Diane P. Jackson interview with Tanner Stephens, Jean Duncan, and Cloyee Duncan

The John Burrison Georgia Folklore Archive recordings contains unedited versions of all interviews. Some material may contain descriptions of violence, offensive language, or negative stereotypes reflecting the culture or language of a particular period or place. There are instances of racist language and description, particularly in regards to African Americans. These items are presented as part of the historical record. This project is a repository for the stories, accounts, and memories of those who chose to share their experiences for educational purposes. The viewpoints expressed in this project do not necessarily represent the viewpoints of the Atlanta History Center or any of its officers, agents, employees, or volunteers. The Atlanta History Center makes no warranty as to the accuracy or completeness of any information contained in the interviews and expressly disclaims any liability therefore. If you believe you are the copyright holder of any of the content published in this collection and do not want it publicly available, please contact the Kenan Research Center at the Atlanta History Center at 404-814-4040 or reference@atlantahistorycenter.com. This recording starts with Tanner Stephens playing the banjo while singing The Last Old Shovel and My Hat an Fourteen Dollars," a song about the consequences of gambling. Timestamp 3:35: Stephens switches to an autoharp while he continues to sing an untitled song. He then returns to the banjo and sings Moore County Moonshine Ballad, a song about distilling illegal alcohol. Timestamp 8:41: Stephens finishes the recording singing Corey and Uncle Ned. The former song is about death and the latter is a racist song about slavery. Throughout the tape, Cloyee Duncan plays the guitar and Jean Duncan sings along. No biographical information about Tanner Stephens, Jean Duncan, or Cloyee Duncan has been determined. Transcript Searchable: (The Last Old Shovel) Well, bury me there where my true love is laid, Up there in that lonesome ground. Oh, I hope to be laid by th side of my darlin When the last old shovel is laid down. When that last old shovel is laid down, When that last old shovel is laid down. Oh, I hope to be laid by the side of my darlin When the last old shovel is laid down. I think of her when its stormy an rainy In the mountins far away An I hope to be laid by the side of my darlin Therell be rest for me on that day. Therell be rest for me on that day. Therell be rest for me on that day. How I hope to be laid by the side of my darlin In the mountins far away. (My hat an fourteen dollars) Oh, Im goin back to where I come from Where the honeysuckle sells to sweet it durn near makes you sick. I used to think my life was hum-drum, But Ive learned a lesson now thats bound to stick. I used to go down to the station Every evenin just to watch that pullman freight come rollin in. An then one nite, that great temptation Got the best of me an drove me to the life of sin. I took my hat an fourteen dollars An I went through all the trouble th life that always follows When youre rich an huntin romance, But Ive learned a lesson now thats bound to stick. I met a man from Kansas City And he asked me if Id like to go with him to look around. And I says yep, thats what Im here for, So he said hed show me to the hottest spots in town. He mentioned things hed have to fix up. So he took my fourteen dollars but there must ha been some mix up. Hes been gone since Thursday evenin And Ive gotta hunch Ill never see that man no more. When I get ol and have a grandson, Ill tell im bout my romance and watch his eyes bug out. But chances are he wont believe me An hell do th same durn things his paw done no doubt. But he cant say I didnt warn im Bout that city-slicken foller thatll take your dough, gosh darn Im goin back where I come from Where the mockin bird is singin in the lilac bush. In the next song Tanner is playing the autoharp. Only after much coaxing did he finally say that he would play this song. He could remember only a few phrases of the lyrics, the main chorus being: Bury me beneath the willow Under the weepin willow tree (Moore County Moonshine Ballad) Th little girl sat on th log cabin floor, A tear was in her eye. Her mother said Susie dont wander afar For I may be gone half the nite. Oh Mama dont make no liquer tonite. Sheriff Brown may be watchin the mill. I seen him go down th road today An he turned up th path towards th mill. Oh, hush young un hush, the por mother cried, Your daddy aint never worked none. There aint a bite of food to be had in th house An the babys got croup in is lung. The woman put on her mans shoes an pants, Didnt harken to Susies advice. She went to th mill in th dark of th nite An was shot in th back by th spies. They tenderly carried th woman back home, Th po woman in mans overalls. As they tenderly placed th body in th hall You could hear th por orphan chil bawl: Oh Mammy why did you make liquer tonite? I begged il my heart was nigh wild. Paw brought me em flower within half th hour An now Im a por orphan chil. (Corey) Well, wake up, wake up darlin Corey. What makes you sleep so sound? Th revenue officers a-comin Come tear yore still-house down. Th las time I seen darlin Corey She was standin by th sea Forty-five strapped around her bosom An a banjo on her knee. Dig a hole, dig a hole In th meadow, Dig a hole in th col, col ground. Theyre preachin Coreys funeral In that lonesom grave yard ground. Wake up, wake up darlin Corey. What makes you sleep so sound? The revenue officers comin Gonna tear yore still-house down. You know, my great-grandmother used to that- some fashion on a banjo an never change a chord. (Uncle Ned) Master had a darkey an is name was Uncle Ned. An he lived long ago, long ago. Had no teeth to eat a hoe-cake So he had t let th hoe-cake go. So lay down y shovel an y hoe, Pick up y fiddle an y bow, Theres no more work for por ol Ned Cause es gone where th good darkies go. Had long fingers like a cane in th break, Had no eyes for to see, Had no teeth for t eat a hoe-cake So he had t let th hoe-cake be. So lay down your shovel an your hoe, Pick up y fiddle an y bow, Theres no more work for por ol Ned Cause es gone where th good darkies go. I guess thats all I remember o that one. A PDF transcript exists for this recording. Please contact an archivist for access. Professor John Burrison founded the Atlanta Folklore Archive Project in 1967 at Georgia State University. He trained undergraduates and graduate students enrolled in his folklore curriculum to conduct oral history interviews. Students interviewed men, women, and children of various demographics in Georgia and across the southeast on crafts, storytelling, music, religion, rural life, and traditions. As archivists, we acknowledge our role as stewards of information, which places us inaposition to choose how individuals and organizations are represented and described in our archives. We are not neutral, andbias isreflected in our descriptions, whichmay not convey the racist or offensive aspects of collection materialsaccurately.Archivists make mistakes and might use poor judgment.We often re-use language used by the former owners and creators, which provides context but also includes bias and prejudices of the time it was created.Additionally,our work to use reparative languagewhereLibrary of Congress subject termsareinaccurate and obsolete isongoing. Kenan Research Center welcomes feedback and questions regarding our archival descriptions. If you encounter harmful, offensive, or insensitive terminology or description please let us know by emailingreference@atlantahistorycenter.com. Your comments are essential to our work to create inclusive and thoughtful description.