Paul Ortiz: Mr. Brown, could you tell me where you were born and a little bit about the area that you grew up in? 

George Brown: I was born in Dallas County. That's down below Selma, Alabama. I was born near and around Street Manual Training School area. 

Paul Ortiz: What kind of work did your parents do? 

George Brown: Well, my parents worked farm work, and they didn't have anything else to do. Later on, my dad got a job working for his brother, which was my uncle. My uncle owned the Street Manual Training School. Those jobs couldn't pay anything because they weren't getting any money themselves. But anyway, he made a living out of it. 

Paul Ortiz: Did your parents own the farm? 

George Brown: We bought a little land, but we didn't own anything. Not very much land was owned. It was all just about gobbled up by Whites. 

Paul Ortiz: So you were sharecroppers growing up, or— 

George Brown: Well, they would always sharecrop, but in this particular area, you could get land if you would farm on half. It's like you owned the farm, "Yeah," he'd say, "I'd like to farm on half with you." 

George Brown: "Yes, sir. I'll take you up on that." 

George Brown: That's just the beginning of it. When you think you are farming on half, and he give you corn, sweet potatoes, millet, sugarcane, everything that he gives you is going to be on the record. And you farm, and if you raise 10 bales of cotton, five bales of cotton belongs to the owner. Then when he come round, he asks to see how much corn did you made. If you made four wagon loads of corn, two belongs to him. Sweet potatoes, if you made 50 bushels, 25 bushels belongs to him. Whatever it might be. Everything that you've got. When you give him his half, you've got to pay him out of your half. When you pay out of your half, you'd be just like you were when you first started, because you owe it all out. 

Paul Ortiz: What kind of relationship did your parents have with the landowner? 

George Brown: Well, they didn't—You had a relation, but you had to hide it, because you couldn't tell them you're angry because you didn't have anything. You're living on his land. If he run you away, you had nowhere to go. So far as they knew each other, they called you a nigger. They didn't mind that at all. We didn't care anything about that. And if he come out and wanted you to do something, he wanted you to do it. He had—go give you something, he'll tell you, didn't he? He'll tell you, "I thank you, you boys." That was all there was to it. That's how that part runs in there. 

George Brown: And we suffered. We suffered the lack of education. We suffered from the lack of food. We had no way of getting it. And I always said if I ever got big enough, I wanted to get out in the world, see could I do something to help my parents. Some of my parents, my mother passed. Then I had some sisters and brothers. And I got a little job up at Selma, Alabama, making $4 a week. I'd send them $2 or $3. They could buy food out of it. Things was real cheap back in those days. 

Paul Ortiz: How old were you when you got that first job? 

George Brown: When I got that job, I was about 18 years old. 

Paul Ortiz: And what were you doing? 

George Brown: Well, you work around grocery stores, work in farmers markets, anything. Cut grass. Anything necessary. And once you get your job set up, you'd have something to do each day, see? So far as making a whole lot of money, we didn't get that. We didn't get that then. 

George Brown: And I worked there awhile, and finally, I said, "Well, I saved me a few dollars." And I left there and caught a freight train, went to Montgomery, Alabama. Got to Montgomery. We caught a milk truck out of there and rode a milk truck. We worked our way from Montgomery to Birmingham. We'd pick up milk for the man and he'd say, "Well, boys, I ain't got nothing to give you. I'll give y'all a big bucket of milk." He gave us a big bucket of milk, and that was our pay to get from Montgomery to Birmingham. 

George Brown: I got here and fooled around here and found an old job, never will forget it. Making $4 a week. That was big money. You'd walk everywhere you went. You wanted to ride the street car, it didn't cost you but a nickel to ride it, if you could afford it. 

George Brown: And later on, I got another little job. Then I got a job at Sloss-Sheffield. I saw all that heat. You'd go by a blast furnace, which when they was flushing or catching, they'd light up the whole elements. Sloss would have two blast furnaces in North Birmingham. We had two on 1st Avenue and 31st Street. 

George Brown: Then in the city of Birmingham, along with Sloss, we had Republic Steel. They had two, three blast furnaces. Right below Republic Steel, you had the Tennessee Coal Mine Railroad, which had about 15 or 20 blast furnaces. And those furnaces would catch, and when they let slag out of them, they would light up the city of Birmingham. 

