Transcript of December 29, 1901 San Francisco Call article titled: "MAMMY PLEASANT THE WOMAN" by Isabel Fraser
MAKE Mammy talk! said the editor. Can you make water burn? I had one interview with Mammy Pleasant and my hat is off to any one who can make her talk when she doesn't want to. Mammy lives out on Webster street, in a dingy, old house, with a dingy old stove and a faithful old colored servant who forgets to light the hall lamp. Mammy describes her as "good but requiring a powerful lot of talking to."
One of Mammy's eyes sags just enough to give one a weird, uncanny feeling — as though you were being hypnotized. At my first interview I had. bumped up against a red-hot silence and her sphinxlike conversational powers had not taken a back seat in my memory.
At this afore-said interview Mammy had remarked that she made her hit in life by keeping her mouth shut. So I was prepared for the worst as I rang the bell. The door opened - one of those spook like upper-flat doors that open from above and leave the cheerless guest gazing up in the darkness.
"Hello, there," said Mammy in a cheery tone when my name was announced. Behold, my lady of moods is a bundle of surprises. Dumb yesterday - she is talkative today - always keeping interest alive with the unexpected.
"I was afraid you might be angry at me," I said as I drew a sigh of relief
“Me? Mad? I used to get mad - but no more. I used to waste a powerful lot of energy in that way: it's foolish. When you have eighty-seven years over your head and the experience that I've had you recognize the fact that other folks have a right to their point of view. If you think the same as I do, then there's no disruption and no fight. I like to fight and I'm as brave as a rooster - a game rooster - ready for a fight if he sees one coming. I'd rather be a corpse than a coward. If I'm dead, I'm all right, but as long as I live I want to fight to win. And I don't want to be carried to victory on flowery beds of ease, either. I like to go through bloody scenes. The papers say what they want as far as I am concerned. When I am in a fight any by play doesn't faze me. Some folks take themselves too seriously. I take life as a joke and I get lots of fun out of it.”
"I know which side my bread is buttered on, and if ain't buttered at all I eat it just the same.”
"You tell those newspaper people that they may be smart, but I am smarter. They deal with words. Some folks say that words were made to reveal thought. That ain't so. Words were made to conceal thought."
Mammy admits eighty-seven summers and the Lord knows how many winters, but she scarcely looks 50. She claims a keen Interest in life, and the study of human nature keeps her young.
"I haven't much bock education; I study people. I don't require so much book education, for I don't need it. I don't deal with books. I've seen people that have studied books till they knew nearly all the books in the library, but when they meet people their knowledge is locked in the library and they're lost out in the world.
"I am a great believer in work. Do your work and get through with it. I've washed for twenty-nine in family in early days and sat on the lawn in the afternoon. I’m not saying how well the work was done — perhaps the selvages weren't hung exactly straight, but the work was done, and that's the main thing. It would take an ordinary woman days to do that work.
"There was some mighty grand living in those days," said Mammy, "spread supper and boxes of balm tea. Do you know what balm tea is? There was an old colored man who used to get kind .of tottely. When accused of being drunk, he used to say, ‘All I had was a little balm tea with a drop of gin in it'.
"I don't like to be called mammy by everybody. Put. that .down. I am not mammy to everybody in California.
"I got a letter to-day from a minister, in Sacramento. It was addressed to Mammy Pleasant. I wrote back to him on his own paper that my name was Mrs. Mary E. Pleasant.
"I wouldn't waste any of my paper on him. The letter wasn't t in the house fifteen minutes. I sent it right back to him unread.”
"Between you and me, I don't care anything about it, but they shan't do it — they shan't nickname me at my age. If he didn't have better sense he should have had better manners.
"It just rouses my Kanaka blood." and the .old lady stamped her foot in mock rage, and we both laughed at her Kanaka blood. Any person who can laugh at himself is usually a good fellow. and has character to burn.
"To-day," continued mammy, "there was a little dapper fellow came up to me on the car and told me he had known me for forty years. He told me how he had always admired me, knew people who knew me well— folks that used to board at my house. He mentioned several - Colonel John Taylor (that's Zack's nephew) and Governor Booth, who was elected from my house. We got on famously. He was as polite as a French dancing master — but he spoiled it all when he got up to go; sez he, 'Good-by,. Mammy Pleasant, and bowed himself off the car bare-headed.”
