I clicked on the recorder.
“This is Ailey Pearl Garfield. I’m interviewing Dr. Jason Freeman Hargrace, a resident of Chicasetta, Georgia. Today’s date is July 23, 2007. Dr. Hargrace, do you give me permission to record our conversation?”
“I do.”
“Dr. Hargrace, can you tell me when and where you were born?”
“I was born Christmas Day in nineteen hundred and seven on Wood Place Plantation in Chicasetta, Georgia. My mother told me I was six weeks early, but her grandmother insisted the timing was off. I was a very fat baby.”
“And who were your parents?”
“My mother’s name was Maybelline Victorina Freeman. They called her Lil’ May. My father’s name was Thomas John Pinchard Sr. They called him Big Thom. His father was named Victor Pinchard. And Victor’s father was Samuel Pinchard. My father was a white man, and my mother was a Negro. He was twenty-two years older. My mother’s mother was named Sheba Freeman. We never knew the name of my mother’s father, and we didn’t know much about him, other than he was a scoundrel. My maternal great-grandmother was named Eliza Two Freeman, but we called her Meema. She was a slave and so were her parents. They were owned by the parents and grandparents of Big Thom Pinchard.”
“Can you name any of your other ancestors of the Pinchard line?”
“You mean, can I name any more white folks in my bloodline?” He laughed. “I do know that Victor and Eliza Two’s father were half brothers.”
“Really?”
“Ah! The scholar picks up a pen! I see I’ve piqued your interest. Yes, they were half brothers. Samuel, their father, was the owner of Wood Place. The slaves called him ‘Old Massa.’ Whenever Meema talked about him, her mouth would shrink up like a prune.”
He made a sour face.
The next question was sensitive. Though I’d talked through most of my findings with the old man, I hadn’t told him about what might be shocking, at least to him. But how to proceed?
“Dr. Hargrace, may I ask you a question?”
“I thought you were doing that already.”
“Um . . . well . . .”
“Go ahead, Ailey. I have no secrets from you.”
“All right. Were you aware that . . . Big Thom’s father, Victor . . . okay . . . um, were you aware that Victor . . . married a woman with the last name Franklin?”
He tilted his head. Reached for his cup of coffee. “You mean, as in the low-down, murderous Franklins of Chicasetta, Georgia?”
“Um . . . yes, sir. Those Franklins. Victor’s wife was named Grace Bless Franklin. She was Big Thom’s mother.”
“Well, what do you know? I’ll be goddamned! Excuse me, Ailey. I apologize for forgetting my manners. I was not reared to use profanity in front of ladies. Can we erase that part?”
“It’s okay. I’ve heard worse in my life. Said worse, too.”
“You mean, all this time, those Franklins actually owned that land?”
“Not exactly. Initially, they did own an adjoining parcel they’d won in the land lottery. But then they sold that parcel piecemeal through the years. Before the war, Jeremiah Franklin signed the last parcel over to Samuel Pinchard for a couple hundred dollars. Jeremiah was Grace’s brother. I guess that relationship meant Jeremiah felt like he somehow had a right to the land.”
“This is so strange. Isn’t this strange? Come now, Ailey, admit it. Or do I have to make a chicken face?”
“Uncle Root, stop! I’m trying to be serious here! Yes, I must say, I was very surprised to discover that information. So you didn’t know about this?”
“No, I did not.”
“But what about that stuff that Tommy Jr. kept? How come you didn’t look at them . . .” I stopped. I had to remember this conversation was being recorded. We weren’t just sitting up over coffee. “I mean, before your white half brother, Thomas Pinchard Jr., donated the family papers to the Old South Collections, did you have a chance to peruse those documents?”
“I did,” Uncle Root said. “Actually, it was me who kept those three boxes of papers all that time. And a good thing. Otherwise, when the old plantation house burned down in 1934, those papers would have been destroyed.”
“Really? There was another fire on Wood Place?”
“Oh yes. But nobody ever found out who burned it down or why.”
“Is there a reason you chose not to look at the papers?”
“I tried once. But when I started looking through the documents from the very early years, I became enraged. Just because I’m an historian, doesn’t mean I don’t have feelings. And when I began to read, I got so angry, it seemed like I was vibrating! The casual way Samuel Pinchard talking about buying and selling and owning human beings. And some of those were my ancestors. I was afraid I’d do something stupid, like set those papers on fire. That’s why I asked Tommy Jr. to donate them.”