Like several other quiltmakers, Sue Willie Seltzer was born in the Gee’s Bend area before moving north a few miles to Rehoboth. Her son Benjamin is married to the Boykin postmaster, Bettie Bendolph Seltzer.
I was born down there in Jones’s, way down there further, toward Gee’s Bend. I come up the hard way. I worked in the fields and didn’t get nothing. There’s a white man way up there in Orrville, and us used to walk to pick his cotton, and didn’t get nothing. I come up the hard way. Not easy. Hard. Us stayed up there till we got through picking cotton, and then us came back home.
My mother moved from over in Big Swamp, they called the place. Moved down there in Orrville. She married Archie Winfield. Him and her separated. She started to farming by herself, nobody but her and the children, four of us. She started off, she didn’t have no mule. My sister used to do the plowing. A man was living over the creek and he had a steer and let my mama had that steer to work her crop—cotton, corn, and peas, and everything like that. Something to eat. Us had something to eat but didn’t have nothing to wear. And us had to walk through the creek up to Orrville, go that way. Ten, twelve miles through there, half-a-day walk. Mama had some sisters up there; we stay with them to pick cotton. A hundred pounds of cotton—she had a brother stay up there, and every time he weigh up cotton I wouldn’t have a hundred pounds. Weigh the cotton every evening. And my uncle told me if I didn’t have a hundred pounds of cotton that next evening, he going to whip my drawers off. And I picked that hundred pounds of cotton—first hundred pounds I ever picked in my life. I was about twelve or thirteen years old. He started me picking that hundred pounds of cotton, and I be picking a hundred pounds ever since. I got that hundred pounds of cotton ’cause he was left-handed and I didn’t want that left hand to whip me.
Lord, I been working all my life in the field and ain’t got nothing. I didn’t get nothing. My mama would take a switch—me and my brother would be in the field and us could name every bird what come by—and she put that switch in her apron, said, "Now I ain’t going to meet y’all no more, ain’t going to help y’all no more, and y’all better be to the end when I get there." And us did. Us did. Us beat her to the end. I call it "the hard way," but God still brought me here, and I thank him. I thank him. Oh yeah.
One time me and I think it was about five of us started to quilting from one house to another. Quilt one or two for one person, go to the next house, do the same thing. Way back yonder. From house to house, quilting quilts. If they got the quilts ready, us used to do it that way for them. I didn’t start piecing quilts till I was thirty, forty years old. I didn’t start young. I just tried to survive. You learn to do things from other people. You see them do it, you learn. If you ain’t, you don’t want to learn. I can’t piece by no pattern. A lot of pieces, you see, I can’t get them together. One girl’s daughter give me a heap of her quilt patterns, but I ain’t tried to learn nothing ’cause I can’t put them three-corner and four-corner pieces together. I get some blocks sometimes other peoples put together, give them to me, and I put them blocks in my quilts. I put somebody’s blocks, my cousin Edna, and an old lady Annie, lived up there, put them in, put some variety in. See, ain’t no way in the world I can cut them little pieces. My head ain’t good enough.
You ain’t tired of hearing me talk? I say I hold the view of the world that it’s hard but it’s fair. Hard but fair. Oh yeah.