**Let the Ancestor Speak: The Barbershop, Pigs’ Feet, and the Gordy Connection (Part 2)**
- 4 days ago
- 5 min read
But the day wasn’t over. One of the women in the funeral home turned out to be Brenda’s cousin—on her mom’s side, not her dad’s, so no relation to me. She leaned in and said, “Try the barbershop—the barber’s mother-in-law is a Turner.” Little did I know this detour would open a whole new chapter of comedy, culture, and cuisine.
As we walked toward the shop, I couldn’t stop thinking: I wonder how many people in this small town I’m actually related to? The possibilities felt endless. Every face I passed suddenly carried potential—cousins, distant kin, hidden branches of the same tree. Sandersville isn’t big; if the ancestors had been busy, the odds were surprisingly high.
We stepped inside, and it was exactly what you picture when someone says “classic Southern barbershop”: bright red leather chairs, the steady buzz of clippers, the sharp scent of aftershave and hot towels, a shoeshine stand in the corner, and walls that felt like a living history book. But the real showstopper? A large glass jar on the counter labeled “5 Cent Jar for Cussing.” Every time someone let a word slip, they had to drop a nickel in. I looked at Brenda and whispered, “You can’t come in here—you’ll go broke in five minutes.” She just rolled her eyes and kept walking.
The barber greeted us like we were regulars—no hesitation, no side-eye. He was finishing a cut and said he’d call his mother-in-law right away. While we waited, he pointed across the street: “Go get some lunch. I’ll have her on the phone when you get back.”
That lunch was my very first pigs’ feet with hot sauce. Let’s just say it was… an acquired taste. And I acquired it that day. Brenda fell out laughing watching me eat the whole thing—she still teases me about it to this day. I also had collard greens, Indian cornbread, and banana pudding. If I lived in Sandersville, I’d eat there every day. I’d be as wide as I am tall, and I wouldn’t care one bit. Yum. Shout out to the cooks! Those ladies came out and got a picture with us. When I find it I'll post it. Another day I will tell you how much in heaven I was eating fried green tomatoes with Jezebel Sauce in a restaurant Brenda took me to in Macon... But that is for another day.
Back at the shop, the barber said his mother-in-law had invited us over. Complete strangers—at least I was. The directions were a series of offhand gestures and landmarks, but Brenda knew exactly where we were going. I kept wondering why it wasn’t on Google Maps. Long story short, we ended up in her kitchen with family gathered around the table. She held my hand the entire time while they shared stories: memories of KKK marches circling the town square, the fear they carried, the quiet ways people adapted and survived. She looked at Brenda and said, “You favor the Turners.” I asked, “Who do I favor?” Her answer: “Don’t nobody talk about that.” Not helpful… or maybe the kindest thing she could say. I’m sure she was trying to spare me pain. I knew how we were related wasn't going to be pretty. But I’m no quitter. I’d already stepped into the arena.
She told us Willy Turner grew the best melons in town. She asked if I knew the secret to growing good melons. I had to admit I didn’t. In her rich Southern drawl she said, “Mah-noo-ah.” Manure. The what? Oh… right, right, right. Willy used to come by and flirt with her mother-in-law, always bringing the sweetest melons. There is a metaphor... sweetness can come from manure... Something like that. Sadly, she passed during COVID. I wish I could have kept talking with her. Back then I didn’t know the right questions to ask. Or if it would be impolite to just ask the questions.
Turns out she had married into the Gordy family—yes, Berry Gordy Sr. and Jr., the Motown dynasty. That sent me down a rabbit hole with interlibrary loans and biographies. I grew up in another country, so my Motown knowledge was zero. I also learned that little Sandersville produced not only Motown roots but Elijah Muhammad (born Elijah Robert Poole), who grew up there and later wrote about witnessing cruelty that would last “30,000 years.” My knowledge if him and how he influeced Malcolm X ...Less than zero. The library was a great help. See below for my books I read. Heavy history in a small town.
One more detail that stayed with me: a beautiful shrine on the wall to the barber’s son, a professional football player. Framed photos, jerseys, newspaper clippings. I’m sad to say I don’t have the sports gene, so I can’t recall his name right now… but the pride in that corner of the shop was unmistakable.
Oh boy, did I have a LOT to learn about race relations in Georgia. Growing up in Peru and Costa Rica in the late ’70s (my parents were missionaries), I missed most of Vietnam and U.S. civil unrest, but I didn’t miss the feeling of being the minority in Peru. When you’re the one who stands out in the crowd, it changes your perspective fast—you never assume anything is as simple as it looks.
The barbershop itself—welcoming us warmly, offering help without hesitation—stood as a quiet testament to how Black-owned spaces became lifelines, community hubs, and safe havens when everything else was segregated. The 5-cent cussing jar? Pure genius. I’m still laughing about Brenda’s potential bankruptcy risk. My mom used Dove soap and all I did was say shut up to my brother. I wouldn't have dreamed of coming into the house with four letter words if I valued my life at all.
The search continues, and the stories keep coming. Some are heavy, some are hilarious, all are real.
If any of this resonates—Sandersville connections, Gordy/Turner lines, pigs’ feet adventures, 5-cent cussing jars, or just the feeling of chasing ghosts across state lines—drop a comment. Brenda and I are here for the conversations, the breakthroughs, and the laughs along the way.
More soon. The ancestors are still talking… and apparently, they have impeccable comedic timing.
Lana Reed
@ltas411
Let the Ancestor Speak
Citations for further reading
- Berry Gordy Sr. & Jr. family roots in Sandersville:
- Gordy, Berry. To Be Loved: The Music, the Magic, the Memories of Motown (1994). Autobiography; mentions family migration from Sandersville.
- Smith, Suzanne E. Dancing in the Street: Motown and the Cultural Politics of Detroit (1999). Discusses Sandersville origins of the Gordy family.
- Wikipedia: Berry Gordy – “Early life” section confirms Sandersville birthplace of Berry Gordy Sr. (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Berry_Gordy)
- Elijah Muhammad (Elijah Robert Poole) in Sandersville:
- Muhammad, Elijah. Message to the Blackman in America (1965). His own writings reference early life experiences in Georgia.
- Gardell, Mattias. In the Name of Elijah Muhammad: Louis Farrakhan and the Nation of Islam (1996). Details Elijah Muhammad’s Sandersville childhood and the “30,000 years” quote.
- Wikipedia: Elijah Muhammad – “Early life” section confirms Sandersville, Georgia birth and upbringing (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Elijah_Muhammad)
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