by Karen L. Cox
She had been a widow for over twenty years by now, eight of which had been taken from her. But some time between 1950 and 1955, Sister remarried, this time to a man who attended her church. Lee Randolph, described as a tall and very large man, was her same age. He had been married before and had children. And he was one of Antioch’s deacons. Sister left her home on Liberty Road and moved into a house on Concord Avenue with her new husband, where she lived until her death in September 1969.10
The Natchez Democrat did not record her obituary. Sister had health issues that required family members to rotate in and out of her house to care for her in the last years of her life, but her life cannot be measured by her illness or her incarceration. She carried the strength of her slave ancestors with her, a strength that willed her to survive prison and life under Jim Crow. She also lived long enough to witness the determination of the black community to fight for civil rights in Natchez. And she lived long enough to become a mother of the church at Antioch — a position of respectability. Given the personal struggle that had been her life, it was respectability well deserved.11
Regardless of the name given to what happened that night in August 1932 — the Merrill murder or the Goat Castle murder — it is important to understand that the case involved more than two eccentrics and their goats. A woman was murdered. A man lost a woman he loved. Another woman served hard labor in prison. And several members of the black community were rounded up for interrogation. Natchez, too, was thrown into the spotlight, and what the media exposed was not flattering. Pilgrimage tours aside, this was a society in flux. Old South romance simply served as a cover for Jim Crow ugliness.
Previous writers have been taken with the southern gothic overtones of this story, which is why they have focused their pens on Dick Dana and Octavia Dockery and the spectacle of Goat Castle. Yet there is another gothic South, one that speaks to the devastation of black lives in a society that did not value their lives. It is important, therefore, to restore Emily “Sister” Burns’s experience in its retelling so that her suffering, and return to Natchez, is not lost to history.
The tragedy of what happened in Natchez in 1932 has largely faded from community memory. Americans, who followed the story for months that fall, moved on to the excitement of other tales of true crime. And yet Goat Castle is worth remembering for what it tells us about America in the 1930s. It reveals the public’s fascination with the gothic South alongside the romance of the Old South. It provides a window onto crime stories of the decade, as well as onto southern race relations, Jim Crow, and the narrative of southern civilization in decline. Finally, it reminds us of the importance of Natchez, a town older than the nation itself and a place whose history runs as deep as the Mississippi River along which it sits.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Years ago, while working at the Mississippi Division of Archives and History in Jackson, I was in search of material that might offer insight as to why the Natchez Pilgrimage — a tour of antebellum mansions — had drawn thousands of American tourists to this little town on the bluffs of the Mississippi River during the 1930s. This is when I first met Clinton Bagley, a longtime historian at the state archives and a Natchez expert. When I told him why I was there, his eyes widened and he said, “What you should really be looking at is Goat Castle. Goat Castle put Natchez on the map.” I asked him to repeat himself. “Did you say ‘Goat Castle’?” He had. I was intrigued. He pointed me to a vertical file that held the contents of newspaper articles about a murder that had taken place in Natchez in 1932 — the very year the Natchez Pilgrimage began. Goat Castle, I learned, was the nickname of a derelict antebellum mansion where its occupants — Dick Dana and Octavia Dockery — lived with several goats. The two eccentrics once stood accused of the murder of their neighbor in a case that received national attention. I was hooked. I photocopied everything in that file because I instinctively knew that this was going to become my next book project.
So the person responsible for setting me on this journey is Clinton Bagley. All kidding aside, I am forever grateful to him, because this story has been a real gift to me as a historian and a writer. It introduced me to the world that is Natchez, historical and contemporary, the many lovely people I have met there, and the amazing sunsets from its bluffs overlooking the Mississippi River.
After Clinton, my thanks must begin in Natchez. Mimi Miller, the executive director of the Historic Natchez Foundation (HNF), is an absolute treasure. Her knowledge and her local contacts were invaluable. She and her husband, Ron Miller, have also been generous hosts during my many research trips there. I learned early on not to be in a hurry to get up from the breakfast table, because Mimi is telling stories. Plus, research doesn’t begin until she’s at the foundation. Being on Natchez time is not so bad. I cannot thank her and Ron enough for their insights into Natchez history and society, to say nothing of their hospitality.