George Brown: And we were working, but later on the people wanted—said it was pollution. We got clean air and no furnaces, nothing to do. Sometimes you cut off your nose to spite your face, that's what happened in some of these cases here, to tell the truth. 

Paul Ortiz: Now, when you were growing up, do you remember your grandparents? 

George Brown: Yes. My grandfather was African. He was a full-blooded African. He was brought in this country and sold. He couldn't speak American language very much. There was quite a few here. The [indistinct 00:08:05], they were here. They were brought from Africa. And the way, what they tell me, when they'd get them off the boat, they'd put them on a block. And the White man that had the money wanted to bid on them, he'd buy them for $5 or $10. And you was his slave, see? He had charge of you. 

Paul Ortiz: Did your grandfather used to tell stories about those days? 

George Brown: Oh, yes. Oh, yes. 

Paul Ortiz: What kinds of stories did he tell? 

George Brown: They would tell you how they were being whooped, buked, treated like dogs. They couldn't help themselves. They couldn't tell it. And he says there was a gang of them was killed. They'd get mad and they'd kill you. Mistreat you. Do other few things they'd make you do, but you was under bondage. You couldn't have no more to tell. And so that was a hard pill to swallow. 

George Brown: But by the help of the good Lord, the Black man held his head up. We worked. That's why you hear these plantation melodies, these songs that they sing, it was the way the slave would communicate to each other, warning them about trouble. That's why you'd sing those songs. They would sing a song, Down By the Riverside, and all like that. And that's the way they would contact, then they would know what was going on. We'd warn the other ones, they say, and we looked out for each other. 

George Brown: And I believe my granddaddy said that he was pretty stout. They took him and he would breed women to get more men children working. They called them nigger children, but they brought them into the farm to do work. And it was kind of awful the way they gave it to you, but it was just true. It was true. And that happened even during my boyhood. But you had to hold your head up, use the word, "Yes sir, no sir," keep a smile on your face, go out the way to help people. That's how we got through the world. 

Paul Ortiz: Did your grandfather ever talk about Africa? 

George Brown: Well, he said he was quite young when they brought him over here. And he had said the way they were caught, in a boat, with long 2 x 12s sticking up, and they had a [indistinct 00:11:24] where they couldn't get out. 

George Brown: And while you're down Tuskegee Institute, I think you could find a record for George Washington Carver, and he will be there. See if you can find that record showing you where he got lost with his mother on a boat, and the boat landed up in the Carolinas, up in the area we're talking about. And a White man could see some good in him. And he was a genius on anything that he went to do. And the White man sent him down and made a recommendation to send him down to Tuskegee Institute. That's why he got in there, and I think he went to school, somewhat educated him, helped him out. Booker T. Washington, that bunch. 

George Brown: All that, if I'm not putting it together, but it's based upon the same thing. You can find that out. And he was so smart, he came to be a scientist, and he could analyze anything if he—He's just that smart. He's born with it. He took sweet potato vines and made ink. Took the sweet potatoes and made gold. And he took up medicine. There's a cow that—When you get down there, I hope when you get into there—You haven't seen that, have you? He got the skeleton of a cow been there about 60 years. That cow is still down there. You'll see it. And he worked on that cow when the cow's leg was broken. He went and took the skeleton and put it together when the cow died. They got that in the museum down there now. 

Paul Ortiz: You talked about your grandfather. 

George Brown: Yeah. 

Paul Ortiz: Do you remember your grandmother? 

George Brown: Estelle. Estella Brown. That was her name. Brun, but we changed it from Brun to Brown, see? 

Paul Ortiz: Uh-huh. Did she used to tell you stories? 

George Brown: No. They weren't educated. We just would go to school, see each other, farm, talk. 

Paul Ortiz: Did they live with you? 

George Brown: No. We lived in a little house, little one room house that dad built. I believe we had about five or six brothers and sisters. We all stayed in that one room. Had nowhere else to stay. That was it. 

Paul Ortiz: Did your grandparents own land? 

George Brown: We bought land, but we didn't—During my time, they didn't have nothing to buy it with. They wouldn't sell it to you. 

Paul Ortiz: Did things improve once your parents were able to buy land? 

George Brown: Let me hear that last. 

Paul Ortiz: Did your living conditions improve once your parents bought the land? 

George Brown: Well, the only way it improved, you still had to have help. The land and the house, you ain't got no money to buy no corn with, you're not getting very far. It was a problem. 

