How Rev. Joseph Willis’s parents met. An excerpt from Randy Willis’s book Twice a Slave.
by Randy Willis
Tuesday, June 29, 1756
Charles Towne, South Carolina
Just after dawn, Agerton Willis strolled toward the harbor with his two older brothers, Daniel and Benjamin. He read aloud from the South Carolina Gazette: “Just imported in the Hare, directly from Sierra Leone, a cargo of Likely and Healthy Slaves. To be sold on the 29th day of June.” He stopped and took a deep breath. “This is going to be a great day!”
Daniel, eldest of the three by several years and the only experienced slave buyer among them, smiled into the salty breeze. “We’ll return to North Carolina with fresh workers – young, strong bodies who will increase our wealth. Boys, this is the New World. Opportunities here. Father would be proud.”
As a pretty young woman passed, Agerton grinned. “It may be a better day than I thought.”
Benjamin laughed, but Daniel grabbed Agerton’s arm. “Be careful, understand? This isn’t some childhood party. If we act like gentlemen, we can make a lot of money.”
Mischievous delight flashed across Agerton’s face. “I had a dream last night.”
Daniel rolled his eyes. “Another one?”
“Want to hear it?”
Daniel stared into the distance. “Do I have a choice?”
“We were about to purchase our slaves when I saw a beautiful young woman drowning in the harbor. I jumped in and made a daring rescue. She was so grateful that she accepted my invitation to the ball, and we danced the entire evening. Her deep, brown eyes captivated me. As we slid across the floor, my blood was set on fire. We moved with such grace, I thought we had danced our entire lives.
“At the end of the night, I asked what I should call her, and she responded with the most beautiful smile. She pulled me close and looked tenderly into my eyes. Her long, black hair cascaded over her white dress and made her look angelic. My heart raced and I thought she might kiss me, but instead she whispered, ‘My name is . . .’”
Benjamin’s eyes grew wide in anticipation, but Daniel merely frowned.
Agerton winked and spoke softly. “‘My name is Trouble, and I love you. I’ll follow you and live with you forever.’”
Daniel set his hands on his hips and shook his head. “I’ll tell you what you need. A good woman who can teach you some civility.”
Agerton’s eyes narrowed. “The woman of my dreams won’t be some tea time lady who points her little finger toward the sky while sipping and says, ‘Oh, marvelous, darling. Isn’t this delightful?’ No. She’ll be a statue of strength clothed with beauty.”
At the harbor, Daniel motioned his brothers close and said, “Gentlemen, you’re about to see black rice.”
Benjamin looked quizzical. “What do you mean?”
“You know how much money we make off rice. It’s the black man who makes it happen.” Daniel pointed to the ship’s deck. “They’ll bring them up any minute now. They shave them and lather them in oil, shining them so well it’s difficult to tell if they’re old or young. We want older boys. The men get sick and die on you.”
Agerton shrugged. “I don’t need any more men. I need a woman to cook and clean. I need help around the house.”
“Look for a younger female, young enough to serve you a long time but old enough to cook well. We don’t want men or women who are heavy. The sleek ones do much better. Keep a close eye. We only want the best.”
Agerton’s stomach churned as they shoved the Negroes onto the deck one by one. A strong-looking young man was first in line, eyes darting, head swiveling rapidly. He was bent at the waist, with a three-inch-wide iron collar around his neck, attached to chains that held his hands together in metal cuffs. Agerton scowled. “This is horrible! What are they doing to them?”
“Quiet!” Daniel whispered hoarsely. “People will hear.”
A young woman was next, weeping loudly. One of the crew struck her.
As the rest filed solemnly onto the deck, Agerton felt the blood drain from his face. A small girl tried to run, but a man grabbed her and knocked her to the ground, her chains rattling atop her. A crewmember kicked her and shouted at her to get up, then grabbed her arm and jerked her to her feet, and slapped her.
“Stop!” Agerton screamed.
Daniel grabbed him, but Agerton jerked. “I can’t do this! We don’t treat our animals like this! I’m leaving.”
