Autobiography of John Henry Johnson

"Please note: This autobiography was written by my great great great grandfather, John Henry Johnson in 1933. He passed away only two years after writing this at the age of 83 on February 10, 1936. It has been typed in full, word for word (misspellings and all) just as my great great great grandfather had wrote it."

This is not a history, neither is it an obituary, but a short autobiography of my own short life of only 82 years (next birthday, July 4th). Not long since, a friend of mine asked me to do this. At first I refused to do this, saying, "No one would like to read it." But recently I have come to the conclusion that upon my experience hangs heavily the eternal destiny, whether it be good or bad, of every human being, and with this conviction, I shall proceed.

The first two years of my life, I have but a very little recollection of. Consequently, I shall have to rely upon what my sainted mother has told me. It was a midnight between the fourth and fifth of July, 1852, when there was shouting in the home and neighborhood that a baby boy was born down in the southeastern part of Alabama (I was that boy), and as it was at a midnight hour, my parents were somewhat at a loss as to which day to claim for my birthday. But when I became old enough to think for myself, I chose the "4th", because I am a dear lover of Liberty.

My mother tells me that I was a very beautiful baby, but somewhat inclined to be rude and mischievous; and especially inclined to meddle and climb. She said long before I could walk alone, I could climb to the top of the meal barrel and peep down to see what was in it. Somewhere along about this age, I had begun to thinkn of myself and believed that I was my own "boss", but often being shown at the end of spanking hand that I was mistaken.

About the time I had reached my 'teen age, I began thinking about what I would follow for a profession, for a livelihood, when I became my own man. Of course, my mind was running high at this age. I had a longing to be an orator or public speaker. How well I remember in my very few school days, how we boys would get off to ourselves and mount a log some distance from the ground and there practice our little half-memorized speeches, preparing for the great day or ending of the school so near at hand. Each of us wanted to become the champion speaker of the school. It was a few years ago I passed that same sweet, old spot and viewed that old log where we used to practice oratory, but now it is only a bed of crumbled chaff and as I gazed upon that heap of Chaff, I said to myself, "Where are the boys who used to meet us here?" Echo comes back to me "They have gone the way of all earth." So far as I know, not one of them are now living. I am the only living one to tell this story.

I frequently note the contrast between an anticipated reality and a blighted hope. It makes me stop here and repeat what the poet said:
"When young, I began life's journey.
The glittering prospect charmed my eyes.
I saw joy after joy successively,
Along the extended plain rise.
But at last, I found it all a dream
And learned the fond pursuit to shun.
Where few have reached the purposed aim,
Thousands daily are undone."

It is useless to mention my sweethearts in my 'teen age, or rather in my childhood days, for most all lads and lasses know to much about such things as that already. But those pretty girls, such as Polly Davis, Bettie Bell, and Martha Thompson and other girls, the thought of them lingers with me and thrills my heart with joy even until this day, though I am past four score.

By this time, I had reached a more mature age and began to be more serious about the girls, so at the age of 23 I courted and married that sweet tempered woman, Amanda Owen. She became the mother of three of my own children, Frank, James, and Joseph, and when the older one was 5 and the younger one 1, that sweet mother left us alone to fight the battles of life as best we could, and went to the glory land, where, no doubt, she is smiling today.

So as best I could, with those children, for more than three long years, I fought life's battles alone, trying to act father and mother both. Shall I stop and say what has become of those boys? Frank grew to be a man, married and raised a large family and is living near Georgiana. James also lived to be a man and twice married and became the faithful father of 10 children. Four years ago, he died with the loathsome disease, cancer of the throat, and went to the glory world to shout together with his sainted mother, who had left him more than fifty years ago. Joe, the youngest of the three boys, the one whom his mother left when he was only a helpless crawling baby, and because of ill health, could do nothing but eat and cry. But because he was named Joseph in honor to the famous Joseph we read about in the Bible, we did our best to raise him and get him big enough to get married, which he did and he and his faithful wife, have reared a good sized family of well disciplined children. Joe is also very popular as a Christian worker and country merchant.

