A Lesson in Deep South Manners
by Elouise
I don’t even remember her name. Her mother, Mrs. Jeaudon (called by her first name), was the cook and household helper for Dr. and Mrs. Turner. Mr. Jeaudon (called by his first name) took care of the yard work around their house.
Dr. Turner was a physician, retired but still practicing medicine. ‘Auntie Turner’ had once been his nurse. They used to own and live in the big house. Then they gave it to the mission organization with which my parents worked.
When the Turners moved out of the big house, they moved into what was once the live-in servants’ quarters. A simple frame two-story structure that sat right behind the big house. The top floor had an outside stairway from the first-floor open-air porch to the second-floor open-air porch. No one lived up there anymore.
Before the Turners moved in, they added a small bedroom and an indoor toilet to the ground floor. A small kitchen, a small dining room, and a small parlor ran the length of the veranda.
One day Mrs. Jeaudon brought one of her daughters to work. I met her, and we went off to play in the yard. She came several times. When my Sisters #2 and #3 played with us it was even better. That meant enough to run races, play dodge ball, hide and seek or Simon-says.
One day we decided to play in the front yard. It faced the river and merged into the neighbor’s front yard which merged into the next neighbor’s front yard and beyond. All the back yards (where the driveways and garages were) had fences. Most front yards didn’t.
The front yards were beautiful. The river, marsh grass and docks were right there next to us. Our next-door neighbors were often at their other house. They told us we could play in their front yard any time we wanted to. So we did. They were very friendly.
We didn’t dare go beyond their yard, though, because the man in the next big house was mean. He shot Bambi one night with his rifle and Bambi died. Bambi was our new puppy. Sometimes Bambi barked little puppy barks. Mr. S didn’t like barking dogs, even though his great big guard dog barked and even snarled. Mr. S also gave rowdy loud drinking parties on his dock. We stayed away from Mr. S.
But we didn’t stay away from the huge water oak in our neighbor’s yard. We also had one in our yard. The two oaks became our start and finish lines for all kinds of races and made-up games.
One morning our new friend and we three sisters had fun racing back and forth between the oaks and then seeing who could twirl around the longest before collapsing on the ground.
The next day Mother quietly told us we weren’t to play with our new friend anymore. In fact, she wasn’t coming back at all. Mother looked uncomfortable.
I could tell she wasn’t giving us the full story. She said something like ‘It will be better for all of you if you don’t play together anymore.’ Furthermore, we were to say nothing to anyone else about this and ask no questions. Just do as we’re told.
I still don’t know the full truth. It was clearly about skin color. Our friend was colored; we were white.
I don’t think Mother would have come up with that by herself. I also don’t think our mean neighbor said anything. But the fact that he was unpredictable, white and rowdy with lots of money probably enters in.
And then there was Auntie Turner. She was never shy about telling us (especially Mother) how things are and how they must remain. Especially when it came to the way Mother took care of the big house and our manners.
This was my low-key, ice-cold introduction to the social politics of race in the Deep South. My first lesson in Deep South manners and morals. Always ‘for my own good.’
No mixing of coloreds with whites.
Don’t tell the full truth.
Keep your mouth shut.
Don’t ask questions.
Just do as you’re told.
It’s dangerous if you don’t.
You can’t be too careful.
I wonder what Auntie Turner told Mrs. Jeaudon. And what Mrs. Jeaudon told her daughter. I wish I knew.
© Elouise Renich Fraser, 18 February 2015
In a few ways, Australia is a luckier country than you guys are. We never had these strict race problems.
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Thanks for this comment about Australia. Given my experience living in six distinctly different areas of the USA, nothing quite matches the way the Deep South has dealt with race and the history of slavery in the Deep South.
Elouise
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I hope you are going to compile all your writings into a book. I think it is well worth doing. I didn’t grow up in the South but my parents schooled me in how to act especially when I was going to CBC. But long before that, I was aware that “colored” folk were different from us and we were not to be associated with them. How thankful I am that God has taken those ideas from me and I treasure my friends no matter their skin color. How thankful I am that God has given me my African family. They are so dear to my heart. I think about the children that grew up in the South and wonder how they felt about the “unfair” treatment they received. Were they told not to ask questions but just do as they were told. Isn’t it wonderful that God loves us no matter what color our skin is or where we live.
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Anne, Thanks for your comment and memories. The most difficult thing for me is making social connections since I retired. Being an introvert doesn’t help. Yet I’m painfully aware that since I retired, my life hasn’t been totally removed from the lives of my African American friends. Yet it isn’t close, either. I appreciate your comment about pulling together my writings. Thanks for the encouragement!
Elouise
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It IS so wonderful that God loves us no matter what…skin color, income level, sins committed, you name it..there is NOTHING that could make Him love us less. I can’t really imagine living in the South during this time, thanks for painting us a picture. Although it’s not a picture I particularly enjoy, I think it’s important that we never forget our history. I recently bought a book called “The Civil War as a Theological Crisis” by Mark Noll. I have only perused it, but it looks quite interesting as I’ve become fascinated with how our country became fiercely divided by race, with Christians on both sides able to point out Scripture to defend their views. It reminds me of some of the hot-button topics of today where we see the same kinds of divisions and the same ability to point to Scriptures to support our divisive thinking. I think it makes God cry. I think about Jesus’ Farewell Prayer, calling for unity of ALL believers…
20 “My prayer is not for them alone. I pray also for those who will believe in me through their message, 21 that all of them may be one, Father, just as you are in me and I am in you. May they also be in us so that the world may believe that you have sent me. 22 I have given them the glory that you gave me, that they may be one as we are one— 23 I in them and you in me—so that they may be brought to complete unity. Then the world will know that you sent me and have loved them even as you have loved me.
——John 17:20-23
Thanks for sharing this story!!!
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Thanks so much for this comment. Mark Noll is a wonderful writer. And that’s a great period of time to write about when it comes to theology. Yes, theology has been used along with the Bible to support and even whip up all manner of divisions in the house. Your comment about God weeping is right on target. I’m glad you found the story helpful. It’s difficult for me to imagine generations of young people NOT brought up this way or knowing what it was like from even one perspective, much less a range of perspectives.
Elouise
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Unfortunately, there are parts of the South that continue to ‘separate’. I had lunch with a friend one day, she told me how her husband had a fit that the new friend of one of their children was black. He was mortified that it was agreed that the kid would be staying for dinner one night, eating with his utensils. I found it hard to keep my jaw from hitting the table.
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April, This is so sad. Thanks for sharing this experience. I still have difficulty knowing how to respond when attitudes like this show up unexpectedly. Especially when I’m a guest. Good thing you were at lunch with your friend! She was probably grateful for your support.
Elouise
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What I find sad is that generations keep passing down the same–what I call–hate.
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Yes, April. I so agree. A lot of racism is absorbed unconsciously or subconsciously before we’re able to remember it. And there’s no easy fix. I think institutions and companies have to decide to care about this. Not just in their thinking, but in their policies, practices and hiring of personnel. In the meantime, individuals are left to carry a lot of the weight-without much ‘official’ support.
Elouise
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I know this is completely unrelated to the story, but where did you come up with the name Jeaudon? I’ve been searching for another person with my name all of my life. There isn’t even anyone on the US census with this name besides myself.
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I never saw the name written out, but heard it and used it frequently. I gave it a French spelling in the post because that was the way we pronounced it back then–decades ago, as a family name.
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