Wednesdays with Dorothy: "My Escape Attempt"

(This is part of a series. For Table of Contents go here)

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Maybe it wasn't an actual escape attempt so much as it was a desire to get away from the confines of the institution for a while. Dorothy's recollections reveal how frustrating that confinement was for many of the residents. As she would tell incidents like the ones related here, she couldn't help laughing about it, though you could hear some of the resentment she still felt even after all the years that had passed.

Photo by Naaman Fletcher

“They wouldn’t let you go nowhere you wanted to. Every night they would get us in the ward and make us stand by our beds. Then they would count us to see if any of us was missing. One time they was a bunch of ‘em got out the ward window. They was fixin’ to run away, and they did run. It was 3 or 4 of them. One of the ­­staff was sittin’ there on the hospital porch countin’ ‘em as they went out. His name was Clarence Smitherman, the superintendant of the Boys’ Building. They didn’t get very far – every one of them got caught.”

“They wouldn’t let us go anywhere except to the dining room and the school, sometimes to the place where we cleaned vegetables or to the okra patch. They wouldn’t let us leave the premises. I tried to run away one time – me and two or three others. I reckon I was about 15 or 16.  We broke a hole in the hedge and got through. We didn’t know where we would go except we just wanted to go anywhere we could. Me and another girl ran around the building, the other two just stood there. One of them got to acting silly and she got us caught. She said, ‘Ya’ll two idiots, come back here!’ I said, ‘Well, ya’ll was in to it to, ya’ll was a bigger idiot than we were – you didn’t run like we did, ya’ll just stood there.’  She was too scared to move, and she got us caught. They punished us” (she laughed as she spoke) “for running around the building.  They took us over to the lower-type building. They punished us by takin' us to a lower grade building and said we had to stay two weeks. We had to bath the lower-type people that didn’t know to bathe theirself. We had to feed ‘em and dress ‘em and put ‘em to bed. I thought to myself, ‘Well, if we are helping them we’re helping Jesus.’  I got tired of it, though, and I went on back to my building before they even told me to.”

“The lower grade building was where people didn’t know how to bath themselves or dress themselves, and they didn’t really know to go to the bathroom. They had extra staff over there to watch them. They asked me why I left from over there and went back to my building before they said I could go. I told them I didn’t want to stay over there because they were so mean to the ones that couldn’t take care of themselves. They used to tie them to the benches. Some of them were a lot older and bigger than I was. I never was mean to them as far as I remember.  For some of them I used to wash and roll their hair. They never would pay us, but sometimes they would give us fruit and things like that – the ones that I did for. They would get it from the canteen and sometimes they would give me part of it.”

Partlow Gate  by Naaman Fletcher

“I really didn’t like it at Partlow, and they told a lie in order to get me there. I thought we could come and go as we pleased, but when I got there, I found out different. They told us where we had to be all the time, and when they would get us inside, then they would lock the door. I spent 35 years of my life there.”

“There was one girl that got out and they wrote a book about her. The name of it was Della from Hell*.  She spent nearly all her life there, from the time she was three years old until she was grown. I heard talk about the book but I never did see it or read it. I well remember that girl because she used to sing in the choir the same time I did.  She used to do people’s hair. She was a beautiful thing. She lived in the same building I lived in. Her mother’s name was Ruby Rogers, and her name was Della Raye Rogers.  She worked in the main dining room and she waited on the tables where the handicapped were. Later on she started working at the beauty parlor.”

Photo by Naaman Fletcher

Next time we will learn about Dorothy’s brief reprieve outside of the institution.

________

* I was curious about the book Dorothy mentioned, which she said someone had told her about. I did some research and discovered that the book she was referring to is actually titled: Della Raye: A Girl Who Grew Up in Hell and Emerged Whole, by Gary Penley (Pelican Publishing, January 31, 2002).

About the Photographs: The pictures above were taken by Naaman Fletcher on the premises of Partlow State School years after the institution was closed down. They are featured on his blog What's Left of Birmingham at http://leftbirmingham.blogspot.com/2011_12_01_archive.html .

