The Detroit times., 1911-08-25
AGED NEGRESS IN
PIIIEuL PLIGHT.
Evicted From House, She Sits All
Day in Rain, Helpless, Home
less, Hopeless.

An aged Negress sat In the ruins
OF what had been her home, Thursday,
and looked out at the rain. In little
straight chair that was without
back she huddled on the miserable
rickety porch In front OF the ram
schackle thing that had been a dwell
ing.
About her, beside her, on the walk
In front or her. lay her household
goods. pathetic ghosts OF a more
prosperous past Behind her, carpen-
ters tore viciously away at rafter and
single, lath and plaster.
But over all and around all was the
rain. II came down with sickening
monotony. Pools OF II formed around
the bits of furniture, the heavy pieces
and the knick-knacks. Streams OF IL
filtered through the seams OF the
porch roof and fell upon her garments
until they chung like cerements to
her poor, shaking limbs.
Since morning she had been there
In the RAIN Since Monday evening,
she has held that post on the porch.
That day she was out working and
when she came back she found that
everything she owned In the world had
been pitched into the street
Her name Is Emma Miller and for
four years she has lived In the house
at No. 336 Hastings-st. She Is quite
alone In the world. but thus far,
through much striving, she has been
able to make her way, despite her so
odd years. There was some squabble
with the landlord. The man next door
bought the premises and is tearing the
place down to build a modern struc-
ture. II isn't all very clear to Emma
Miller, except that a man came to
the place with some mysterious docu-
ments, which thrust under her nose,
and told her she would have to get
out.
Il can't get a place to stay" she
said. I'm looking whenever / can,
but nobody seems to want me. / amt
got relatives, that is, any close rela-
tives, here. My brothers and my sis
tiers are all dead All have is this
here furniture, and Lord knows, no
body would want that. There's some
things that's been In the family for
years back and then there's things
that folks has give me where work
ed. little things they give me OF and
on"
Every night since Monday, Emma
Miller has slept In that barren house.
The carpenters have knocked most of
the roof, on now and the sides are
nothing but yawning crevices. In
front, the window lights have been
shattered and sat night the pitiless
wind sweeps through and through.
But the household goods still stand
outside like sentinels. There is
musty old organ in the foreground.
Over Il was spread rag carpet, ten
derby placed there by Emma Millers
palsied fingers, IN a despairing hope
of shielding II from the elements.
There are tables and chairs, bureaus
and stands, books and carpets, dishes
and silver. all piled in one disheyelled
heap.
And here Emma Miller has been
sitting day after day and sleeping
night after night. She eats on the
porch, too, little snatches OF food that
she gets at the corner grocery.
Passersby are mildly interested In
the lonely figure In the black bonnet,
who keeps silent vigil over her relics.
A few have stopped and talked with
her. Thursday, one suggested that
she throw herself upon the charity OF
the city until place was found for
her. She drew her black shawl more
closely about her shoulders.
mot me, she said emphatically.
i've always made my way. I've
never had to depend on charity and
I've lived over 80 years. It's too late
for me to begin now"
And Emma Miller continued gazing
at the rain.