township is he from?

She said, Deer Park County.

They said, No, you can’t see him; besides, you don’t know anything about him. What school does he attend?

She said, He don’t go to school; he has to work all the time.

My dad had to be careful if he came anywhere near my mom’s parents’ house, because her father was on the watch for this country boy from another county who didn’t attend school at all. My dad really wanted to see her; he wasn’t giving up, and he was willing to take that chance. My mom was willing to take a chance too; that’s the only way the two of them could make this courtship work.

They started seeing each other on a regular basis, and the distance they both had to travel was more than two hours away from each town with Choctaw being in the northern part of the state, and Deer Park in the southern part of the state. Everything was fine for a while, but then it began to change for the two of them; as a matter of fact, things took a change for the worse. The constant arguing with her mother and father about this boy reached high tension; something had to change real soon in this family! It continued to the point that things really got out of hand; her parents still insisted that she stay away from this boy who lived in a different county. My mom tried talking to her parents to see if they would change their minds, but to no avail; they were very strict. I’m not sure if that was for the best or not. So, my mom and dad started seeing each other secretly. I can only imagine what they were going through, a country boy from one county seeing this girl from another county. I bet that it was both a scary, yet exciting time for the young couple, and they had yet to realize the outcome of it all.

My dad couldn’t drive, and neither could my mom. And I don’t believe the white man, the owner and sharecropper, would let my dad use his horse, mules, and wagon; he made sure his animals were for farming only. He barely paid my dad any wages; he would pay in the form of produce from the fields. Since it wasn’t easy to get things past my mom, she took charge of their relationship. Being fully ready to execute on the plans she had for her and my dad, she told him there would be a hayride next month in Waynesboro, Mississippi, and she planned on attending that hayride. . She knew they had to cross over that Choctaw County line that would take them out of Alabama and into Mississippi. My mom assured my dad everything would work out fine." I can see them now sneaking out of their houses and finalizing her scheme. My dad still had to be very careful when he came around; he knew her parents were on the watch for him.

My grandparents on my mother’s side, Mary and Vaden, were set in their ways. We all know that was the truth in a large family, especially in the Deep South. Unfortunately, every time there’s a good situation, something or someone would throw a wrench into the mix of it. My mother’s parents were still upset over their daughter being with this boy. They thought their daughter was too good for him. However, those two lovebirds didn’t let that stop them. Although my mom

would get caught sneaking out of the house by her dad sometimes, that still didn’t stop her from meeting up with my dad. My grandfather was the quiet one in their house, but my grandmother she was the total opposite. She took charge and she also made all the decisions as well. Again, that’s that good ole Choctaw Indian blood!

Figure 5 Photo of my grand mother and grand father Mary and Vaden Davis

I do remember when we were little boys, we would ask our mom Madea if we could go down the train track to grandmother’s house to visit our great-grandmother, and she would say, Okay, but boys—be careful on the track and look out for that dangerous train. At the time, she was old, and we used to be afraid of her. She had a room at the side of the house. She would say, Come on in, boys, and offer us some of her freshly made biscuits—to us they didn’t look very fresh. We ’d sneak them in our pockets; they were hard as rocks. We only stayed for a short time because she looked scary to us; she wore this dingy white scarf on her head all the time. My older brother Alvin told me that we called our great-grandmother Aunt Mag, Margaret. She, too, had the blood of the Choctaw Indians, just as her daughter -in-law, Mary. Aunt Mag lived to the great age of 108 years old. Talk about good genes—here’s hoping those genes are passed down to the rest of the family.

Now, back to the two lovebirds. Some very good news: we all know she was smart. Remember that plan my mom devised? Now she’s putting that plan into action. She had had the conversation with her girlfriends about the hayride in the town of Waynesboro. But there was one slight problem—remember, they had to cross over the state line out of Alabama into the state of Mississippi, which was another two hours from both towns, from Deer Park and Choctaw County, but she didn’t care. She told my dad they were attending this hayride. There wasn’t anything to lose. And it was free to the public; everyone was invited. The hayride was in the Black folks in the neighborhood. This wouldn’t cause any problem with the white man. They didn’t like it when Black people were having a good time. They thought all Blacks should stay home or remain working in the fields or go eat watermelon under a shade of a tree, even though I know white people are the ones who love watermelon; I’ve witnessed this my whole life, and it’s a fact. Now that the word was out—everyone in the area knew about the hayride going to Waynesboro. So, they were ready to get things rolling; they would make the best of this great opportunity.

Figure 6A photo of my Great-grandmother Aunt Mag

They kept it a secret until that day of the hayride. My mom snuck out to meet with my dad somewhere between the two counties. The day had arrived when they would make the trip to the big hayride in Waynesboro. The farmer that had the most horses and enough wagons was the one in charge of the hayride. The owner of the wagon put hay all over the bed of the wagon, then he placed bales of hay all around, which gave all the people a place to sit down. I wonder if it will be a country parade for Black folks? One thing was for sure—you could smell the fresh hay as it blows in the wind and fell to the ground, as well as the droppings from the horses as they passed by. The smells are all part of a good hayride out in the country.