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Wednesdays with Dorothy: Living Arrangements

(This is part of a series. For Table of Contents go here)

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In our conversations, Dorothy would sometimes describe the house or houses where she lived as a child. Once she described her house as “being near the woods.” Another time she indicated that her family lived in a duplex.  After her mother died when she was ten, it seems that she and her father went from poor to destitute.  When her father was sent to prison, Dorothy tells of being sent to live with a legal guardian prior to being committed to Parlow State School.

Living Arrangements

“We moved around a lot back then. We didn’t have no house to live in after my mother died. My daddy, it’s a sad, sad thing, had to live in an old outhouse. It wasn’t no iron pit toilet in there, they took it out. There was no door, just a tow sack nailed across where the door was supposed to be. Later, my daddy found an old door and put it up there. He had to live in there and cook in there. He cooked on a little wood-burning stove that he picked up somewhere.

“We had no running water. We had to go way down in the hollow to this little spring to get our water. People used to keep their milk and butter down in the spring to keep it cold.

“To go to the bathroom, we had to go down this trail behind the house and get behind some bushes. There was a cot in that house. Sometimes I’d go to sleep with him on the cot, sometimes I would have to sleep on a quilt on the floor. Back then you could sleep with the door open, or out on the porch and still be safe. It wasn’t like it is now.

“The only time we got somethin’ to eat was out of the garbage dump.  My daddy didn’t have no job and couldn’t get one. He used to sell this old scrap metal. He never could get a job. I were with him there about half a year, then I went to live with that Knights. After that I went with my legal guardian in Comerdale.”

*    *    *

“After my mother died and my daddy went to prison, I was living with a couple, their name was Knight. Then I lived with my legal guardian, Mr. and Mrs. L.A. Stevenson. She came one night when I was at the Knight’s house and I didn’t know who she was. She handed me a block of chewing gum. I was practically a little wild and scared of anybody and I snatched it and took the wrapper off of it and put it in my mouth. Then she went and got me and put me in her lap. She said, “I’m going to take you to my house and fix you some hot corn bread and soup.” She did, and from then on I never did want to go back to where I was because they had got my daddy and took him on to jail. And then they had his court. After that I never did see him no more.  He went to Kilby prison. They didn’t have his records. That old Kilby Prison was destroyed by fire, and they had to build a new one on to it.  He died July 28, 1941.”

*   *   *

“I got under Child’s Welfare [when I was living with my legal guardian].  The probate judge of Sylacauga, named Harvey Littles, Judge Harvey Littles.  He had two nieces in Partlow. One of them was a lot older than me and she worked in the laundry at that time. Well, Ms. Ruth Hamilton and Ms. William Todd with Child Welfare got together and they decided to place me down there. And they gave me a mind test, a lady by the name of Miss Keebler did, I don’t remember her first name. And then there was a lady named Miss Vortman. She was a nurse at the city hall in Sylacauga.”

“So my judge and the welfare lady had me took down there and I didn’t even want to go. Ms. William Todd, she came to see me one time and brought me a coloring book and some colors. I didn’t have any better sense and I got mad with her about something or other and I wouldn’t let her know I was mad. I had a coloring book and I just took my crayons and twirled them around and around in my teeth, and I think I pitched them out the car window, as well as I remember. I didn’t want to go there. She wound up and signed the papers and they put me on the waiting list and they wound up putting me down there.”

“No, I didn’t want to go. I didn’t even have a choice, they just put me there.”

*   *   *   *   *

Next time we will begin discussing the years at Partlow State School.

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Wednesdays with Dorothy: School Days

(This is part of a series. For Table of Contents go here)

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I wanted to find out about Dorothy’s early experiences in school.  Most of my questions were open-ended questions just to find out from her what her early schooling had been like. Sometimes I would ask a few more questions to clarify, but I never asked any probing questions. I am no psychologist and I was not interested in delving into how she felt about her childhood and its circumstances. I primarily wanted to hear her story as she wanted to tell it.  If she did not want to dwell on a particular topic, I saw no reason to push it.

