Shine say, “Fish in the ocean and fish in the sea,
This is one time you white folks ain’t gonna fool me!”
There is lots more. Carolina Slim can sing a dozen or two verses. The hero, Shine, reaches land, and
There was thousands of people waitin’ to shake his hand.
Shine said, “Push back, stand there and hear my pedigree.
I don’t want nobody messin’ with me.
“My pillow was an alligator and a boa-constrictor was in my den.
I lived on the water and I didn’t have to pay no rent.
And I don’t owe nobody a damn red cent.
When the great Titanic in the river sank.”
Carolina Slim calls himself a “roamin’ longshoreman,” but he is more a hobo than a worker. He boasts that he has the strength of three men, can do the work of three men. Most of the time he gets his money from women and he always invests it quickly—in crap games. The women don’t really mean anything to him, because he’s always thinking about Agnes. He says he “jest cain’t stay put for long,” so he is a wandering minstrel.
SOURCE: Lyle Saxon, Edward Dreyer, and Robert Tallant, eds., Gumbo Ya-Ya, 373–74.
SINKING OF THE TITANIC
It was 1912 when the awful news got around
That the great Titanic was sinking down.
Shine came running up on deck, told the Captain, “Please,
The water in the boiler room is up to my knees.”
Captain said, “Take your black self on back down there!
I got a hundred-fifty pumps to keep the boiler room clear.”
Shine went back in the hole, started shoveling coal,
Singing, “Lord, have mercy, Lord, on my soul!”
Just then half the ocean jumped across the boiler room deck.
Shine yelled to the Captain, “The water’s ’round my neck!”
Captain said, “Go back! Neither fear nor doubt!
I got a hundred more pumps to keep the water out.”
“Your words sound happy and your words sound true,
But this is one time, Cap, your words won’t do.
I don’t like chicken and I don’t like ham—
And I don’t believe your pumps is worth a damn!”
The old Titanic was beginning to sink.
Shine pulled off his clothes and jumped in the brink.
He said, “Little fish, big fish, and shark fishes, too,
Get out of my way because I’m coming through.”
Captain on bridge hollered, “Shine, Shine, save poor me,
And I’m make you as rich as any man can be.”
Shine said, “There’s more gold on land than there is on the sea.”
And he swimmed on.
When all them white folks went to heaven,
Shine was in Sugar Ray’s Bar drinking Seagram’s Seven.
SOURCE: Langston Hughes and Arna Bontemps, The Book of American Negro Folklore, 366–67.
Why did the Titanic figure so prominently in the African American imagination? No doubt in part because it provided an allegory of seemingly divine punishment for the excesses of the opulent lifestyle that contrasted so sharply with the economic circumstances of most African Americans, who would have been denied passage on the ship even if they could afford a ticket. The story of Shine is included here because he has become something of a survivor and folk hero. When the Titanic sank in 1912, two stories circulated about African Americans on board, both apocryphal. In fact, there were no African Americans on the ship, and the only two people of color were a Haitian engineer and an Italian-Egyptian man who was employed as a personal secretary to an industrialist. But there was much talk about a heavyweight boxing champion named Jack Johnson being denied passage, as well as about a fellow named Shine, who allegedly worked in the ship’s boiler room. Shine survived, not by jumping into a lifeboat, but by swimming ashore. The first version above was told by an African American man living in Louisiana around 1945, and it is framed by commentary from the tale’s collector. The second was published in a 1958 anthology of African American lore.
There are many ballads, toasts, and jokes about the sinking of the Titanic, and some of the off-color versions can be found in Roger D. Abrahams’s Deep Down in the Jungle . . . : Negro Narrative Folklore from the Streets of Philadelphia, published in 1963, and Bruce Jackson’s Get Your Ass in the Water and Swim Like Me, published in 2004.
“The Titanic,” from Lyle Saxon, Robert Tallant, and Edward Dreyer, eds., Gumbo Ya-Ya: Folk Tales of Louisiana. Copyright © 1945, renewed 1973 by the Louisiana Library Commission. Reprinted by permission of Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Publishing Company. All rights reserved.
THE SIGNIFYING MONKEY
The Monkey and the Lion
Got to talking one day.
Monkey looked down and said, Lion,
I hear you’s king in every way.
But I know somebody
Who do not think that is true—
He told me he could whip
The living daylights out of you.
Lion said, Who?
Monkey said, Lion,
He talked about your mama
And talked about your grandma, too,
And I’m too polite1 to tell you
What he said about you.
Lion said Who said what? Who?
Monkey in the tree,
Lion on the ground.
Monkey kept on signifying
But he didn’t come down.
Monkey said, His name is elephant—
He stone sure is not your friend.
Lion said, He don’t need to be
Because today will be his end.
Lion took off through the jungle
Lickity-split,
Meaning to grab Elephant
And tear him bit to bit. Period!
He come across Elephant copping a righteous nod
Under a fine cool shady tree.
