An Army of Normal Folks - Freed Slaves Bought A Plantation?!

Episode Date: October 31, 2025

For Shop Talk, we tell the extraordinary story of Madison Park. If freed slaves can figure out how to buy a plantation and build a self-sustaining community, what do you think An Army of Normal Folks in 2025 can achieve?! Support the show: https://www.normalfolks.us/premiumSee omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

Hey, everybody. It's Bill Courtney with an Army and normal folks. Welcome in to the shop. Hi, Alex. Hi, Bill. You're in the shop. How's things going? Apparently better than you. I got four and a half hours of sleep last night, and I thought I was terrible. And you said you got how much over how many days? Honestly, six and a half and three days. I'm so tired. It is. Ridiculous. Just, I'm on the board of a couple of things, and we've had board meetings. The Hardwood Lumber Association? I saw them post something on LinkedIn. Yeah, that. And then football practice has gone late, and then. Another update playoffs? Is that, you guys are definitely

in the playoffs? Oh, yeah. We won the region. We're eight and one. It's crazy for it. What was the record last year? Oh, they were good. They were all right. They were like nine and three or something. Oh, really? Okay. Yeah, they were bad. We're pretty good. It's been a lot of fun, and the kids are really improving and getting better at football or good kids as they are. So that, and then Lisa left for she's going overseas, and so. You're feeling lonely and tired. I'm very lonely.

I miss her. I woke up, and her cat was on the bed, and I was like. What's up with your girls and cats now? Molly's obsessed with her cat. I don't know. I'm like, this is not a worthy substitute. for my wife, this stupid cat sitting down here looking at me. So, anyway, yeah, I'm tired.

But, nonetheless, we must forge on. Hey, one random thought I had the other day. We need to start calling you more Big Daddy Snowflake. No, you're not going to call me. Nobody's calling it. It's going to be like your alternative persona on the podcast. Leave that alone. We're not calling that at all.

76. I got to explain the context. So the kids have been asked was called Bill the Daddy Snowflake because he was the whitest thing around. Yeah. And it's hilarious. It's ridiculous. I can start saying it a lot.

Just be prepared. Yeah, okay. Well, please do not call me Big Daddy Snowflake. All right. God, where are? We're in the shop. Number 76. That's it.

Number 76. And, interestingly, in the anticipation of shop talk number 76, we got a nice email from Army member Dr. Lisa Fox. She said, hey, y'all, 76 is a big number of my family. My mom graduated from high school. in 1976. My dad graduated from vet school in 76. My son's dad was born in 76. My son's football number passed down to him from a graduating teammate is 76. So we're always trying to figure out odd reasons to celebrate shop talk numbers. And today, 76, because Dr. Lisa Fox had the

foresight to reach out to us and tell us. This is Shop Talk, 77. in honor of Dr. Lisa Fox and her family in 76. And if you have numbers that are important to you, email them to us. Yeah, email them to us. Anything beyond 76. Well, it's kind of hard now. It would have been easier if we were doing that from. 77.

Something in the 80s. Oh, the 80s, I can do like 86 when I graduate high school and stuff like that. Nobody cares. No, they do care. They do care so much. All right. So I'm going to read an excerpt from an incredible book that's titled, Madison Park,

A Place of Hope, and then we'll talk about it. You have no idea what's coming, but you're going to love it. Nobody does. For Shop Talk number 76, it's a potlock. Potlock Shop Talk number 76.

Yeah, so Madison Park, a place of hope, right after these brief messages from our generous sponsors. Malcolm Gladwell here. This season on Revisionous History, we're going back to the spring of 1988 to a town in northwest Alabama, where a man committed a crime that would spiral out of control. 35 years.

That's how long Elizabeth's and its family waited for justice to occur. 35 long years. I want to figure out why this case went on for as long as it did, why it took so many bizarre and unsettling turns along the way, and why, despite our best efforts to resolve suffering, we all too often make suffering worse. He would say to himself, turn to the right, to the victim's family, and apologize, turn to the left, tell my family I love him.

So he would have this little practice, to the right, I'm sorry, to the left, I love you. From Revisionous History, this is The Alabama Murders. Listen to Revisionist History, The Alabama Murders on the IHeart Radio app, Apple Podcasts, or wherever you get your podcasts. When news broke earlier this year that baby KJ, a newborn in Philadelphia, had successfully received the world's first personalized gene editing treatment, it represented a milestone for both researchers and patients. But there's a gripping tale of discovery behind this accomplishment and its creators.

