July 9, 2024 • 9 mins
On this episode of Our American Stories, even though the working-class African-American community around Eric often couldn’t read or write, they could tell a story. To Eric, there was no honor higher than having the stories he would learn retold by the men around him.
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Episode Transcript
Available transcripts are automatically generated. Complete accuracy is not guaranteed.
Speaker 1 (00:10):
This is our American stories, and today we're talking to
Eric Motley. We've heard from Eric before about his life
and a place called Madison Park. Madison Park was the
first plantation to be bought by former slaves, and Eric
told us that they came together and formed a community,
a community that would eventually raise Eric. Eric, in your book,
(00:34):
you write quote, I have often wondered if it's somehow
in African Americans bloodlines to be good storytellers and good
talkers because by law, slaves weren't allowed to learn to read.
I marvel all these years later, how so many of
the elderly people of Madison Park, with no formal education,
used pitch, volume, pause, pace, crescendo, even a whisper to
(01:00):
make a joke or tell a story, such as they
did in Little Joe's Backyard, Eric, Who's little Joe.
Speaker 2 (01:10):
Little Joe was the son of Big Joe. And Big
Joe was really the first barber I ever knew. And
we would go to Big Joe. His name was Joseph
Simon the Senior. We would go to his house. Granddaddy
would take me and we would sit in his little
crib and I would have my haircut and of course,
he ended up dying, and Little Joe ended up buying
(01:33):
the house of missus Cheney Jackson that was several doors
down from us. And on Sundays, right before church, early
on Sunday mornings, before Sunday school, all the men of
Madison Park would gether at Little Joe's house and they
would sit on the front porch and they would pass
time away until they went to church. And my grandfather
(01:54):
would grab me by the hand and he would walk
me through the field under the old pair of trees,
through the grove, and he would take me over and
I would arrive and I would sit and I would
watch my grandfather get his haircut, and I would hear
all the town gossip whose voice set broken and who
could no longer sing in the church choir, all the
(02:17):
family relation problems that people were having, and who needed
some extra money, and how people had to organize themselves
to support said person. I heard everything, and then all
of a sudden, I would hear my name, and everyone,
all the older men would call me the boy of
George Motley. You're the boy of George Motley. There were
(02:40):
times that I actually thought, well, you know, I have
my own name. And now in retrospect, I realized that
one of the great joys that I derived in my
childhood was being associated with this incredible man that everyone
knew by His full name is George Motley. And young
man get up in this chair, and I would climb
up up in the chair, and little Joe would put
(03:02):
a cape around me, a barber's cloth. It was a
sheet or a towel from the house, and he would
proceed cutting my hair. And he would say, how do
you want your hair cut today? And of course it
was a question that was already the answer was already known,
because he had been cutting my hair for years, and
there was only one hairstyle that he knew how to
(03:22):
give everyone in Madison Park. And so my grandfather would say, oh,
the same cut Joe, and Joe would proceed, and I
would hear all of these people pass the time away.
I don't write about this, but my grandparents, of course
required me to give recitations at the dinner table. My
grandfather would say a prayer, he would turn to me
(03:43):
and he would ask me if I would recite something
a poem by Robert Frost, or something by Langston Hughes,
or and so every meal was preluded with a prayer.
In some recitation, it could have been the Declaration of Independence.
But I mentioned that because always at Little Joe's house,
when I got out of the chair, someone would say,
(04:06):
recite something for me, George Motley's boy, And in that
moment the spotlight would be on me, and I would
have to stand and I would have to recite something.
And in our little church union chapel, there was only
one Bible up on the altar, and it was a
King James Bible. And the King James Bible was, as
(04:28):
you know, so compacted with these and thows and weather two's,
and we just had to learn the weather too's, and
the these and the dows. And I would always be
asked to recite the First Corinthians thirteen the people of
Madison Park love, though I speak with the tongues of
(04:49):
men and of angels, and have not love. I've become
a sounding brass and a tinkling symbol. And then someone
would ask me what is a tinkling symbol? And my
grandfather would help me with all my responses. I think
that much of our lives are glued together by the
(05:10):
stories we learn at an early age. And the stories
we tell, and if they're beautiful stories and stories of
hope and stories of reconciliation and stories of forgiveness, we
tend to carry those stories with us and we tend
to live into those stories, and they become our stories.
(05:31):
And those were the stories that I heard as a
child in Madison Park. And there were stories that were
told to me by ordinary people who ended up being
some of the most extraordinary people in my life. My
grandfather's friends, for sure, many of them had never gone
off to technical school or even graduated for ninth grade.
