*Interview with Wade Owens* —_Preston Klein, Opelika, Alabama_
The Reverend Wade Owens of Opelika was born in Loachapoka, Alabama, in 1863 and just missed slavery, but he has heard his homefolks talk so much about freeing the Negroes, he feels as if he was grown then. His mother and father, Wade and Hannah Owens, came from Virginia and moved into "Jenks Quarters" on the Berry Owens place. They had several children, Wade, Nettie, Chance, Anderson and Iowa. Wade used to help drive up the cows. This cabin was of logs, mud and sticks with leaf and mud chimneys and slab floors. The beds fitted into the wall with plank sides, two posts with planks nailed on top, resembling tables. A box served as a dresser.
"All ash-cakes were cooked on poplar an’ chestnut leaves, when dey roasted taters," Wade says. "Us chillun used to go early in de mornin’ an’ lick de honey offen de leaves for sweets den. Us didn’t wear nothin’ but our long shirts, an’ us had homemade hats and brogans, hard as bricks with brass caps on de toes. I thought dey was de prettiest things I ever seed.
"Marsa Berry an’ Miss Fanny Owens was good to us niggers. My daddy was de carriage driver for Miss Fanny, but take keer of dat man Ben Boddy, the overseer. He was de meanes’ man God ever put life in. He wouldn’t let us have no fire, matter not how cold, us had to work jes’ de same or de nigger hounds ’ud sho’ get you. Iffen not dog caught, dey would beat you to death nearly. He was so mean marsa run him off. Dey blew de risin’ horn an’ us worked from daylight ’twell dark or frum can to can’t.
"Marsa had a pretty two-story log house, big columns an’ big porch. He had ’bout two or three hundred acres an’ worked ’bout three hundred slaves. Us had a jail an’ locked runaways in hit. Brother Lockhart used to preach to us niggers in de white church at Lebanon an’ us walked to hit.
"My daddy was sold fer $160. When dey put chains on de niggers dey was put ’roun’ de legs and arms an’ to a post. Dey took pains to ho’p my mammy an’ pappy to learn. Dey would teach de Bible to ’em too. Marsa used to sing dem good ole songs, ’My heart frum de tomb, a doleful sound. My ears attend to cry,’ and ’Amazing grace how sweet it sounds.’