George Singleton tells of the strange, mysterious death of New Orleans magician, Will Street

George Buster Singleton

(For decades, local historian and paranormal investigator George “Buster” Singleton published a weekly newspaper column called “Somewhere in Time.” The column below, which was titled “Aunt Roxie joins the magician,” was originally published in the July 13, 1989 edition of The Monroe Journal in Monroeville, Ala.)

I grew up in a rural farming community where everyone knew the business of everyone else. If they didn’t know it, many wakeless hours were spent until the facts had presented themselves all in good order and in good time. No one thought anything about it. Tending to someone else’s business was just part of being neighborly.

Down the road aways lived Aunt Roxie. Aunt Roxie was a very attractive middle-aged black lady who had lost her husband in a sawmill accident some years back.

Aunt Roxie was in good financial condition and owned a very nice house and small farm. In the days of the Depression, she would have been a “nice catch” for the eligible black men of the surrounding area and the community.

But Aunt Roxie would have nothing to do with the local eligible bachelors. Many had tried to court Aunt Roxie and had failed. She had set her standards much too high, according to the local gossip. The men in the area had to earn a living either by farming or by doing hard labor at a nearby sawmill. This was all there was for a working man to do in that area of the country.

Aunt Roxie had let it be known that before she would consider any courtship, the man would have to be a gentleman. He would also have to be well-educated. He would have to have the best of clothing. And the last requirement was that he would have to have good means of transportation.

The years came and went. Aunt Roxie lived alone in her home, which was kept spotless. She was, without a doubt, the best cook in the whole area. The goodies that Aunt Roxie kept around her house were why this eight-year-old boy had chosen her as one of his best friends and couldn’t resist having to stop by each day to see if she needed an errand run. These stops were always good for a slice of delicious buttermilk pie that was second to none. The popcorn-candy balls that she made weren’t to be sneezed at either.

Then, one day in early June, it happened. Down the road came a clean and shinning buggy, drawn by one of the most handsome horses that had been seen by the local folks.

The polished leather harness gleamed in the evening sun like a new pair of shoes that had never been worn. The huge travel trunk that was strapped to the back of the buggy seemed to boast of the fine clothing stored there. The leather seats of the buggy were of the best polished leather. There was not a scratch or soiled place to be seen.

In the driver’s seat sat a well-dressed (complete with top hat and travel coat), handsome black man. He had on a white, ruffled shirt, complete with bow tie. His driving gloves were soft and comfortable. His shinning dress boots bore not one speck of dust.

He had stopped at the local store and inquired about a place to stay for a short while. He stated that he was a traveling magician and would like to perform in this area before moving on.

The news traveled over the community like wildfire. A place was found where he could stay. A time and place were set for his first performance. And “Will Street,” the magician from New Orleans, was in business.

“Will Street” and his magic show were a complete success. His ability to put a small rooster in a glass bottle, along with the disappearance of a huge black cat that he had brought with him, was the talk of the country folks. During his first performance, he had casually mentioned that he was also a master in the art and performance of black magic. This, in itself, was to create an air of mystery about this man that continued until his death.

A week passed, then another. “Will Street” continued to perform his acts of magic throughout the surrounding area. Word had gotten out into the mainstream of gossip that his horse and buggy had been seen hitched to the picket fence at Aunt Roxie’s on Saturday afternoons and after church for Sunday dinner the following day.

Gossip rode the winds: word had it that the magician from New Orleans had proposed marriage to Aunt Roxie. The news that was floating around was that Aunt Roxie had promised to give it some consideration and thought. All the local folks surmised that Aunt Roxie had finally found the man who met her specifications.

The afternoon of the wedding was the highlight of the community. The womenfolk of both races gathered and decorated the front porch of Aunt Roxie’s house. Pink ribbons were tied along the picket fence that surrounded the front yard. Delicious food of all sorts covered two large tables that had been placed under a large magnolia tree over in the corner of the yard. It was my duty, and that of my black playmate, Robert George, to keep the insects fanned away from the food with two large palmetto fans.