(05:53):
They were domestic in their professional lives. They were plumbers,
and they had farms that they managed, or they worked
on construction sites. My grandfather started to alternate his friends
to take me to the Montgomery Public Library. And on Saturdays,
my grandfather took great pleasure driving me into the city
(06:16):
of Montgomery. We were in city limits but barely, and
he would drive me to the Montgomery Public Library. Mind you,
this was a library that my grandfather never would have
been able to go into. My mother was not allowed
to go into the Montgomery Public Library because of racial
laws at the time. And so I was the first
(06:38):
recipient of this gift of being able to go through
those bronze doors at the Montgomery Public Library to ascend
the stairs and to sit at the reading tables and
to check out books. And one of the most beautiful
memories is my grandfather asking other friends of his to
drive me, and they would drive me on Saturday morning,
(07:01):
most of them never having even been to a library,
and all of them just sitting out on the parking
lot waiting on me two three hours of being in
the library and just having enormous satisfaction and pleasure in
knowing that I was able to do something that they
were not able to do or had not been able
to do. And they would always ask me, when I
(07:23):
would come out and get back into the car, tell
me what you learned today, Tell me a story. And
one of the greatest compliments was for me to hear
Nebo Johnson or mister Van or mister Ray later tell
(07:46):
that story to someone else.
Speaker 1 (07:48):
And we're listening to Eric Motley, author of Madison Park,
A Place of Hope. Go to Amazon and the usual suspects,
buy this book, share it with friends. It's a remarkable story.
Not just a out of town, but my goodness, a
very special town. Madison Park was the first plantation to
be bought by former slaves, and Eric Well, he weaves
(08:10):
intergenerational storytelling of an African American community and how it
raised him. A community raised him. And by the way,
what he said about storytelling is so beautiful, and we
concur here on our American Stories with the power of story.
I think he said that much of our lives are
glued together by the stories we hear at an early
(08:33):
age and the stories we tell, if they're beautiful stories,
stories of hope, stories of reconciliation, and stories of forgiveness,
we tend to carry those stories with us and we
tend to live into those stories. And I don't think
there's been a greater truth uttered on this show than
(08:55):
what Eric just said. And that's why we do what
we do every day here on our American Stories, tell
stories of hope, reconciliation, and forgiveness. Eric Motley his story
and Madison Park's story here on our American Story
This is our American stories, and today we're talking to
Eric Motley. We've heard from Eric before about his life
and a place called Madison Park. Madison Park was the
first plantation to be bought by former slaves, and Eric
told us that they came together and formed a community,
a community that would eventually raise Eric. Eric, in your book,
(00:34):
you write quote, I have often wondered if it's somehow
in African Americans bloodlines to be good storytellers and good
talkers because by law, slaves weren't allowed to learn to read.
I marvel all these years later, how so many of
the elderly people of Madison Park, with no formal education,
used pitch, volume, pause, pace, crescendo, even a whisper to
(01:00):
make a joke or tell a story, such as they
did in Little Joe's Backyard, Eric, Who's little Joe.
Speaker 2 (01:10):
Little Joe was the son of Big Joe. And Big
Joe was really the first barber I ever knew. And
we would go to Big Joe. His name was Joseph
Simon the Senior. We would go to his house. Granddaddy
would take me and we would sit in his little
crib and I would have my haircut and of course,
he ended up dying, and Little Joe ended up buying
(01:33):
the house of missus Cheney Jackson that was several doors
down from us. And on Sundays, right before church, early
on Sunday mornings, before Sunday school, all the men of
Madison Park would gether at Little Joe's house and they
would sit on the front porch and they would pass
time away until they went to church. And my grandfather
(01:54):
would grab me by the hand and he would walk
me through the field under the old pair of trees,
through the grove, and he would take me over and
I would arrive and I would sit and I would
watch my grandfather get his haircut, and I would hear
all the town gossip whose voice set broken and who
could no longer sing in the church choir, all the
(02:17):
family relation problems that people were having, and who needed
some extra money, and how people had to organize themselves
to support said person. I heard everything, and then all
of a sudden, I would hear my name, and everyone,
all the older men would call me the boy of
George Motley. You're the boy of George Motley. There were
(02:40):
times that I actually thought, well, you know, I have
my own name. And now in retrospect, I realized that
one of the great joys that I derived in my
childhood was being associated with this incredible man that everyone
knew by His full name is George Motley. And young
man get up in this chair, and I would climb
up up in the chair, and little Joe would put
(03:02):
a cape around me, a barber's cloth. It was a
sheet or a towel from the house, and he would
proceed cutting my hair. And he would say, how do
you want your hair cut today? And of course it
was a question that was already the answer was already known,
because he had been cutting my hair for years, and
there was only one hairstyle that he knew how to
(03:22):
give everyone in Madison Park. And so my grandfather would say, oh,
the same cut Joe, and Joe would proceed, and I
would hear all of these people pass the time away.