Some of her memories evoked light-hearted moments, while most indicated that she had difficulty learning and also faced some teasing and bullying from the other students.  After I had typed up our recorded conversations, I arranged her comments to put them in chronological order. I also edited out my questions so that what was written would be Dorothy’s story in her own words.  Here are the words that I placed under the category, “School Days:”

“I went to school in Sylacauga but we weren’t graded and everything. I read some, but never could do anything with arithmetic. Then one day they were all laughing at me. The teacher told them, ‘She can out spell any one of you!’”

“I first went to school at Drummond-Frasier. I wasn’t in school long, maybe about 2 and a half months. Then they got to pickin’ at me and everything and I was scared to go to the bathroom. This little ol’ girl would always fasten me up in the bathroom. Back then it wasn’t like it is now. I didn’t like her.  One day I got sick and I was afraid to go to the bathroom because of the way they would latch me up in there. I was afraid to go and I wet all over myself. The teacher sent me out in the hall. My mother came and took me out and I never did go back. I told my mother I didn’t like that girl and she took me out of there.”

“Professor Crothler was the principle, the teacher there was hateful and sent me to his office, but he didn’t whip me because he knew me and my mother had told him all about me. One time he gave me a little rabbit in a cage, and I kept that rabbit ‘till he died.”

“One time I was showing a picture that I colored to the teacher and that girl pinched me and, I don’t know, somehow or other I shoved her and they took me to the principal’s office. He didn’t do nothin’ because he thought I had a right to shove her if she pinched me.”

“The next year I went to Mignon. I think I went to Mignon a little over a year. I never made any grades – I couldn’t read or write or nothin’. One time I got on the wrong school bus. I don’t know where I went, but I got on the wrong bus. I thought I never would get back. Then the driver put me off and somebody else took me to where I was supposed to go.”

 “Then there was this one time I tried to go home with another girl. The driver wouldn’t let me get on the bus because he knew I didn’t ride that bus.”

“After I went to live with my legal guardian, she put me in Odena School. It was a little two-room school house. I used to walk to school. Then one day going home, an old crazy man got after me. I got scared and I run. He was in a car, and I ran through a corn field. When I got home I told my legal guardian. She told me he was crazy and he had killed a little girl a couple of years before. After that they wouldn’t let me walk to school no more. My legal guardian would drive me. She worked in the cotton mill. Later they told me that they put that old crazy man in an insane asylum.”

“I couldn’t learn nothin' [at school]. The teacher wouldn’t take no time with me. They finally took me out of school.  About 6 months after that they admitted me to Partlow School.”

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*

Wednesdays with Dorothy: Finding Family

(This is part of a series. For Table of Contents go here)

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In our meetings together, I wanted to find out as much as I could about Dorothy’s family of origin. I was sometimes amazed at the things she could remember from her early childhood.

Memories of Mother

“I was nine years old when my mother died. I was laying in the bed with her and my daddy came in. He had been drinking. He picked me up and said, “Dorothy, she’s gone,” and I said “You’re a liar, she’s not gone.” I slapped him across the face because I didn’t understand. He started to crying. He wouldn’t let me go to the funeral because I had the flu.”

*    *    *  

“My mother was really sweet, she had jet black hair and she wore her hair in a ball behind her head like my grandmother (I never saw my grandmother except in a picture). My granddaddy – he had a black mustache and beard, and he had long hair – it came down to his shoulders. He wore them short knee pants and black stockings and high-top shoes. He worked at a saw mill in Sylacauga. He was my mother’s daddy.”

“My mother used to go to work, she didn’t have no regular job, but she worked cleaning off the graves in the graveyard. All of my toys were homemade. I had a pasteboard box that my mother would put my toys in to keep under the bed. I would pull it out to play with them. I didn’t really hear about Santa Claus, not until I was 10 years old, and then I didn’t really know who he was.”

