Abraham Coker

Abraham Coker , ninety-three, was born a slave on May 13, 1844, on the Jim Johnson plantation near Atlanta, Georgia. His mother was Edith Johnson Coker , and his father was Manson Coker , who took the name of Coker after slavery. Abraham Coker believes this was the name of his grandparents. Coker says Jim Johnson was one of the best masters in Georgia. Coker was a field boy on the plantation. After slavery, he became a blacksmith. In 1867, he joined the United States Army and was transferred to New Mexico, where he remained until 1870, when he came to Austin. He has lived here ever since. He has been married four times, but cannot remember the years when he was married. His wives were: Lizzie Bolton , Lizzie Watts , Adeline Davis , and Harriet Smith . He had two children by his first wife, both of whom are dead. He lives with his only grandchild, Mrs. Savannah Spence , R.R. 5, Box 144, Austin. He receives a monthly pension of $50 from the United States Government.

De folks call me Abram , but I'se Abraham Coker . I was bawn on May 13, 1844, and dis was on de Jim Johnson plantation in Atlanta, Georgia. "Durin' slavery time, I stayed on Mawster Jim Johnson's cotton, cawn, wheat and oat plantation. My white folks sure was good to me and I was never sold durin' slavery time. Mawster Johnson didn't even believe in havin' a overseer and he was his own overseer. When I got big enough I was a plow-boy. I used a lahge turnin' plow wid iron buttones. I liked to plow, 'cause we had good, big American mules to plow wid, and we didn't have to plow wid oxen. Other neighbors had oxen on dere plantations, but Mawster Johnson sure didn't have to plow wid oxen. Mawster Johnson raised his own mules, and he would have 'em broke in when dey was about three years old. Some ob dem mules was hard to break, and some others was easy to break. Now and den we'd git hurt. We'd git on de mules and ride 'em and some ob 'em would sure throw yo' off. Mawster Johnson had a whole drove ob dem mules, and we'd break about seben or eight a year fo' him. Every late August we'd staht pickin' cotton. I was jes' a boy, but I could pick about one hundred twenty and one hundred thirty pounds ob cotton a day. Sometimes my back would git to hurtin' 'cause ob dat cotton pickin'. Dem niggers would git in de field and pick cotton in big baskets, and dey would put about one hunnert pounds in 'em. Mawster Johnson had his own gin-house right on de place and when we picked a basket ob cotton, we'd take it right to de gin. Dis cotton gin was drove by four big mules, and dey turned de pole aroun' and aroun', wid a little slave boy follerin' 'em, and whoopin' 'em now and den to keep 'em going'. Der little boy never did git hurt, 'cause he always stayed fur enough away f'om dem mules. De gin separated de seed f'om de lint, and den de lint was pressed into a square bale, and it weighed f'om four to five hunnert pounds. De cotton seed was placed in a pile as big as a house and in dem days, we had no use fo' de seed. We didn't know whut to do wid it. Sometimes de cows would come over and eat all dat dey wanted. In dem days we fed de cows on cawn, and we didn't know dat de cotton seed was good fo' de milk cows. "Down on dem lahge plantations in Georgia, de folks would scoop up apples and peaches and make cider and brandy out ob 'em. Dey would make it right here on dere places. I never did drink much likker. I reckon dat's why I lived to be ninety-three years old. Den de folks also made de cawn likker. Dey'd put it in lahge barrels and let it sour, den dey'd drain it through copper pipes. Mawster Johnson had a big orchard. We could go out and git all de fruit and sweet 'taters dat we wanted. A lot of de fruit was cooked up and put away. Mawster Johnson would ob felt insulted if yo' come up and ast to buy some fruit. We had so many apples dat we'd take wagons and haul 'em down to the hogs. In de fall ob de year was hog-killin' time, and de men, wimmen and chillun had to help wid de killin' and scrapin' ob de hogs, and wid de grindin' ob de meat fo' sausage. "Mawster Johnson had a lot ob cur 'possum-dogs, and us niggers could go and use 'em all we wanted to. We went 'possum huntin' at night and we sure did catch a lot ob fat ones. Dem houn' dogs would run dem 'possums and tree 'em up in persimmon trees. 'Possums liked to eat dem persimmons. We jes' went out to kill 'possums durin' de fall, and at no other time. We'd take de killed 'possums home, clean 'em and den bake 'em in de stove wid sweet 'taters aroun' em.

