tions to
produce a healthy boy-child by her--and a long argument on the value of
having good, strong, healthy children. In 1937, at the age of 92,
Ambrose Douglass welcomed his 38th child into the world.

The near-centenarian lives near Brooksville, in Hernando County, on a
run-down farm that he no longer attempts to tend now that most of his 38
children have deserted the farm for the more lucrative employment of the
cities of the phosphate camps.

Douglass was born free in Detroit in 1845. His parents returned South to
visit relatives still in slavery, and were soon reenslaved themselves,
with their children. Ambrose was one of these.

For 21 years he remained in slavery; sometimes at the plantation of his
original master in North Carolina, sometimes in other sections after he
had been sold to different masters.

"Yassuh, I been sold a lot of times", the old man states. "Our master
didn't believe in keeping a house, a horse or a darky after he had a
chance to make some money on him. Mostly, though, I was sold when I cut
up".

"I was a young man", he continues, "and didn't see why I should be
anybody's slave. I'd run away every chance I got. Sometimes they near
killed me, but mostly they just sold me. I guess I was pretty husky, at
that."

"They never did get their money's worth out of me, though. I worked as
long as they stood over me, then I ran around with the gals or sneaked
off to the woods. Sometimes they used to put dogs on me to get me back.

"When they finally sold me to a man up in Suwannee County--his name was
Harris--I thought it would be the end of the world. We had heard about
him all the way up in Virginia. They said he beat you, starved you and
tied you up when you didn't work, and killed you if you ran away.

"But I never had a better master. He never beat me, and always fed all
of us. 'Course, we didn't get too much to eat; corn meal, a little piece
of fat meat now and then, cabbages, greens, potatoes, and plenty of
molasses. When I worked up at 'the house' I et just what the master et;
sometimes he would give it to me his-self. When he didn't, I et it
anyway.

"He was so good, and I was so scared of him, till I didn't ever run away
from his place", Ambrose reminisces; "I had somebody there that I liked,
anyway. When he finally went to the war, he sold me back to a man in
North Carolina, in Hornett County. But the war was near over then; I
soon was as free as I am now.

"I guess we musta c