“What’d you think? Where do you think we got your slaves? Right here in Charles Towne! Yes, they’re beasts, animals that must be controlled. They have to know who has the upper hand. That’s just the way it is.”
“No! I can’t be a part of this. I’ll find a slave somewhere else. I’ll go to Dorchester. They have an open market on Tuesdays.” He pointed to the ship. “I’m sorry, but this—” He shook his head and stalked away.
“You won’t go unless I say you can.”
Agerton flushed as he stumbled back to Daniel and shook a finger in his face. “You’re not my father. You have no right to tell me what I can or can’t do.” He whipped around and stormed off, yelling, “And I’m taking the wagon!”
“You can’t do that! We need it to haul the slaves.”
“We’re not headed home until tomorrow! I’m sure you can find a dungeon to keep them in until I get back this evening.”
Agerton had never given any thought to what his slaves had faced before they arrived at the plantation. During the eighteen-mile journey north to Dorchester, the horseflies buzzing around his head and biting his arms irritated him even more. Only the gentle flow of the Ashley River finally calmed him.
He found quaint Dorchester laid out in an orderly fashion, with quarter-acre lots set between streets running parallel and perpendicular to one another. High Street was the main thoroughfare, much like the small British towns he remembered from his boyhood. An open market in the main square in front of the river lots droned with voices as people bought and sold produce, cattle, merchandise—and slaves.
A small crowd had gathered at the opposite end of the market. Agerton reined in and asked an old man about the commotion.
“Some Injuns from the Euhaw district came to town with slave girls. Don’t normally see Injuns sold round here. Mostly Negroes. I think some men are having a little fun.” The man extended his hand. “I’m Charles.”
Agerton introduced himself and explained why he was in town.
Laughter ripped the air as they approached the crowd. Someone had tied up three older Indian women who were held by Indian men, but no one appeared interested.
A beautiful young Indian maiden, tied and held by a strong, young Indian man, stood in the middle. Everyone gaped. A heavy-set man with a scraggly beard poked her with a finger. The maiden cast her eyes down, and her shoulders slumped. When she lifted her head again, her dark brown eyes and beautiful features caused Agerton’s heart to race.
As shame and strength radiated from the beautiful woman’s face, Agerton’s dream from the night before flashed through his mind, and a strange compassion overwhelmed him.
The fat man squeezed her shoulders, turned to a friend, and said, “Strong arms.” He winked and rubbed her back. “Yep, she could light the fire in my chimney.” The crowd laughed as his hand started making its way down her back.
Heat rose in Agerton’s neck. He stepped forward and grabbed the man’s arm. “That’s enough.”
“What ya think ya doin, Mister?”
“Take your hands off my slave.”
“What ya mean, your slave? She ain’t yours.”
“She’s about to be.” Agerton turned to the young brave who held her. “How much do you want for her?”
“One rifle. Two knives.”
He’d heard Indians traded their slaves for weapons and tools, but this cheap? “Sounds good. Come with me, and I’ll get them.” As they walked toward his wagon, the slave girl with her head bowed and led by a rope tied to her hands, Agerton said, “Does she speak English?”
“She speak good English. She Cherokee. We take her when she was small girl. Her momma die. We need guns for hunting. So, we sell her.”
Agerton lifted his rifle and two good hunting knives out of the wagon. He raised his eyebrows. “Is this what you want?”
“Yes. Need powder for gun.”
After making the exchange, Agerton gently directed the slave girl into the wagon as the brave returned to his friends. Agerton squatted next to the girl in the wagon bed, trying to decide whether to tie her to the side. He’d heard stories of Indian slaves running away. Her eyes were filled with anxiety, but he saw purity in her natural beauty and took a chance. He set the rope down.
As he climbed into the driver’s seat, someone grabbed him and spun him around, slamming a fist into his eye. As he fell, he saw it was the fat man and his friend. The friend dragged Agerton off the ground and held him as the big man punched him in the stomach.
“We don’t take kindly to strangers in fancy clothes comin’ to our town and makin’ us out to be fools. Now, you’re gonna git your due.”