"De person I can remembah de best ob dem days, is my mother. We always called her mothaw. She was a cook on mawster Johnson's place, and she had five sons: Frank , George , Collin , Hartwell and myself. I was de baby ob de famby, and all ob dem brothaws is dead. "When mothaw died, she had been hired out by Mawster Johnson to Ed Foster of Jonesboro, about twenty-two miles f'om Atlanta. Mawster Foster paid Mawster so much a month fo' de use ob mothaw, but I don't remembah how much it was. She was a mighty good cook. She was a small and heavy pusson, and she was a good woman. Son, now manners will do yo' more good in life den money,' she used to say. And I found out dat dat is true, and I've tried to live up to it, and I always got along especially wid de white folks. Storekeepers trust me now when dey won't trust other niggers. "'Never steal, git along wid everybody and always be kind,' she'd say. "I have never stole anything f'om anybody and when I want something and can't git it, I go and ast fo' it. When I don't git it, I go to somebody else. "One day Mawster Foster sent news dat mothaw, whose name was Edith , was putty sick. I don't remembah whut was wrong wid her. Mawster Johnson den put fathaw, whose name was Manson Johnson Coker , and us chullun on a train and we went to Jonesboro to see mothaw. "Dis was de first time dat I ever took a train ride. De engine was a small one and had only one driver. De seats in de cars was padded lak the ones ob today. I thought dat ridin' on dat train was wunnerful. I was about twelb years old at de time, but I can remembah it jes' lak it was yesterday. I have never forgot dat train ride. "When we come to Jonesboro, Mawster Foster was waitin' fo' us wid a two-hoss carriage. "'Well, Edith is a mighty sick woman,' Mawster Foster said.

"Den we got in de carriage, and mawster Foster drove us to his place near de station. Mawster Foster was a town-man, and a good-liver, but I don't remembah whut he done to make a livin'. "When we come to de house, Mawster Foster's wife - I don't remembah her name - was standin' at mothaw's bed. Mothaw knowed us all, and she said dat she was glad to see us. Come here, son,' she told me and she looked so weak, 'and shake hands wid me.' "Whenever she took my hand, she looked at me and said, 'Son I want yo' to meet me in hebben.' "I told her, 'Yes, I'll met yo' in hebben,' but I'm goin' to tell yo' dat, at dat time, when I was twelb years old, I didn't know whut I had to do to git to hebben. Dat word hebben always stayed wid me, and de older I got de mo'e I knowed whut to do and whut not to do to git to hebben. In dem days, in Georgia, we never had no chu'ch or school fo' de slaves. "De next day mothaw died peaceable-lak, and she turned her head to de wall and never said no mo'e. Den I got to thinkin' how mothaw when she cooked fo' Mawster Johnson always kept me a big cup ob coffee and a lahge, hot biscuit fo' breakfast. Sometimes de biscuit had bacon-gravy on it. She kept that fo' me after Mawster Johnson was through eatin' his breakfast. I lak my coffee to dis day, and I still drink about two cups a day. "Mothaw was buried in Jonesboro's graveyard. Den we went back by de train to Mawster Johnson's place. We was putty sad on de train, 'cause mothaw had been good to all of chullun. Den we went back to our own little log cabin on de big plantation. A lot ob times I'd git to thinkin' about mothaw and I'd cry and cry. Us boys and fathaw stayed on in de cabin and we sure was lonesome. Fathaw, who was a field worker, was as good as he could be to us. Dat helped. "We stayed wid Mawster Johnson until he set us free durin' freedom. He told his slaves dat dem whut would stay on de place would git twenty-five bushels of cawn, and twenty-five dollahs a month fo' dere work. A lot ob de folks stayed on fo' a couple of years. But we went to another place to work in Atlanta. I don't remembah de man's name. "Den I stahted in to blacksmithin'. I made my own hoss shoes and hoss shoe nails. De nails was made out ob balls ob iron. I had my own shop in a town near Atlanta, but I don't remembah de name.

It was when I was a blacksmith dat in 1867, when I was twenty-three years old, dat I joined de United States Army. I went down to Atlanta and joined up. F'om dere I was sent to Memphis, den to St. Louis and Kansas, and f'om dere out to New Mexico. I liked it fine up in New Mexico. I got along mighty fine wid everybody 'cause I done everything dey told me to do. I stayed in de army and in New Mexico fo' three years. I think dat I was in de thirty-eighth regiment. Dats close to it, anyhow. "When I left de army in 1870, I come on down to Austin, and I've been here every since. Near where I'm livin' now, I had a blacksmith and a fahm. I didn't raise much cotton, but I raised a right smaht lot ob cawn and sweet 'taters. I raised de cawn to fatten my hosses and hogs. I killed de hogs fo' my own use. I used to raise about de best hosses in dis community. "I'se never had no education but I did learn to write my name and how to count when I was in de army. But I've never knowed real hard times. God seems to have blessed me in everything. De times after slavery ended was putty tough on a lot of folks. "Down in Georgia us niggers never was told about gittin' a mule and forty acres of land. I never did hear about it. I reckon dat maybe de folks didn't let us know about it. "I come to Texas in 1870, and we never did have no trubble wid de Ku Klux Klan, and I've lived in dis community fo' de last sixty-seben years. I have voted a lot ob times right here in Austin. "I can't remembah ob any slave uprisin's in Georgia. Many was de time dat I heard about it, but it never took place. De gineral talk was dat de slaves wanted dere freedom and dere own places. "It was jest after I come to Texas dat I married Lizzie Bolton . I jes' don't know de year. We had only two chillun, a boy and a girl. Dey is both dead now. We had about four or five years ob married life and den Lizzie died. Den I was married to Lizzie Watts . We had no chillun. I don't know how long we was married, but Lizzie got a divorce and went to California. I don't know if she is still livin'. My third wife was Adeline Davis . She died, and we never had no chillun. My last wife was Harriett Smith . We never had no chillun. Harriett is still livin', but we ain't livin' together