George Brown: The man that had it, he had you by both legs. You couldn't hardly get a thing done, and just every now and then you would see a Black man, a blacksmith, if he could farm and raise enough to make a living. If you got good land, you could farm that land without buying too much fertilizer and get in debt. And back in those days, you had good farming land. You could take a place and raise food, it was so cheap. Once you get caught up, and if you have sense enough to hold onto it, you could advance the best by raising cows, hogs, chickens. Wasn't anything else. Nothing else that I know. But I don't see how we made it, but we made it. That's what we did, made it. 

Paul Ortiz: Do you remember, were there a lot of Black blacksmiths and people like that? 

George Brown: Oh, yes. Now, blacksmiths was really needed because you didn't have any—I remember when you didn't have no automobiles, see. We had horse and buggies, that's why you'd see blacksmiths. Blacksmiths had to pitch, make horseshoes for your horses and wagons and things of that type. No bulldozers, no tractors, no anything like that. Yeah. 

Paul Ortiz: Did you go to school while you were in Dallas County? 

George Brown: I did. I went to school there, and I worked most—I stayed busy doing something, because we had gotten into what we had. We had a boarding school in part of it there. And they operated that school off the public, the people. The Jews and all nationality of people was helping because it was a Black institution, a Black school. The White man would help you. If you want to conduct yourself and went about it right, he'd help you. And the Jews would help the Black people. I don't know how the relationship broke off like it did, but the Jews was the one that if you were nice to Jews, Jews would help you. That's who I worked for in Selma, Jews. He ain't going to give you no money, but he'll give you a job, see? 

Paul Ortiz: Do you remember the name of that school? 

George Brown: What, my uncle's school? Oh, it was Street Manual. 

Paul Ortiz: Can you spell that? 

George Brown: Spell that? Street Manual Training School. 

Paul Ortiz: Oh, Street? 

George Brown: Street Manual Training School. 

Paul Ortiz: Okay. His last name was Street? 

George Brown: Street, that's right. 

Paul Ortiz: What was his first name? 

George Brown: Emmanuel, M— 

George Brown: Emmanuel MacDuffie Brown. 

Paul Ortiz: Street Manual School. 

George Brown: That's right. 

Paul Ortiz: And was that in a town in— 

George Brown: No. Rural area. Just a small place out. It had buildings. I got that picture. It got buildings, but the industrial building is still there. The dormitories were having—I made a film of that. They're having hot food lunches in some part of the buildings. And the domestic science building is still there, but the trees grew up around it. But I made a picture of it. 

Paul Ortiz: You did? 

George Brown: Oh, yeah, I got a picture of it. I'm going to try to get that ready. I want to make a connection with you. Wherever you go, I want to get you a copy and— 

Paul Ortiz: Yeah. We have a copy machine right here that we can take pictures and copy it. 

George Brown: I could've got that film and re-run it off of there, couldn't I? 

Paul Ortiz: I'll be here until next Friday. 

George Brown: Oh. I'm going to see if I can get that. 

Paul Ortiz: Okay. [indistinct 00:19:06]. 

George Brown: I'd like to let you see that. You can take that film and re-run it. 

Paul Ortiz: Yeah. If it's a picture, we can just—We have a copy scanner, it's about this big, just put it down and we just take a picture of it. That would be really valuable for our collection. So how many months out of the year would you go to school? 

George Brown: Well, in the country we—Let me see, we went directly to—I don't think we went the eight months. We didn't go quite—See, you had farming coming. You couldn't stay in school. Right after Christmas, not long after Christmas, you had to get ready to go to plant up land, planting corn, and you couldn't get a full education. You got to go to work. 

Paul Ortiz: Did you ever work for other families? 

George Brown: Oh, yes. If they wanted to pick cotton, you'd help them, or plant corn, or help them do something, or harvest corn. We always helped each other, see? 

Paul Ortiz: You'd help the other Black families? 

George Brown: How's that? 

Paul Ortiz: You'd help the other Black families? 

George Brown: Oh, yeah. Oh, yeah. And the White man, you'd pick cotton for him, but he didn't pay you nothing for it. He didn't pay you nothing. But you couldn't grumble because you didn't have nothing. 

Paul Ortiz: What was the community like, the African American community? 