After spending more than three years in this lonesome manner, I finally decided to find me another help mate. So I married on November 11, 1884, Miss Emma Daly of Lowndes county, Ala. She was another one of those calm, sweet tempered women the Lord seemed to be holding in reserve for me. It was such a sweet day for me when I brought her in and made her the queen of my home. I almost fancied now that my troubles were all behind me. She became the mother of five more of my own sweet girl children and lived to see them all grown and married and gone, leaving myself and Emma as though we had just been married. This, for the time being, was a happy time for us. Though we both were now well stricken in years, the beauty and sweetness of youth still lingered with us.

But, oh, how quickly and suddenly things can and do change. It was early twilight, June 6, 1927, when suddenly she became seriously ill. The doctor was called. He promptly came and diagnosed the case and said, "She is dead." Heart failure and seized her. The recording angel may have recorded my feelings at that hour. That awful shock! I nor any other human being need try to picture it. She is dead, but I have the assurance that she is this day shouting and singing in the glory world with Amanda and a host of others. Tho that has been nigh 7 years ago, yet I haven't forgotten my sad feelings at that hour. My dear companion gone and I left alone. But now there is in my feelings a difference from what they were then. Now it is a mixture of sadness and gladness. I am sad that she is gone, I am glad that my loss is her eternal gain.

Let me stop right here and tell this little story. Near Christmas some 30 years ago, while sawing wood with a crosscut saw, I accidently stuck a saw tooth in my knee, from which bloodpoison set up, which caused me a long spell of intense pain and suffering. For more than four months, I lay, as it were, battling between life and death. And during this time of untold pain and misery, my friends and relatives were earnestly praying for me that I might get well; and as I overheard these prayers, I too, was praying that if the Lord would let me get well, that, with out fear or favor, the remainder of my life, I'd spend in His service. At last the glad day came when I could get on crutches and get on land, the most happy man on earth. And now the question, "Have I paid my vow?", frequently haunts me. To the best of my ability, I think I have, thought the evidence is against me in many cases.

"I would not live always, I ask not to stay where storm after storm, rises dark over the way." How suddenly things sometimes change. Just a short while ago, I was all aglow, full of hope for the future. But down theh future lane of time, there was a storm brewing and soon I must land in the insane asylum, to be treated for what? "Feeblemindedness," they said. But it is a question I have longed to know the answer of. Was feeblemindedness the cause or was it only the results of my going. I acknowledge that it was my misfortune to have been born into this old world with less mind or sense than a pig or puppy, but I reserve the right to say that I am not a fit subject for the insane asylum. But despite all this, I must leave my sweet home, my dear companion and fond children and go and serve a term in the insane asylum. And now this is another period of my life if the recording angel of heaven hasn't kept the books properly as to the sadness and loneliness I had to endure while there, then the story will remain untold, for I would only make a miserable failure were I to attempt to tell it myself. But it was an unspeakably glad day with me when my term was out and I was sent or bro't back home.

Everything now seemed, for a while, to be going on fairly well. Everybody seemed fairly satisfied. But another cloud was gathering. It was being rumored over the neighborhood, that I should serve another term in the insane asylum. Now, that was, so far as I ws concerned, equal to sticking a lighted match to a stack of dry hay.

But in a few days, as I was coming in from work, hot and tired, at my gate I met a posse of men, armed as if for war. They had come for me, and now is when and where I was first branded as a murderer. I resisted the officer and a battle ensued between myself and daughters and the officals, and as a result of said battle, George Bryan received a fatal shot in the stomach and I, with a policeman's club, was knocked senseless. When I came to my senses, I found I had a broken arm and a good long split in my head. And then for about a year, I lay in an isolated jail. How easily the charge of "insane" changed to that of "murderer" and it was all because I had positively denied the first charge. But I lay in that filthy jail, as best I could, patiently awaiting a final hearing. At last, with Honorable Julius Richardson in the chair, I was called to the court room to receive, as I thought, my final sentence. The verdict was read aloud, "We the jury, find the defendant guilty, and fix his punishment in the pen for fifteen years." The judge then spoke to me for the first time, saying, "What have you to say in regard to your sentence?" I said, "Judge, I am not satisfied for the simple fact that I haven't been permitted to speak for myself during the trial." The judge hung his head and sighed and I took my sentence and soon was off to the pen, where for nigh eight solid years, I served the State of Alabama as a criminal, wearing stripes, eating the same kind of food, receiving the same method of punishment as my fellow prisoners, except that which they bro't on themselves by thier willful disobedience. I got none of that.