It is too -bad he got off, for I could have entertained him royally down to the ferry for that last remark — but he said his little piece and went before I could answer back.
"I'm invited to a great many swell affairs. The daughters and nieces of old friends of mine invite me to their weddings and receptions. I know just when to go . and when not to go — how long to stay and when to go home.”
"One time I was invited to a breakfast by an old and dear friend, Mr. Charley Doone. I drove in eight miles from the; ranch; when I got there I saw the dignitaries of the city. I saw the lady was embarrassed, and I was embarrassed for her. She had invited me, thinking that I might not come. I saw how I could fix it all smooth for her. She said: ‘I am so glad you've come. This is going to be a very elegant affair. I wouldn't have had you miss it for anything.’ ‘I’m very glad to be here,' I answered, ‘but I have an errand to go on first and then I'll be back.' What a relief that must have been to her. I jumped back into my rig, drove around to see my friends and came back when all the guests had gone and had lunch with her. That lady doesn't know to this day that I got out of there to relieve her.
"Another time I was invited to Captain William B, Hugh's wedding at the Lick House. He married Miss Jones, who used to board with me. I went there by invitation but l wore my white apron and collar. I was shown to a seat right in the folding doors during the reception. Everybody stared at me. The waiter was so rattled that he passed me the refreshments first. I took the tray and waited on the bridal party. Then I went out and went home. I had been to the church and reception and waited on the bridal party — my work was done.”
Once I had to go away from a place before I transacted my business. It happened in this way:
"I got an anonymous letter once from a business place in this city telling me where I could find a person who would give me questions to. ask a witness who had been on the stand the day before and was. going on again the next morning at 10 o'clock. As the letter was not quite clear to . me and the time was short. I rose early the next morning and drove to this firm, carrying the letter in my hand partially open knowing that when the man came who had written it he would show the white flag. Three or four of the clerks came and went in; I was satisfied that it was none of them. At length the right man came. The instant he saw me he threw up his hands and said: 'For God's sake, don't bring that buggy here; 'twill ruin my business"
"I waved to the driver and he understood to take the buggy out of sight. The lawyer said: “I can’t talk — I can't talk here; 'twill ruin my business. Go to a little alleyway between Van Ness avenue and Polk street. I will see you there.' (And that was fully a mile from his place of business.) I went, and he came and explained the letter to me. I received other letters and messages also from that same firm right along while the suit was pending. Strange as it may appear, he has never spoken to me nor recognized me since. He was a man after my own style of doing business.
"I never would have gone to Mrs. Bell’s except for the fact that I had a little girl."
"What — have you any children?” I asked.
"Yes — what's given to you is yours— ain't it? Well I had this little girl given to me to bring up. She was given to me by her father; he gave me money to bring her up properly. I knew the child would be better off with white people than with colored. You can't mix oil and water. The time has not yet come when colored people and white are on equality and I am not a'trylng to force the proposition. I accept the situation and I'm a-trying to be happy under my own banner.
"But the white child didn't belong there. It wouldn't be any credit to her this day to be living with me out here. Any family I'd put her in I'd go in myself. I never was employed at the Bell's. I never was employed by anybody. I did what I wanted to do at the Bell's; I kept house because there wasn't any one else to keep It. The Bells took the child and money and me and gave the child their name. She called Mrs. Bell mamma and Mr. Bell papa. She went to school under their name. Mr. Bell paid the bills, but when she finished at the convent Mrs. Bell didn't want her to come home there. I guess she thought she had all the money that was coming from that source. So I found the girl another place in another family. Knowing what I did I remained at the Bells much to Mr. Bell's gratification. The young lady took her father's name in her new home and her father was - well he was second to none."
A short silence followed. Then Mammy said "Well, why don't you ask me?"
"Ask you what?" I said.
"I know what you're thinking of — you're wondering who the father was — ask me!"
"Well, who was her father?"
"That's my business — I've got business as well as you."
"And now," said Mammy, "as Mr. Barnes used to say In his argument when he couldn't say anything more about me. "I will tell more about Mammy Pleasant hereafter — but he always forgot to do it. Now ask me any questions you want to ask me and I'll see what ones I want to answer."