But as he reared back to swing at Agerton again, someone hollered, “Johnny, you hit him one more time, and it’ll be the last time you use that fist!”
It was Charles, the old man who’d welcomed him to town. He leveled a pistol at Johnny’s friend and cocked the hammer. “Let him go, Henry. You boys know better than this.”
The bullies hesitated only a moment, then staggered away cursing. Charles helped Agerton up into the driver’s seat. “Sorry about that. They’ve just had too much to drink.” He glanced back at the girl. “You’ve bought yourself a pretty little thing. She gonna work in the fields or the house?”
Agerton rubbed his swollen eye and dusted his clothes. “The house. Cooking and cleaning.”
“See that you treat her right.”
Agerton angled his head. “I won’t treat her like an animal, if that’s what you mean. But she is a slave.”
“She’s also a person with a soul. Treat her that way.”
“Never heard anyone say a slave has a soul. You some kind of preacher or something?”
Charles laughed softly. “No. I’m no preacher, and I’m definitely not something. My best friend was a great preacher.”
“Was?”
“Died about seven years ago. Reverend Isaac Chanler…pastor of a church just four miles up the road on the way back to Charles Towne. Mighty good man.”
“So, this Reverend Chanler told you slaves have souls?”
“Actually, we both heard it from the Reverend George Whitefield.”
Agerton chuckled. “I’m not a religious man, but I’ve heard of Mister Whitefield. But even if I were religious, I don’t think I’d believe what he said. I understand he was put on trial in Charles Towne by the Church of England.”
“True enough. As a matter of fact, my friend Reverend Chanler defended him.”
Agerton noticed the slave girl seemed to be listening intently. When he glanced her way, she pressed her chin to her chest.
Charles reached up to shake Agerton’s hand, then began untying his horse. “My place is a couple of miles down the road toward Charles Towne. All right if I ride alongside you?”
“Suit yourself.”
Agerton once again caressed his puffy eye and ran his hands through his hair, then turned to the slave girl. “We’re going to Charles Towne to meet my brothers.”
She stared into the distance.
Agerton cleared his throat. “What’s your name?”
She looked away.
“I’m sorry about how those men treated you. I won’t treat you that way. You can trust me. I promise.”
“I am Ahyoka.”
Agerton repeated it and offered a weak smile. Finally getting somewhere. “Do you have an English name?”
Ahyoka turned away again. “Mary.”
After they left Charles at his home and were on their way again, Ahyoka spoke. “It’s not true.”
Agerton raised his eyebrows. “Well, I’m glad you want to talk. What’s not true?”
“What you said about Mister Whitefield. He can be trusted. I know him. He’s a good man.”
She knew George Whitefield?
This had been a day of extremes, Agerton now decided. First, there had been the horrifying scene of the Negro slaves being mistreated on the ship’s deck in Charles Towne. Then there had been the mockery of the Indian slaves in Dorchester, and his fight over his purchase of the young girl.
And now, strangest of all, was the discovery that this Indian—this slave—was an acquaintance of the famed evangelist George Whitefield.
Slowly, purposefully, Agerton turned and examined the girl in an attempt to comprehend who and what she was. She seemed to have no advantages in life. Even though she was a slave, it was apparent that this girl had a deep-rooted sense of self-respect, quiet dignity, and personal strength. She had an element of poise that did not allow her to grovel nor humiliate herself with pleadings for mercy. She possessed an inner confidence that defied her race and social position. Someone—Whitefield, perhaps?—had apparently convinced this slave that she was more than someone’s mere property. How odd, yet truly intriguing. It would be a challenge to unlock the mysteries of this woman. Slave she was, but certainly no savage.
Yes, Agerton sensed something special about Ahyoka.
As he nudged the horse to keep moving down the road, Agerton trembled at the thought of reuniting with Daniel and Benjamin. But his dream disturbed him even more. He’d had plenty of dreams, but none of them had ever come true.
Trouble is real, and I’m bringing her home.
Chapter 2
How could a Cherokee slave know a famous preacher like Whitefield? And how did she become a slave to other Indians? About 13 miles outside Charles Towne, Agerton stopped. “Ahyoka, ride up here with me so we can talk.”