“I can remember when I was little my mother would put me up in the chair and I would try to help her wash the dishes, but I would just play in the water. She used to take me up to Uncle John and Aunt Lula Hosey’s house. We didn’t have no car, we had to walk everywhere we went.  Me and my cousin Louise, we were children at that time. I used to go visit my Aunt Lula and Uncle John. Where they lived there was a big sand pile and a creek. We used to play in that creek. Louise was 5 years old at that time. We got separated and she used to write to me and then we lost contact. Then she wouldn’t have anything to do with me.”

The Songs we Sang

“I remember spending time with my grandfather. He would sing that song to me ‘Chicken’s goin’ in Sourwood Mountain.’

“He would sing it:

            Chicken’s goin’ in Sourwood Mountain, uh huh.

            Chicken’s goin’ in Sourwood Mountain, uh huh.” [singing to the tune of “Froggy   

                 Went a’courtin’”]

“It would go like that. And my daddy, he would sing ‘Mexicali Rose,’ and  ‘ Molly and Me and the Baby Makes Three.’  When he weren’t drunk, he could sing really good.”

“I don’t remember hearing my mother sing, but I do remember I had a doll, and I had a little rocking chair. I was rocking with my doll one time and I was singing,  ‘Jesus Loves Me.’  I jumped up – I wasn’t mad or anything, but I chunked my doll across the room and went into the kitchen. Then I thought,  ‘Jesus loves me.’  And I looked up – my mother had a picture of Jesus on the wall and I thought it was a lady. I said,  ‘That lady is so beautiful, who is she?’  My mother said it was a picture of Jesus. I heard that song,  ‘ Jesus Loves Me’  somewhere, and I just sang part of it then I got up and threw my doll. I don’t remember why I did that.”

Dogs and Chickens and Spankings

“I remember I had this lil ol’ dog.  Every one I got would have fits, and my daddy would have to kill it. I did have a dog, my mother named it Spot, it was a pretty black and white collie, and somebody killed it. I waited for it to come home, I waited and waited but he never did come home – somebody killed it in the woods down below the house. I really loved that dog. It was one of my Aunt Gladys’s puppies. She had a dog named Black Gal, and Spot was one of her puppies.”

“I remember one time going fishing with my legal guardian and her husband. She had baited the hook and everything. I got It hung up in a bush, I snatched it off and broke the line off on a bush. We had gone a ways and she asked me if I was ready for her to put my hook in the water. I said, ‘Yes, Ma’am, I am,’ but I had broke [the hook] off. She asked me what did I lie to her for, and I said I didn’t lie, but I did, and she whipped me for lying to her. And then I remembered telling her that my hook got caught in a bush and I broke the line off of it. She whipped me so many times. She whipped me one time for breaking one of her hen’s legs. I was sweeping up in the yard with an old brush broom. I didn’t want the chickens to use the yard for a bath room. I hit one of her laying hens and broke its leg with a rock. She whipped me good for breaking that hen’s leg. She had to put glass eggs down for that hen to ever start laying again.

“The hen lived and her leg healed, but I got my legs nettled for it. One time she whipped me for singing that song, ‘There’s not a Friend like the Lowly Jesus.’  Well I didn’t know the lyrics to it, I thought it was ‘There’s not a friend like the long-necked Jesus.’ And she said, ‘I’m going to whip you for making fun of that song, Dorothy, You are not to make light of that song.’ She whipped me good, almost took the blood where she whipped me.”

*   *   *

“I was ten years old the first time I heard Fats Domino sing Blueberry Hill. At that time I was living with my legal guardian. One night we had gone out to an oyster fry, me and my legal guardian, and I remember her daughter Vera’s boyfriend was in the car with her. Vera really disliked me. I seen him kiss her, and I said, “why don’t you kiss me?” it made her so mad, she hopped out of the car and run in the house. Then she came back out. Later when we got back she said “I could kill that little hussy – asking my boyfriend to kiss her.” I was standing there taking it all in, and I was snickering the whole time. From that day until this, she hasn’t had any use for me. I reckon she’s an old lady now.”