George Brown: Well, let me see now, to tell you we—Actually, until I came to Birmingham, in the country you got nothing but country, where I came from. And you'd get around, you had to get around on a wagon or ride a mule, ride a steer. We used to plow with steer, you know? You ever seen a steer? Yeah? We used to plow them. That's what we had to get around. 

Paul Ortiz: Was there any time or any occasion when people would come together? 

George Brown: Oh, yes. Oh, yes. Now, we would have big meetings. What do you mean by big meeting? At Campbell Chapel, which was an AME church. Campbell Chapel, where I was born and bred, they would pick their Sunday. All right? Hopewell Baptists would have theirs. And another part was County Line. I remember that church. They had their celebration, usually be on the fourth Sunday in September, something like that, but they had a date each month. That's in order to have a big showing. And then we would have wagons would bring food. They'd be cooking, and they'd have a big eat at the church. Big celebration. It was something to see that. But anyway, we lived through it. 

Paul Ortiz: And would those occasions be where churches would combine people from different churches? 

George Brown: Oh, yeah. Oh, yeah. That's the way they would do that. They would do it. We'd have Whites would come and we'd celebrate and have eating and have fun. We had Whites would come over. He wouldn't come in the church, but he'd stand up there in the church wondering and looking in, so he's enjoying himself too, see? So we didn't care. We didn't care. We never did have—we didn't have no hate in our hearts against anyone. We would think about it when you're abused, some of us. And the people that was character was so low, the average White man would get shame with that. He wouldn't fool with him. He'd let him go. They quit fooling on with him. All that was in it to make a living. 

Paul Ortiz: Did you ever hear about people stealing away? 

George Brown: Doing what now? 

Paul Ortiz: Did you hear people use the term stealing away? 

George Brown: Stealing away? 

Paul Ortiz: Yeah. 

George Brown: Talking about dying? 

Paul Ortiz: No. 

George Brown: Stealing away from what now? 

Paul Ortiz: Like leaving plantations. 

George Brown: Oh, yeah. Oh, yeah. You had they'd run off. There's plenty of people would run off overnight and leave a plantation, hide in the woods. And if he ever caught a train, maybe got some connections, oh, they'll leave the country. They'll go to towns. 

George Brown: See, when I was down in the woods there, we was in hopes of leaving. Everybody you see, you'd see somebody leave and come back. They called coming to Birmingham was going north. You'd come up here and get you a job. Then that got to be a regular thing. People went to leaving the farms, coming to cities, getting jobs, just like I did. We had the plants and the factories and we needed people to work. And the country people were willing to work. We'd be working when the city bunch was walking the street. Wouldn't have that. We're trained to work. We knew how to do it. Yeah. All that's in there. 

Paul Ortiz: Do you remember times when plantation owners would come to Birmingham and try to take people back to work their plantations? 

George Brown: Well, they would try to do it, but you couldn't persuade him. You couldn't make him come back, because wasn't no—You couldn't load him up a nigger, but they tried it. But see, when they were leaving their farm, they weren't able to sit down on that old oak tree and say, "I'm watching the niggers picking cotton, or chopping cotton." He'd sit there all day long on that old oak tree and watch you work. And you knew you was black as a rubber tire buggy out there in that hot sun. But all that's true. God knows every word of it is true. We lived through it though. 

George Brown: That's like I told you, my plan was just like some of the rest. That's why I left the country, went to Selma, Alabama. I left Selma, Alabama and went to the capital of Alabama. I was in Montgomery. Montgomery to Birmingham, that's when I came here and got a job. 

Paul Ortiz: Now, you went to Selma when you were 18 years old? 

George Brown: Yeah. 

Paul Ortiz: And how old were you when you to Montgomery? 

George Brown: Montgomery? I was in Selma about a year, I guess, or something like that. Maybe 19. Something of that type. 

Paul Ortiz: Okay. 

George Brown: Then I came to Birmingham, look at that fire burning. Didn't know where to go. I stayed with someone. The other guy was named George. He was in the army, World War I. He and I took up. We were together. So I think I got a job first and I took care of George. Then George got a job. And we was good friends down through the years. He had a family and I had a family. He passed and I'm still living. 

Paul Ortiz: Could you tell me one more time how you got to Montgomery and then how you got to Birmingham from there? 

