pin.'"

SUBJECT--EX-SLAVE STORIES

Aunt Mollie Moss
# 88- Auburn Street,
Knoxville, Tennessee

There is no street sign or a number on any of the ramshackled frame
cottages that seemingly lean with the breezes, first one direction,
then another, along the alley that wind's through the city's
northernmost boundary and stops its meanderings at the doorstep of
"Uncle Andrew Moss" and his wife, "Aunt Mollie."

The City Directory of Knoxville, Tennessee officially lists the Moss
residence as # 88 Auburn Street. It rests upon its foundations more
substantially, and is in better kept condition than its neighbors. In
lieu of a "reg'lar" house number, the aged negro couple have placed a
rusty automobile lisence tag of ancient vintage conspicuously over
their door. It is their jesture of contempt for their nearest white
neighbors who "dont seem to care whedder folkses know whar dey lib an
maybe don wants em to."

As for Aunt Mollie, she holds herself superior to all of her
neighbors. She "Ain got no time for po white trash noway." She shoo'ed
two little tow-headed white girls from her doorstep with her broom as
she stood in her door and watched a visitor approach. "G'wan way frum
here now, can be bodder wid you chillun messin ups my front yard. Take
yo tings an go on back to yo own place!"

"Dats way dey do," she mummled as she lead the visitor inside the
cottage, through the dining-room and kitchen into the living-room and
bedroom. "Don know what I gwine do when come summer time. Keeps me all
time lookin out for dem chilluns. Dey's dat troublesome. Brings trash
in on my flo what I jes scoured, an musses 'roun, maybe tryin to steal
sumpin an me watchin em too. Dey wasnt teached manners and 'havior in
odder folkses houses like what I war."

When Aunt Mollie learned that it was to hear her story of how she was
trained in manners end behaviorism, that the visitor had come, and to
hear something of her recollections of slave days, her belligerent
mood vanished. The satisfied manner in which she drew up chairs before
the fire, took a pinch of snuff and settled her skirts, indicated that
was going to be quite a session. She leaned her elbows on her knees,
held her head between the palms of her hands and fumbled in her cloudy
memory to gather a few facts to relate.

Uncle Andrew, the more intelligent of the two, and quick to seize upon
his opportunity, began his reminiscences immediately, saying "Honey,
wait now," whe