But, oh how sadly, how lonely, how slowly, the days, the weeks, the months, theyears of these long years seemed to pass by. Frequently I would get letters from my dear old home, stating that my dear old companion had had another bad spell with her heart, or that some of the children were sick, or that some other ill luck had over taken them. Such news as that was like adding fuel to the flames. It added largely to my punishment. But a glad day just down the way was awaiting me. I shall never, never, no, never forget it. It was nearing Christmas day just 20 years ago, when Governor O'Neal, as was his custom, visited the prisons to ascertain who were the most worthy of clemency. I was called in before him. After asking me a few simple questions regarding the nature of my case, my deportment, etc., he said, "You can go home." This overflowed my haggard looks and sad heart with inexpressible gratitiude.

I shall never forget the day I left Wetumpka, nor the day I landed home. I left Wetumpka on a beautiful Christmas Eve day, almost twenty years ago. Everything looked so pretty to me. I saw beauty in the old corn stalks, and cotton stalks. Even the old half-rotten zig-zag fence along the wayside, looked good to me. These things all reminded me of home - where I had started. Occasionally I met up with some old friends who seemed ready to congratulate me. We sped along down the road at a rapid rate, reaching Georgiana at early candle light. I went out and spent the night with my old friend, Bob Mills. Next morning I was up quite early, but not hungry. I was so anxious to get home, I didn't wait for breakfast, and because of a misunderstanding, there was no conveyance to convey me home. But determination and vitality still lingered with me. So on a drizzly morning, Christmas day, I soon found myself, on stick and crutch, splitting the mud and water from shoe mouth to knee deep toward home. But I had only gone a mile or so, when I discovered that my vitality was yet good, but my judgement was bad. But as luck would have it, while I was resting by the road side, meditating about here and there, now and then, etc., Mr. Bish Rigsby came by in a buggy and gave me a free ride out as far as J. A. Johnson's store. Here I met a big crowd who were enjoying a Christmas feast. To be sure, my presence added to thier joy. After a happy salutation, I must continue my journey for another four miles. Joe took me in his two horse hack and we were not long in completing the journey. The news that I was coming beat me there. All along the way side, people were waving at us, until we had gotten in a quarter of mile of home. There we met Bone Lowery. Now Bone wanted to be the first one to say, "He's coming", so he wheeled back, seemingly adjusting himself for a race. Now there was a fine race between two horses and a man. In imagination, I now see Bone at the top of the hill just a bit ahead of us, going almost at locamotive speed. But the getting there was simultaneous.

But on arriving there, I found the dear old companion, whom I hadn't seen for 8 long years, just recovering from a bad spell with heart trouble. This began, to some extent, to lessen my joy. Everything had changed so, the children had all become grown women, had all moved and had all married -- except one -- and become mothers themselves. The bushes ahd grown from bushes to trees, the house tops were under repair, the door shutters were dragging and the gates were off the hinges, and the old rail fence was rotten to the ground and the farm, too, had been neglected, and soon now all of this had a tendency to embarass me or to reduce my happiness.

