Serving Greater Bluffton Since 1987

The Bluffton Eccentric was the first and only newspaper the town of Bluffton has had in fifty years. We felt such a kinship with them that we asked Graham Bullock, publisher of The Bluffton Eccentric, if we could resurrect articles from previous issues and republish them. Graham graciously gave his permission and loaned us volumes of old papers. It has been a treat for me to read them and it is with great honor that I get to share them with everyone again. So, kick back, relax and get ready for a blast from the past.

The Bluffton Vignette

By Betsy Thayer

ullah is the second language of the low country, a cultural heritage that is still spoken by those who have lived in Bluffton or on the islands for many years. This language, a mixture of West African and southern dialects, is often misunderstood by newcomers to the area who do not realize that gullah is an important part of our southern roots.

Some words are so accepted that they can be found in Webster’s, but have a different, more subtle meaning to those familiar with the “old time talk.” This writer sincerely hopes that the following narrative truly represents the words of a noble woman who has lived her life with a dignity that few in life ever achieve, and in doing so has influenced all of those who have known her.

There are many of you that went to Bluffton High School and will remember a beloved cook, fondly called Momma Queenie because of her love for all her “chillen, both black `n white.” Queenie Jenkins who is now 82 years old has lived in Bluffton all of her life and is “proud of her days,” as she should be. Queenie worked for “Mr. Craken” and the school system for over 20 years, raising “12 head a chillen” of her own, six boys and six girls. She was active in the Zion Baptist Church, cooked and cleaned for several Blufftonian families, and was a practicing midwife for many years. This year, several of her “grans” and “great-grans” live with her in the small green house on Bruin Road.

Mrs. Jenkin’s ancestors owned property on Hilton Head Island in the Squire Pope area and when the heirs sold the land, Queenie had enough money to make one of her own dreams come true. “Dis is my house `n my well.” she said with pride, showing off her house and yard. “Bluffton is DE place de live.

When asked about times during the depression, Queenie smiled and said, “We had plenty food ‘n it stayed same as it was, People shared what dey had.” This same sentiment has been expressed by so many people in Bluffton, that it leads one to believe that money was not the primary concern in the 30s and that the quality of life was dictated by higher values. There was a deep feeling of Christian love and friendship in the small community and people cared about all their neighbors.

When Queenie was hired to cook at the school, she again took care of many of the teenagers that she had cared for as infants. “School food was better back den,” she said proudly. “We cook food fadem chillen. I don’t believe in trowing way food ‘n when de growin wanted more, I fed dem.” Murray Baughman remembers Queenie’s big apron with her pockets filled with mouth watering biscuits that were doled out as snacks in the halls between classes. John Cantrel remembers the meals she used to cook at his home after school. “Queenie Jenkins could make the best huckleberry or oyster pie that you ever tasted.”

The teenagers went to Queenie for other things besides food. There was a practice of punishment in the schools during the fifties that would surprise the teenagers of today. If a child broke the rules, he was taken out behind the magnolia tree and whipped with a switch by the principal or by Mr. McCracken. The girls got the same treatment from one of the woman teachers. Queenie said, “Dere was a was a difference ‘tween bein bad ‘n just devilment. Like one day when dem girls was smokin ‘n Miss Mary Lou (Ulmer) come lookin fo ‘em. I tol her no ‘em. I ain’t seen dem gals no ‘em. I ain’t seen dem gals no ‘em. ‘See, `I said. “Look at my eyes.’ I close ‘em tight ‘n say, ‘I aint’t seen notin.’ I don’t tink she believed dat story, me wit dat butt in ma hand, still a smokin, while dem girls hid ‘hind de flour sacks just a gigglin.”

I asked her what had been the most important event in her life and she sat up straight and proud, the fire returning to her eyes. “Why everytin. I bin a lota Queenie.”

And so you have, Mrs. Jenkins. All that know you agree.