Cleora's culinary heritage - narrative of one African American family's interest in Black cuisine

Careful attention to the preparation of food has been a tradition in my family since before the Civil War. Lucy Ann Manning, my great-grandmother, spent much of her life as the house cook on a large plantation outside Waco, Texas. She and my great-grandfather, Buck Manning, had migrated with their owner from Mississippi prior to the war, and by the time peace returned to the land, Buck and Lucy had brought seven children into the world.

Allen Vernon, their firstborn, was destined to become my grandfather. He grew up in the plantation "big house" amid the pots, pans and soup ladles in the kitchen where his mother worked. His father, who was overseer on the plantation, taught his son the essentials of planting and farming when time permitted, but most of Grandfather's time was spent in the house, where he became familiar with food and its preparation. At 15, Allen developed an interest in a young girl who lived on a neighboring plantation where he often ran errands. After six years of courtship, Allen and Bettie Sadler were married on July 4, 1875.

Meanwhile, Allen had become a land owner. When slavery as an institution came to an end, Buck Manning was given a tract of land by his former owner (who was his father as well) and Buck in turn gave 50 acres to each of his children.

Allen worked diligently to till the land, developing the fledgling skills he'd acquired on the plantation. It was also necessary for him to put to use those talents learned at his mother's hand in his own kitchen, as Allen kept his youthful bride busy bearing children. When his father passed away, his mother joined the household, and this lightened his load considerably. The first of Allen's children (there were to be 11 in all) was my mother, Mary Magdalena.

It was natural that, as the oldest, Maggie was required to assist in the Manning kitchen and, in time, to take full responsibility for it. Drawing upon both her grandmother's expertise and her father's knowledge, Maggie was quick in developing the talent that established her as one of the finest cooks in northeast Oklahoma. The daily burden of cooking for so many, however, though it added greatly to her culinary skills, must have been somewhat wearing on a maturing young girl. It might well have been with relief when, at 18, Maggie accepted the proposal of a neighboring farmhand, Joseph Thomas, who had expressed great interest in her for years. Allen Vernon Manning, however, was adamantly opposed to this young smart-aleck's designs on his eldest daughter--the one (mind you) in charge of the cooking.

At 20, Maggie defiantly announced her intention to marry the enterprising Joe Thomas. They still had to wait three years, until October 26, 1898, for her father to begrudgingly give the hand of his daughter to my father at the local Baptist church.

The year was 1901, and the excitement of a new century permeated the air. The one just passed, though turbulent, had stood the Manning and Thomas families well. The children coming into the world were the grandsons and granddaughters of former slaves.

It was a new era, full of promise. Joe and Maggie Thomas were beginning to build their lives together. There were the new babies, George and myself, and new relationships with the other young couples coming to Lovely Acres, a hamlet in the Waco area.

There was something else in the air as well. For a number of years, marvelous stories about people moving north to the indian Territory had been circulating throughout the area. Land was free, and the opportunities were said to be unlimited. My father, orphaned at 10, was used to making his own way, and although he expected that he'd find no better employer than he had, he realized that it might be years before he could become truly independent. The "Land of the Five Civilized Tribes" beckoned temptingly. For weeks, Mother and Dad talked about it. Many of their friends had already declared their intention to go. Thousands had left. Whites and blacks alike were taking advantage of the free land being offered. There were even stories about new, totally black townships like Boley and Taft, with no white people living in them at all.

The decision was made. Dad was confident, as was Mother, who knew her cooking and sewing skills would always be on hand if outside income was needed.

The wagon train skirted Dallas and turned northeast toward the Red River. It was known that the best farmland was in the eastern part of the territory, so it was there they were headed. Some families ended their trek when the caravan reached what looked like a good location. One of Dad's sisters branched off with another group and eventually ended up in Oklahoma City. Mother and Dad, however, kept pushing northward until they reached Muskogee, Okla.

My first attempt at cooking came on a gray, rainy Sunday morning in 1911. I was only 10 years old, but determined to strike out on my own. Mother had prepared and taken breakfast to Mrs. Dumas, a neighbor who was ill. My father had gone out early on some errands. With their respective tasks completed, each would return home, and we'd all have breakfast.