But I finally came to this conclusion: I will go to work mending and repairing, and I was so enthused over my jobs that I could scarely stop day nor night. Then I must do my level best to regain my citizenship, restore friends and make even more of them, and lose my enemies, etc. But before I can do much of this, I must go down the road a mile farther. There is dear, old, blind, bed-ridden mother. She hasn't seen a wink nor walked a step in ten years. I must see her if she can't see me, for I hadn't seen her in more than ten long years. As I walked in, there was a thrill, there was sadness, there was weeping, and I said, "Oh, mother, fond and faithful, my dearest earthly friend, may I be near to serve thee when all thy troubles end. And whem my arms around thee fold, I pray in peace to meet thee where mothers never grow old." And when the grip was broken, she said in a tremulous voice, "Now that I have seen my John, I am ready to die." She is dead now, dying in her 88th year, and doubtless in the glory land.

I continue working, patching, and mending for several years, and as I thought, was doing fine. My dear old companion had somewhat improved in health and the children were all grown, gone and leaving us alone. We sometimes almost imagined we were young again. Our happiness was frequently envied. But, hark, I seemed to hear something like distant thunder. Is it possible that another storm cloud is gathering? Yes, it is true. It was now early in the spring about the year 1924. I was trying to plow a balky mule, and someone came by, caught me and reported that I should have another term in the insane asylum. And I said, "Ain't I crazy enough and a big enough fool yet without having to go back to Tuscaloosa to take more lessons?" So after a while, when everything was quiet and peaceable and I was cooled off and feeling good, all of a sudden, like a clap of lightning, out of a blue sky, a mob came in and told thier business. I refused to go, but was overpowered, tied up like a wild beast and lifted in the car and off to jail we went where 100 people or more or less, ahd congregated to see the "Great Curiosity of the World". I was lodged in a filthy jail to spend the night. Did I say I was mad? Yes, how could a man wiht a spoonful of brains have been otherwise under such conditions as these? Early the next morning, my escorts came in to complete the trip to Tuscaloosa, getting there just too late for reception. So I and my escorts had to ramble around and get a lodging placse as best we could until tomorrow. All this time, I was somewhat weary for fear that they might keep the wrong man. But, as luck would have it, when morning came, my escorts left and I stayed. This time it wasn't quite so unpleasant as it was the other time when I was there, for then I had somewhat gotten acquainted with the asylum rules of hte hospital. The most perplexing thought about it was that I am now slandered and numbered with the insane, with scarcely a ray of hope of ever being otherwise. I realized that wrong, I would make it the very best I could. I remained there for eleven months, and it would be useless for me to attempt to half tell my experience during these 11 months. But I must be employed at something. My thoughts I could not control but I specialized on th subjects of Hell, Heaven, the Immensity of Space and the Length of Eternity and to a great extent satisfied my wandering mind on these subjects. But I shall not in this short space and time attempt to rediscuss these subjects. Evidently I learned something in the insane asylum I never would have learned elsewhere. But is it worth anything to me or to anyone else? I sometimes think that when "ignorance is bliss, it is folly to become wise."

Long and lonesome seemed the days as the slowly passed by. But after a while it began to seem more pleasant. When I became a trusty, I began to hope that maybe confidence in me is being restored and after a while by the aid of some special friends coming around by Birmingham, I got a temporary relase from the Hospital, arriving home some eight years ago, full of joy, thinking that surely ther are no more storm clouds for me. But not so, as I shall show directly. For about one short year, ours was a model home, full of joy, peace, and happiness and envied by all whom by chance visited it, until June 6, when my dear wife went to sleep never in this world to wake again, leaving me to fight the world battle alone. I realize now that my best earthly friend is gone. One who feared me not as being insane, but as a loving companion.

I was battling alone through life as best I knew how, and, as I thought, on good terms with everybody. But because of a misunderstanding that same old prejudice or suspicious spirit which had been lingering with a few people ever since the first time I went to the insane hospital was rekindled and they think of nothing else to do or suggest, except that I be given another term a the iinsane asylum, and the best and only reason they had for doing so ws to make true taht old saying, "What happens twice will happen the third time."