*   *   *   *   *

Finding a Sense of Family and Place

Having a home place was important to Dorothy. After I got to know her, I drove her down to Sylacauga on several occasions so that she could touch base with where she was born, though there was no house or family to go to.  She had told me before that when her mother had died, the family had not been able to afford a headstone for her grave.  Still, she wanted to be able to visit her mother’s grave. On the first trip that I took with her to Sylacauga, I knew it would be a hopeless endeavor to get Dorothy to her mother’s grave. We did find an old cemetery a few miles out of town.  As we walked around the graves, we found one that was unmarked where the ground has sunk down a bit in the outline of the hole that had been dug. Since it was an unmarked grave, we talked some about “what if” that was where her mother had been buried. Knowing, of course, that there was no way to know who was buried there, we still lingered a bit and took some time to remember the mother who had died when Dorothy was just a child.

Dorothy did have some relatives still living in Sylacauga, but none were willing to see her. On one of our trips to Sylacauga, Dorothy gave me the name of a cousin whom she wanted me to contact to see if she could visit when she came to Sylacauga.  I was able to find a telephone number and talk with the individual, but there was no willingness to have any kind of visit.

I had no idea what the cousin’s perception of Dorothy might have been. Maybe they knew each other as children when Dorothy was living with the stigma of being poor and “retarded.”  Perhaps words had been whispered throughout that person’s life about the relative who had to be “locked up in an asylum.”  At any rate, the cousin could not be persuaded to even meet briefly with Dorothy. I felt sad for Dorothy that I would have to tell her that her cousin would not be seeing her. I also felt sad for the cousin who had no idea of the person Dorothy had grown to become and now would never find out.

When I told Dorothy of my lack of success in arranging a visit with her relative, she looked a bit disappointed, but then took it in stride. I think that she had actually attempted to make connection before, but wanted me to try this time in case there was a better outcome. At any rate, Dorothy spent most of her life attempting to create family by keeping trusted friends within her circle of contacts. She also had a way of drawing in case managers and healthcare workers to establish close friendly relationships. Most people who had any kind of professional relationship with her enjoyed that contact. Whether she did it consciously or unconsciously, Dorothy was insuring that those who could help would be there when she needed them.

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Wednesdays with Dorothy: A Blog Series

My friend Dorothy Faye Burdette was laid to rest in April of 2012. For a life that began in crushing poverty and abuse followed by harsh institutionalization from the age of ten until she was forty-five, she had her own unique style. Because she was willing to tell her story, her memorial service at Glen Iris Baptist Church included some of her own recollections about the struggles she endured. It was a fitting tribute to her life. I am using my blog to tell Dorothy’s story by sharing of some of the conversations I had with her. The series is called "Wednesdays with Dorothy," with a new post to be added each Wednesday.

The following posts may be found by clicking on the title:

1. Wednesdays with Dorothy: How It All Began

2.  The Life Story Project

Early Childhood

3.  Beginnings in Sylacauga

4. Outings, Hysteria, and Prayer Meetings

5.  Finding Family

6. School Days

7. Living Arrangements

Institutionalization: The Partlow Years

8. A Judge's Ruling

9. Eugenics and Misguided Visions for a Better Society

10. Recreation at the Institution

11. Life in the Institution

12. Holidays and Family Visits

13. Religion in the Institution

14. Visits from Dignitaries and News from the Outside

15. "My Escape Attempt"

16. A Brief Reprieve in the Outside World

17. Preparations for Leaving the Institution

Living in the Community

18. Moving into the Community

19. My Arrival at St. Andrew's Foundation

20. Finding My Way in the City

21. Actives in the Community

22. Freedom to Shop

23. Making the Transition from Group Home to Apartment

24. Finding My Own Apartment

26. Finding Domestic Harmony

27. Frustrations in Life

28. Con Artists and Other Dangers

29. Stilling the Anger

30. A Speech about Independent Living

31. With a Little Help from My Friends

32. Matters of Health

33. There's No Place Like Home

34. "I've got myself in a terrible mess"