When it came time for the actual hayride, in Alabama, they made their way to the wagon, found a good place to sit down, and got comfortable, looking each other in the eye with big smiles. I wonder if they were all hugged up. I often wondered how bumpy the hayride was, and how long they had stayed on that old, dusty dirt road. The hayride started at the farmer’s property, located close to Highway 45 North, so they would have come from the South, heading toward Waynesboro. I guess it wasn’t a hard ride after all.

Once in the city of Waynesboro, they stayed on Highway 45 North for about four miles, then made a right-hand turn into Highway 84 East and travelled for another three miles. Then they took a right turn into the parking lot. This was the place where the townsfolk did their shopping, next to the farmer’s market. Once there, everyone climbed off the wagon. They’d made it to their destination. We are here, we did it! The best news of all is that they had a ton of fun on the hayride, fun they could cherish for the rest of their lives, sharing it with their sibling as well. Way to go, Mom and Dad!

Now, I’m wondering, what will their parents think? They were the first in our whole family to elope. The plan wasn’t finished yet. She told my dad, This is our secret, we will go straight to City Hall. There, we will get married. Of course, my dad was ecstatic about my mother’s perfect plan to get married. I’m so happy my parents were at the right age—eighteen in the state of Mississippi. If not, there would have been a big problem at the City Hall.

Figure 7 This is the building, the City Hall in Waynesboro M.I.

Boy Meets Girl and Gets Hitched. I like the sound of that! This is one love story I will never forget. I will carry those special moments with me all my days, and I know my brothers and sisters will agree with me as well. It didn’t take long before my mom’s parents accepted the outcome of it all. My mom didn’t care about what kind of work my dad did for a living. As I said before, she was a smart young lady, and it would carry over later in life. We would all benefit from it. Hmm … What’s next for the newlyweds? They have to start looking for a place to settle down, a place they can call their own. She devised the perfect plan, and I know for a fact they were the first in our whole family to elope. I’m so proud of my mom. This should make all my brothers and sisters feel the same about our parents. Now that the two lovebirds were married, it wouldn’t be long before they heard the sound of small footsteps running across the living room floor.

TWO

Sooie! Sooie! How Many Pigs Do You Own?

My mother and father wanted to be able to say one day, This is our house. But first, they had to find a place to live in a good location as well. One of my father’s brothers, Uncle James, who lived in Waynesboro on Highway North 63—yes, that part of town everyone that lived in Waynesboro knew had a very bad reputation, in around that neighborhood—I’m not sure Uncle James was the older brother or not, but he lived in that part of town. He was a pig farmer; He’s been living there for many years. My dad, Neshia, asked his brother if he could put them up for a while, until they could find a place of their own. My uncle was more than happy to put them up, saying, We’re family. So, my father, and his brother, a pig farmer, were living together. Remember our family mantra? "A strong family that lives together shares love together."

Figure 8 This photo of my Father Andrew Neshia.

During this time, my mom didn’t have any working skills, so as a new housewife, it was just fine with her. My dad had been working hard all his life and he was going to make sure his family was taken care of financially, and that was the bottom line.. Now all my dad needed to do was find extra work. Since there were sharecroppers’ jobs all around the Waynesboro area; he knew he wouldn’t have any problems. He’d been working with his hands all his life. For now, he would work with his brother James, and for a while they would be slopping hogs. Sooie, sooie! At least it would bring home the bacon! I’m overjoyed at the love and happiness my mom and dad shared with each other over the years. It was a struggle sometimes, and they persevered. Working hard together, it didn’t take long at all before they became that perfect couple. They made a solid promise to each other; it would be a lifetime relationship and commitment between the two. That was a beautiful thing here. I was hoping for a life just like that. Now everything had panned out the way my mom wanted it. Maybe it was time to move on to other things. Who knows? It could be the sound of little footsteps running across the dining room floor; that would make the two lovebirds a very happy married family.

Figure 9 My favor Uncle James my dad’s brother.

Uncle James’s place was the first place for my mom and dad to live as a couple, because they left the border of Alabama. And Madea’s mother and father were still upset about the elopement. Things were getting tight for the newlyweds; there wasn’t much room for them all at Uncle James’s house. Uncle James wife, Aunt Bee, and his daughter, May Jewel occupants of the home. Aunt Bee— was special! Why? She was the first person I saw with gold in her mouth; it was mostly in her front teeth—all four on the top. My parents were happy there, and they didn’t want to go back to their hometowns either. That’s where they started, but not where they would finish. They needed a place of their own. The new residence had to be somewhere in Wayne County.

They didn’t have very much—basically the clothes on their backs. How much money did the two have