She seemed to freeze. “What if someone sees us?”
Agerton chuckled. “We’re not going to see many people for the next couple of hours.”
When he noticed the twinkle in her eyes as she sat next to him, Agerton felt his pulse quicken and his face flush. She looked very much like the girl in his dream. “How did you become a slave?”
She looked down, and her voice cracked. “I know only what my mother told me.”
Agerton reined in the horses and gently touched Ahyoka’s arm. “I shouldn’t have asked. I’m sorry.”
“I’ve never talked to anyone about it,” she said, tears welling. “I miss my mother. She gave me strength. She was my only friend, my only protector.”
Agerton patted her shoulder. “You don’t have to talk about it.”
He urged the horses on, and they rode in silence for the next half hour. Agerton’s mind raced up beautiful mountains and just as quickly tumbled into deep, dark valleys. Her eyes and hair and face mesmerized him, but her pain saddened him.
“I was a very small child,” she said at last.
When he quickly turned toward her, Ahyoka fell silent again. “Go on,” he said.
“You’re my master. Can I talk like this?”
He shrugged. “I’ve never really talked with a slave. If it’s all right with you, it’s no problem with me.”
“My mother told me I was watching her wash clothes at a river bank, much like the Ashley there, when warriors from the Creek tribe grabbed us and took us far from our home, so far we could never return. I grew up a slave of that tribe.
“We worked with the Creek women, planting the garden and cooking. From a distance people would think we were part of the Creek. But we were treated as though we were cursed outsiders. Our Cherokee names were changed. We existed only to work and provide food for them.”
She hesitated momentarily, looking into the distance as though focusing on memories of scenes and events from the past. “They treated us like outcasts and tried to change our identity, but my mother and I kept our secrets and created our own little tribe. She continued to speak to me in Cherokee and never let me forget my real name.
She told me Cherokee women were different from Creek women. Some Cherokee women hunted with their men. A few were even warriors. She told me to be courageous and strong like the Cherokee woman I would grow up to be. She told me I would one day find happiness and bring joy to many people.”
Agerton was overcome as he tried to speak. “Your mother . . .” He cleared his throat. “She sounds like a wonderful person. You’re fortunate to have had such a loving mother.”
Ahyoka smiled shyly and nodded. “She was a very good woman. She told me my future would be with the white man.”
“Really? Why?”
“I don’t know. But when part of the tribe moved out of Georgia to where the Euhaw tribe had originally settled, a small Baptist meetinghouse there had a mission school for children of slaves, mostly Negroes. My mother convinced the chief that I was intelligent enough to learn the white man’s language and that I could be of great help to the tribe if I did. That’s how I learned English.”
“You did well. So, why did they sell you?”
“As time passed, others also learned English – like the man who sold me. But, as you heard, his English is not very good. I could never tell them that. When my mother died, they had their own interpreters and no longer needed me.”
“How did you come to know Mister Whitefield?”
Ahyoka grinned. “The church grew, and they built a big house of prayer for all the people – slaves, Indians, and white people. Reverend Whitefield spoke at the dedication. His voice was like thunder, and his words like lightning that chases darkness from the night. A wind blew across the hearts of all the people – especially mine.”
Agerton found himself so taken by Ahyoka that he didn’t notice a large mud hole about seven miles outside Charles Towne until the wagon had slid in and out of it. As the wagon straightened out, he heard a loud thumping. “Whoa!” He hopped down to find a broken limb, with moss and mud, twisted around a wheel.
Ahyoka climbed down while Agerton tied the horses to a tree and tried to free the wheel of the limb. Finally, he resorted to grabbing a knife from a box in the wagon bed and slicing through the moss to remove the branch.
He tossed the knife back in the wagon and told Ahyoka to keep an eye on the horses while he headed to the riverbed to wash his hands. “Be careful by the water!” she called out.
Agerton looked back and laughed, but as he knelt to splash water on his arms, the horses snorted and reared, and Ahyoka screamed, “Get out! Run! Gator!”