35. Another Trip to the Hospital

36. Palliative Care

37. Crossing the Threshold

38. My Last Wednesday with Dorothy

39. Epilogue: Remembering Dorothy One Year Later

Addendum:

• An Interview with Francis Walter
• Jean Vanier on Becoming Human, by Pamela Cushing
• Henri Nowen and L'Arche
• Not in My Backyard, by Clarie Andre and Manuel Valasquez

*

Wednesdays with Dorothy: Beginnings in Sylacauga

(This is part of a series. For Table of Contents go here)

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On the first day we met to talk about Dorothy’s life story, after we got settled and made some small talk, I just turned on the tape recorder and asked her what she wanted to talk about. I had a micro cassette tape recorder with 90 minute tapes – 45 minutes on each side. Usually 45 minutes was about as long as Dorothy could stay focused on the topic of her life history, and then it was with frequent questions from me to get her to elaborate.  Often she would be talking about something in her past and suddenly think of something else she wanted tell me that happened just yesterday.  Keeping her on track was usually my main task during our sessions with the tape recorder, but not on this first day.

Dorothy immediately began with what was the essential story of her life as she saw it. It defined who she was, where she came from, and what she had endured:

 I lived in Sylacauga, Alabama until I was ten years old, then I was took away. The way they got me there [to Partlow State School] is they told me there was a big shopping mall and we could go anywhere we wanted to and do whatever we wanted to.  When I got there they didn’t do nothin’ but lock us in. We couldn’t even go off the premises.

My daddy was living in Sylacauga, him and my mother. One time there was an old colored man had a little ol’ calf. My daddy went down there and got that calf and killed it, and that colored man didn’t know it. He brought the beef to the house but my mother wouldn’t cook it because she knew he stole it.

The police came and took my daddy down to the jail house and he had to own up to it. Then he had to go to court. I told that colored man that I was sorry that my daddy did so.  The colored man said, “Well it was my calf, and Mr. Burdette got it.” Then they took him down to the jail and the next thing I knew, they sentenced him to prison. He stayed there a good long while then he finally got out.

In 1939 my mother died. Then my daddy and I moved to another part of town.  One day my daddy and I went on a fishing trip. We went off down to the woods and my daddy tried to do something I didn’t want him to do. I hit him with a limb and I got up and ran. He cussed me and he told me if he caught me he’d kill me, so I was really afraid. I ran up to the house and hid under the bed where he couldn’t find me. Then I went to the police after going to a neighbor’s house. They took me down to the police station.

They finally sentenced my daddy after he went to court for the second time. They sent him to Kilby Prison in Montgomery.  He stayed there until he died on July 28, 1944. I didn’t know it until ten years later. My Aunt Gladys came and told me, when she came to see me at Partlow.

*    *    *

These were the defining moments of her life as she saw it. A little girl with limited coping skills (as we shall see as Dorothy tells more of her childhood) was born into crushing poverty. Her mother died and her abusive father was sent to prison.  After enduring such hardship, she was sent to live in an institution. She was far from family, far from anyone she knew.

Once when Dorothy was visiting at our house for Thanksgiving dinner, she talked briefly about her father. “My daddy could be real mean and hateful, I was scared of him a lot of the time and didn’t like him, but when I think about it there was some part of me that really loved him, somehow.”

I would learn more about her father and her mother through our taped discussions in the weeks ahead.

*

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Wednesdays with Dorothy: The Life Story Project

(This is part of a series. For Table of Contents go here)

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The telephone rang early one evening.

“Charlie, was that you that tried to call me just now?”

The voice on the other end of the line was that of my friend, Dorothy Burdette. “No, it wasn’t me, Dorothy.”