I don't write about this, but my grandparents, of course
required me to give recitations at the dinner table. My
grandfather would say a prayer, he would turn to me
(03:43):
and he would ask me if I would recite something
a poem by Robert Frost, or something by Langston Hughes,
or and so every meal was preluded with a prayer.
In some recitation, it could have been the Declaration of Independence.
But I mentioned that because always at Little Joe's house,
when I got out of the chair, someone would say,
(04:06):
recite something for me, George Motley's boy, And in that
moment the spotlight would be on me, and I would
have to stand and I would have to recite something.
And in our little church union chapel, there was only
one Bible up on the altar, and it was a
King James Bible. And the King James Bible was, as
(04:28):
you know, so compacted with these and thows and weather two's,
and we just had to learn the weather too's, and
the these and the dows. And I would always be
asked to recite the First Corinthians thirteen the people of
Madison Park love, though I speak with the tongues of
(04:49):
men and of angels, and have not love. I've become
a sounding brass and a tinkling symbol. And then someone
would ask me what is a tinkling symbol? And my
grandfather would help me with all my responses. I think
that much of our lives are glued together by the
(05:10):
stories we learn at an early age. And the stories
we tell, and if they're beautiful stories and stories of
hope and stories of reconciliation and stories of forgiveness, we
tend to carry those stories with us and we tend
to live into those stories, and they become our stories.
(05:31):
And those were the stories that I heard as a
child in Madison Park. And there were stories that were
told to me by ordinary people who ended up being
some of the most extraordinary people in my life. My
grandfather's friends, for sure, many of them had never gone
off to technical school or even graduated for ninth grade.
(05:53):
They were domestic in their professional lives. They were plumbers,
and they had farms that they managed, or they worked
on construction sites. My grandfather started to alternate his friends
to take me to the Montgomery Public Library. And on Saturdays,
my grandfather took great pleasure driving me into the city
(06:16):
of Montgomery. We were in city limits but barely, and
he would drive me to the Montgomery Public Library. Mind you,
this was a library that my grandfather never would have
been able to go into. My mother was not allowed
to go into the Montgomery Public Library because of racial
laws at the time. And so I was the first
(06:38):
recipient of this gift of being able to go through
those bronze doors at the Montgomery Public Library to ascend
the stairs and to sit at the reading tables and
to check out books. And one of the most beautiful
memories is my grandfather asking other friends of his to
drive me, and they would drive me on Saturday morning,
(07:01):
most of them never having even been to a library,
and all of them just sitting out on the parking
lot waiting on me two three hours of being in
the library and just having enormous satisfaction and pleasure in
knowing that I was able to do something that they
were not able to do or had not been able
to do. And they would always ask me, when I
(07:23):
would come out and get back into the car, tell
me what you learned today, Tell me a story. And
one of the greatest compliments was for me to hear
Nebo Johnson or mister Van or mister Ray later tell
(07:46):
that story to someone else.
Speaker 1 (07:48):
And we're listening to Eric Motley, author of Madison Park,
A Place of Hope. Go to Amazon and the usual suspects,
buy this book, share it with friends. It's a remarkable story.
Not just a out of town, but my goodness, a
very special town. Madison Park was the first plantation to
be bought by former slaves, and Eric Well, he weaves
(08:10):
intergenerational storytelling of an African American community and how it
raised him. A community raised him. And by the way,
what he said about storytelling is so beautiful, and we
concur here on our American Stories with the power of story.
I think he said that much of our lives are
glued together by the stories we hear at an early
(08:33):
age and the stories we tell, if they're beautiful stories,
stories of hope, stories of reconciliation, and stories of forgiveness,
we tend to carry those stories with us and we
tend to live into those stories. And I don't think
there's been a greater truth uttered on this show than
(08:55):
what Eric just said. And that's why we do what
we do every day here on our American Stories, tell
stories of hope, reconciliation, and forgiveness. Eric Motley his story
and Madison Park's story here on our American Story
Host
Lee Habeeb
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