Following is an autobiography written by Thomas H. Briggs, III (1877 ...

Following is an autobiography written by Thomas H. Briggs, III (1877
- 1971). From some evidence in the early sections of this biography, it
appears to have been written in about 1956 (there are some references to
the, "this barn is still standing (1956)"). The materials are photocopies
of an original text which was written as an autobiographical text by Thomas
H. Briggs III. This text was manually re-typed by Thomas H. Briggs VI in
1998-99. This has been an education experience for me, learning as much
about a progenetor of my family, as I am about the very different lifestyle
led by people at the end of the 19th century and the beginning of the 20th. I look forward to future generations being able to capture some of
the same spirit the original has given me through the preservation of this
wonderful document. In 1877 Raleigh was a pleasant small town. The broad streets were so
tree shaded that it was called "The City of Oaks." In the center, at the
head of the principal business street, stood the State Capitol, a building
of some architectural impressiveness, its site surrounded by a picket iron
fence; and perhaps a quarter of a mile away radiating from its four corners
there were often squares which were intended to be parks.
Opposite the capitol on the north, where the Supreme Court and the
State Library building was later erected by convict labor, was a row of
shacks, one occupied by a Negro barber shop and another by a carpenter.
Gone is the Raleigh of my youthful days with its firecrackers on
Christmas Day, the formal calls on New Year's afternoon, the serenades by
ardent young gallants that awakened beautiful young ladies happily with
music after midnight, preferably with a full moon overhead, the masked
giggling youngsters who one Halloween politely rang doorbells, now
unfortuneately replaced by unknown brats who rudely demand "Trick or
Treat", the Haybaskets at Easter time secretly left on the porches of
friends, the curiosity about any stranger seen on the streets, the annual
Fireman's Tournament, and the Dude Parade contest, and the D.Q.I's. The
three last must be explained.
The Capital Fire Department with its horse drawn engine had only two
paid employees, one of them named Barney Pool, if I remember correctly.
The other members were volunteers, young men of the first families, or
certainly not below the second. Every year there would be a tournament, in
which representatives from other towns would compete. There were contents
in getting up steam in the engine and throwing a stream of water the
longest distance, in running the hand-reel various disntances and coupling
to a hydrant, and in foot races.
All these contests were friendly amateur sports until one year a
professional came to town and as an amateur joined the group, of which I, a
well developed youngster with some speed afoot, belonged. Knowing all the
tricks, he taught us to run in light harness, how to couple hose to hydrant
quickly with a strap wrapped around the hose joint, and how to get off to a
fast start in a foot race. He had the admiration of every member, and how
he could run! Everything went well until we went most confidently to a
tournament in Durham. We won the steamer and the hand-reel races; but the
professional's confederate, who had been working with the Durham boys, won
a fixed race, and the Raleigh men who had confidently bet large sums on our
representatives returned home with empty pockets. We never saw our
champion again.
The Dude Parade was a unique event. Each of the large towns in the
state had a negro who prided himself on his clothes, and on his ability to
strut. The young white men would donate to him cast off clothes, and
patent leather shoes, which usually had to be split down the sides to be
worn by the Due, striped trousers, a cutaway coat with a fancy waistcoat, a
gaudy necktie, all topped by a sleazy silk hat. Raleigh's champion was
called "Hughe's Dude" because he was a porter in Mr. Hughes's chinaware
store. In the annual content the representatives of the several towns
would one by one strut down Fayetteville Street, cutting all the capers of
which they were master, twirling a walking cane, accompanied by a brass
band, and cheered by the people who crowded the sidewalks. Of course there
was a prize for the victor and great doings in Darkeytown that night.
On New Years' Day the young men of the town, who for some unkonw
reason called themselves the D. Q. I's (Don Quixote Invincibles), used to
"dress up" and have an informal parade. As money for costumes was scarce,
some would don "mother hubbard wrappers" and some would merely wear their
coats turned wrong side out. All who could get them worse false faces -
"dough faces" we called them. And with tin horns blaring Toot-ta-toot,
Toot-ta-toot, Toot-ta, Toot-ta-too (I can hear them now!) the parade would
march with hilarious laughter up one street and down another. In
retrospect it doesn't seem like much fun, but everybody enjoyed it,
marchers and spectators alike.