Many of the people I have met in Natchez provided information that proved critical to completing this book. Among them was Duncan Morgan, a member of the African American community whose historical memory can be taken to the bank. If it were not for him, the story of Emily Burns would still be lost to history. During my several research visits, he provided information and introductions that allowed me to flesh out her role as a principal and the only person to be held accountable for Jennie Merrill’s murder. I am forever grateful to him.
Among Duncan’s introductions were Doris Maynard and her mother, Daisy Green, members of Antioch Baptist Church, where Emily’s family has worshipped for several generations. Ms. Green has since passed, but I appreciate the time she and Doris gave me. They were the first to share with me the fact that Emily Burns was known as “Sister,” and they invited me to attend their church. In October 2015 I finally made that visit. There, for the first time, I met Emily’s second cousins — Birdia Green, Phyliss Morris, Linda Griffin, and Felice Davis — who knew her as “Cousin Sister.” On the following day, Birdia messaged me to meet at her sister’s home. It was during that visit, sitting around the kitchen table with Phyliss, Birdia, and Linda, where I first saw a photograph of Emily Burns. It is the only one that exists and is used in the book. The photo and the generosity of these sisters have meant the world to me. Since that time, Birdia and I have remained in touch, for which I am thankful. I owe all of these women a debt of gratitude.
At the HNF, there are several people to thank. Early in my research, Catherine Prince bravely accompanied me to a warehouse where hundreds of ledgers from the Adams County Courthouse were being held for safekeeping. The warehouse had once been a pie factory, and the records were being held in what had been the freezer that held the piecrusts. Navigating the dark and dingy room required us to wear gloves and masks and to carry flashlights, but that visit proved to be a success when I located the witness docket for Emily Burns’s trial, and a case number, which proved invaluable. Thank you, Catherine.
Thanks also go to Patricia Catchings, who expressed interest in my research from the beginning and pulled many of the archival boxes I needed. She also graciously offered her lovely home so that I could introduce a group of adventurous friends to the wonders of Natchez. Madeleine Iles, who was fulfilling a history internship with the HNF, helped me by photocopying materials. Her curiosity about this project was refreshing, and she has a bright future as a historian should she decide to take it on as a career. Trevor Brown and Anna Rife have also made my time working at the HNF more interesting.
Elsewhere in Natchez I want to thank Jeff Mansell, historian with the Natchez National Historical Park, who shared some of his own research on the Surgets and Minors, as well as on Civil War–era Natchez. Thanks go to Carolyn Guido, the current owner of Glenburnie, for inviting me to her home and sharing her personal archive of material on the house and the murder. Elizabeth Boggess and Anne MacNeil, sisters and owners of Elms Court, have also shared their time and knowledge, not to mention their hospitality. I will never forget having dinner at their home, my first beneath a
punkah.
Native Natchezeans Sallie Ballard and Kathie Blankenstein were also generous. Their mothers were founding members of the Natchez Garden Club, and the two of them shared fascinating stories of its origins. During an early visit to Natchez, both women came to the HNF to be interviewed, and each of them proved to be a wonderful storyteller. During one trip, Sallie opened her home to me and a friend, while Kathie gave me access to the archives at Magnolia Hall. Kathie and I have exchanged e-mails, and she’s been wonderful to meet me for lunch or dinner when I’m in town. On one of my last research visits, she told me a story about Zaida Wells, who is featured in this book, which had Mimi and me in stitches. I also owe her a huge thank you for introducing me to Old Fashioneds.
Last but not least in Natchez, I want to thank Joan McLemore, who let me interview her about local history and lore, and Ben Hillyer with the Natchez Democrat. He sent a reporter to interview me about my research in hopes of bringing me one step closer to the story of Emily Burns.
