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The Myth of Kitty O n a bright Friday morning in May 2000, a group of about fifty fifth-graders excitedly clambered out of two yellow school buses with their teachers and chaperones and entered into the fabled Old Church in Oxford, Georgia. Giggling and whispering among themselves, they took their seats in old wooden pews, glancing around the beautiful, recently restored structure, which they were told dated back to the 1840s. As they settled down, local historian Martin Porter, a leading member of the town’s historical society, began to speak to the group about the story of an enslaved woman named Kitty, who, he told them, had worshipped in this very church and lived next door to it before the Civil War.1 Porter, an avuncular, vigorous white man in his eighties , was an accomplished raconteur and held most of the children spellbound . Porter recounted the tale he had told hundreds of times over the previous decade: Now I wanna tell you a story about a little girl who was just about your age at that time. She was a slave girl, but she was of mixed blood. And the person who owned her was Mrs. Powers in Augusta. And Mrs. Powers thought a great deal of this little girl. Her name was Kitty. And, uh, she wanted to keep Kitty from being used like most slave girls at that time were used. That is, to produce more slaves. So Mrs. Powers had the idea of willing Kitty—that is, putting in her will when she died—that Kitty would belong to a minister’s wife. And this minister’s wife was Mrs. Amelia Andrew. She’s buried up here in the cemetery. And of course Kitty is, too. Now, when Kitty was born in 1822, and when Kitty became the property of Mrs. Andrews in 1834, Kitty was twelve years old. How many of you are twelve years old? The rest of you are what, eleven, thirteen? Well, anyhow, Kitty was about your age, and she became the property of Chapter One 10 ch ap ter one Mrs. Andrews, but at that time a woman’s property was also that of her husband’s. You girls have come a long way . . . you can own property yourself. Now, there was a law, an ordinance in the Methodist Church that said that a bishop could not own slaves. A lot of people around in this area did not believe in slavery, but at the same time a lot of them did. And the laws of Georgia supported slavery. That is one person owning another. That’s a bad idea, isn’t it? I’m glad we don’t think that way now. But the people back then did, because they could make money that way. You know, however you make money, that’s how some people like it. Well, there came a time when Kitty was nineteen, when the will stipulated that she was to be given the chance to go to Liberia. You know where Liberia is? Anybody know? Tell me where. . . . It’s on the west coast of Africa. How would Kitty get there? She’d have to go by boat, and by train before she’d get where she could get on the boat. Well, Kitty was told what her choices were. She could either go to Liberia and be a free person, make her own living. (She wasn’t but nineteen.) I don’t know if she could read or write. Or, she could stay with the Bishop’s family. Now Kitty loved the Bishop’s family. She was treated just like one of the members of that . . . and they loved her. Kitty said, “I don’t know where Liberia is. I might die before I get there. I’d rather stay with the Bishop’s family.” Well, the Bishop kinda liked that. He was . . . he said to Kitty, “I’ll build you a house and put it right backa my house.” And that house is the one on the hill across the creek there. The Bishop’s house was . . . and you know where Kitty’s house is? It’s been moved several times but right . . . the last time it was moved it was moved right backa this church. So you’ll see Kitty’s Cottage this morning. Now that building is about 156—7—years old at least, ’cause it was built right after this church was built, the original part of it. And...

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