“Segregation: Real Stories, Real Lives”:
A Sharecropper’s Daughter Looks Segregation in the Face

Proviso East High School, Maywood, Illinois

Produced by students at Proviso East High School, Segregation: Real Stories, Real Lives is an on-line collection of memories from elderly African- American community members on the subject of segregation. The project aimed to document the human dimension of segregation while at the same time honoring those forced to live through it. Sponsored by the Japanese Chamber of Commerce and Industry of Chicago, the website features photographs and biographical details of the participants, written portions of the interviews, and a video link to interview recordings. Students in three Proviso East classes participated in the project. American history students conducted interviews based on questions they had formulated from survey responses. The Radio and Television Production class taped the interviews and edited them for on-line use. Students in Development of Western Thought created and maintained the website for the project. See: www.proviso.wcook.

“Get All the Education You Can”:
A Sharecropper’s Daughter Looks Segregation in the Face

by Marc Montgomery

Carrie B. Smith was born December 30, 1926 in rural Mississippi. She was born into a family of sharecroppers. She spent most of her early childhood working on a farm. During her middle childhood, her mother sent her to live with her aunt and uncle. She was sent there to go to school. When the family boss found out she was going to school, he told her mother, “The only thing that child needs to learn is to work hard and not steal.” As time went along, Carrie moved to Chicago, Illinois with her brother. While in Chicago, she became an Eastern Star and met her future husband. She became the loving mother of seven children. To this day, Carrie is more than willing to share her story with the youth of today. She feels that it is important for today’s youth to know where they come from.

Marc: Thank you for being here this afternoon. To get things started, tell us about your mother and what kind of role model she was and how she had a big effect on your life.

Carrie B. Smith: First, I would like to introduce myself, and thank my granddaughter for recommending me, and thank Mr. Smith for calling and asking me if I would do the interview. Thank the students and staff for having me, and I count the honor to share my life history with you young people and let you know how far God has brought us— not we ourselves, but it was Him who have brought us and who opened the door that you all be able to walk through.

I’ll start off by telling you about my childhood life. I wanted to go to school when I was young, but I was deprived of that opportunity to go to school. I use to see my little white brothers and sisters getting on the bus going to school. We were in the fields. We were sharecroppers, but it was a no-no for blacks to go to school. Well, we weren’t called blacks at that time. We were called Negroes and niggers. Niggers if you didn’t do right. Negroes if you were liked very well.

So, by the grace of God, he brought us through. And I remember my mother. She knew how eager I was to go to school and that I wanted to learn. She sent me to live with my aunt, my great aunt, because that was her mother’s sister. She sent me to live with her and her husband, so that I could go to school. And at that time, I didn’t even know how to write my name or spell it.

I didn’t even know my ABCs when I went to school. So you’ll excuse me, for it carries me back down the road when I go to talking about it.

So when I got to enroll in school, I was so happy. And the teacher, she wasn’t an educated person, but she knew more than we students did. And it was in a little church house that I went to school, and I learned from the primer. That was their beginning of school.

You start off with a primer. There weren’t first or second [grade] like you all have or kindergarten. So that year I did not finish the whole semester, because somebody told that we were sharecroppers. Somebody on the place told the boss that my mother had sent me away to go to school. And he told her, he says, “Ah, you send and get that gal. She don’t need no education.” He said, “You teach her how to work hard and not to steal. And that’s the only education she will need.” But he forgot my mother knew Jesus, and I had to come home. He said to her he wasn’t giving her $7 a month to feed me so that I could go to school.

So I had to come back, go to the field and work, but I never gave up. I wanted to learn, because my parents didn’t have an education. And in my mind, I felt somebody needed to know something about writing. And I think that what really triggered me to really, really want to write—if nothing but just write my few words of the letters in my name— I remember it was a man that lived on the place. He wrote my aunt telling them that my grandmama’s baby daughter, which was my aunt also, had died. And she wasn’t dead, and I thought that was cruel to send out such a message. You know, telling somebody that another person was dead when they wasn’t. And that really made me want to know how to read and write. And I think that made my mother realize that somebody did need to know how to read and write, you know.

So, okay, that year passed. I made it from the primer to the first grade. I was climbing the mountain again. My mother had moved from that place, I think, and we went to another plantation where we keep on moving. If you live on this plantation with this boss and make a crop, and if you come out in debt, you couldn’t move. But if you had someone else to pay the debt to this boss, then this boss could move you on.

So in between the time, this was back in the ‘30’s, we were able to move from one plantation to another plantation. Then I was able to go back in school, not for long, but I was learning. I wanted to learn. So my mother did let me go back, and I think I stayed back with one of my aunties because my uncle had a lot of kids. His kids could go to school. I went to stay with them, and I went back to school, and I’m fine now. I’m in first grade. I knew how to spell my name. I spelled it C-A-R-R-Y, not C-A-R-R-I-E. So I stayed in school with my cousins, living with one of my other relatives. I make it up to Atlanta. I went to the third grade.