I'm Evan Ratliff, and together with biographer Walter Isaacson, we're delving into the story of Nobel Prize winner Jennifer Dowdna, the woman who's helped change the trajectory of humanity. Listen to Aunt Crisper, the story of Jennifer Dowdena with Walter Isaacson on the IHeart Radio app, Apple Podcasts, or wherever you get your podcasts. Hey, it's Ed Helms, and welcome back to Snafu, my podcast about history's greatest screw-ups. On our new season, we're bringing you a new snafu every single episode. 32 lost nuclear weapons. Wait, stop?

What? Ernie Shackleton sounds like a solid 70s basketball player. Who still wore knee pads? Yes. It's going to be a whole lot of history, a whole lot of funny, and a whole lot of guests. The great Paul Shear made me feel good. I'm like, oh, wow. Angela and Jenna, I am so psyched.

You're here. What was that like for you to soft launch into the show? Sorry, Jenna, I'll be asking the questions today. I forgot whose podcast we were doing. Nick Kroll, I hope this story is good enough to get you to toss that sandwich. So let's see how it goes. Listen to Season 4 of Snap-Fu with Ed Helms on the IHeart Radio app, Apple Podcasts, or wherever you get your podcasts. In the chaos of World War II, a king dies under mysterious circumstances and his children never stop searching for the truth.

There's no nice way to put this. Time's running out for Simeon and Maria Louisa to find answers to the question that haunts them. The Butterfly King is a historical true crime podcast. from exactly right and Blanchard House. I'm investigative journalist Becky Milligan and I'm following the trail of King Boris III of Bulgaria, a ruler caught between Hitler and Stalin and the shocking secrets behind his sudden death.

If it's 1943 and you want to kill a head of state and you have access to a whole stock of sophisticated synthetic weapons, why wouldn't you use them? A royal mystery, unlike anything you've heard before, The entire series is available now. Listen to the Butterfly King on the IHeart Radio app, Apple Podcasts, or wherever you get your podcasts. Michael Lewis here. My book The Big Short tells the story of the buildup and burst of the U.S. housing market back in 2008.

It follows a few unlikely but lucky people who saw the real estate market for the black hole it would become and eventually made billions of dollars from that perception. It was like feeding the monster, said Eisman. We fed the monster until it blew up. The monster was exploding. Yet on the streets of Manhattan, there was no sign anything important had just happened. Now, 15 years after the Big Short's original release,

and a decade after it became an Academy Award-winning movie, I've recorded an audiobook edition for the very first time. The Big Short Story, what it means when people start betting against the market, and who really pays for an unchecked financial system, it is as relevant today as it's ever been, offering invaluable insight into the current economy and also today's politics. Get the big short now at pushkin.fm. slash audiobooks,

or wherever audiobooks are sold. Hey, everybody. Welcome back to the shop. Shop Talk 76, in honor of Dr. Lisa Fox's entire family, apparently. And Vita Scott for the bell. Someone actually commented to me the other day. Why do you guys ring the bell? It's annoying.

And I felt like saying... Who said it's annoying? Oh, I said... That listener needs an adjustment. Yeah. And I almost felt like saying you. Yeah. Vita Scott gave us the bell.

One, because... It says an army of normal folks on it because Vita Scott sent it to us. But two, because when you walk into an old shop where farmers would be hanging around holding court in the morning drinking their coffee or whatever, there was a bell on the door. And when the door opened and you walked into the old time shop where people would hang around and actually talk about stuff, the bell would ring when the door opens. So when you walk into the shop for shop talk, our bell rings. It's also a good re-explanation for listeners why we do it. Anyway, keep going, Bill. Yeah, that's it.

I hope that really bothered the listener. Need an adjustment. That was good. Okay, thanks. All right, here we go. I'm going to read an excerpt from Eric Motley's book that's titled Madison Park, A Place of Hope, that was featured on the website Faith Gateway. And then we'll chat about it.

Dating back to its earliest days, Madison Park's most prominent feature was the absence of white faces. It was built by the hands of people seeking not just a sense of community, but a safe haven, free from the perils of the recent enslavement. When President Lincoln signed the Emancipation Proclamation on January 1, 1863, approximately 3 million men and women were set free, at least in theory. The proclamation immediately affected only 20,000, 20,000 to 50,000 slaves where the Union Army had taken control. It wasn't until a full two years later when the Civil War ended

that the proclamation systematically freed thousands of men and women with nearly all liberated by July of 1865. With almost nothing more than the clothes on their backs, a little farming knowledge, and an extraordinary capacity for resilience, they moved their families to find land where they could work, land that the first time would yield profit and prosperity for them and not a master. But freedom did not come without fear.