But anyways, it was late in the afternoon of August 4th, 1930, when I, without an hour's warning, was loaded on a car and started off for Tuscaloosa. But on arriving in Greenville, it was suggested that we lay over until morning and take an early start. That suited me, for I was tired and needed rest. The next thing to be done was to find a lodging place. It was dark. After driving around for quite a while, we stopped at a place called a Hotel. I walked in and as I walked in and seeing the great iron bars across the windows, I said, "This looks mightily like a jail." I was somewhat surprised to know with what deception I was being treated. I realized now that I was in prison, but not so much aggravated for I called to mind what the poet ahd said, "Prisons will palaces prove, if God is with me there." So after having a sweet night's rest, I was up early next morning and about the first thing I thought of was to clean up. I scrubbed the floor good and clean and the next thing I must decorate the walls. It was pretty slick and smooth. The best place for drawing I ever saw. So after receiving a box of crayon of various colors, I began my artistic work on the wall. I drew almost everything that I could imagine, from a man to an elephant and the floor ws covered with snakes. I soon had the wall literally covered with my drawings. On one side was a ball or globe on which we live, with the sun rays shining upon it, illustrating the the sun and so on. On another side, I had an eagle and an elephant with other things beside. On another side I had a lion in a cage and Daniel as he was being thrown in it. I also had some cattle and hogs and other things. And on the other wall, I had, as I thought, a real nice exhibit. I was proud of it. It appeared so real, composed of a rainbow, the sun, the moon and seven stars, and a bath pool. And maybe the most beautiful of all, was a fruit stand, laden with pretty red fruit.

When I had finished my drawing, my little room in the jail building looked quite like a king's palace.

"But you say," I thought, "you had started to the insane asylum. What has become of your escorts?"

Oh, they were lingering around somewhere, not knowing what to do nor how to further proceed. They said, tho, they were waiting for them to enlarge the asylum or to make things more convenient.

Now dear reader, you will please note the inconsistency or discrepancy of such procedure as was being carried on at this present time, of seriousness and loneliness on my part. May I give you this illustration: An old man was suddenly seized with a serious case of insanity, such as an ordinary medicine doctor knew not how to treat. But up ther road only a hundred or two miles it is said that there are medical experts who can successfully treat such cases as this. So the so-called friends of this old man started with him to these mental experts, and getting as far as Greenville, dropped the old man in the Butler County jail for night three months. But why did they stop so long and the old man suffering with an incurable case of insanity? Because they didn't know what else to do; or really didn't know what ailed the old man, whether anything serious or not?

But on a beautiful Sunday morning in the latter part of October, 1930, Mr. Canant, the high sheriff of Butler County, drove up to the jail and said, "Get ready." "What's up?" "I have come to finish the job started nigh three months ago."

I was now forced to leave the little mansion I had so nicely decorated, to go where? To the place prepared for the feebleminded or insane. But the only preparation I had to make, was to gather together my little library, which consisted only of my Bible and dictionary. And in a nice, clean car, sailing up the State highway overe a paved road we made our way to Tuscaloosa. It was a pleasant drive of 100 miles or more. As the car so easily sped along and there was a pleasant autumn breeze continually passing us; and there was frequently a joke and a laugh passed between us, and too soon, apparently, we were nearing the suburbs of Tuscaloosa, arriving there at twilight. Mr. Canant had to say something to the doctors, I don't know what it was, and I was shown my room.

But before I retire, I must strip my clothes all off and take a bath all over, dry myself, put on a gown, get into the bed and wrap up and lay there for 24 hours or more, as if I were awfully sick. When my time is up then I might pace the hall and begin making arrangements for future orders. But all of this was not so very new to me. I was accustomed to it.

Now I must begin answering a thousand or less questions, which were to be asked by the patients, such as, what is your name? Where are you from? Are you married? How many children have you? Any of them married? Do you own any land? Where were you at when you lost your mind? And so on. Of course I must answer them as best I could, for I had learned heretofore how to keep on the good side of a crazy man.

