Staying Out of the Poorhouse

In the days before food stamps and welfare

Staying out of the poor house

 

            Milas was industrious. He labored from early until late on his north Alabama farm until his children grew mature enough to be unpaid field hands. Freed of the necessity for manual labor, he concentrated on land trading.

 

            At a time when most country people remained in perpetual poverty, Milas steadily accumulated money and property. He was a wily trader, ready to take advantage of neighbors’ bad luck or ineptitude. Literate and able to cipher, he had an edge over most of his neighbors. Yet, he didn’t turn families out when he acquired their farms.

 

            “Reuben, y’u ‘n’ yourn kin stay on ‘n” sharecrop next seas’n ef y’u will,” Milas offered to a man whose land he’d taken for less than its value.

 

            The money he got for the farm barely allowed Reuben to pay off the bank that held his mortgage plus most of what he owed at the feed and seed in town. He had no choice but to accept the offer. Both men knew it.

 

            “Thanky, Mr. Milas. I reckon I’ll do thet, but only fer a year or two ‘till I git on my feet ‘gain.” 

 

            Putting a limit on the arrangement, even if only in his mind, helped the proud man retain a measure of dignity. Sharecroppers were at the bottom rung of the agricultural ladder. All viewed them as failed farmers. The very term “sharecropper” came to be one of disrespect.

 

            “Course, I’ll previde th’ seed ‘n’ fertilize ‘n’ op’n up a line o’ credit at th’ store. “Y’u’ll plant thirty acres ‘n cotton ‘n’ ten ‘n’ corn. I’ll tell y’u when t’ seed ‘n’ when t’ lay by. We’ll go halvers when th’ crop comes en.”

 

            No discussion took place. The terms couldn’t be negotiated. If it was a good year, the fields would produce well and both landlord and tenant would end up with a modest amount of money. Sometimes the crops failed due to weather or insects. A bad year would be attributed to lack of diligence on the part of the tenant. So it proved to be in the case of Ruben and his family that fall.

 

            “Y’u, shou’d of werked harder at yore crops,” Milas accused. “If yu’d ‘ov done whut I tole y’u, thing’s would’ve turnt out better. I’ll put what y’u owe at th’ store on yore account ‘n’ y’u kin pay me next harvest.” 

 

            With a series of such disasters, the family might fall into debt that would take years to pay. Economically, they became only marginally better off than those enslaved   had been before the War. Over time, the crops would improve. Money would come in. Meanwhile, the value of the land gradually increased. Milas’ investment would pay handsomely.

 

            Sharecropping was far preferable to “going to the poorhouse.” The poorhouse was a tax-financed building. People who couldn’t support themselves were required to go there. It was less expensive than the welfare system that later replaced it. In no way was it a debtor’s prison. No matter how much a person might fall into debt, as long as he could provide for his immediate needs, he didn’t go to the poorhouse.

 

            The poorhouse for Milas’ area was located several miles outside the county seat. The facility eventually fell into disuse and slowly crumbled and fell as times changed. The location of the building and its associated cemetery are now covered with a massive chicken processing plant. Disgraced in life, the poor are disregarded in death.

 

            Persons today who joke about “having to go to the poorhouse” don’t realize the grim reality behind the expression.

 

            Milas’ financial success, however, made no difference in the daily life of his family. Vegetables came from the garden, milk from the family cow, and meat from hogs and chickens. Doctors weren’t consulted. Family work, as we will see, was hard and unremitting.