Freedmen’s Town

[James Francies Sr.]
I was born in an area of Houston, Texas, known as the Fourth Ward at that time. Currently, that area is called Midtown. There’s quite a bit of difference, from the time that I lived there, than there is right now. Fourth Ward, at that time, was just a convergence of dilapidated old buildings. Those buildings were deserted by early Houstonians

But it was called something else at the time. It wasn’t called Fourth Ward. Fourth Ward was originally called Freedmen’s Town. It was an area of town set aside for freed Black people from all over Texas. However, after a period of time, that area became so valuable that it was reclaimed by the ruling class. It was retaken by white people

I have pictures that can show what it looked like prior to this point. And you would be amazed. You could not recognize it. I lived at the corner of Arthur and Ruthven, at 1400 Arthur Street. I have a picture of 1400 Arthur Street I’d love for you to see. Go to the area and find that corner, and compare the two

We literally lived in the shadows of downtown Houston. Those buildings? We were within *blocks* of those buildings, currently. Fourth Ward, at the time, was a community. We were poor, but everybody was poor. So you didn’t know how poor or bad off you were. If you saw a neighbor with holes in his shoes, you didn’t criticize him. Cause you had a pair of shoes, hand-me-downs from your brother, that had holes in them. But you didn’t care

My mom worked several jobs, for several different families, just to make ends meet. Just to bring food home. Sometimes we would have to wait all day until she came home, so she could bring the leftovers from the meals that she had prepared for her employers. She washed clothes on the side to make extra money. Washed and ironed for… just general people. They weren’t rich people; they were working-class people. She worked two hours here, and… in one day, she might work for two or three different families. Maybe even four families. Just to make enough money to put food on the table

Dad was a… hustler. (laughs) Plain and simple, he was a hustler. Whatever it’d take to make a dollar, he’d try it. He’d just always say that, “I’ll probably die broke and hungry. But I won’t die *tired,* broke and hungry.” He did die broke. He wasn’t hungry. He wasn’t tired either, by the end. He had found a regular job. And he qualified for social security, when he became 65. So, that was his story

Looking back on my life, I cringe when I think about some of the things, and woes that the people like me had to endure and suffer not too long ago. When I think about these things - some of these instances - I’m unsure whether or not I should consider my longevity a curse or a blessing. In my lifetime I have lived to see cruelty, the lynching of people just like me, both legally and illegally. I’ve also been blessed to see the election of a US President who looks a lot like me

My life can be described as a continuous period of me trying to wrap my head around life, what it should be, and living in a time of cruel and unusual influences. Yet here I am, somewhat bruised, but still here, among my old-school survivors, alive and witnessing static change: a term that I use to describe evolution of time when it seems like the more things change, the more they stay the same