The Louisiana State University Special Collections held material that was critical to the writing of this book. Natchez-related archival collections, including the Thomas H. and Joan W. Gandy Photograph Collection, helped bring this story to life. Thanks go to Mark Martin for his assistance in helping me navigate the photo collection and to Tara Laver for her assistance with use and permissions.
At the University of North Carolina at Charlotte, I am very grateful to Dean Nancy Gutierrez, who provided a research fund that made this book and scholarly presentations on my findings possible. She has also expressed a personal interest in the book. Her support, along with a senior research leave provided by the College of Liberal Arts and Sciences, as well as a fellowship from the UNC Charlotte Department of History Cotlow Endowment, meant that I had a year to focus on writing. Ask any scholar what she or he wants most, and the answer is almost always “time to write.” I am grateful for the time, and this book is the result.
Talented colleagues and former students have also been supportive. In the UNC Charlotte history department office, I especially want to thank Linda Smith, who steered me through the travel bureaucracy of the university and who has shown genuine excitement about the project. Thanks also go to Catherine Forbes, in our college IT office, who took on the challenge of scanning images I needed. My colleague Ritika Prasad not only is one of the smartest people I’ve ever met but has also been a wonderful friend to me. She was one among that adventurous group who accompanied me on a trip to see Natchez and is an all-around great gal. Former students who’ve expressed interest in this story and who are fine historians in their own right include Nicole Moore, Brandon Lunsford, Bill Jeffers, Boyd Harris, and Emily Taylor. Thanks for keeping up with my progress.
I must also offer a huge thanks to Christopher Geissler, whom I met when he worked for UNC Charlotte’s special collections. He went with me to Natchez one weekend and helped me go through that dark and dingy place that housed ledgers from the Adams County Courthouse. I needed to be sure I had not missed something, even if it felt like searching for a needle in a haystack. While there, he became a fan of the town and got to meet Sallie Ballard, who regaled us with stories that made us laugh. Love you, Brother Man.
In Charlotte, I want to thank Mary McLaughlin, a good friend and my wine tasting companion. She’s listened to me yammer on about this project for months on end, showing tremendous patience but also a sincere interest. I also wish to thank Carann Brown for the pet care she provided during numerous research trips.
Thanks, too, go to the women who thought a trip to Natchez sounded exciting. In addition to Ritika Prasad, our group included Minoa Uffelman, Louise LeBourgeois, and Andrea Hewitt. I barely knew them before the trip, but all were enthusiastic and eager to learn, and we came away as friends.
The people at the University of North Carolina Press are the best, and I’ve been fortunate to work with them on this book. Mark Simpson-Vos initially tried to convince me to go with the press, but I demurred. I wanted to let my agent, Geri Thoma, shop the book around, only to find that UNC Press was best suited to handle the project. By then, I had met the very talented Brandon Proia. I recall very well the phone conversation with him in which I expressed how important it was that I be able to write the book I wanted to write. He reassured me I could, and with that I signed on and offered a mea culpa to Mark. Thank you, Geri, for guiding me back to UNC Press.
I can’t say enough good things about Brandon Proia. He’s been the editor I needed. He’s talented and encouraging and has been very responsive to my e-mails and phone calls. He’s helped me to streamline the narrative without changing my intent or even my writing style. All historians should be so lucky.
There are so many academic friends to thank that I could not possibly thank them all, so I just want to offer a shout-out to all of you on Facebook who cheered me along the way as I posted numerous updates on the writing. I have appreciated your interest and your encouragement. There is one person, however, who deserves special recognition, and that’s Sarah Gardner. She joined me on my first visit to Natchez on a fall break in 2012. I don’t think either of us will ever forget the tour we had at Dunleith, one of Natchez’s most outstanding examples of antebellum architecture. We were first told we could not get a tour, so we asked to walk the grounds. That’s when we met David Grimsley, who gave us a tour anyway. It is, by far, one of the best house tours I’ve ever taken, and we enjoyed his sense of humor, even when he took the opportunity to make fun of history professors, not knowing he was giving two of them a tour.
