Paul Ortiz: I'm sorry, you were saying that the church— 

Florence Wilson-Davis: The church, yeah. It was smaller than the one in Westfield. 

Paul Ortiz: Okay, and what was the name of that church? 

Florence Wilson-Davis: In Hueytown? 

Paul Ortiz: Yeah. 

Florence Wilson-Davis: New Mt. Moriah Baptist. It is still in existent. 

Paul Ortiz: Oh, it is? 

Florence Wilson-Davis: Yeah. 

Paul Ortiz: What were the kinds of values that your parents stressed when you were growing up? 

Florence Wilson-Davis: Do unto others as you would have them do unto you. That was one that always stayed with me. But I guess you could say Christian values are values based on Christianity, and even though some of those might not have been right, but based on their beliefs or interpretation or whatever from the Bible. 

Paul Ortiz: Which ones would you say weren't right? 

Florence Wilson-Davis: A lot of them. Spare the rod, spoil the child. The whole thing of the parent/child relationship, but I'd say the basic values were just good. Some of them were good Christian values. One thing that I remember is my mother would always say that you're as good as the next person, and you're not better than or lesser than, and always hold your head up high. That always stayed with me. There was kind of an atmosphere of reciprocity that I thought was good, and was something that always stayed with me. In those days, it was typical of people to help each other out and not necessarily receive monies for that. There were survival patterns that worked quite well in the community. 

Paul Ortiz: How would people help each other out? 

Florence Wilson-Davis: Share garden vegetables, share fish, give somebody a ride, whatever. Visit somebody that was sick and do whatever was needed to be done, and just help each other in that way. My father did that until he died. But you asked about the values that I thought were not good, I guess a lot of it stems through maybe lack of education. I don't know, but there were different set of rules and different roles for the female, and the girl and the boys. The strictness, there were very strict rules. I can't think now. I think it's because I'm getting hungry. 

Paul Ortiz: Okay. I'll ask a few more questions. One more question along that line, who was responsible for discipline? 

Florence Wilson-Davis: My father. But my mother did it, too, but it was, "Well, I'll tell your daddy when he comes home." It was like the tough things were given to him, and if he made a decision to punish, my mother never interceded. I really don't remember much punishment of my brothers, not really. 

Paul Ortiz: Do you think that was kind of unfair? 

Florence Wilson-Davis: Mm-hmm, it was. 

Paul Ortiz: As you were growing up, did you notice the symbols of Jim Crow? You mentioned it was called Colored day on Saturday. Did you begin to have an awareness of the Jim Crow system? 

Florence Wilson-Davis: Oh, yeah. From the signs to the signs that were not there. But you knew that you could not do certain things like going to a park, set your foot on the other side of the sidewalk that surrounds the park. Not being able to sit down if you were downtown and going to Newberry's to get a hot dog, not being able to sit down. The separate windows, the separate toilets, the separate everything. That used to amaze me, because a tiny little gas station of years ago, you wondered how in the world they could get four toilets in such a small space, but they did. 

Florence Wilson-Davis: The interesting thing about that is coming back here. One time I was doing some survey work in rural Alabama, southwest Alabama, and there are no restrooms. There are no restrooms, so evidently, once desegregation came into place, they just abolished the restroom rather than go to one that a Colored person had gone to. Which was amazing to me, because with the slightest amount of intelligence you know that even if people don't share it with the public, they need a restroom. But they would look you dead in eye and say, "We don't have a restroom." I noticed that in Louisiana, too. 

Paul Ortiz: In the '50s? 

Florence Wilson-Davis: No, I'm talking '70s and '80s. Yeah, I noticed that in Louisiana. I don't know much about Mississippi, but like I said, there's just no restroom, but they had them before. But I remember the signs, the separateness, and it used to make me very, very angry. Very angry, because it just didn't seem fair. I never wanted to patronize places where, for instance, at a restaurant you had to go through the drive-through in order to get something and keep moving, or places that said, "You can come to the back and eat." I never wanted to go to a place like that. 

Paul Ortiz: What were the alternatives? 

Florence Wilson-Davis: Not eat, or if they had some little place off the kitchen where you could eat. I never liked that. 

Paul Ortiz: You mentioned that there were certain rules of segregation, and that there were signs in certain contexts such as the restrooms. Then you also mentioned that there were unspoken rules and regulations that you couldn't break. I guess my question is, how did you learn that? 

Florence Wilson-Davis: I don't know. That amazes me still, today. I don't know how a people, and we're talking thousands of Black people all over the South, how could an entire group of people learn or imitate that behavior without being taught that? It's a phenomenon to me, and I really don't know how it was done. 

Florence Wilson-Davis: There's this park in Fairfield, and I thought it was so pretty. I've always loved trees and I've always loved parks, once I was able to go to one. In Fairfield there's this little square, and the Colored place to eat, and use the toilet, and get a drink of water was on the corner, on the street on the other side of the park. It made such sense to me to walk through that park across the center of it and be at that little Colored stand. My mother would say, "I have told you, you cannot go into that park." I said, "But I don't see any signs." My father would say, "When there's a sign that says no dogs allowed, that means Black people. That means Colored people." 

Florence Wilson-Davis: I have talked to people who grew up in Fairfield, and I'll ask them if they ever set foot in that square. We're not talking about a park, we're just talking about a square, like a square block. Of course there was a park in front of that square, and they all say they never put their foot on the other side of that sidewalk. 

Florence Wilson-Davis: It's interesting, today Fairfield has a Black mayor. But anyway, it is phenomenal to me, like I said, that an entire group can be impacted that way, and respond in that way, whether it's out of fear or whatever. But if you were told not to do it, you just didn't do it. I can't ever remember my mother and father sitting me down and saying this, that, or the other. All I can remember is wanting to go through that park, and them telling me that I couldn't. Then after that, there was just no thought given to it. 

Florence Wilson-Davis: When I drive through that area today, TCI Hospital is now Lloyd Noland Hospital, and you go up a hill and you pass that same square, you pass the park. I remember this boulevard or whatever it is with trees and grass that I always thought was so pretty. There was the Colored section of Fairfield, if you were up where Miles is, Miles College. So if you were going there, that's where you went, unless you were going to work. 

Paul Ortiz: Well, you said that you wanted to get a bite to eat. 

Florence Wilson-Davis: Well, we've been going at it about an hour. 

Paul Ortiz: Well, maybe we can wrap it up then, and maybe later, next week or something, if you have some more time— 

Florence Wilson-Davis: Okay. 

Paul Ortiz: —I'd like to do a second half.