Agerton saw the two large eyes atop the water and had only enough time to think Oh, God, save me! as he turned before the beast lunged and nicked his arm. He ran as fast as he could, feeling no pain and seeing no blood until he tripped over a root and found himself on the ground with the gator moving in on him. Its fishy stench made him sick, and its teeth made him want to screech in terror. When it hissed and roared, Agerton was convinced he was about to die.
As the animal edged closer to Agerton, Ahyoka slipped behind it, her jaw set and eyes ablaze. She lifted her dress to her knees, sprinted, and dove onto its back, forcing its head to the ground. Straddling the alligator with her knees on the ground and her feet pinning its legs, she yelled, “Run! Now!”
Agerton scrambled to his feet and took off, shaking uncontrollably, blood running down his arm. He gasped, reeling. I have to go back. Have to help her.
As he spun around, he crashed into Ahyoka, and they both tumbled to the ground. He laughed and sobbed as they struggled to their feet and the gator slithered back into the Ashley.
Agerton took her into his arms. Amidst tears, panting, and gasping, he said, “I thought you were gone. I’m…I’m so thankful! You saved my life.”
“Let me see your arm,” she said, gently pushing him back. “We have to stop the bleeding.” She tore a sleeve from her dress. “Lie down.”
Agerton felt lightheaded as Ahyoka treated him. “You’re the girl in my dream,” he whispered, and closed his eyes.
When Agerton awoke, Ahyoka was gone. He eased himself upright, shaking the cobwebs from his mind. The blood loss had made him weak, but he realized now he also must have been in a state of shock. He must have fainted, then gone into a deep sleep. Now rested and the blood from his wound stopped, he looked around and realized he was alone.
His only vestige of Ahyoka was the remnant of her dress tied tightly around his wound, strangely decorated with a ribbon. When he realized the wagon was gone too, he hung his head. How could she have abandoned him?
With no other option, Agerton began trudging toward Charles Towne. Soon, he heard a wagon approaching from behind. Desperate for a ride he waved his good arm, and his heart leapt as Ahyoka pulled alongside and helped him up into the driver’s seat beside her.
“I thought you had gone.”
“No! The alligator spooked the horses and they pulled free of the tree and ran down the road. I had to leave you to find the wagon before dark.”
Agerton leaned over, closed his eyes, and turned his face toward Ahyoka.
She quickly turned away, thrusting the reins into his hands. “We’d better go.”
Agerton squirmed. “Yes, it’s getting late.”
Following a long, awkward silence, Ahyoka said, “The color is returning to your face. You’re looking better. When we reach your brothers, you should have a doctor look at the gash in your arm. The bleeding has stopped, but he may want to put some stitches there to hasten the healing. It will hurt.”
Agerton shrugged. “Not as much as having my arm bitten off.”
She had to laugh. “Yes, well, that’s true enough.”
“How’d you learn to wrestle an alligator like that? I have never seen anything like that.”
Ahyoka responded matter-of-factly, “After we were captured by the Creek warriors, my mother was always afraid near the water. She said danger always hid there and that snakes and alligators lurked nearby. She taught me early about protecting myself from the hidden attackers.”
“That’s why you warned me to be careful.”
Ahyoka smiled. “My mother’s words came out of my mouth.”
“But you subdued the alligator.”
“I saw the men of the tribe capture them. It’s not as difficult as you think. Once I was on its back, I knew I could control it.”
“Your mother would have been proud.”
“Yes, but you and I were fortunate. It wasn’t very large.”
“It was large enough. You shocked me with your strength and courage.” Agerton touched her hand. “And thank you for bandaging my wound.”
Ahyoka smiled. “It’s going to cost you a new dress.”
“It’s a deal. I like the ribbon.”
“It’s the way the Cherokee make clothes. My mother said it would bring me luck. I think it will help to heal your arm.”
As the sun went down, Agerton worried about robbers on the trail. “Open the box behind you and you should see a pistol and a couple of knives. Let’s keep them close until we get to the city.”
His brothers would be worried. However, they would expect Ahyoka to stay with the other slaves, and he couldn’t stand the thought of her sleeping in shackles.