“Well – a while ago the phone rang and I couldn’t get to it right away, so by the time I got to the telephone they had hung up, and I just wondered if it was you, Charlie.  How’ve you been doin’?”

“I’m fine, Dorothy, how are you?”

“I’ve been doin’ pretty good, but you won’t believe what happened to me today, Charlie.”

Dorothy then began to recount some of the highlights of her day.  By the time we were through chatting, we had arranged a time and a day to meet together for lunch. I thanked Dorothy for keeping in touch. It was her usual way of beginning a phone conversation, on the idea that perhaps a call she missed might have been me. I don’t know if this was just her way of finding an excuse to call, or if it was her way of easing into a conversation, or if a missed phone call just reminded her of her desire to talk to someone. I always found it amusing, and it was a technique that worked well for her.

Dorothy had been living on her own in her little apartment for years. When I drove up to her three unit brown brick apartment house, she was sitting on the front porch waiting. We went inside for a few minutes. She had a small “shotgun style” apartment with a font room that served as her bedroom and living room.  Straight back from there was a small pantry that had a couple of cabinets and a table where she could sit and eat. The room then opened on to a small kitchen. She always kept he apartment meticulously neat and tidy.

The Joys of Coffee and Shopping

After we decided where to go for lunch, I knew that our visit would end with a trip to the supermarket so that Dorothy could pick up some grocery items. Her shopping would always include packs of toilet paper, boxes of crackers, and some bags of candy, though she also loved to keep fresh fruit on her table. Coffee was another necessity. She treasured her morning ritual of awaking to make a pot of coffee which she would savor either at her small kitchen table or in her chair on the front porch. Once she told me about a church social she had been invited to, describing all kinds of great food and friends gathered round, then ended her account of the night with a despondent expression saying, “And they didn’t even have no coffee!”

Shopping was a great joy for Dorothy, having spent so many years in an institution and being unable to go out on her own to shop for anything.  She was now in her elderly years and relied heavily upon friends who could drive her to places she needed to go. In her early days of independent living, however, she walked to several places in her neighborhood to do her shopping. She told me once, with remarkable candor, about one of her early shopping experiences at the little neighborhood grocery store named Milton’s.

“I was doin’ some of my shopping at Milton’s Grocery and I saw some air freshener that I wanted. I didn’t know if I had enough money for it so I thought I was goin' to be smart and get out of there without payin' for it. I put it in my bosom before I got up to the checkout counter with my groceries. Mrs. Milton was ringing up my bill and she said, ‘Dorothy, what’s that you’ve got in your dress?’

“I said, ‘I ain’t got nothing in my dress,’ but she kept on and said she knew I had something I was hidin’ so I finally took it out and when I looked at it, it wasn’t even air freshener! It was one of them things put in a bird cage! I didn’t have no use for that anyway.”

So Dorothy learned early that you must pay for what you get, and to look more closely to distinguish between air freshener and cuttlefish bones.  Fortunately, Mr. and Mrs. Milton who operated their little grocery were members of the community, knew Dorothy well, and they could all laugh about it with no hard feelings.

Initiating the Life Story Project

On this particular day, after going out to lunch I took Dorothy to do some shopping at Publix. Publix Grocery was on the other side of town and it was a rare treat for Dorothy to walk its isles. She might find something unusual to go with her coffee. It was on a day like this that I posed the question to her about writing down her life story.

“Dorothy, I often hear you talk about your life growing up in Sylacauga and then at Partlow State School.  How would you feel about taking some time to sit and talk about your life so I could record it on tape? Then we could get it written down on paper.”

“Oh, yes!” was her immediate reply, “You can come by anytime you want to and I would be glad to tell you all about it!”

So that was how we set out to record Dorothy Faye Burdette’s life story. Next week I’ll share about the first time we sat together with a tape recorder and Ms. Burdette told of her beginnings, and of a life of poverty, sorrow and abuse which eventually unfolded into something she could celebrate.


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