There are academics, and there are those who show you the meaning of true friendship. They are the ones who always have your back. In this, I am most fortunate to claim a group of women friends who not only are outstanding historians but also have given me tremendous love and support in ways only we will know. They are my “girls’ weekend” crew. Shannon Frystak, Alecia Long, Danielle McGuire, and Heather Thompson, I love you gals. Thank you for getting me through the tough times and cheering me on in better days.
I also have family members to thank. My mother, Flora Carter, has been excited about this book from the beginning. She read a chapter but refused to read others because she didn’t want it to “ruin” her experience of reading the book in its entirety. Now she can. My aunt Wilma Smith, the original historian in the family, has also been enthusiastic. Thank you, both. I love you more than you know. Thanks, also, go to my cousin Katura Crum, an avid reader who has been a cheerleader for this project from the very beginning.
Now, my most faithful supporters, the ones who give me unconditional love on a daily basis, are my pets. The cat, well, is a cat. Her name is Halen, and while she has a poor reputation with some guests, there is no doubt she loves me, especially when it suits her. Then there’s my heart, Phoebe. I adopted her at the end of my first year of teaching in Charlotte. A lab mix, she is always the sweetest pea in the room. I often look at her and ask, “How did I get so lucky to get you?” Because honestly, she’s the best girlfriend I’ve ever had. She kept me company while writing and hung out with me in the room where I worked to make this book a reality. Her snores and sighs provided comfort, while her nudges to go for a walk reminded me it was time to take a break and get some fresh air. She’s the one who has always greeted me with love and excitement and the one who has been steadfast and true. This book is dedicated to her.
NOTES
ABBREVIATIONS
HNF
Historic Natchez Foundation, Natchez, Miss.
LLMVC
Louisiana and Lower Mississippi Valley Collections, Special Collections, Hill Memorial Library, Louisiana State University Libraries, Baton Rouge
MDAH
Mississippi Division of Archives and History, Jackson, Miss.
ND
Natchez Democrat
NYT
New York Times
TP
New Orleans Times-Picayune
PROLOGUE
1. “Neighbor Pair Held in Natchez
Murder,” New York Times, August 9, 1932.
2. The last name is spelled in newspapers and documents as both Pearles and Pearls. This book uses the latter.
3. “Rich Woman Recluse Slain in Mississippi,” New York Times, August 6, 1932; “Elderly Recluse Slain in South,” Joplin (Mo.) Globe, August 6, 1932; “Weird Mississippi Murder Traced to Row over Goats,” Helena (Mont.) Independent August 8, 1932; “Southern Goat Castle Scene of a Tragedy,” Lebanon (Pa.) Semi-Weekly News, August 15, 1932.
4. Cox, “Revisiting the Natchez Pilgrimage,” 356–57.
5. Jenkins, “Melrose, a Multifaceted Jewel in the NPS Crown,” 372.
6. Quitman’s tour is described in Scarborough, Masters of the Big House, 40.
7. Johnson, River of Dark Dreams, 6–12, 84–87.
8. Discussion of the Forks of the Road and Natchez slave traders is drawn from Barnett and Burkett, “Forks of the Road Slave Market at Natchez”; and Ingraham, The South-West by a Yankee, 192–97.
9. W. Anderson, Life and Narrative of William J. Anderson, 14.
10. The name of the home is written as “Elmscourt” and “Elms Court.” This book uses the latter. “Natchez, The First Town on the River, Gen. Grant on a Visit, Runaway Negroes in the Contraband Camp, Secesh in Despair, etc.,” NYT, August 16, 1863.
11. Figures on slave population are drawn from “Spread of U.S. Slavery, 1790–1860,” accessed June 10, 2014.
12. Jennifer Moses, “The Lost Tribe of Natchez,” NYT, September 20, 1998.
13. Cox, Dreaming of Dixie, 81–105.