Former slaves were ignorant of legal constraints and general business practices, ironic given that they'd been legally constrained all their lives, but most couldn't write their names. Some only had one name until they chose a second. Their perspectives and understandings of how the world worked was based on what they'd overheard and seen from their master's conversations and transactions. Could they succeed on their own? Would they become victims of carpetbaggers and scallywags who migrated the South

to take advantage of the social turmoil caused by the onset of reconstruction? Would their freedom be short-lived? What if resentful plantation owners angry over the loss of their, quote, property, chose to retaliate? As unequal as their lot in life had been to that point, they cherished a conviction that they were the equals of any other person, blessed by their creator, with inalienable rights, to paraphrase civil rights leader Reverend Fred Shuttlesworth, who spoke about our enslaved ancestors' appetite to be free, a fire got started deep in their souls, and it could not be put out. What little is known about Madison Park's origins is due to the efforts of African-American historian Dr. Gwen Patton and her research among the Madison family papers housed at Trenholm State Technical College in Montgomery, Alabama. Eli Madison, the patriarch of the community bearing his name, was born in Alabama in 1839. According to stories passed down, he was both physically and intellectually a strong man,

with an indestructible sense of self-respect. Dr. Patton notes that his slave master trusted him, yet feared him. In 1865, after the conclusion of the Civil War, Madison set out with his half-brother, Killis Marshall, and close friend Gadsend Draught, along with their wives, to establish what would become one of the state's first free African-American communities. Soon, other families from Otaga County, about 20 miles north of Montgomery,

joined the pioneers in Hunter Station, five miles down the road. Next, Madison moved the families to King Hill, 13 miles away. They were closer to the city, but still deep enough in the country to secure the amount of arable land they needed for the settlement they envisioned. Within a few years,

the families had accumulated enough capital to buy a substantial plot. Only modest-sized properties were available in King Hill, but Flatbush, which is near Wutumka to the northeast, had a number of plantations for sale, land that belonged to financially ruined white southerners. So the families pulled their resources in 1880 and made a down payment on the May plantation. Within two years, Madison paid James and Molly May $2,380, in exchange for the deed to 560 acres, becoming the only recorded group of free slaves in Alabama to purchase an entire estate.

Madison and his group trusted the Lord's promise to supply their needs. Settling their families on the plantation, they cleared brush, tilled the sandy fields, and planted trees, including oaks, whose height and grandeur now reign as testaments to their industriousness, even while shading what would become their graves. Later, they established a sawmill and a gristmill and bought a cotton gin. Unincorporated, without a mayor or town council, the community was organized around the common good. Within the framework of national state laws, residents made the rules, governed and cared for one another, and met it out what discipline and correction of situation required.

It was a community where when a black person spoke, black people listened. The one thing that town fathers hadn't done was to give. their community a name. One night, the train that regularly passed along the edge of the hamlet derailed. The booming noise as the railroad cars exploded could be heard for miles. Rousing the men from their beds, Madison and others struggled to put out the spreading fire, or at least contain it, tend to the injured train crew and keep watch over the debris scattered in the surrounding field along the tracks. They didn't care that it was white people's property. They prized their community's integrity too much to tarnish it by looting. At daybreak, when officials arrived

from Montgomery to investigate and secure the cargo, the all-white posse was prized to find order, an outcome they deemed impossible among African Americans. When the story reached the rest of Montgomery's citizenry, Madison's community was held up as a model for black people. From that day on, it was called Madison's Park and gradually Madison Park. The name was not merely an honor bestowed upon the founder, it spoke to the unifying sentiment that we were Madison's children. Despite their lack of formal education, these pioneers took concrete steps to care for their souls, minds, and bodies. They desired freedom not only from slavery, but from poverty. Realizing their need to remain spiritually liberated sometime in 1881, they established a church

in the Methodist tradition, an unsurprising choice given Methodist founder John Wesley's outspoken opposition to slavery. The church met first under bush trees, then moving into a long cabin that protected them from the wintry winds. Two years later, Kate and Killis Marshall donated the land on Old Wittumka Highway on which today's church, which Eli Madison named the Union Chapel African Methodist Episcopal Zion Church, still sit. A few years later, founding families cleared 25 more acres to create a park, shaded by oak trees that lined its perimeter. The land was a vast green lawn, broken up by gravel sidewalks, play areas for children, and a central pavilion. The park doubled as a meeting place and vacation spot, since most residents couldn't afford to travel.