As the wagon rambled into town, Agerton decided he’d rather face his brothers’ ire in the morning than face them at the boarding house that night. “I know where it’s safe to tie the wagon. It’s warm and the moon is bright, so we can sleep outside. You take the floor of the wagon, and I’ll try to get a little sleep in the front.”
Agerton drove near the harbor and away from foot traffic, then stopped and tied the horses. Ahyoka helped him retrieve water for the animals, and he was glad she was strong, for his wounded arm made him a rather poor assistant. She helped him remove his boots and ease down sideways onto the floor of the driver’s seat.
To his amazement, he was asleep almost immediately. Again, the tension of the day’s events, combined with the weary miles of travel, took their toll on him. Just before sunrise, Ahyoka gently touched his cheek, awakening him. “If we start now in search of your brothers, you’ll be able to find a doctor, change clothes, and get something to eat.”
“Yes. Yes, good thinking. You must be hungry, too.”
When they reached the boarding house, the sun had risen. Daniel spotted them pulling up, and he burst outside and shouted, “Where have you been! And what happened to your eye? And your arm!”
“It’s a long story. I’ll tell you all about it on the way home.”
Benjamin rushed to the door. “Who’s this?”
“I purchased her in Dorchester. We ran into some problems on the way home.” He looked away. “She saved my life.”
Daniel crossed his arms. “Does she speak English? What’s her name?”
Ahyoka gazed up at him. “My name is Joy.”
Agerton whirled to face her. “What?” He stared at her for a full ten heartbeats, completely caught off guard by her announcement. Finally finding his tongue, he said, “You are a woman of surprises. But, yes, oh, yes, you are Joy…in many ways.”
He faced his brothers and said, “Meet Joy. She’ll be going home with us.”
Ahyoka Willis: Bringer of Joy in Cherokee
After a clandestine wedding, Agerton and Ahyoka had only one child, Joseph Willis. He would preach the first sermon by an evangelical West of the Mississippi River.
In 1758, Joseph Willis was born a Cherokee slave to his mother, Ahyoka (whose English name was Mary), and his father, Agerton Willis.
Joseph’s father, Agerton Willis, died when he was only 18. His uncle then (1776) cheats him out of his inheritance, which would have made him one of the wealthiest men in North Carolina.
Seven years later, he married Rachel Bradford, a descendant of William Bradford, who helped establish Plymouth Colony in 1620. After having four children, she died in childbirth in 1794. She was only 32.
He seeks ordination from his local Baptist church. He was denied. Their reason was “the cause of Christ would suffer.” His dark skin was the issue. No one would respond to an “inferior” person of color, they believed. The first slaves were Indians in North and South Carolina.
He marries again. Sarah was her name, an Irish orphan. After having two children, she died in 1798.
He is 40. In 1798, he had a 50% chance of living to 50. He has been cheated out of his inheritance, lost two wives, denied ordination, and is alone with six children. He once felt called by God. He now feels he was wrong. His life is almost over. He gives up.
That is, until an encounter with the Holy Spirit. In his 90s, he passed this story down to his grandchildren, Polk Willis and Olive Willis, but he would only say he prayed he could have that same encounter with the Lord again. It never happened. But, from then on, he was on a mission to go where no others would dare.
Joseph Willis would continue into the lawless “No Man’s Land,” the Louisiana Neutral Strip, a half-century before the Catholic Church. It would be here that he buried on the banks of the Calcasieu River the sleeve from the dress his mother, Ahyoka, used as a tourniquet to save Joseph Willis’s father, Agerton’s life.
A man’s character is measured by what it takes to discourage him. Talent, wealth, position, and fame will fade like the autumn colors, but his character will remain for generations yet to come. — Randy Willis
The son of a white man and a Cherokee slave, Joseph Willis gained his freedom and swam the mighty Mississippi in 1798, riding only a mule.
In the Louisiana Territory, he preaches the first Gospel sermon by an Evangelical west of the Mississippi River.
Joseph Willis’s life is a story of triumph over tragedy and victory over adversity!