George Brown: Oh, yeah. I left Selma, Alabama. I think I caught a truck, an old truck. And he brought me to Selma and crossed Alabama River Bridge. He put me out. And I had an uncle working for the L&M Railroad. I stayed with him two or three days. He said, "Well, I ain't got nowhere for you to stay." 

George Brown: "Yes, sir." 

George Brown: Well, I didn't have nothing. Didn't have any choice. And I talked with a Black man, that's when my uncle wouldn't let me stay with him. I was just out of the country. He said, "Boy, I've got a little outhouse." 

George Brown: I said, "Yeah, that'd be just fine." 

George Brown: And he gave me food. And he helped me. He gave me 50 cents. 50 cents would last you a week. 

Paul Ortiz: This was in Montgomery? 

George Brown: No, this was in Selma. 

Paul Ortiz: In Selma? 

George Brown: Yeah. Then later on, I got this little old job, see? But what my point is, I didn't have nothing to begin with. And I had an uncle, he's working for the L&M Railroad Company at Selma. So he turned his back on me, but that was what God worked, because I knew I could help myself. That'll just go to show you how God will help you. If I treats you right and do right by you, I receive a message from on high and a blessing. That's true. You do right by people, regardless of what, God will help you. And he's been good to me for 84 years, and I tell you, I've been feeling very grateful about it too. Yeah. 

Paul Ortiz: How did you get the job that took you to Montgomery? 

George Brown: To Montgomery? 

Paul Ortiz: Yeah. 

George Brown: I didn't have a job. I caught the Western Railroad. They had a Western run out of Selma to Montgomery. And I was going to catch a train, but I caught this milk truck that I told you about, and we rode it to Birmingham, 10th Avenue, 28th Street. That's where that man paid us for picking up the five gallons of milk. Everywhere you stop. Of course, we had to get to Birmingham free. He gave us a big bucket of milk and that was our pay. We drunk that milk though. But you don't know what you can do. We drank that milk. I was used to being home in the country. Didn't go bad with me. And by the help of God, I stayed a year, worked. 

Paul Ortiz: What year did you move into Birmingham? 

George Brown: Into Birmingham? Let me see. I believe it was in 1929, I believe. Nearest I can come to it, 1928 or '29, but it was in the '20 years. 

Paul Ortiz: What was Birmingham like for Black people in 1929? 

George Brown: Well, it wasn't a living. It was rough. The people, you see, you had so many nationality of people. Then you had a whole lot of good White people. It wasn't as bad as you said it was. You have to give the devil credit. But we had this going both ways. We had some nice people, then we had some lowdown people. And then we had bad city commissioners, like Jimmy Jones. He was a city commissioner. Later on, we had Bull Connor. You've been hearing them talk about him, I know. I knew him personally. 

Paul Ortiz: Oh really? 

George Brown: Oh, yeah. But he was racist as hell. He was racist, but he wanted to be seen, and he had the votes. That's how he would get votes. See, I couldn't vote. I couldn't go to no poll. Black man couldn't vote. 

Paul Ortiz: Do you know anybody that tried? 

George Brown: Oh yeah, one man tried. A friend of mine. 

Paul Ortiz: What was his name? 

George Brown: William H. Hatchet. 

Paul Ortiz: Hackett? 

George Brown: Hatchet. And he went to the courthouse. And he had an education, a valuable education. And when he went down to the court, the man they had in charge of the polls couldn't even read, but he said, "Nigger, you [indistinct 00:32:17]." 

George Brown: He said, "Now, listen what this question means. I've given you the answer to this question. I've given you the answer to this question. I put it on." He said, "This is what you should do." And he stayed right there and he got qualified, and he was a—William H. Hatchet was the first Black man that became a voter. 

Paul Ortiz: What year was that? 

George Brown: Now, that was in 1931, I believe, or '32. I can't give you that correct figure. Been a long time. But he was qualified. 

George Brown: Now, we had well-educated Black people here, but they couldn't help themselves. We'd have them on the board of directors at Masonic Fraternal Order of Masonry here in Birmingham. We've got our building down there. I'm a Shriner. We couldn't wear our fez out in the streets. Couldn't put your fez on, wear it out in the street. Then we had a big lawsuit about it. They got together. A big lawsuit. The White Shriners, yapping on, trying to take our material from us. Prince Hall, masonry. 