Here I insert a phrase that was for a long time used by all the
Briggs clan. When snow began to fall, we all shouted "Shot-tee-nos-nah!"
That is what Uncle Tab was supposed to have said as an infant before he had
learned to talk clearly.
With its 9,000 population, everybody new everybody else, and
everybody was interested in personal goings on. But, as far as I know,
there was no unusual excitement when I was born on January 25, 1877, in a
cottage adjacent to my Grandfather's home on Morgan Street. My parents,
who had married when they were only twenty years of age, were John Daniel
Briggs, who was his father's assistant in the building business, and
Florence Helena Dunn, born and reared at Wake Forest.
I was too young to remember anything of our life on Morgan Street,
for soon the family moved to a remodled house on the corner of McDowell and
Edinton Streets. There my brothers (William Dunn, Henry, who died in
infancy, and Herbert Gray) and by sister Helen were born. The house had
two brick rooms, the parlor and dining room, on the Edenton Street line,
and a sitting room and three bedrooms of wooden structure that made a U, in
which there was a flower bed. In the large backyard there was a building
containing rooms for the cook, the kitchen, the laundry, and storage.
Beyond this was a garden plot, which adjoined the property of my oldest
uncle. Some years later, after the death of my Grandfather, the old house
was replaced by a rather pretentious and attractive building on the same
site. The furniture included an iron table and two sittees ornamented with
grape vines and leaves. These pieces would be valuable antiques today.
When a pubescent just feeling enough independence to stay out later
than my parents would approve, I came I one evening after they had gone to
bed, and was undressing quietly so that they would not know how late I was.
My room was at the end of the leg of the U, on the first floor, of course.
At my window I saw in the light of a full moon, a negro man trying to get
his hand through the slats of the blind so that he could gain entrance.
For a minute or two I watched him in fascination, and then creeping quietly
to the window I jabbed a pin into his hand. With a yell of pain he fell of
the box on which he had been standing, made one step into the midst of the
flower bed, jumped the front fence and fled running.
In my files is a map of the neighborhood drawn by my cousin, Willis
Grandy Briggs, who was the historian of the family was well as of Raleigh.
It is notable for one thing, the presence of Negroes in one of the best
resident sections. Across Edenton Street from our house were three small
Negro homes, and a little east was a Negro boarding house. Such proximity
is unknown today, but in my childhood, it was accepted without thought.
My Father I knew with no degree of intimacy. Although we never at
time had any disagreement of importance, he had a life apart from mine. So
far as I can recollect, he never gave me any advice or seemed especially
concerned with my palns, even when I went to college. As a boy when he
owned a shop I used to collect bills for him, help make up the payrool, pay
off the employees, and walk home with him. But there was little or no
conversation between us. He had his men friends, however, who apparently
admired him greatly. When he was in his last illness, having retired as
architect of the Leggott and Myers Tobacco Company, Mr. Tomes, who was
Chairman of the Board, sent him a handsome sil dressing gown and offered
him a gift of a considerable sum of money. The latter Father proudly
refused, though I do not doubt that it could have been well used.
At Grandfather's death, Father inherited the building business and
some other property. Taking as partners a man named Betts and Cousin Billy
Briggs, he ran the business into bankruptcy during the hard time in the
early '90s. Although the business was incorporated and the partners were
not individually liable, Father personally paid off all the debts, Mr.
Betts and Cousin Billy being insolvent. That about ruined him financially,
but he preserved the integrity of the Briggs name. For several years he
did a little building on contract, and then went with the Liggett and Myers
Co. as architect. Two of the Liggett and Myers warehouses, which he built,
were called the Briggs buildings.
Father had great interest in simple mathematics, an interest that
presisted in me and showed up in my grandson. I have seen him sit all
evening entertaining himself with a slide rule; and once when Mother was
knitting a counter-paint he asked a few questions and computed the number
of miles of thread that she would use in completing it.
When inspecting the work that he was having done, my Father drove
Quixie, a gray mare hitched to a buggy. One afternoon upon delive