Project f1655 Henry Grant
Columbia, S. C~	330218


SAMtJEL BOULWARE

EX~SIŔV~ 82 YE~RS OLD.


	Sanuel Boulware‘s only home is one basement room, in the home of colored friends, for which no rent charges are made. He is old and feeble and has poor eyesight, yet, he is self—supporting by doing light odd jobs, mostly for white people. He has never married, hence no dependents whatever. One of the members of the house, in which Samuel lives, told him someone on the front porch wanted to talk with him.

	From his dingy basement room he slowly imunted the steps and came toward the front door with an irregular shamble. One seeing his approach would naturally be of the opinion, that this old darkey was certainly nearing the hundred year mark. Apparently Father T~e had aimost caught up with him; he had been caught in the winds of a~t1~lict ion and now he was tottering along with a bent and twisted frame, which for many years in the past, housed a veritable physical giant. The winds of 82 years had blown over him and now he was calmly and hwnbiy approaching the end of his days. Humility was his attitude, a characteristic purely attributable to the genuine end old-fashion southern Negro. He slid into

a nearby chair and began talking in a plain conversational way.

	“Dis is a mighty hot day white folks but you knows dis is July


and us gits de hot days in dis month. De older I gits de more I feels de
t
hot and de cold • I has been a strong ‚ hard working man mo et ail ir~r life

	and if it wasn‘t for dis rheumatism I has in my right leg, I could work hard every day now.

	“Does I ‘~~,er nich ‘bout slavery times? Well, dere is no ~y for me to disremember, unless I die. 1~y mammy and me b‘long to Doctor