George Brown: The Jews took Prince Hall out of Boston, Massachusetts. Once they carried him to England, carried this Black man to England, Prince Hall, and carried him into King Solomon's temple over there, and he joined the royal arch. See, King Solomon's temple is blocks and blocks and blocks long, you know? And that's when the Black man, when he came back, they had the charter. Now, how are you going to get out of a foreign country with a charter? You carry nothing in and you bring nothing out. 

George Brown: And that Jew had him to hollow—take a walking cane and hollow it out inside and brought that charter from the King Solomon's temple, and put it in there. He gave the Black man the charter right to masonry. We just don't push it, because you don't push it because you make your living off this job of the White man. You got to look at this thing both ways. You make your living off of them. If you make your living off of him, don't try to fight him. But when he found out that the Black man had his charter rights, which we could've came in, and that's like you see all of them with the fezzes on, with their stuff on. We could've blocked them out. We didn't do that. We had to live. We were better than them. You be good to people and good things will come to you. And that's the way I like to have it. 

Paul Ortiz: So have a charter, but they didn't want you to— 

George Brown: They didn't have a charter rights, because the Jews gave it to Prince Hall. 

Paul Ortiz: Okay. What year was the lawsuit that you filed? 

George Brown: Beg your pardon? 

Paul Ortiz: You said you filed a lawsuit. 

George Brown: Well, we filed a lawsuit, that was 1923. 1923. And we couldn't wear our fez in the streets. But we went to the Supreme Court. It's in the records in the Supreme Court now, where we have the charter right to a Shrine of masonry. And your Blue Lodge. See, you got your Blue Lodge, your Royal Lodge, Knights Templar and your Shriners, all that stuff. But we had to live. And we done better by just backing out of the way, you see? 

George Brown: I'm just giving you an idea about those things what actually happened. It's got to work both ways. They had advantage of us down through the years. We were treated like dogs. We lived through it. 

George Brown: But God, he didn't die, so the gang that was living survived from it. We let them alone, we didn't have no more trouble out of them two. 

Paul Ortiz: So where was your first job at, and how did you get it? 

George Brown: Talking about now job here in Birmingham? 

Paul Ortiz: In Birmingham. 

George Brown: Now, let me tell you. We had, downtown—I want you to write this down—the Tutwiler Hotel was on 5th Avenue and 20th Street North. That was a White hotel there. Joe Limms was the chef cook's name at that hotel. He came out and said, "Do someone want Budweiser?" 

George Brown: "I do. Yes, sir." I said, "I would like to have one Budweiser." 

George Brown: See, a pot washer, his job was to wash pots with your first cook. I just needed to apply to me when I clean them, get them pots, clean up, probably give you a job. We got a dollar a day. Dollar a day, Tutwiler Hotel. 

George Brown: But them rich people was using these hotels and places. They owned them. And they was segregated, but they let you work. We wanted to eat. That's what—I'm just giving you the highlights of the whole thing. And I worked at that hotel for years and years. And I'd walk over the viaduct backwards and forwards. I was living about six, seven miles from town. I walked. 

Paul Ortiz: You walked? 

George Brown: Walked, oh, hell yeah. Sure, you walked. You walked everywhere. You could do it. Walked back. Guy used to get off at 10 o'clock at night, walk back, walk back. The streetcar. We would ride—We got a place, we walked from work too. But in the streets you used to have all these lights. Every now and then you'd get to a light. But didn't nobody bother anyone. No one bothered you but the policeman. That was his job, meddle with you. He just had to do it. They'd beat you. 

Paul Ortiz: What were the police like? 

George Brown: Policemen? They were low down. They were awful. There were some policemen didn't like that stuff. They were nice people, well raised. But a policeman would beat your brains out you if you didn't [indistinct 00:39:08]. 

Paul Ortiz: Do you remember cases where you knew people who were beat up? 

George Brown: Oh, yeah. They were beat up. We had Patterson, they caught him and put him in jail and accused him of raping a White woman. He died in jail. Man didn't do nothing. A gang of them was picked up. You had no choice. Nothing you could do. Had the upper on you. But we played hard and we worked hard. Oh, yeah. Oh, yeah. 

Paul Ortiz: Where did you go to church in Birmingham? Did you start going to church right away, or did you— 

George Brown: Yeah. Well now, the church, our churches was in Black [indistinct 00:39:56]. Now, back in those days, people had respect for the churches, religion, and each other. We served God. They're away from it now. They're not doing it. 

