I's bo'n durin' slavery, somewhar in Alabama, but I don' 'member what my mammy said. Dey brung me here endurin' de War and I belonged to Massa Steve Jaynes , and he had 'bout 75 other niggers. It was a big place and lots of wo'k, but I's too little to do much 'cept errands 'round de house. Massa Jaynes , he raised cotton and co'n and he have 'bout 400 acres. He 'spected de niggers to wo'k hard from mornin' till sundown, but he was fair in treatin' 'em. He give us plenty to eat and lots of cornbread and black-eye' peas and plenty hawg meat and sich. We had possum sometimes, too, Jus' took a nice, fat possum we done cotched in de woods and skinned 'im and put 'im im a oven and roas' 'in with sweet 'tatoes all 'round and make plenty gravy. Dat was good. Massa Jaynes , he 'lowed de slaves who wanted to have a little place to make garden, veg'tables and dose kin' of things. He give 'em seed and de nigger could have all he raised in his little garden. We was all well kep' and I don' see whar freedom was much mo' better, in a way. Course, some massas was bad to dere slaves and whipped 'em so ha'd dey's nearly dead. I know dat, 'cause I heared it from de neighbors places. Some of dere slaves would run away and hide in de woods and mos' of 'em was kotched with dogs. Fin'ly dey took to puttin' bells on de slaves so iffen dey run away, dey could hear 'em in de woods. Dey put 'em on with a chain, so dey couldn' get 'em off. We could have church on Sunday and our own cullud church. Sam Watoon , he was de nigger preacher and he's a slave, too. I didn' know much 'bout de war, 'cause we couldn' read and de white folks didn' talk war much 'fore us. But we heered things and I 'member de sojers on dere way back after it's all over. Dey wasn' dressed in a uniform and dey clothes was mos'ly rage, dey was dat tore up. We seed 'em walkin' on de road and sometimes dey had ole wagons, but mos' times dey walk. I 'member some Yankees sojers, too. Dey have canteens over de shoulder, and mos' of 'em has blue uniforms on. Massa, he tell us when freedom come, and some of us stays 'round awhile, 'cause whar is we'uns goin'. We didn' know what to do and we didn' know how to keep ourselves, and what was we to do to get food and a place to live? Dose was ha'd times, 'cause de country tore up and de business bad. And de Kluxes dey range 'round some. Dey soon plays out but dey took mos' de time to scare de niggers. One time dey comes to my daddy's house and de leader, him in de long robe, he say, 'Nigger, quick you and git me a drink of water.' My daddy, he brung de white folks drinkin' gourd and dat Klux, he say, 'Nigger, I say git me a big drink -- bring me dat bucket. I's thirsty.' He drinks three buckets of water, we thinks he does, but what you think we learns he has a rubber bag under his robe and is puttin' dat water in dere!

Chair titled back against the sloping porch, his short pudgy body sleepily inert, George Simmons , one of the most representative of the old ex-slaves, wriggled his bare feet in the dust, hitched his worn suspenders above equally worn trousers, and spoke in a soft, slurred dialect of his days of servitude. George's voice had that melodious quality usually associated with "mammy songs and mint juleps" while his good nature and carefree attitude towards life in general, were expressed in his story. The old darky was born in Alabama in 1854, but has spent almost his entire life in the vicinity of Beaumont. During slavery he belonged to Steve Jaynes , a farmer and rancher, living about four miles west of the city off Calder Highway. Even today after 72 years of freedom, George still places his simple trust in "de w'ite folks" and turns to them for advice and help at all times.