He was born into slavery. His mother, Ahyoka, was Cherokee, and his father, Agerton, was a wealthy English plantation owner.
His family took him to court to deprive him of his inheritance.
He fought as a Patriot in the Revolutionary War under General Francis Marion, the “Swamp Fox.”
He entered hostile Spanish-controlled Louisiana Territory when the dreaded Code Noir.
His life was threatened because of the message he brought to Spanish-controlled Louisiana!
He would continue into the lawless “No Man’s land,” the Louisiana Neutral Strip, a half-century before the Catholic Church. It would be here that he buried on the banks of the Calcasieu River the sleeve from the dress his mother, Ahyoka, used as a tourniquet to save Joseph Willis’s father, Agerton’s life.
After overcoming insurmountable obstacles, he blazed a trail for others for another half-century, changing American history.
His accomplishments are still felt today.
—Randy Willis, 2026
Randy Willis is the fourth great-grandson of Joseph Willis and his foremost historian.
In Appreciation of Jerry B. Jenkins
In Appreciation of Dr. D. “Pete” Richardson
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In Appreciation of Dr. Sue Eakin
The birth of my novel Twice a Slave, the play Twice a Slave, and the Joseph Willis docudrama were the result of Dr. Sue Eakin’s advice.
She was the person who convinced me that the best way to tell the story of Joseph Willis was with novels and plays (see the attached letters). I had already written Joseph Willis’s biography.
Dr. Sue Eakin read in a newspaper that I had obtained the only copy of the minutes of Spring Hill Baptist Church. She asked me if I would help her with her research on William Prince Ford. I also lectured in her history classes at Louisiana State University at Alexandria on the subject.
Dr. Eakin wrote to me on March 7, 1984, “We had a wonderful experience dramatizing Northup and I think there could be a musical play on Joseph Willis. It seems to me it gets the message across far more quickly than routine written material.” She added, “a fictional novel based upon Joseph Willis’s life would be more interesting to the general public than a biography and would reach a greater audience.”
Dr. Eakin is best known for documenting, annotating, and reviving interest in Solomon Northup’s 1853 book Twelve Years a Slave. She, at the age of eighteen, rediscovered a long-forgotten copy of Solomon Northup’s book on the shelves of a bookstore near the LSU campus in Baton Rouge. The bookstore owner sold it to her for only 25 cents. In 2013, 12 Years a Slave won the Academy Award for Best Picture.
In his acceptance speech for the honor, director Steve McQueen thanked Dr. Eakin: “I’d like to thank this amazing historian, Sue Eakin, whose life, she gave her life’s work to preserving Solomon’s book.”
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In Appreciation of Lillie Hanks Willis
I’m also thankful to my sainted grandmother, Lillie Hanks Willis. She had a treasure chest of stories about Joseph Willis and insisted I write them down.
In Appreciation of my Uncle Howard Willis
My Uncle Howard Willis was our family’s master storyteller when I was younger. I sat for many hours, mesmerized by him. His granddaughter and my cousin Kimberly Willis Holt were inspired by him, too. She is a National Book Award Winner and author of When Zachary Beaver Came to Town, My Louisiana Sky, and the Piper Reed series. When Zachary Beaver Came to Town and My Louisiana Sky were adapted into films of the same name.
My grandfather and namesake, Randall Lee Willis, and my uncle, Howard Willis. Circa 1930
My Uncle Howard Willis was our family’s master storyteller when I was younger. I sat for many hours, mesmerized by him. His granddaughter and my cousin Kimberly Willis Holt were inspired by him, too.
In Appreciation of Dr. Greene Strother
I’m thankful to my late cousin and the maternal great-grandson of Joseph Willis, Dr. Greene Wallace Strother. His Uncle Polk Willis and Aunt Olive Willis cared for Joseph Willis in his final years, and they shared everything he told them. Dr. Strother gave me his extensive research in 1980. He served as chaplain to General Claire Chennault’s “Flying Tigers” while in China as a missionary. He was a Southern Baptist missionary emeritus to China and Malaysia.