A snow-white sheet was placed on the ground for the bride-to-be and the groom to stand on during the wedding ceremony. The preacher, dressed in a long, frock-tailed coat, did the marriage vows. Under the huge magnolia tree, things were getting hectic for myself and my friend Robert and the large palmetto fans. The insects were plentiful that hot mid-July Saturday afternoon.

Life resumed its normal place after the wedding. My visits became more and more frequent, along with my friend Robert. The buttermilk pies seemed more plentiful, and small magic tricks, performed by the magician from New Orleans, kept two small, wide-eyed boys completely amazed and spellbound for hours on end.

Almost two years passed, as the couple continued to live happily together. Aunt Roxie and Will Street could be seen quite often as they rode by in the shinning buggy on their way to another magician’s performance somewhere in the area – he dressed in his white ruffled shirt, complete with bow tie, and Aunt Roxie in her pink ruffled dress that had been sewn by her mother for a wedding present. As time went on, he continued to entertain and amaze the local folks with his disappearing black cat and the rooster in the bottle.

Then, one Saturday evening during the final days of September, “Will Street” the magician performed for the last time. As he closed his show and was loading his buggy with his magic equipment for the journey home, he sank to the ground. This amazing and gentle man of mystery had performed his last magic trick. “Will Street” was dead.

During the wake, on the night before the funeral, a number of the menfolk of the community (my father was in attendance) sat with the corpse throughout the night, which was a custom among the country folks in those days. No one had seen the huge black cat that the deceased had used in his magic shows, since his death. The large cat had completely vanished.

As the hour approached midnight, the old grandfather clock began to strike in the corner of the room where the corpse awaited. All eyes turned to see the huge black cat standing on the top of the coffin, with his tail fluffed and his fangs bared. From outside the house, where the man of magic had kept his faithful rooster, the crowing of a rooster filled the midnight air. At the same time, the huge black cat screamed loudly. Then it jumped down from the top of the coffin and ran through the open door, out into the dark night. The cat was never seen again.

Aunt Roxie seemed to lose her will to live. No more did she take pride in her cooking and housecleaning. Her delicious buttermilk pies and wonderful popcorn candy balls ceased to be. The house and yards fell into decay. Aunt Roxie just sat alone in a large rocking chair and stared into the empty fireplace.

Then one evening, in late December, the men of the community were summoned to the home of Aunt Roxie. She had failed to answer the door when a neighbor had dropped by to check on her and leave her some prepared food, which was often done by the womenfolk.

The front door of the house was forced open. There sat Aunt Roxie in the huge rocking chair. She had joined “Will Street,” the magician from New Orleans, the man who had met all of her specifications, both in dress and in manners. The man who had swept her completely off her feet. The man who had made her life most beautiful once more. Now again, they were together…

(Singleton, the author of the 1991 book “Of Foxfire and Phantom Soldiers,” passed away at the age of 79 on July 19, 2007. A longtime resident of Monroeville, he was born to Vincent William Singleton and Frances Cornelia Faile Singleton, during a late-night thunderstorm, on Dec. 14, 1927 in Marengo County, graduated from Sweet Water High School in 1946, served as a U.S. Marine paratrooper in the Korean War, worked as a riverboat deckhand, lived for a time among Apache Indians, moved to Monroe County on June 28, 1964 and served as the administrator of the Monroeville National Guard unit from June 28, 1964 to Dec. 14, 1987. He was promoted from the enlisted ranks to warrant officer in May 1972. For years, Singleton’s columns, titled “Monroe County history – Did you know?” and “Somewhere in Time” appeared in The Monroe Journal, and he wrote a lengthy series of articles about Monroe County that appeared in Alabama Life magazine. It’s believed that his first column appeared in the March 25, 1971 edition of The Monroe Journal. He also helped organize the Monroe County Museum and Historical Society and was also a past president of that organization. He is buried in Pineville Cemetery in Monroeville. The column above and all of Singleton’s other columns are available to the public through the microfilm records at the Monroe County Public Library in Monroeville. Singleton’s columns are presented here each week for research and scholarship purposes and as part of an effort to keep his work and memory alive.)