Madison Journal - Madison Parish; Its Customs yesterday and Today Date submitted: June 15, 2014 Submitted by: Richard P. Sevier USGenWeb NOTICE: All documents placed in the USGenWeb remain the property of the contributors, who retain publication rights in accordance with US Copyright Laws and Regulations. In keeping with our policy of providing free information on the Internet, these documents may be used by anyone for their personal research. They may be used by non-commercial entities, when written permission is obtained from the contributor, so long as all notices and submitter information are included. These electronic pages may NOT be reproduced in any format for profit. Any other use, including copying files to other sites, requires permission from the contributors PRIOR to uploading to the other sites. ************************************************************************************************ Copyright. All rights reserved. ************************************************************************************************ Madison Journal March 27, 1926 Author unknown Madison Parish; Its Customs yesterday and Today TOLD BY AN OLD RESIDENT WHOM FATHER TIME HAS TREATED KINDLY Madison Parish is perhaps slow moving - progressing when the spirit stirs her only in a conservative, evenly constructive way. At least so it appears to those who view the place and the people with an enveloping backsweeping glance. To note the changes since the early 90's, say, we should see the evolution through the eyes of an old resident --perhaps an old planter, who knew it in the days when the parish was not so thickly settled; a greater part of it being thick, swampy underbrush that had not then been cleared up for cultivation. On Roundaway Bayou, along Bayou Vidal, at Millikin's Bend, at Delta, along Walnut Bayou, also plantations well cultivated and in good repair, but what can we say of the means of communication! The suggestion of such calls up pictures of black "buck-shot," wheel-plowed roads, scarcely roads in the sense that we have come to use the term. They were more like impromptu trails with many other trails shooting off from them in an attempt to avoid deep mud holes. Those were the perilous days when buggies stuck, nay, not only up to the spokes of the wheels, but up to the body of the buggy. So affirm certain old residents. The days likewise when horses under a lash strained muscles to pull sunken vehicles out of the black glue. One would readily remark after a tale of that sort, "Well, communications must have been very infrequent in those days." This is an ideal way of calling forth such remarks as, "In those days people knew how to be sociable. You young people with your automobiles don't have time to really get to know anyone. You're so busy riding. Then will follow such tales as this, while the speaker's eyes begin to twinkle with the glow of reminiscences -- such a glow as can only be called up by memories that are washed, as Time has a kindly way of doing, free of all that was at that time disagreeable. Why I can remember how we all met down at the Smith place on Sundays--not just for one of your polite little afternoon or evening calls or to spend the day. We young fellows would all go to call on the young ladies. They had about four pretty girls in the family, and they always had some visitors. The yard and fence by dinner-time would be strewn with horses, buggies and carriages. The young people would take to a swing and benches out under some oak trees so as not to be disturbed. The older fellows would soon get to work on a shady side of the wide gallery, and would soon be at stud and draw poker, with their coats off. The ladies would be running back and forth to consult about the mayonnaise or were out to see about the bee that had stung Willie on his nose. They didn't interrupt the young folks or the men, being very well trained in those days about such matters. It was on just such a Sunday as this---huh! Hei! (Here the narrator let out something less like a laugh than a neigh of glee.) I'll never forget it! ---that the new school teacher arrived. Smith had been corresponding with some agency in New Orleans to get him one for the children. The other one they'd had had married on them. The "America" was making a special trip it down from St. Louis to New Orleans, and she was due to get in on this boat about noon that day. (Here he leaned forward to peel his cigar, lit it, screwed it about in his mouth, taking a tantalizingly long time to get back to his tale.) Plenty, his son, and the carriage had been sent over to meet the boat. They soon drove up. A negro driver and Plenty on the front seat, and a thin old-maid on the back seat. There isn't any need for me to describe her, for in those days all an old maid looked like was an old maid, and there wasn't any two ways about it, she was one. She got out primly, a bible and hand-bag under her arm, and came up the walk, her eyes taking in with apparent astonishment, the signs of festivity and worldly occupation about her. 'This on the Sabbath!' they seemed to be saying. "She was taken to the room, and after dinner Smith left us long enough to tell her just what would be expected of her. Now Smith, who still had a good deal of the Yankee in him, even though he had settled down here a few years before the war, was rather business-like about some things. There was a pause, the rattle of chips, and we heard him say, 'It's my son, Plenty, that I want you to teach. It doesn't matter much about the girls what you teach them. They'll go and marry some no-count fellow with low-quarter shoes and striped socks. But teach Plenty a plenty. Teach him how to figger. Teach him how to beat the nigger out of his half, take the other half and leave him satisfied.' Well, the lady stopped rocking and just stared at him. Pretty soon she went inside. The next Tuesday was regular boat day and I had ridden down to the landing to see about some shipping when who should I see but the school marm taking her departure. 'Didn't stay long, Smith,' I said. "No, she's a hard-shelled Baptist, and thought we were all heathens playing poker on Sunday." "No one ever seemed to be too busy to indulge in fish-fries. Lake Palmyra, before that body became part of the Mississippi river, was a favorite place for fish-fries. Old and young gathered for the day, caring less about the fishing that for the sociable side of the event. Major Reigard, who needs no introduction to old residents, would be there in stiff white linen, teaching the young ladies how to cast the pole, usually getting his white shoes sacrificed in the effort. "On frequent occasions news would be sent about that a dance would be given at Neponset, Algodon, or perhaps at the Court House. Although Neponset was in East Carroll Parish and at a distance of about thirty or forty miles for many who would go, they were just as eager to attend as though it were a neighborhood affair. And there was less chance of the swain in his high buggy with two strong horses breaking a "date"-- engagement, I should have said-than there is with the modern youth in his high-powered car committing the same offense. You must remember that there were no such diverting happenings as movies or trips to Vicksburg, or to Monroe to shows. This was the big affair that everyone looked forward to. Distance counted not at all when one had open fires, bright faces of welcome, always the warm welcome, and the negro fiddler's music as a goal-not to mention pretty girls. And in those days pretty girls were thoroughly appreciated in the most reverential sort of way. 'No sir, we might have drunk a little between times-in fact, we did indulge in a few toddies-but you never saw a young scalawag going in the presence of ladies intoxicated!' Once that happened at an affair given at the Court House, and the young reprobate never forgot it. He was not welcome the second time. That's the difference between then and now." Here the speaker's eyes get great with indignation. He shakes his head and subsides with bristling eye-brows behind a rattling newspaper. Yes, to these people Madison Parish has undergone great changes. Scarcely any of their old homes where they used to meet are left. Tallulah was then the Askew plantation and is now a thriving little town of three thousand or thereabouts, with hopes and plans of becoming much more important. Millikin's Bend, then the one metropolis of the parish, is now a deserted bend of the levee. Gone is the little school house by the side of the road, to which children went with much difficulty, on mules, horses and in buggies that were often bogging up in the before mentioned mud. Now, trucks roll up to a modern high-school and grammar school in Tallulah, having collected children from the plantations about Tallulah. Perhaps the greatest change to the old planter residents of Madison is the gradual change in an industrial system that is slowly breaking down. The day of the large plantation, the docile negro tenant, and the day hand -- the day of the independent, aristocratic life for the planter is going. We may attribute it to the "pesky little Ford," to the demoralizing effect of the war on the negro. It is none of these so much as the fact that an old picturesque system is giving way to a newer one. That system will mean the breaking up of the old plantations into little farms. -An Old Resident of Madison Parish.