I was bo'n in slavery, somew'er in Alabama. Dey brung me here endurin' de war. My marster was Mister Steve Janyes , he hab two sons. I 'spose my marster had 'bout 75 niggers in altogedder. Me, I was small, I wasn' big 'nough to do much. I jus' run de erran's an' do de little wuk 'roun' de house. I 'member de soljers on de way back after de war. No mam, dey wasn' dress' in a uniform, dey clo's was mos'ly rags, dey was dat to' (torn) up. Us lib 'bout fo' (four) mile' from yere on de Co'n (Corn) street. Dat w'at dey call it den, dey calls it Calder Highway now. We see de soljers walkin' on de road, sometime dey had ol' wagons, but mos' times dey walk. Atter de war I 'members de Yankee soljers comin' too. Dey hab canteens ober dey sho'lders. Seems like dey was dress in blue unifo'hms. I learn' dat Mister George O'Brien's father was a lieutenant at Sabine Pass at de surrender. (The O'Briens were one of the early pioneer families in the vicinity.) De marster he tol' us w'en freedom come. We was all well treat' befo' tho'. I didn' see w'ere freedom was much mo' better. I think in a way dat dey was treat' nice, us was anyway. De niggers git to go to chu'ch on Sunday. Dey 'lowed 'em to hab dey own chu'ch. I 'members Sam Watson , he was a nigger Baptis' preacher. Yes, suah, he was a slave too. Mister Jaynes he raise' cotton an' co'n. Dey hab 'bout 400 acres. We was treat' fair an' hab plenty to eat. Us had co'n bread an' peas, an' hawg an' sich. Oh yes, us had 'possum sometime' too. Jus' tek a nice fat 'possum an' skin 'um an' put 'um in a oven an' ros' 'um wid sweet 'taters all 'roun' 'um an' make plenty of graby. 'M, 'm, 'm, dat was good. My marster 'low us hab a little place dat we could wuk an' raise' our own t'ings, veg'tbles an' dose kin' of t'ings. He gib de seed fo' de gardens but he didn' make de nigger gib him nuthin' back. Atter freedom come on us stay on fo' 'bout fo' (four) year'. A deal of 'em ol' ones didn' want to eber leabe my marster, an' my young marsters an' missus, an' some of dem stay on de same ol' place 'til dey die. I 'member atter de war dey was de Buro (Bureau). Mister Cave Johnson he was de Buro here an' he take any complaints w'at dey was. De Buro was plenty busy. Dey make trips 'roun' to see de niggers was gittin' dey freedoms like dey 'spose'. De Klu Klux dey range some but not much. Dey soon play' out. Dey didn' kill much or whup 'em down 'roun' yere. Dey tuk mos' time to scare de niggers. One time dey come to my daddy's house an' de leader, w'at had on a long robe, he say 'Niggah, quick you an' git me a drink o' water.' My daddy he brung de w'ite folks de drinkin go'd (gourd). Dat Klu Klux he say, 'Niggah, I say git me a drink--bring me dat bucket, I's thirsty.' Den dat man he drin' three big buckets of water. Us tho't he was drinkin' all dat water, but we fin' atter dat he hab a rubber bag under de robe, an' he was puttin' de water in dere. I been growed up wid lots of fine w'ite folks in de town. Dey always nice to me, an' I tries to do de bes' I know.

One jedge he say, 'Dat George Simmons , he one de mos' honorablest culled men in dis Jeff'son county.' I ain't mistook nuthin' in my life. I been farmin' an' sawmillin' mos' my life but I disable to do much now ceptin' jus' here 'roun' de place. I uster play de fiddle at de dance. I 'member one time in '86 I's sawin' 'way on a piece I jus' pick up. A man come by an' say, 'Gawge, you know w'at dat you playin'? An' I say, 'No, an' he say, 'Dat 'De Big Woods,' dat w'at dey play at de s'render of Sabine Pass. It w'er a march tune. Dey uster promp' 'em at de dance. Dey call' it 'promp' de figure.' Sometime' dey sing,  Jine right han's' an' mo' like dat. Time us hab a chord w'at call' de 'partner to dey places' or to a stan'. Dey hab a cake an' lemonade mos' at de dance'. Sometime' dey hab sugar stick an' apples. De gals wo' (wore) flow draggin' skirts. De boys wo' doe skin jeans pants an' dyed Lowe's shu'ts or hick'ry shu'ts. Sometime' us dance all night. See dat pictur' on de wall? Dat my son, Baby Jim . He growed up to be 890 poun's befo' he die' up in de eas' somew'er. Us neber git to sen' fo' him to bring him home to bury him. He was in lots of shows roun' de country. Dat was funny, me or my wife or none de uder chillern eber weigh more'n' 180 poun's. My wife she die' 'bout 8 year' ago but de boys all good to dey ol' man. I 'member w'en dat big boy of mine, Jim , was home. Dat was long befo' he eber git he growth. Us uster come in to Beaumont in de wagon an' we bog right down on de main street. An' de wuss of it was us hafter unload dat boy befo' us git unstuck. W'ite folks uster laf' an' laf' cause de wheels go down in de mud clear to de hubs.