It was a story full of delicious revenge for scared black kids growing up in the early forties in Ringout, Alabama.
It was about a local legend who everyone simply called, Mattie.
Mattie had been dead for about fifteen years but you would not know it from the admiration she still evoked from my younger brothers and sister who saw Mattie as a figure larger than life.
We were sitting on our back porch and talking about Mattie being a local hero to black folks (although back then we did not call ourselves ‘black’ anything).
Mattie was a secret or at least she was supposed to be a closely guarded one of the white folks in Ringout but everyone who went to the only black Baptist Church in town knew about Mattie and that included every black woman who ever worked as a housemaid around town.
My Mom, who is now retired from working for the Callister family on Beeson Avenue, told us about Mattie one Saturday afternoon when she got home from working at the local peanut packaging plant.
We gathered around her (our Dad was tired of the Mattie stories so he always begged off and went and read the paper or listened to the radio) while she snapped pea pods for dinner and wetted her throat with sweetened iced tea.
Now, you got to understand that my Mom at that time was new to being what they called a domestic and on her first day of work, she knocked on the back door of the large brick house and waited for permission to enter.
She waited and waited and all the while she heard some poor child wailing like he was being stuck with sewing needles. My Mom arched her eyebrows as she told the story and said she got real nervous because she did not know what she was about to walk into.
So, after hearing a screaming child and seeing no one come to the door, my Mom thought it wise to leave but was halted when Mrs. Callister, a slightly built woman with piercing grey eyes, came to the door.
She was red faced as if she was embarrassed by all of the commotion.
“Come in Adena.”
With that curtly invite, my Mom gingerly stepped into the kitchen yet still hearing loud and plaintive screams of a child in seemingly acute distress.
Mrs. Callister apparently noticed my Mom’s pursed lips and averted her wandering eyes for a moment but blurted out, “Don’t mind that noise. That is just
Mattie finishing her chores.”
“Ma’am”…chores”?
Mrs. Callister seemed confused on how to answer but said, “Oh, no, she is not taking your job. Mattie only does special work for us and others.”
My Mother, knowing not to question white folks said, Yes, Ma’am and went to the kitchen closet to get her apron and duster to start cleaning the upstairs rooms.
As my Mother approached the steps, tumbling out of one of the bedrooms was a boy about ten years old who was hollering as if his life depended upon making all the noise possible.
He was still loudly whimpering when he bolted past my Mom and his short pants revealed large red welts on both arms and legs. He avoided looking at his mother standing nearby, went outside, grabbed his Shelby bike and furiously peddled away.
Coming out of the same room a minute or two later was a large boned midnight black woman who was every bit at least six feet tall with darkly chiseled facial features that hid any hint of what just transpired.
My Mom did not recognize the woman who wore a loose pair of brown pleated pants and a red plaid shirt, a man’s shirt and she wore what appeared to be moccasins. She wore her hair in a large bun tied in the back with black string.
The mysterious woman nodded to my Mom and gave her a look as if to say, “All is well.”
My Mom watched this woman carry a long and large leather strap back to a protruding nail in the closet, hang it up and as she exited the house without a comment, Mrs. Callister handed her a small white envelope.
My Mom said that she nervously looked at her employer for some indication as to what she thought she just witnessed…a black woman soundly thrashing a white child and all the while in the nearby permissive presence of his mother!
“That was Mattie. She helps us with the children when they act out.” And as if somewhat defensively, she quickly added, “She does the same work for other nearby families.”
My Mother said she simply nodded and went about her chores still reeling in the shock of what she just witnessed and allowing it all to seep in. “ A black woman hired by white families to whip their bad kids,” she thought.
It was days later at the Piggly Wiggly Mar that my mother saw this Mattie lady picking out purple cabbages from a wooden bin.
Mattie saw my mother’s quizzical facial expression, left the bin, smiled and walked over to my Mom.
“Hi, I’m Mattie. Sorry you came in when you did at the Callister’s home. I did not know that she had help coming in at that time.”
“Hi, I’m Adena. I am new to the area and that was my third day on the job.”
Curiosity got the best of my mother and she asked Mattie, “Can I ask you what
was going on with you and that screaming boy?”
Casually as if she was peeling potatoes, Mattie looked around and replied, “Oh, now and then the Callisters call me in to discipline Billy. They don’t like to spank him themselves so they call me in to do it for them. So, I comes in and they give me what they want to spank him with and I give him a good thrashing and I get paid and I leaves.”
Stunned, my Mother asked, “Why again do they call you in?”
“They don’t have the stomach to spank their own kids. They are afraid of the kid hating them so they have me come in and do it for them. I guess the word got out as to what I do and before you know it, I am getting calls from other parents asking for the same service.”
My Mother could scarcely believe her ears that a black woman was going from house to house caning or belting or using switches to spank unruly white kids.
Mattie would go into some of the most respected households in Ringout and whack the stuffings out of some snotty nose white kid and she got away with it and got paid for it!
Sometime later, after my Mom and Mattie got to know each other, Mattie told her that at times she enjoyed her job because she was able to take out the hassles she got from white folks discriminating against black folks, on their kids.
My Mother expressed her disapproval of such conduct but Mattie was undeterred.
She viewed it as a form of reparations for the physical abuse she daily saw that whites doled out against black men and women.
This was Mattie’s way of trying to even the score.
“And you know what is funny? Those same kids I whupped until my arms ached, would see me when they were all grown up and would thank me because they saw what I did as caring for them.”
My Mother was fascinated with the story and Mattie went on to say, “The parents biggest concern was that I would not tell anyone what I was doing and that when it came to whupping their girls that I only used rolled up newspaper because it would not show any welts on their legs and arms.”
“ What on Earth would have you continue to do this type of service, as you called it?”
“Money! They pays real good. I make more money in one whupping than I could make in two weeks of cleaning their toilets, washing and ironing their shirts. I guess they thought black people have no conscience and we does that type of whupping on our own kids. I have never whupped any of my five kids as hard and as long as I have whupped on some of those white kids.”
“Sometimes, I get calls at all hours of the day and night asking could I come right away because a child stayed out too late or back talked them or they brought home a bad report card or were caught cussing or smoking a cigarette.”
“I would put on my spanking clothes, drive over, do my work, get paid and leave. No long conversations. They would tell me what happened and where the kid was and I would take what they would give me and go up to their room and wail away.”
“No talk. Just wail away. The kid knew I was coming and they would be crying before I got there. Sometimes they would try to fake the tears but I know real tears and the fake stuff.”
“Some would try to run around in the room and beg me not to hit them but I knew I was there to do a job and I did it.”
“Was I proud of myself?” Yes and No. I did not mind thrashing them but I did mind it that the parents would be waiting outside the door listening in to make sure that the kid got a good enough spanking. When it was not long enough, one of them would open the door and tell me not to stop yet!”
“For the life of me, I cannot understand how those kids loved their parents after that type of stuff. Today when I see those same parents around town, they act like they have never seen me before. Not so much as a, “’Hi’” or a goodbye!
“Now, ain’t that a cutup!”
