Most people never had a reason to know Golda Mae Baker Capps. She was a humble, petite woman with a high, sweet voice, 96 years old when she died on Dec. 28, 2003.
She grew up in a tiny Southern town, married a sharecropper at 19 and had two children. They scratched out a hardscrabble existence from the unyielding Tennessee clay, raising cotton for cash, and growing greens, beans and potatoes to eat. They kept chickens for eggs. On special occasions, she would catch one, wring its neck, then pluck, clean and cook it for dinner. The family wasted nothing; they couldn't afford to, even after moving north to work in the factories.
Mrs. Capps made most of her family's clothes, using the leftover fabric to make patchwork quilts. Some were finely stitched works of art. Others were largely functional, dashed together in a rush. Her life and those of her children and grandchildren are recorded in those quilts.
I am one of her grandchildren. When she moved to an assisted living facility a few years ago, my sister Kellie, a quiltmaker herself, salvaged some of those old quilts and sent two of them to me. The ones she sent weren't Grandma's finest works, but they are precious to me and more dear for what their lack of perfection reveals of her life.
The newer one was made in the 1950s. I recognize remnants from many of the clothes she sewed: cotton dresses for my sisters and me, a pink paisley flannel nightgown for Mom, striped pajamas for Grandpa, shirtwaist dresses in checks, florals and plaids for herself.
The patches are hand-stitched in large, hurried strokes, and the quilting is done by machine. When I look at that quilt, I can see her working the foot treadle and hear the soft chunk chunk chunk of her old Singer sewing machine. All the thread is white, as if she didn't have the time, or maybe the resources, to match thread to fabric.
By the time she made this quilt, she didn't have to pick cotton or kill chickens anymore, but she still made biscuits from scratch, did her laundry on a wringer washing machine, hanging it on a clothes line to dry before ironing it. She rode the bus to work and to buy groceries. She cared for grandchildren and cooked many a Sunday dinner for her ever-expanding family, about 14 of us by the late 1950s.
The other quilt is much older, maybe from the 1920s or '30s, and completely handstitched. Some of the threadbare patches expose older ones underneath that are worn through to the cotton batting insulation. A closer look reveals another complete quilt inside. My grandmother had used an old worn-out quilt — made probably around the turn of the century by her mother or grandmother — as insulation for a new one.
The back of the quilt provides another clue to its provenance and confirms my mother's tales of being so poor as a child that she wore underwear made from flour sacks. We used to tease her about those stories of deprivation, suspecting exaggeration. But the back of this old quilt is composed of pieces of thin muslin stitched together, one of which bears the words, "Made by Stafford Milling Company Martin, Tenn." It is indeed an old flour sack.
I'm stunned by the frugality and touched by the legacy of this quilt within a quilt. It reminds me that whatever comfort, wealth or achievement any of us attains is built on foundations laid by those who came before us.
The quilts are too fragile and precious to use now, but when my grandmother died, I took them out of the closet and wrapped myself in them. And there she was, smelling of biscuits and Suave hair cream, her arms around me, her high, sweet voice saying, "Don't cry. I'm here. Everything's going to be all right."
Tampa Mafia Revealed
Most people have probably heard tantalizing bits and pieces about organized crime in Tampa throughout its history, but no definitive source has assembled a credible, coherent picture of its evolution and influence. Until now.
Scott M. Deitche's Cigar City Mafia: A Complete History of the Tampa Underworld, from Barricade Books, hits bookstores this week. The author's extensive references include books, magazines, newspapers, government documents, law enforcement reports, transcripts of hearings, archival material, and interviews with FBI agents, police officers, FDLE agents and confidential informants.
Cigar City Mafia tracks the beginning of organized crime from the bolita wars and Prohibition smuggling in the 1920s through international drug trafficking in the 1940s, '50s and '60s, to gambling operations in the 1980s, and allegations of case fixing, prostitution and loan sharking in the 2000s. Deitche examines the complicity of government officials, recounts law enforcement investigations and gives gory details of dozens of mob hits and shootouts. (Planet readers might remember the mob stories Deitche wrote for this paper, including a drive-by tour of the sites of local mob hits.)
In the book, Deitche unearths forgotten information and reveals some names and events never before made public.
The book details a long-denied part of Tampa's history and current cultural fabric. It's a valuable addition to the historical record and a fascinating read.
Deitche will appear at Inkwood Books 7 p.m. Jan. 15; Borders Books (12500 N. Dale Mabry) 7 p.m. Jan. 20; Borders (Tyrone Square Mall) 7 p.m. Jan. 22; Circle Books (St. Armands Circle, Sarasota) 7 p.m. Jan. 24; Borders (2020 Town Center Blvd., Brandon) 1 p.m. Jan. 28; Borders (2683 Gulf to Bay Blvd., Clearwater) 7 p.m. Jan. 29; Don CeSar Hotel 7 p.m., Feb. 15; St. Pete Beach Library 2 and 7 p.m. Feb. 18. For details on the book and signings, go to www.geocities.com/scottyyz/
Contact Contributing Editor Susan F. Edwards at susan.edwards15@verizon.net.
This article appears in Jan 15-21, 2004.
