History[ edit ] Beggars have existed in human society since before the dawn of recorded history.
Highway 61 Lake Mary Centreville Mississippi Louisiana introduction W hen I, a white Mississippian, worked as a folklorist in my home state in the sixties and seventies, I set out to study African American music, but the people I met opened my eyes to much more than music.
Each of the musicians I was privileged to record—through interviews, sound recordings, still photography, and film—revealed the fabric of life in their families and communities in powerful ways. By featuring their voices firsthand in this book, I attempt to give the reader the opportunity to hear, from the inside as much as possible, voices, stories, and music that are the roots of the blues.
By trying to capture the faces and surroundings of these musicians through photographs and films that complement and deepen their recorded voices in important ways, I hope to make portraits of the speakers that respect their entire lives and their culture.
These African American musicians speak about and perform musical traditions that are the authentic roots of black music. Hailing from the Delta, as well as from northeastern, central, and southern Mississippi, these musicians represent a wide range of musical traditions that include one-strand instruments, bottle-blowing, fife and drum, hymns, spirituals, the banjo, the fiddle, and prison work chants, all of which helped define the blues.
In this volume, richly varied musical worlds are presented through the voices of the artists themselves. The artistically and emotionally rich profiles of musicians that emerge illuminate both the African American experience and the history and culture of America itself.
But here, in the introduction, I will tell you something about my own background and why seeking out the voices of the blues was so important to me.
While my father owned the farm and black families lived and worked for him on the land, both my family and these black families had ancestral roots in the state that dated back to the nineteenth century.
Before telephones and television arrived in the fifties, members of the community either walked or drove to Vicksburg on a gravel road. Today, local residents still orient their lives in relation to Fisher Ferry Road, which passes through the farm and connects it to the outside world.
Residents often study travelers on the road and speculate aloud on where they are headed. Drivers, in turn, blow their horns and wave at friends who sit on porches that face the road.
On the farm, my family had daily, if not hourly, interactions with black families in our home and in the fields. Their lives and ours were intimately linked.
When my parents drove to a party in Vicksburg on a Saturday night, a black woman named Virgil Simpson babysat us. My four siblings and I were quite young, and I remember my parents returned one night around midnight to find us all dancing with Virgil with the radio turned up full blast.
They sent us straight to bed, but I never forgot the association of music and dance with freedom. Some days Virgil walked with us through pastures where we looked for guinea eggs that we found in nests along fencerows.
She carefully took the eggs out of the nests with a spoon so as not to leave the scent of her hands. In the summer, we went out with Virgil, Mother, and others to gather blackberries in large briar patches.
At the end of an afternoon, we had filled a large washtub with berries that we later ate in pies and jam. My mother and my father taught us that we should always respect others regardless of their race.
My family differed from many white families, southern or otherwise, in their views about race. I remember that Jessie Cooper, a young man who worked for my father, contracted polio while visiting a family near our farm. Jessie recalls that his medical bills were forgiven by the hospital because his disease was polio.
My first sense of the existence of racism came at the age of five, when I entered Jefferson Davis Academy, an all-white public school in Warren County where three teachers—Clara Stevens, Lucille Hilderbrand, and Gladys Barfield— taught all six grades.
My friends Amos Griffin and William Appleton, who were children of black families living on the farm, stayed on the farm and attended Rose Hill School, where one teacher—Lou Roan—taught all six grades. While traveling home on the school bus one afternoon, we passed a black child riding a mule on the side of the road.
Several children leaned out the window and yelled racist epithets at the rider, scaring him and his mule terribly.
I can only imagine how he felt, and I know that the scene frightened me and still haunts me today. Its use always reminded me that my family and I were different. While the ugliness of racism lingered nearby, my siblings and I, as children, shared a world that was filled with natural beauty, mystery, and wonder.
Mother took us on walks in the woods and Introduct ion showed us green moss beneath trees where, she explained, fairies came out at night and danced. At picnics on the farm, she read us stories that stirred our imagination.
She took us swimming in Hamer Bayou on hot summer days. Once each week she insisted we remain quiet while she listened to classical music on the radio on the Firestone Hour. A childhood friend named Tommy Curtis and I created an imaginary world we called Wolf Town that was located in a badly eroded part of a pasture.
It was a secret place where we imagined adventures that we later described to our parents and siblings. During the summer my younger brother Grey and I worked with the men on the farm to bale hay, loaded the bales on a truck, and stacked them in the barn to feed cattle and horses in the winter.
Those were long, hot days broken up by noon dinners of fried chicken cooked by our black housekeeper Mary Gordon and washed down with glasses of her sweet iced tea. Grey and I both raised 4-H Club calves that we proudly exhibited at the Miss-Lou Fair, an agricultural show held each year at the Vicksburg fairgrounds.Case Study ISCOM WEEK 3 Case Study ISCOM WEEK 3 Case Study ISCOM WEEK 3 Case Study ISCOM WEEK 3 Read Case Problem at the end of Chapter Somerset Furniture Company’s Global Supply Chain Write a 1, to 1,word paper in which you address the following questions: Discuss Somerset’s global supply Read more about Case Study ISCOM WEEK 3 [ ].
You put a little bit of chain on it, fasten it onto the cage, and just drop it down in the water. When you catch a fish, you put him in that box and set your top down on it. Can’t no snake get in there.
Your fish stay fresh, and when you carry him home he’ll still be alive. I make me dip nets to catch minnows too.
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