But I knew Mammy had said her little piece and I fancied I knew how long to stay and just when to go too, so I wished her good day hoping she might live many years yet to brighten the world with her rare epigrams, to stagger the lawyers and to occasionally shift the scenes and rattle the bones of the musty old family skeletons of which she is the warden.
One of Mammy's eyes sags just enough to give one a weird, uncanny feeling — as though you were being hypnotized. At my first interview I had. bumped up against a red-hot silence and her sphinxlike conversational powers had not taken a back seat in my memory.
At this afore-said interview Mammy had remarked that she made her hit in life by keeping her mouth shut. So I was prepared for the worst as I rang the bell. The door opened - one of those spook like upper-flat doors that open from above and leave the cheerless guest gazing up in the darkness.
"Hello, there," said Mammy in a cheery tone when my name was announced. Behold, my lady of moods is a bundle of surprises. Dumb yesterday - she is talkative today - always keeping interest alive with the unexpected.
"I was afraid you might be angry at me," I said as I drew a sigh of relief
“Me? Mad? I used to get mad - but no more. I used to waste a powerful lot of energy in that way: it's foolish. When you have eighty-seven years over your head and the experience that I've had you recognize the fact that other folks have a right to their point of view. If you think the same as I do, then there's no disruption and no fight. I like to fight and I'm as brave as a rooster - a game rooster - ready for a fight if he sees one coming. I'd rather be a corpse than a coward. If I'm dead, I'm all right, but as long as I live I want to fight to win. And I don't want to be carried to victory on flowery beds of ease, either. I like to go through bloody scenes. The papers say what they want as far as I am concerned. When I am in a fight any by play doesn't faze me. Some folks take themselves too seriously. I take life as a joke and I get lots of fun out of it.”
"I know which side my bread is buttered on, and if ain't buttered at all I eat it just the same.”
"You tell those newspaper people that they may be smart, but I am smarter. They deal with words. Some folks say that words were made to reveal thought. That ain't so. Words were made to conceal thought."
Mammy admits eighty-seven summers and the Lord knows how many winters, but she scarcely looks 50. She claims a keen Interest in life, and the study of human nature keeps her young.
"I haven't much bock education; I study people. I don't require so much book education, for I don't need it. I don't deal with books. I've seen people that have studied books till they knew nearly all the books in the library, but when they meet people their knowledge is locked in the library and they're lost out in the world.
"I am a great believer in work. Do your work and get through with it. I've washed for twenty-nine in family in early days and sat on the lawn in the afternoon. I’m not saying how well the work was done — perhaps the selvages weren't hung exactly straight, but the work was done, and that's the main thing. It would take an ordinary woman days to do that work.
"There was some mighty grand living in those days," said Mammy, "spread supper and boxes of balm tea. Do you know what balm tea is? There was an old colored man who used to get kind .of tottely. When accused of being drunk, he used to say, ‘All I had was a little balm tea with a drop of gin in it'.
"I don't like to be called mammy by everybody. Put. that .down. I am not mammy to everybody in California.
"I got a letter to-day from a minister, in Sacramento. It was addressed to Mammy Pleasant. I wrote back to him on his own paper that my name was Mrs. Mary E. Pleasant.
"I wouldn't waste any of my paper on him. The letter wasn't t in the house fifteen minutes. I sent it right back to him unread.”
"Between you and me, I don't care anything about it, but they shan't do it — they shan't nickname me at my age. If he didn't have better sense he should have had better manners.
"It just rouses my Kanaka blood." and the .old lady stamped her foot in mock rage, and we both laughed at her Kanaka blood. Any person who can laugh at himself is usually a good fellow. and has character to burn.
"To-day," continued mammy, "there was a little dapper fellow came up to me on the car and told me he had known me for forty years. He told me how he had always admired me, knew people who knew me well— folks that used to board at my house. He mentioned several - Colonel John Taylor (that's Zack's nephew) and Governor Booth, who was elected from my house. We got on famously. He was as polite as a French dancing master — but he spoiled it all when he got up to go; sez he, 'Good-by,. Mammy Pleasant, and bowed himself off the car bare-headed.”
It is too -bad he got off, for I could have entertained him royally down to the ferry for that last remark — but he said his little piece and went before I could answer back.