Paul Ortiz: What church did you go to? 

George Brown: I was a member of Tabernacle Baptist Church, which was down yonder. Church was on 8th Avenue and 1st Street North now. And then my daughter was a member of 16th Street, right across the street here. This is a long story, but I got to tell you about it. My daughter would've been dead the time that they bombed 16th Street Baptist Church. Chris McNaire. I guess you've heard those names. He's on that board, record around there. Sally Anderson's daughter. W. Wesley's daughter. W. Armstrong's daughter. Those four girls came to church together, 16th Street. They rigged this church right over here, the back door, and those kids went in the basement and that blowed them up and killed every one of them. Right in the church over there. 

George Brown: They knew about it. The people knew who done it. They didn't do nothing about it. What we had to do as a human being, the Black man got together and let's don't fight. That was Martin Luther King's password. He wanted to fight. He wanted to win battles by nonviolence. We were taught that. We were beaten. We were kicked with a water hose right up the street here. Blown all upside the buildings, beaten with sticks. So what we did do, we took it. 

George Brown: We wouldn't fight back. I've seen a lady with all of her tops, brassiere off and nothing but her skirt, water hosed right up the street. Right there. It was just to tell you and think about it. We suffered. We suffered a whole lot. 

George Brown: This was White people in here. All in here. But now, they didn't go to church over there though. This, it's been something. 

Paul Ortiz: So you were working at the Tutwiler Hotel. 

George Brown: Tutwiler Hotel, yeah. Yeah. I worked there quite awhile. And I walked over the viaduct and saw a bunch of men over there. I said, "I'll make more money over here." Get a job at Sloss, won't make but a dollar a day. One of the Slosses were tearing out one of their furnaces. Had about 2-300,000 bricks and tear them out and re-line it. I got in there, got a job, worked. Got—men took care of me, showed me how to do it. 

Paul Ortiz: Was it 1929? 

George Brown: Yeah. '29, '30. Once you go in and get the experience of a blast furnace, what to do, learn the safety part about it, you can do pretty good. You could always be able to help someone else too. And I learned it. I took it. Long as they had work. They got work during this particular time—During that last year, got down to—We worked, one, two shifts or more. Go to the commissary down there, they'd let you have something to eat. Go back to work till you pay for it. And Sloss, they got one, two big orders, started the furnaces up, we went back to work. 

Paul Ortiz: In the '30s. 

George Brown: That's right. 

Paul Ortiz: Do you remember the convict lease program? 

George Brown: Oh, what kind of program was that now? Convict? 

Paul Ortiz: Yeah. 

George Brown: Oh. 

Paul Ortiz: I heard that there were prisoners who would be put in jail and then companies like, I guess, TCI and— 

George Brown: Oh, yeah. Oh, yeah. Oh, yeah. Sloss has done that. Sloss has done. I got one man that's living—I'd like for you to get over to him too. He worked in the mines and he knows all about that. Grumley. I think I got a card. Grumley worked at the mines doing this, and he's still living. He and I are members of the same church. And he can tell you some more about the mines too. Let me see if I got Grumley's card in here. Think that's up in here. I've got—I didn't bring that book. I've got a list of names, employees that are living. Yeah. 

George Brown: See that card right there? I want you to call him. 

Paul Ortiz: So he started working at the mines. 

George Brown: He worked at the mines and he worked at the furnaces, and he worked at the old mines, and he worked at the coal mine, so he's a Sloss's man. 

Paul Ortiz: So do you remember working with the convicts who would come to Sloss? 

George Brown: No, I didn't. Tell you the truth, I didn't work—When you had the convicts, they would get them out there. You know I ain't never been to jail. I ain't never been to jail in my life. 

Paul Ortiz: But you knew about that system. 

George Brown: Oh, yeah, I knew about it. I knew some of the people. The company would take them and work them in the mines. I believe the state would pay them a dollar a day, or the mines would pay them a dollar a day, see? 

George Brown: And Hugh Moss, which was the president of the Sloss-Sheffield Steel and Iron, he used to work prisoners in the mine. He got to be president of the company. See, when you do great things of that type, they make it pay off, if you're going to make money for them. And that's what's actual truth. 

George Brown: And Grumley, I want you to call him and tell him you talked to—