This photo was taken right after Christmas, in 1938, in Pochow, China, at the Strother home. Pictured: Dr. Greene Wallace Strother (1892-1981), children: Miriam Jean Strother (holding their adopted baby Dora Lee), Greene Wallace Strother, Jr. (in front of Dr. Strother), Joyce Carolyn Strother (standing to the right), and Joseph Willis Strother (standing to the right). Their first three children were born in China. Dr. Strother’s wife was married to Martha Krause; she took this photo.
In Appreciation of Karon McCartney
And Karon McCartney, Archivist at the Louisiana Baptist Convention, has provided significant help over decades in organizing, cataloging, and protecting my research at the Louisiana Baptist Building in Alexandria.
In Appreciation of my Family
They are the joy of my life.
My three sons: Aaron Joseph Willis, Joshua Randall Willis, and Adam Lee Willis.
And my six grandchildren: Baylee Coatney Willis, Corbin Randall Willis, Presley Rose Willis, Olivia Grace Willis, Juliette Rebecca Willis, and Violet Jean Willis.
And my future grandchildren
With gratitude and love
“Their strength of character has been demonstrated many times by how they treat people who can do nothing for them.” —Randy Willis, aka Dad, Grandpa, Papaw.
Our Family Costa Rica
Our Family Lahaina, Maui, Hawaii
Children’s children are the crown of old men, And the glory of children is their father. —Proverbs 17:6
L to R: Presley Willis, Baylee Willis holding Baby Violet Willis, Corbin Willis, and Olivia Willis holding Juliette Willis
Our family in Port Aransas, Texas
About Randy Willis
Award-winning master storyteller Randy Willis—books about adventure, family, and faith.
Randy Willis is as much at home in the saddle as he is in front of the computer, where he composes his family sagas.
Randy draws on his family’s heritage of explorers, settlers, soldiers, cowboys, and pastors. He carries on the tradition of loving the outdoors. Randy shares it through the adventures he creates in his short stories, biographies, and novels.
Randy Willis is the author of 19 books. These include Destiny, Beckoning Candle, Twice a Slave, Three Winds Blowing, Texas Wind, and Louisiana Wind. Additionally, he authored The Apostle to the Opelousas. He also wrote The Story of Joseph Willis and his autobiography, “To the Best of My Recollection.”
Twice a Slave has been chosen as a Jerry B. Jenkins Select Book, along with four best-selling authors. Jerry Jenkins is the author of more than 200 books. His works have sold over 73 million copies, including 21 New York Times bestsellers. This includes the best-selling Left Behind series.
Twice a Slave has been adapted into a dramatic play at Louisiana Christian University by Dr. D. “Pete” Richardson (Associate Professor of Theater).
Randy Willis owns Randy Willis Music Publishing. It is an ASCAP-affiliated music publishing company. He also owns Town Lake Music Publishing, LLC. This is a BMI-affiliated music publishing company.
Randy Willis is an ASCAP-affiliated songwriter. He was an artist manager and TV producer.
Randy Willis is a Texas Hill Country Rancher.
Randy Willis founded Operation Warm Heart in 1991. It provides food and clothing to those in need in Central Texas.
Randy Willis was a member of the Board of Directors of Our Mission Possible in Austin, Texas. This organization empowers at-risk teens to discover their greatness.
Randy Willis was a charter member of the Board of Trustees of the Joseph Willis Institute for Great Awakening Studies at Louisiana College (Louisiana Christian University).
Randy Willis served on the Board of Directors of the Austin Apartment Association for four years. He was on the Board of Directors of the Texas Apartment Association for the same duration.
Randy Willis was born in Oakdale, Louisiana, and lived as a boy near Longleaf, Louisiana, and Barber Creek.
He currently resides in the Texas Hill Country near his three sons and their families.
Randy Willis graduated from Angleton High School in Angleton, Texas, and Texas State University in San Marcos, Texas.
Randy Willis was a graduate student at Texas State University for six years. He is the father of three sons and has six grandchildren.
“Many today have just enough religion to inoculate them from knowing Christ.” —Randy Willis
Vaya con Dios