Page 25 - Firehouse Pond

My brother and sister had children’s “Short-Sacks”, but I could tell it was

hard on them too. The humid and hot summer days in Charleston, coupled
with the prickly cotton boll made for hard work.

The cotton-picking sacks had shoulder straps. I often wondered how heavy
the sacks must have been when full of cotton.

DH

Cotton bolls are razor-sharp; after ten hours of picking, the fingers and hands
of the “cotton-pickers” were sore and often bleeding. The heavy bags of

cotton would be pulled down the long rows.

Being called “cotton-pickers”, because we were, was not considered
derogatory, but years later, it became obvious to me that we were considered

“lower class” folks. The classification applied everywhere we went. It was
particularly hard on the cotton picker's kids at school. I remember many a
fight with the “non-cotton picking” city boys because they would say nasty

things about my family. I was not one to “take it,” I spoke up and fought
back. I was little, but I had fortitude.

“Being poor was normal we were all poor, but we didn’t go hungry.”
Charlie Turner
June 24, 2015