mes they would take him and strip him
naked and whip him till he wasn't able to stand for running away. But
I never heard of nothing like that happening with Asa Brown. But he
sometimes would sell a hand or buy one sometimes. He'd take a nigger
in exchange for a debt and rent him out.

Voting

"There wasn't any voting by the slaves. But ever since freedom they
have been voting. None of my friends ever held any office. I don't
know anything about the niggers not voting now. Don't they vote?

Patter Rollers, K. K. K., White Carmelias, Etc.

"My mother and father knowed about Patter Rollers, but I don't know
nothing about them. But they are dead and gone. I have heard of the Ku
Klux but I don't know nothing about it. I don't know what I used to
know. No sir, I am out of the question now.

"There is one thing I keep straight. When I wants to drink or when I
wants to eat--oh yes, I know how to go to bed.

"You know I have seen the time when they would get in a close place
and they would make me preach, but it's all gone from me now. I can't
recollect."

Mary D. Hudgins
107 Palm Street,
Hot Springs, Ark.

Interviewer: Mary D. Hudgins
Person interviewed: John H. Logan
Aged: c. 89
Home: 449 Gaines Avenue.
[Date Stamp: MAY 11 1938]

Gaines Avenue was once a "Quality Street". It runs on a diagonal from
Malvern Avenue, a one-time first class residential thorofare to the
Missouri Pacific Tracks. Time was when Gaines led almost to the gates
of the fashionable Combes Racetrack.

Built up during the days of bay windows Gaines Avenue has preserved
half a dozen land marks of former genteelity. Long stretches between
are filled "shot gun" houses, unaquainted for many years with a
paintbrush.

Within half a block of the streetcar line on Malvern an early spring
had encouraged plowing of a 200 foot square garden. Signs such as
"Hand Laundry" appear frequently. But by far the most frequent placard
is "FOR SALE" a study in black and white, the insignia of a local real
estate firm specializing in foreclosures.

The street number sought proved to be two doors beyond the red brick
church. A third knock brought a slight, wrinkled face to the door, its
features aquiline, in coloring only the mildest of mocha. Its owner
Laura Burton Logan, after satisfying herself that the visitor wasn't
just an intruder, opened the door wide and invited her to come inside.

"Logan, oh Logan, come on here, come on in here," she cal