Mary Phagan was born in Florence, Alabama, four months after her father died, into a family that had farmed in Georgia for generations. Her paternal grandfather, William Joshua Phagan provided her mother and siblings with a home near his in rural Marietta, but Phagan's mother moved the family to Eastpoint, where she opened a boarding house. The children took jobs in local mills. Mary left school at the age of ten to work part-time in a textile mill. She worked various places until the Spring of 1912 when she went to work at the National Pencil Factory. She earned $4.05 a week for 55 hours. The following is the song that my grandmother sang to us. We would sit and listen to every verse.
Little Mary Phagan, left her home one day;
She went to the pencil factory, To see the big parade.
She left her home at eleven, she kissed her mother good-by;
Not one time did the poor child think, that she was a going to die.
Leo Frank he met her, with a brutish heart we know;
He smiled and said, "Little Mary, you won't go home no more."
Sneaked along behind her, till she reached the medal-room;
He laughed, and said, "Little Mary, you have met your fatal doom."
Down upon her knees to Leo Frank she pled,
He'd taken a stick from the trash-pile and struck her cross the head.
Tears flowed down her rosey cheeks while the blood flowed down her back.
Remembered telling her mother what time she would be back.
You killed little Mary Phagan, it was on one holiday;
called for old Jim Conley to carry her body away.
He'd taken her to the basement, she was bound both hand and feet;
Down in the basement, little Mary she did sleep.
Newtley was the watchman who went to wind his key;
Down in the basement, little Mary he did see.
Went in and called the officers who names I do not know;
Come to the pencil factory, said, "Newtley, you must go.
Taken him to the jail-house, they locked him in a cell;
Poor old innocent negro, knew nothing for to tell.
Have a notion in my head, when Frank he comes to die;
Stand examination, in a courthouse in the sky.
Come, all you jolly people, wherever you may be;
Suppose little Mary Phagan, belonged to you or me.
Now little Mary's mother, she weeps and mourns all day;
Praying to meet little Mary in a better world someday.
Now little Mary's in heaven, Leo Frank's in jail;
waiting for the day to come, when he can tell his tale.
Frank will be astonished, when the angels come to say;
you killed little Mary Phagan; it was on one holiday.
Judge he passed the sentence, then he reared back;
if he hang Leo Frank, it won't bring Mary back.
Frank, he's got little children, and they will want for bread;
look up at their papa's picture, say "now my papa's dead."
Judge he pass the sentence, he reared back in his chair;
he will hang Leo Frank, and give the negro a year.
Next time he passed the sentence, you bet he passed it well;
Well, Solister H. M. sent Leo Frank to hell.
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