Scan barcode
spiffysarahruby's review against another edition
4.0
This is the first book I have ever started and finished in the same day. The writing style is so conversational, it just flows so well. Taulbert is a great story teller!
From his introduction, I thought it was interesting how he wanted to write down his childhood stories to show his children that pre-integration, there were good times and good memories to be had. I thought it was interesting how he said that there were lessons and values that he thinks the African American community is starting to forget, particularly because these good memories aren't typically what historians and people in general focus on when discussing the segregated South.
Anyway, the book is a series of stories from his childhood from about age 4-5 to his graduation from high school. He concentrates on discussing his relationships with his multi-generational family, the hard work ethic that was instilled in him by them, and the fun the family and community would have when they could get together for leisure time.
I thought it was a good book plain and simple, primarily because it was a refreshing read. One knows that the segregated South wasn't a happy time or place, but to see that there was still some joy to be had through the young eyes of Taulbert, it really was refreshing.
From his introduction, I thought it was interesting how he wanted to write down his childhood stories to show his children that pre-integration, there were good times and good memories to be had. I thought it was interesting how he said that there were lessons and values that he thinks the African American community is starting to forget, particularly because these good memories aren't typically what historians and people in general focus on when discussing the segregated South.
Anyway, the book is a series of stories from his childhood from about age 4-5 to his graduation from high school. He concentrates on discussing his relationships with his multi-generational family, the hard work ethic that was instilled in him by them, and the fun the family and community would have when they could get together for leisure time.
I thought it was a good book plain and simple, primarily because it was a refreshing read. One knows that the segregated South wasn't a happy time or place, but to see that there was still some joy to be had through the young eyes of Taulbert, it really was refreshing.
clarkf87's review against another edition
3.0
Book 38: ⭐️⭐️⭐️
Once Upon a Time When We Were Colored. By Clifton L. Taulbert.
This is a story about life in the segregated South through the eyes of a "colored" child. From picking cotton to minstrel shows at the fairground to applying for a white boy's job, Taulbert covers the 1950s through an innocent bird's-eye view.
Favorite passages:
I would watch in complete silence as the long blade of the razor, expertly handled, removed all signs of hair from his face and head. Afterwards, Poppa would rub alcohol all over his scalp with a hot towel, then he would rub oil over his face and head, creating the shiny image of Buddha that I had come to love.
The food was plain, but hot and tasty. It was free, and it was much better than the previous school lunch, which was none.
The work was backbreaking, exhausting and sometimes degrading. It often required a mother to leave home in the morning to go prepare breakfast for a white family before her own children were fed.
“Who is that picture?” I recall her abrupt response.
“Boy, don’t let no white folk hear you say nothing about that man. That’s white folks’ business. We ain’t got nothing to do with it.”
By the time we were passing the local juke joints, we had begun singing, “Lord, wash me whiter than snow.” While the Lord was washing us whiter than snow, we were preparing to walk through the residential part of town where Glen Allan’s whites lived. When we got close to their homes, the Reverend Thomas would say, “Look to God, pay no attention to the peckerwoods. They don’t respect nothin’.” He talked, we marched, we sang and we looked straight ahead and paid no attention to the teenage white boys who look on and laughed.
Books are like eggs. Somethings you have to crack them open to get anything out.
Our lives centered around the colored church. It provided the framework for civic involvement, the backdrop for leadership, a safe place for social gatherings, where our babies were blessed, our families married and our dead respected. Yes, the colored church became the sanctuary for our dreams and the closet for our secrets, and even the funerals were representative of all we were, and what we hoped to become.
Once Upon a Time When We Were Colored. By Clifton L. Taulbert.
This is a story about life in the segregated South through the eyes of a "colored" child. From picking cotton to minstrel shows at the fairground to applying for a white boy's job, Taulbert covers the 1950s through an innocent bird's-eye view.
Favorite passages:
I would watch in complete silence as the long blade of the razor, expertly handled, removed all signs of hair from his face and head. Afterwards, Poppa would rub alcohol all over his scalp with a hot towel, then he would rub oil over his face and head, creating the shiny image of Buddha that I had come to love.
The food was plain, but hot and tasty. It was free, and it was much better than the previous school lunch, which was none.
The work was backbreaking, exhausting and sometimes degrading. It often required a mother to leave home in the morning to go prepare breakfast for a white family before her own children were fed.
“Who is that picture?” I recall her abrupt response.
“Boy, don’t let no white folk hear you say nothing about that man. That’s white folks’ business. We ain’t got nothing to do with it.”
By the time we were passing the local juke joints, we had begun singing, “Lord, wash me whiter than snow.” While the Lord was washing us whiter than snow, we were preparing to walk through the residential part of town where Glen Allan’s whites lived. When we got close to their homes, the Reverend Thomas would say, “Look to God, pay no attention to the peckerwoods. They don’t respect nothin’.” He talked, we marched, we sang and we looked straight ahead and paid no attention to the teenage white boys who look on and laughed.
Books are like eggs. Somethings you have to crack them open to get anything out.
Our lives centered around the colored church. It provided the framework for civic involvement, the backdrop for leadership, a safe place for social gatherings, where our babies were blessed, our families married and our dead respected. Yes, the colored church became the sanctuary for our dreams and the closet for our secrets, and even the funerals were representative of all we were, and what we hoped to become.
ghumpherys's review against another edition
3.0
This was our book club selection -- it was an interesting memoir about growing up in the black community of a small Mississippi town in the 1950's.
yfaith's review against another edition
5.0
Great book, I could really visualize each character in this book as someone in my family. It was real to me.
yfaith's review
5.0
Great book, I could really visualize each character in this book as someone in my family. It was real to me.
More...