Union and Salem Barbecues

by Virginia Forsyth Morgan (1917-2001)
March 19, 1990

Union and Salem are two outstanding rural communities separated by three miles. Union had barbecues first, and Salem soon followed. Each had a barbecue every summer. In pre-World War II days, Union and Salem communities had barbecues in which the whole community participated.

The barbecues took weeks of preparation. The hogs had to be fatted to just the right weights. The pit had to be readied. Hickory and oak wood must be cut and seasoned. A speaker had to be scheduled. The men who cooked the barbecue had to set a time when farm work was least demanding.

The ladies planned the cakes and pies, decided on how many hens each could donate for Brunswick stew, and how many paper supplies, pickles, and loaf bread were needed. For either community, the profit would go to the church or school, so almost everything was donated. Somebody had to oversee the cooking, which was an all-night affair. This responsibility usually fell on Luke, Gaffney, and Clarence Sturdivant. All able-bodied men in both communities helped. They also had colored help — John Teague, Lonnie Lee Gilbert, and Dave Williams.

As the big day drew nearer, the men stretched hog wire over the pit. The church, cemetery, and school grounds were cleaned. Many tables and chairs had to be hauled to the church grounds. Wash pots were scoured for cooking the Brunswick stew and wash tubs were scrubbed for iced tea and cold drinks bedded in ice.

Many people made it an annual pilgrimage to “go back home” for the barbecue. Of course, the communities took pride in having the old familiar places in tip-top shape. All eyes and prayers turned heavenward for a sunny day. Nobody seems to remember a rainy barbecue, so prayers were answered.

Usually the speaker was a political figure — once it was ole’ Gene Talmadge. Another time it was Judge Luther Wyatt. Excitement and work grew to a fever pitch the day before the big event. Five or six hogs and a dozen hens had to be killed and dressed. The hogs were brought to the pit where rods were stuck through their hips and shoulders so they could be turned. Long pieces of wood were burned to hot coals and ashes before the hogs were placed on the stretched wire over the pit. It took two men to flip the hogs over and over and over — all through the night. Tall tales were spun around the pit as the long night stretched on and on. Many lamps burned late, finishing up cakes, pies, and barbecue sauce. At last, the meat was done. Work gloves had to be worn to handle the hot meat as it was carved and chopped into bite-size pieces. It was mopped over and over with the hot, spicy sauce. The two or three pots of Brunswick stew must be stirred constantly with long wooden paddles. Brunswick stew was easy to burn so constant stirring was a  necessity.

Folks started arriving long before noon. The community ladies were busy arranging tables for eating, and setting up tables where slices of cake and pie could be bought. Tubs of iced tea and cold drinks were readied.

Finally came the eating — and it was so good. After everyone was full to the brim, it was time to listen to the fiery political speech. With nods of approval from the audience, the speaker went on and on until he and his speech were exhausted. The folks who had worked so many weeks, days, and hours were exhausted before the speech even began but stayed on their feet and smiling until the last car had left. This was the big event of the summer and worth every tired back and aching foot.

This information, with a little embellishment from the writer, was furnished by Charles Hogg and Ida Sturdivant Smith, who had been a part of this scene so many years ago.