When I went back home, I could write my momma’s name, and I could write my grandmomma’s name, and I could write my name—not C-A-R-R-Y, but I could write it C-A-R-R-I-E—and I felt good. So what I want to say to all you young people while you got a chance, the doors are opened for you all, get all the education, learn all that you can. Don’t just stop with one career, but just get all the education that you can. And most of all, keep Jesus in your life, because without him, you won’t be able to make it even with a career. You have to have Jesus first in your life. So I don’t know, Mr. Smith, you want me to keep going?

Marc: You were talking about Jesus. Is that your biggest inspiration, knowing that you have him in your life?

Carrie B. Smith: Oh, yes. Yes. Without Jesus I wouldn’t be able to be who I am, what I am, and how I am. Jesus is all and all in my life. And I was introduced to Him when I was real young. My mother told me about Jesus. Because she knew I could be denied an education, but nobody could deny me a salvation. So she introduced me to Jesus. Repent your sins. Go to Him. He forgive my sins and accept me, and Jesus is not a prejudiced God. He is not a lifting up God. He is not a hateful God. He is a mercy God. And I don’t care how little you are or what the circumstances of your life are, Jesus said, “Whosoever will love, come.” You don’t have to have an education-- which it’s good to have--but the most important is to know Jesus.

Marc: Do you think that if people back then knew something about Jesus and God they would be so prejudiced towards black people?

Carrie B. Smith: Well, baby, I tell you this. It’s almost like the same thing today. Some people know Jesus, and some don’t know Jesus, and we have that today. And I believe that if back then there were white Christians, they weren’t all prejudiced. There were some, but had it not been for our white brothers and sisters, we would not be able to cross the line to where we did cross without their help. So I feel that they did have Christ in their life to be able to reach out.

I wasn’t back there with Harriet Tubman and George Carver and all of them. When I got to be educated, I could read about George Washington Carver and Harriet Tubman, the railroad, the underground railroad. It was our white brothers and sisters who helped them, you know, to do this, so I believe they were Christians then in both races and Christians today in both races and God got them. Satan got some, too, and they’re in both races.

Marc: Can you describe some more things that Blacks suffered back then, what they went through?

Carrie B. Smith: Oh, yes, for myself, I got grown. I was a maid. They called nannies now, but back then it was maids. I couldn’t go through the front door of my boss. I had to go through the back door. Cook their food, wash their clothes, take care of their children, but I was not allowed to go through their front door. And I don’t know, back then God still had a mercy hand over us, and some of them—the people that I worked for—I believe that they were Christians, but the world said they had to keep up with the Joneses. If they let their maid come through the front door, the next neighbor would see them, and they might have something, you know, against them. So they had to keep up with the Joneses.

They had a little outhouse for us to go to the outhouse. We’re in the house all day long, cooking, cleaning, and their little minds were so small that they thought that we were going to go to the outhouse and use the toilet. When I’m in the house all day, and I have to use the toilet, why can’t I go in there and use that toilet? Why would I have to go out in the back? In fact, my boss told me I could use it, but just don’t let the rest of them know it. Don’t tell the other maids you know about it. I feel that she was kinda like a Christian or else had a good heart, and Mr. Smith, you all excuse me, I love all peoples, because God is love, but that just where we came from and how we were treated.

So, what’s your next one?

Marc: Well, ah, when did you move to Chicago and why?

Carrie B. Smith: Oh, that was a big day. That was a great day. We came up here in 1950, crossing the Mason/Dixon line, where whites and blacks we could mingle together. And, ah, we could go into the restaurants and sit down and eat like the big folks in some places. But they had prejudice back then in the ’50s, but it was a little bit sneakier with it. They had places set up you had to be members only to go into this restaurant or going into this place. So if you were not a member, you couldn’t go in. So that was nothing but prejudice, you know. But that’s okay. We could deal with it. We deal with the harsh. We could deal with it.

But we felt good. I felt good. My husband felt good, and we felt if we come North, our children would have a better chance to go to school and get a better education than we had. Because my husband—we wasn’t on the same plantation, but we had the same background--he didn’t get a chance to go to school. I think he made it a little higher, maybe about the fifth or sixth grade, but getting a full education was just a no-no and work and don’t steal--those were the main things that were put out to us, and it’s a good tool. It’s a good tool, and I treasure that tool today. He told momma, tell me to work hard and don’t steal. I don’t believe in stealing nothing. If it is not worth asking for, it’s not worth having. And even the Bible tells us man ought always work and take care of yourself. I work today. I work every day, and I’ll work until God tells me to come on home now, girl, you done had it. I don’t intend to stop.

My work is a little more rewarding to me because I’m working with special education kids. And I look at those kids, and I said, Lord, this could be one of mine, you know. Some of them can’t walk, can’t talk, but all they want is love. And God gave me so much of that, so that I can share with everybody and still have my cupboard running over with love, love, love. You don’t run out of love.

Marc: So do you think Chicago was, you know, the best place to go? Did you think you could get away from racism?