"I'm invited to a great many swell affairs. The daughters and nieces of old friends of mine invite me to their weddings and receptions. I know just when to go . and when not to go — how long to stay and when to go home.”
"One time I was invited to a breakfast by an old and dear friend, Mr. Charley Doone. I drove in eight miles from the; ranch; when I got there I saw the dignitaries of the city. I saw the lady was embarrassed, and I was embarrassed for her. She had invited me, thinking that I might not come. I saw how I could fix it all smooth for her. She said: ‘I am so glad you've come. This is going to be a very elegant affair. I wouldn't have had you miss it for anything.’ ‘I’m very glad to be here,' I answered, ‘but I have an errand to go on first and then I'll be back.' What a relief that must have been to her. I jumped back into my rig, drove around to see my friends and came back when all the guests had gone and had lunch with her. That lady doesn't know to this day that I got out of there to relieve her.
"Another time I was invited to Captain William B, Hugh's wedding at the Lick House. He married Miss Jones, who used to board with me. I went there by invitation but l wore my white apron and collar. I was shown to a seat right in the folding doors during the reception. Everybody stared at me. The waiter was so rattled that he passed me the refreshments first. I took the tray and waited on the bridal party. Then I went out and went home. I had been to the church and reception and waited on the bridal party — my work was done.”
Once I had to go away from a place before I transacted my business. It happened in this way:
"I got an anonymous letter once from a business place in this city telling me where I could find a person who would give me questions to. ask a witness who had been on the stand the day before and was. going on again the next morning at 10 o'clock. As the letter was not quite clear to . me and the time was short. I rose early the next morning and drove to this firm, carrying the letter in my hand partially open knowing that when the man came who had written it he would show the white flag. Three or four of the clerks came and went in; I was satisfied that it was none of them. At length the right man came. The instant he saw me he threw up his hands and said: 'For God's sake, don't bring that buggy here; 'twill ruin my business"
"I waved to the driver and he understood to take the buggy out of sight. The lawyer said: “I can’t talk — I can't talk here; 'twill ruin my business. Go to a little alleyway between Van Ness avenue and Polk street. I will see you there.' (And that was fully a mile from his place of business.) I went, and he came and explained the letter to me. I received other letters and messages also from that same firm right along while the suit was pending. Strange as it may appear, he has never spoken to me nor recognized me since. He was a man after my own style of doing business.
"I never would have gone to Mrs. Bell’s except for the fact that I had a little girl."
"What — have you any children?” I asked.
"Yes — what's given to you is yours— ain't it? Well I had this little girl given to me to bring up. She was given to me by her father; he gave me money to bring her up properly. I knew the child would be better off with white people than with colored. You can't mix oil and water. The time has not yet come when colored people and white are on equality and I am not a'trylng to force the proposition. I accept the situation and I'm a-trying to be happy under my own banner.
"But the white child didn't belong there. It wouldn't be any credit to her this day to be living with me out here. Any family I'd put her in I'd go in myself. I never was employed at the Bell's. I never was employed by anybody. I did what I wanted to do at the Bell's; I kept house because there wasn't any one else to keep It. The Bells took the child and money and me and gave the child their name. She called Mrs. Bell mamma and Mr. Bell papa. She went to school under their name. Mr. Bell paid the bills, but when she finished at the convent Mrs. Bell didn't want her to come home there. I guess she thought she had all the money that was coming from that source. So I found the girl another place in another family. Knowing what I did I remained at the Bells much to Mr. Bell's gratification. The young lady took her father's name in her new home and her father was - well he was second to none."
A short silence followed. Then Mammy said "Well, why don't you ask me?"
"Ask you what?" I said.
"I know what you're thinking of — you're wondering who the father was — ask me!"
"Well, who was her father?"
"That's my business — I've got business as well as you."
"And now," said Mammy, "as Mr. Barnes used to say In his argument when he couldn't say anything more about me. "I will tell more about Mammy Pleasant hereafter — but he always forgot to do it. Now ask me any questions you want to ask me and I'll see what ones I want to answer."
But I knew Mammy had said her little piece and I fancied I knew how long to stay and just when to go too, so I wished her good day hoping she might live many years yet to brighten the world with her rare epigrams, to stagger the lawyers and to occasionally shift the scenes and rattle the bones of the musty old family skeletons of which she is the warden.