I don't know the story of my great-great-grandfather John Motley's enslavement. Whether he worked in the plantation house or in the cotton, and how his owners treated him. But I do know that he was one of the freedmen who left Otuga County to join Eli Madison just before sunrise one summer morning in 1880. Upon arriving, he and his group of former slaves gathered in an open-air temple of arched trees to make a promise under God's heaven and on the altar of God's green earth to start their own community, take responsibility for one another, and make a success of their lives. Later, he was among the pioneers who moved the stones to build the foundation of Union Chapel Church.

This is my community. Madison Park does not exist on the radar of many navigational systems or printed maps, except for those who work in the municipal government and public schools of Montgomery, or who know of people and know the story of our community, Madison Park, no doubt, is invisible. An invisible Madison Park is an incredible idea for me, because to those who held from this place, Madison Park is as much an idea as it is a living, breathing organism. To those who have never heard of our little community, it may not exist. But to the founders who bought the land, cleared the brush and laid the cornerstones,

and to their descendants who still care for it, whether they live there or not, it is as large as America. The seeds of America are planted and nurtured in the hearts and minds of Madison Park citizens, over 135 years ago, and the people there have been trying ever since to make a miracle work for them, the same as people do in the less obscure places where lights shine bright and all the roads are paved. Eli Madison's vision of a self-reliant and sustaining community where people could come and work to improve their state of life remains the vision of its inhabitants today. Over the last decade, as I have publicly shared the story of Madison Park at Washington dinner parties, rotary meetings, church, work, and with friends, others have affirmed that they

two once lived in a similar place. So in many ways, Madison Park has become a metaphor of places that can be seen invisible or non-existent. These places still exist, but are their days numbered? Are they at risk of becoming extinct in the face of increasingly atomization? I can only hope not. Despite the changing landscape and encroaching city, the same strong pride and commitment to community remain strong among the people of Madison Park. It is planted deep in the earth,

carefully and powerfully cultivated by my great-great-grandfather and a freed slaves who began the community and gave it its name. The history of Madison Park is tied inextricably to my sense of who I am. It is a spiritual locus that continues to offer inter-infuge, solace, instruction, and most importantly, meaning in the ever-changing flux of daily existence. Wherever I go, Madison Park goes with me. When I reflect on the roadblocks that I faced, I'm so grateful for the Madison Park community. They set me on a different path than the external features in my life, my race, relative poverty, rural southern roots,

and the absence of biological parents would seem to predict. The people of Madison Park bestowed the gift of grace, which I can never repay. Life is like that. Blessings come to us so relentlessly. We are forever in a deficit position. We never get all the thank yous and goodbyes properly said, which leaves us each one living with a burden of gratitude. What a great story. Um, when I was in high school, as I'm reading this, when I was in high school, there were two communities, one was called Barry Hill and one was called Bridgewater that, um, were near where I lived. And they were very similar. They were all African American communities. Um, but great communities that had churches and stores and stores and

and, you know, there were one, two-lane road towns, but the people that came from those communities were proud of those communities. And those communities propped each other up. And they were, by no doubt, there was no influence there, but the people that lived there supported each other were happy. And as I'm reading this, I'm remembering those communities

and how important those communities were to the kids because I was a kid then, but the kids that came from those communities. I mean, we played sports together and went school together and everything else. Those kids were great kids, and I think it was because they had those supportive communities they came from. Very amazing. How cool that some freed slaves bought a plantation and moved it together. That's pretty crazy. You know, I know this is kind of off-subject, but also 560-something acres for 2,500 bucks.

holy smokes but i love the deal that they protected all of the goods that were on the train from looting because they wanted people to respect their home and know that you know this is the kind of people we are and then they apparently won over the people from montgomery because they held it up as the way community should be so and to your point about sense of community i almost pulled from another excerpt if i didn't but so Eric was like behind in school and like either his aunt or his grandma got before the church that Sunday and said little Eric's like basically behind in school we need your help no kidding we need more books and then like dozens of books are being dropped off on their front porch and then they started having tutoring sessions for him and it turned into tutoring sessions for the entire community's kids and like their goal was to get him to college she went to college she actually was part of overseeing presidential appointments you know for one of the past White Houses. Are you kidding?