Carrie B. Smith: Well, the place that we heard about was Chicago. And matter of fact, when my brother came out of service—I think was in ’46--in ’46 when he came back to out of service, they denied him his job. So he decided to come North. That’s what made us think about it, you know. He done served in World War II, and all his shootings and killings going on, and when he get back to Mississippi, he was denied his job. . . So when he couldn’t find a job, they came here to Chicago in ‘46. By coming up here, he was able to get a job at International Harvester, if you heard of it.

And he came back South [to] visit us. They had fine clothes, money. So that made us feel, you know, it was better living here than was there. And in the ’50’s when I got married, my husband and I decided we wanted to come here so we could raise our children in the North. . . where they get a better education. . .

Marc: Was there a time when you had fear for your life?

Carrie B. Smith: Yes, I was working as a maid and, ah, the boss came, and he wanted to attack me in the wrong manner. And I fought back. And I was afraid even after I went home. I was afraid. I was younger, and I wasn’t married at that time, and I told my mother about what had happened, what he tried to do. I was a fighter. To protect myself, I wasn’t going to give up my life in that manner. They called it, I guess they still do, rape. I wasn’t going to let him rape me. And I fought back. I was scared to go to work the next day, because I didn’t know what was going to happen. I think my mother went with me, and she told his wife, and his wife told that it wouldn’t happen again anymore. So I really was really, really scared for myself and my family. But, thank God, he didn’t, but he tried.

If you see some of my pictures, I was real thin, but I had strength and could run. Oh, I could run. I remember my mother and I used to send messages from my mother to my grandmother. I was the telephone. I was the message carrier, because I could run. They live about 5 miles, maybe, apart. And if she wanted to tell my grandmother something, she would send me to take the message and tell me to run now and hurry back, and boy I would be gone. Yeah, those days are gone, thank God.

Marc: Can you describe some other things that other blacks you know suffered from?

Carrie B. Smith: Well, all of us practically were wronged, were mistreated wrongly, but the sharecroppers, they worked all the year hoping that they would clear something at the end of the year. And at the end of the year they called it the settlement. You go to the big house, and they would tell you whether you came out in the clear, or whether you owed them. And, ah, if you came out in debt, then you couldn’t move unless you got somebody else to pay your debt. . . So that was wrong then, because if you worked a whole year, you should be able to clear something.

And with my parents, I thank God we never had a hungry day, because they raised everything we are. I know you didn’t ask me that question, but I want to tell you all. People had gardens, and they raised chickens. They raised hogs. My mother gave me a hog, a great big hog that was my hog, old Red. And, ah, each one of us kids we had chickens apiece, and we had plenty of food. We had cows. Milk the cows. Get the butter, and, ah, my grandmother was the doctor. She was a herb doctor. I know you didn’t ask me all these questions. But they coming up in my mind, because we weren’t allowed to go to no doctor, but Jesus gave her that wisdom--how she could go out into the woods and find different plants, trees, berries, and different things—and make up medicine.

And, ah, I remember once there was a lady. This lady had TB, and, ah, they wanted her to go to the doctor. And the boss said no, she wasn’t going to no doctor. So somebody told about my grandmother. My grandmother. They called and said take her down to Aunties’ and she’ll cure her. So my grandmother looked at that lady, and that lady little arm was not as big as my finger. And, ah, my grandmother went out and got some kind of what weeds, bark, grass or whatever you might call it. She made teas and had that lady just drink them teas and about a span of 6 months that lady was fat, fine, and God had brought her back to health through those herbs and things that my grandmomma made.

But you know, if you take me out to the woods today I wouldn’t know what kind of weeds she got. But that was the wisdom that God gave those people back then, what to do. It always amazed me what God has done for us.

Marc: Were there other people that came to your grandmother?

Carrie B. Smith: Oh, yeah. She was the plantation doctor. Yes, she delivered babies, and when young women had babies, she was the midwife. She was the plantations’, not only plantation that we lived on, but the all whole community in that area and everywhere. People would bring sick people to her, and she would fix up something. They would take it and get well. I never knew nothing about no doctors. We didn’t go to the doctor, and we wasn’t sick, and we wasn’t sick all the year round. When the weather come, they know what to put on salt to keep pork. When the weather got hot, they know what to take off. So we were just helping black kids, and God took care us.

Marc: Carrie B. Smith, I thank you for coming today, but for the last comment, do you have any type of advice that you want to give Proviso East students on, you know, starting out today or to carrying on through the school year?

Carrie B. Smith: Yes, I would like to say to the all the students and the faculty of Proviso, make Jesus the focus of your life. Get all the education you can. Learn all you can. The doors opened—which they are--to become doctors, lawyers, engineers, whatever God want to have. The doors are opened, but don’t ever lose sight of God. I don’t care where you go, you can always depend on Him. And thank you for having me come and talk to you. Thank you for interviewing me. I hope I said something. Thank you. Thank you. Okay, God bless you. Remember Jesus wherever you go.

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