Well, when I had dragged around a few days, I began wanting something to do. or to think about. So I decided to specialize on studying human nature, or psychology or mind reading. Now I would not advise anyone to specialize on this subject. It is a deep, hard study but worthless, and more than that, it will cause you trouble. When you learn to read a person's mind, or thoughts, you see in them so many things you don't want to see, it will give you trouble. There is but one person whom you should study diligently his nature and that is yourself.

The days, by now, are somewhat becoming worrysome. It is now near Xmas time and I have begun to wonder where I might spend it. I had already spent two Xmas's in the insane asylum. I didn't want to spend another, a nd there was scarely a ray of hope of ever doing otherwise. But on the 16th day of December 1930, Doc. Faulk came walking up the hall and I discovered that he was wearing an unusual smile, until getting close to where I was sitting, he halted and said, "Well, you are going to leave us soon." But I only thought he was just jollying me a bit. but presently Doc. Lawrence came walkin along and he too, said, "Well, you are going to leave us soon," and I said, "Pshaw, Doctor, that is too good to be true, you are just trying to decieve me." But he insisted that it was a fact, saying, "Tomorrow at 6 o'clock, you be ready and we'll carry you down to the station in time for that early train." I declare I almost went into ecstacies. My heart leaped for joy and I said, "Who will go with me?" "Nobody," said he. I almost shouted aloud. For, so far as I know, I am the only patient that ever left the insane asylum without a guard, pilot, or guardian; and the very fact that I am leaving withou such, brought and unspeakable thrill to my weary heart.

Six o'clock came and I was ready and I, with my nurse was soon at the station where the fast train was just about ready to pull out. I soon found a seat in it and the bell rang, the whistle blew and the throttle opened and down the road I went at a most rapid speed toward Greenville. This was one more happy day for me. The train scarcely stopped all the way, except for a short while in Montgomery, but just kept belching on down the road, whistling at every little station as she passed by. I said, "What are they blowing that whistle so much for? Is it to let the folks know that I am coming? Maybe so."

"All out for Greenville," cried the conductor, as he came through and I soon had my foot again on free soil, the most happy man in town.

In a short while more, I am at my own little cottage, now the dearest place on earth to me, by the side of the road at Till, Ala.

My little story is now told and the leading thoughts in it are: Three terms in the insane asylum; Two terms in the county jail; and one term in the State penitentiary.

What disposition, dear reader, do you make of it? What have I gained from it? Or what compensation have I received for all this worry and punishment? Nothing, simply nothing. Only as I refer to history and see that some of our greatest and most useful men, such as Joseph of old, and Daniel, and Paul, and Peter, and Silas, and the late John Bunyan, and many others came through the prisons. When I remember these men, it stimulates in me a sweet hope that in the "Great Day",, that I shall be among that great crowd to hear "These are they who have had their robes washed white in the blood of the Lamb"; and not for what I have done, but because I have come up through great tribulations, and that is what gives me a sweet hope.

And now, my last and closing thought is this: In all that great number who, either directly or indirectly, were the cause of my imprisonment, trials and tribulations, only one of them has said to me, "Forgive me". The same I did and have fully forgiven.

12-5-1933 JOHN HENRY JOHNSON

*John Henry Johnson Timeline*
July 4, 1852 - Born
1875 - Married Amanda Owens
(Three sons: Frank, James, and Joseph born in the next six years)
1881 - Amanda Died
1884 - Married Emma Daly
(Five Daughters: Katie, Maggie, Sallie, Ellie, and Annie)
1903 - Cut knee with saw; crippled
1903 - First term in asylum
June 10, 1904 - Killed George Bryan
May 10, 1905 - Sentenced to 15 years in state penitentiary
Dec. 23, 1913 - Clemency granted by Gov. O'Neal
April, 1924 - Sons had him committed to asylum again
(wrote most of letters in autobiography)
Feb, 1925 - Released from asylum
June 6, 1927 - Emma died
Aug. 4, 1930 - Taken to Butler County jail on way to asylum
Oct. 1930 - Returned to asylum
Dec 16, 1930 - Released
Dec. 5, 1933 - Wrote his autobiography
Feb. 10, 1936 - Died