He's now the deputy director of the Smithsonian's National Gallery of Art. So, you know, this guy from this little community. That was my question. Where is he now? He is the what? He is the deputy director of the Smithsonian's National Gallery of Art. Have you gone in the Art Museum of the Smithsonian? I think Lisa's struck me through there once.

Yeah, it's actually a really good art museum. Yeah. But this little guy from Little Old Madison Park was now that. yeah it's pretty amazing obviously as you read this you can tell us as a very intelligent dude who has a real good command of not only the english language but um the ability to convey thought and and do it in a i mean there's a couple times in here that you know i was like some people when you read their words you can feel what they're feeling and he was able to convey I actually wanted to interview him, but he's not doing interviews about the book anymore.

Why not? I don't know. I would say I disagree with him. But thanks for the great writing, Eric. Thanks for doing it. Thanks, Eric, because that's pretty cool. So what do we get from this? I think we get from this what we've been talking about over and over and over again,

that, you know, one man can make a difference. And an all army living together and supporting each other can make a difference. Yeah, and Mr. Madison didn't have two nickels rubbed together and was a former slave, and he created a legacy now that is four generations old, and his descendants are now directing at the Smithsonian. And it's all because he served people in his community and built this place for them to have a safe place to live and thrive and grow. And I think the moral of the whole story is, an army of normal folks has been the answer all the way back since 1865 and remains the answer today. And the words written on these pages and the story that we're just being told is just another example of it. And some former slaves can figure it out, so can we? Yeah, no kidding. Yeah, for sure.

So that's it, everybody. Shop Talk number 76. Join the Army. engage in your community, do what you can do if former slaves can build a 175-year legacy that reveals itself in the words of what we just read to you. Certainly, you can find a way to serve your community today. Shop Talk number 76, thanks for joining us. If you enjoyed this episode, please rate it, review it. Send me ideas for Shop Talk and for Army of Normal Folks guest at Bill at NormalFolks. Us.

Join the podcast. What else? Sign up to join the Army at NormalFolks. That part. We'll see you next week. We'll see you next week. In the heat of battle, your squad relies on you. In the heat of battle, your squad relies on you.

Don't let them down. Unlock elite gaming tech. Lenovo.com. Dominate every match with next level speed, seamless streaming, and performance that won't quit. Push your gameplay beyond performance with Intel Core Ultra processors for the next era of gaming. Upgrade to smooth, high-quality streaming with Intel Wi-Fi 6E and maximize game performance with enhanced overclocking. Win the tech search. Power up at Lenovo.com. Lenovo. Johnny Knoxville here. Check out Crimeless, Hillbilly Heist, my new true crime podcast from

smartless media, campside media, and big money players. It's the true story of the almost perfect crime and the Nimrods who almost pulled it off. It was kind of like the perfect storm in a sewer. That was dumb. Do not follow my example. Listen to Crimless, Hillbilly Heist on the Iheart Radio app, Apple Podcasts, or wherever you get your podcast. Two rich young Americans moved to the Costa Rican jungle to start over, but One of them will end up dead, and the other tried for murder three times.

It starts with a dream, a nature reserve, and a spectacular new home. But little by little... They lose it. They actually lose it. They sort of went nuts. Until one night, everything spins out of control. Listen to Hell in Heaven on the IHeart Radio app, Apple Podcasts, or wherever you get your podcasts. Chicago, a white woman's murder, a black man behind bars, for a crime he didn't commit. 90 years of killing somebody I have never seen.

The Crying Wolf podcast is the story of a corrupt detective, two men bound by injustice, and the quest for redemption, no matter the price. Listen to the Crying Wolf podcast on the IHeart Radio app, Apple Podcasts, or wherever you get your podcasts. The Big Take podcast from Bloomberg News keeps you on top of the biggest stories of the day. My fellow Americans, this is Liberation Day. Stories that move markets. Chair Powell opened the door to this first interest rate cut. Impact politics, change businesses.

This is a really stunning development for the AI world. And how you think about your bottom line. Listen to the big take from Bloomberg News every weekday afternoon on the IHeart Radio app, Apple Podcasts, or wherever you get your podcasts. This is an I-Heart podcast.