Evolution of Love 2

Preely's story

In 1937, at 85, he told his story to the WPA: born enslaved, sold at one month old, brought to Texas.
'You all is free as I is,' his master said. His words survived.
Between 1936 and 1938, the Works Progress Administration hired writers to do something unprecedented: interview formerly enslaved people and record their stories.
Over 2,300 people—most in their 80s and 90s, the last generation to remember slavery firsthand—sat down and shared their memories. Their words were preserved exactly as spoken, creating one of history's most important collections of primary source testimony.
One of those voices belonged to Preely Coleman.
In 1937, in Tyler, Texas, 85-year-old Preely sat down with a WPA interviewer and began talking. And as he said himself: "I never gits tired of talking."
What follows is Preely's story, in his own words—preserved in the Library of Congress, a direct link to a man born into slavery in 1852.

Preely's Story (in his own words):
"I'm Preely Coleman and I never gits tired of talking. Yes, ma'am, it am Juneteenth, but I'm home, 'cause I'm too old now to go on them celebrations.
"Where was I born? I knows that 'zactly, 'cause my mammy tells me that a thousand times. I was born down on the old Souba place, in South Carolina, 'bout ten mile from Newberry. My mammy belonged to the Souba family, but its a fact one of the Souba boys was my pappy and so the Soubas sells my mammy to Bob and Dan Lewis and they brung us to Texas 'long with a big bunch of other slaves.
"Mammy tells me it was a full month 'fore they gits to Alto, their new home."

Think about what Preely is describing: He was one month old when he was sold. His mother was sold because she'd been raped by one of the Souba men—his father—and the family wanted to hide the evidence.
A one-month-old baby, ripped from the place of his birth, forced on a month-long journey to Texas. His mother carrying him, walking hundreds of miles, enslaved.
Preely continues:

"When I was a chile I has a purty good time, 'cause there was plenty chillen on the plantation. We had the big races. Durin' the war the sojers stops by on the way to Mansfield, in Louisiana, to git somethin' to eat and stay all night, and then's when we had the races.
"There was a mulberry tree we'd run to and we'd line up and the sojers would say, 'Now the first one to slap that tree gits a quarter,' and I nearly allus gits there first. I made plenty quarters slappin' that old mulberry tree!
"So the chillen gits into their heads to fix me, 'cause I wins all the quarters. They throws a rope over my head and started draggin down the road, and down the hill, and I was nigh 'bout choked to death. My only friend was Billy and he was a-fightin', tryin' to git me loose.
"They was goin' to throw me in the big spring at the foot of that hill, but we meets Capt. Berryman, a white man, and he took his knife and cut the rope from my neck and took me by the heels and soused me up and down in the spring till I come to. They never tries to kill me any more."

Preely is describing being nearly lynched by other enslaved children. The casual violence of slavery—where even children absorbed the cruelty of the system and turned it on each other.
He remembers it as a child's memory: the races, the quarters, the mulberry tree. And then sudden violence—a rope around his neck, being dragged, nearly killed, saved by chance encounter.
"They never tries to kill me any more," he says—as if this was normal, expected, something that just happened.

"My mammy done married John Selman on the way to Texas, no cere'mony, you knows, but with her massa's consent. Now our masters, the Lewises, they loses their place and then the Selman's buy me and mammy. They pays $1,500 for my mammy and I was throwed in."

Preely's mother "married"—no ceremony, no legal recognition, just permission from the enslaver. Then sold again. $1,500 for his mother. Preely was "thrown in"—an afterthought, a child included in the purchase price.
Human beings bought and sold like livestock.

"Massa Selman has five cabins in he backyard and they's built like half circle. I grows big 'nough to hoe and den to plow. We has to be ready for the field by daylight and the conk was blowed, and massa call out, 'All hands ready for the field.'
"At 11:30 he blows the conk, what am the mussel shell, you knows, 'gain and we eats dinner, and at 12:30 we has to be back at work. But massa wouldn't 'low no kind of work on Sunday.
"Massa Tom made us wear the shoes, 'cause they's so many snags and stumps our feets gits sore, and they was red russet shoes. I'll never forgit 'em, they was so stiff at first we could hardly stand 'em.
"But Massa Tom was a good man, though he did love the dram. He kep' the bottle in the center of the dining table all the time and every meal he'd have the toddy. Us slaves et out under the trees in summer and in the kitchen in winter and most gen'ally we has bread in pot liquor or milk, but sometimes honey."

Preely describes daily life: the conch shell blown to signal work times, the rigid schedule, the shoes that hurt his feet, the food they ate.
And notice: "Massa Tom was a good man." Because he gave them Sundays off. Because he made them wear shoes. Because sometimes they got honey.
This is what "good" meant under slavery—basic minimal humanity was considered kindness.

"I well 'members when freedom come. We was in the field and massa comes up and say, 'You all is free as I is.'
"There was shoutin' and singin' and 'fore night us was all 'way to freedom."

That's it. That's how Preely remembers emancipation. Working in the field. The master walking up. Seven words: "You all is free as I is."
Shouting. Singing. And by nightfall, they were gone.
Seventy-two years later, Preely still remembered that moment exactly.

Why Preely Coleman's testimony matters:
This isn't a history book written by scholars decades later. This isn't a movie dramatization. This isn't someone's interpretation of what slavery was like.
This is Preely Coleman's actual voice. Recorded. Preserved. His words. His memories. His life.
He was born in 1852. He lived through slavery, the Civil War, Reconstruction, Jim Crow, the early 20th century. He saw the world transform around him.
And in 1937, at 85 years old, he sat down and said: "I never gits tired of talking."
He wanted his story told. He wanted people to know. He wanted his voice to survive.
The WPA Slave Narratives are invaluable because they're direct testimony. Over 2,300 formerly enslaved people spoke. Their words were recorded. Their experiences preserved.
Without these interviews, we'd only have the perspectives of enslavers, the writings of abolitionists, the documents of lawmakers.
We wouldn't have Preely Coleman saying: "I was throwed in."
We wouldn't have his memory of soldiers and the mulberry tree.
We wouldn't have his voice saying: "You all is free as I is."
Preely Coleman died sometime after 1937. His interview is housed in the Library of Congress, part of the American Memory collection.
Anyone can read it. Anyone can hear his voice across nearly 90 years of history.
Remember Preely Coleman.
Born enslaved in South Carolina in 1852.
Sold at one month old.
Brought to Texas in a month-long forced march.
Nearly killed as a child.
Sold again with his mother for $1,500.
Worked the fields from childhood.
Freed at age 13 in 1865.
Lived 72 more years as a free man.
And at 85, sat down and told his story so we would know.
"I never gits tired of talking."
His voice survived. Listen to it.