[June 20, 2023] Picking Cotton. My first real job was picking cotton at my Grandpappy’s home in southeast Arkansas. I learned many valuable lessons, including that I was not cut out to be a cotton picker. I was ten years old in the Summer of 1962 when I picked cotton for the first time.
A “real” job meant that you worked for someone else and were paid for the work you produced. There was no minimum wage, no health benefits, no free meals, and no union, and if you were hurt and couldn’t work, you did not get paid. There was no workers comp. You see, when you turned ten in the Satterfield family, you were expected to work and contribute to the family. Period. My Grandpappy cotton fields needed picking, and that was that.
Harvesters got most of the cotton, but at the time, they were inefficient and left too much cotton in the boll. The solution? Send pickers in behind the machines. Late in the summer of 1962, I joined a team of about a dozen pickers. All were adults except me. The most experienced and most able pickers were blacks who lived nearby. The unofficial leader of this team was Mama Ida. She was a large black woman who couldn’t read but was the most wonderful person I’ve ever met.
“Douglas, now you just follow me.” She said that every day. And I did exactly what she told me to do. I was a “city boy” (I lived in a town of 300 folks and had no traffic lights), but because I wore shoes and had soft hands, I was weak and needed “tending to.” I learned from her to be a good follower, pay attention to what you’re told, and follow the directions of the other pickers. An important lesson was they showed me how to avoid cutting my fingers on the sharp cotton boll. If you don’t pay close attention to picking cotton, you could get infected and be out of work. No work, no pay.
Mama Ida was a fast picker. So was everyone else. I was slow, embarrassingly slow. But I quickly learned that teamwork can accomplish more than individuals working separately. People had different jobs in the cotton fields, and none were unimportant. I was often the “water boy” and was proud of it. Carrying water in two tin buckets was crucial to their well-being. And the cotton-picking team was honest. Mama Ida made sure of that and never allowed rocks or dirt in our 10-foot cotton sacks, and pay was based on the weight of the cotton you picked. You were paid cash daily. My Grandpappy paid me my wage that first day, 10 cents. I was devastated.
Arkansas in late summer is hot, windy, humid, dusty, and buggy. The cotton fields exposed you to the sun all day long. I suffered and sometimes cried. But I would not quit, no matter what and no matter that I wanted to quit desperately. I had so many cuts on my hands; I couldn’t count them. And my feet hurt. I wore a baseball hat and got sunburned on my ears and cheeks. The other pickers wore rimmed hats, white shirts or dresses to keep the sun at bay.
At the end of each day, I was exhausted and fell asleep after the dinner my Grandmama had made. The usual evening meal was fried chicken, black-eyed peas or butter beans, spinach or corn, and watermelon for dessert. It was good eating. Breakfast was eggs (from the chickens she tended), toast and homemade jam. Lunch was hardboiled eggs you carried with you into the fields. You could take a lunch break, but you earned less if you did so.
Mama Ida would say, “You be careful now, Douglas.” She was telling me to pay close attention to the Harvesters. They would run you over before you even knew one was even there. In two weeks, we completely cleared the fields of cotton. Now it was time to go home to my parents. Picking cotton may not be ideal, but it helped me learn about people and made me appreciate the value of those who do the grudging, hard, often ignored work that makes America great.
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Gen. Satterfield I’m just loving your series more than anything. Keep these letters to your granddaughter coming.
Loving this whole series. Keep them coming out way, Gen. Satterfield.
General
Good evening my friend. Excellent advice contained in this for not only your granddaughter but the reader. It a lesson on communication, following specific steps that helps you avoid life accidents, weather conditions determine how you dressed for the job, hard work is necessary to succeed in life. People who don’t have your level of education or color can make a difference in your life. Family that work together stay together.. Mama Ida was a wise woman which says women are great leader you can learn from
Thank you, Eddie. It always makes my day to hear from you.
You don’t know many folks today who were cotton pickers. Sounds like something out of the Civil War era.
Right, American Girl. Don’t ya just love Gen.S? He makes me laugh and learn all at the same time.
general satterfield kicking ass …….. again
Gen. Satterfield, a “Water Boy,” hard to imagine that.
Hi doc. Gen. Satterfield was, of course, 10 years old at the time and just beginning life. The idea here is that he was heavily influenced from the cotton picking “real” job that he had. He learned a lot about appreciating what you do in life. What I liked most was that after one full day of working in the cotton fields that he earned only 10 cents. And even in those days, that was almost nothing.
“Mama Ida was a fast picker. So was everyone else. I was slow, embarrassingly slow.” – Gen. Satterfield. Now we understand, Gen. S. just a little bit better and that is, I believe the whole point of these letters.
BEST one yet.
Gen. Satterfield is all over it with this letter.
Excellent. Best paragraph. Mama Ida would say, “You be careful now, Douglas.” She was telling me to pay close attention to the Harvesters. They would run you over before you even knew one was even there. In two weeks, we completely cleared the fields of cotton. Now it was time to go home to my parents. Picking cotton may not be ideal, but it helped me learn about people and made me appreciate the value of those who do the grudging, hard, often ignored work that makes America great. ” Well said, Gen. Satterfield.
Hi Maximus. My favorite part of the article, er “letter” is this: A “real” job meant that you worked for someone else and were paid for the work you produced. There was no minimum wage, no health benefits, no free meals, and no union, and if you were hurt and couldn’t work, you did not get paid. There was no workers comp. You see, when you turned ten in the Satterfield family, you were expected to work and contribute to the family. Period. My Grandpappy cotton fields needed picking, and that was that.
Both are the best. I’m really enjoying these letters than I thought they were. At first, maybe I was thinking this is just a gimmick but now, I’m thinking these are wonderful and I will do the same with my grandchildren.
Both are darn good.
I agree with you Maximus. I know that you’ve been in the forums for a couple of months and I forgot to welcome you. WELCOME! 😎
Wow, you guys beat me to it. I like this series. One of the best. Keep it up Gen. Satterfield on your letters to your granddaughter. 😁
Lovely.
Extremely lovely …. now I’m beginning to sound like Emma. he he he he
You go girlfriend.
Nailed it.
This letter is a beauty. Getting better each time.
❤❤❤❤❤❤