Lion said, You big old no-good so-and-so,
It’s either you or me.
Lion let out a solid roar
And bopped Elephant with his paw.
Elephant just took his trunk
And busted old Lion’s jaw.
Lion let out another roar,
Reared up six feet tall.
Elephant just kicked him in the belly
And laughed to see him drop and fall.
Lion rolled over,
Copped Elephant by the throat.
Elephant just shook him loose
And butted him like a goat.
Then he tromped him and he stomped him
Till the Lion yelled, Oh, no!
And it was near-nigh sunset
When Elephant let Lion go.
The signifying Monkey
Was still setting in his tree
When he looked down and saw the Lion.
Said, Why, Lion, who can that there be?
Lion said, It’s me.
Monkey rapped, Why, Lion,
You look more dead than alive!
Lion said, Monkey, I don’t want
To hear your jive-end jive.
Monkey just kept on signifying,
Lion, you for sure caught hell—
Mister Elephant’s done whipped you
To a fare-thee-well!
Why, Lion, you look to me
You been in the precinct station
And had the third-degree,
Else you look like
You been high on gage2
And done got caught
In a monkey cage!
You ain’t no king to me.
Facts, I don’t think that you
Can even as much as roar—
And if you try I’m liable
To come down out of this tree and
Whip your tail some more.
The Monkey started laughing
And jumping up and down.
But he jumped so hard the limb broke
And he landed—bam!�
��on the ground.
When he went to run, his foot slipped
And he fell flat down.
Grrr-rrr-rr-r! The Lion was on him
With his front feet and his hind.
Monkey hollered, Ow!
I didn’t mean it,3 Mister Lion!
Lion said, You little flea-bag you!
Why, I’ll eat you up alive.
I wouldn’t a-been in this fix a-tall
Wasn’t for your signifying jive.
Please, said Monkey, Mister Lion,
If you’ll just let me go,
I got something to tell you, please,
I think you ought to know—
Lion let the Monkey loose.
To see what his tale could be—
And Monkey jumped right back on up
Into his tree.
What I was gonna tell you, said Monkey,
Is you square old so-and-so,
If you fool with me I’ll get
Elephant to whip your head some more.
Monkey, said the Lion,
Beat to his unbooted knees,
You and all your signifying children
Better stay up in them trees.
Which is why today
Monkey does his signifying
A-way-up out of the way.
SOURCE: Langston Hughes and Arna Bontemps, The Book of American Negro Folklore, 363–66.
The African American vernacular usage of the term signifying uncannily captures the linguistic distinction between signifier (a word or linguistic sign) and signified (the thing to which a word refers). In conversation, signifying is used to designate a range of verbal practices, from insult, innuendo, and abuse to parody, pastiche, and homage. The foundational story about Signifying, or the clever use of double talk, appears in “The Signifying Monkey,” which exists in many variant forms, often filled with obscene language. It reflects on the power of language to deceive and misrepresent, to create multiple meanings and messages that can be contradictory. By taking advantage of the gap in all languages between the thing signified and the signifier, this verbal practice creates meaning and also undermines it.
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1 I’m too polite: Everything Monkey says is open to doubt, and by prefacing his statements with phrases such as this one, Monkey both praises himself and maligns Elephant.
2 gage: marijuana
3 I didn’t mean it: The Monkey alternates between saying what he means and not meaning what he says, forever walking a fine line between speaking the truth and telling lies—or, to put it succinctly, signifying.
PART XIII
ARTISTS, PRO AND CON: PREACHER TALES
“The Preacher is the most unique personality developed on American soil. A leader, a politician, an orator, a ‘boss,’ and idealist—all these he is, and ever, too, the center of a group of men,” W. E. B. Du Bois wrote in The Souls of Black Folks (1903). Charismatic and eloquent, black preachers exercised their influence in both the sacred and secular spheres, shaping domestic arrangements as well as spiritual matters. Charged with managing ritualized ceremonies such as baptisms, weddings, and funerals, preachers relied on oral traditions, blending together local religious practices with African beliefs in a uniquely African American style. The result might be seen as a syncretic faith that remained outwardly Christian, even as it developed a robust performance style of its own.
Heading an institution that had no serious official rivals within African American communities (there were, to be sure, surreptitious practices such as hoodoo and conjuring), preachers played a key role in setting social and political agendas. The church became, as Du Bois put it, “the center of amusements, of what little spontaneous economic activity remained, of education and of all social intercourse.” Often released from hard labor, preachers were able to devote their energies to activities that could quickly arouse suspicion unless managed in a spirit of accommodation with slavery. Still, from the antebellum era on into the present, preachers have played a central leadership role in African American communities, serving as agents of political and social change both during and after slavery. They played a vital role in creating the space for an expressive culture, ephemeral to be sure, but captured in part through spirituals, sermons, institutional practices and traditions, and even tales handed down across generations about their own ways.
One expert has described the unique performative style of black preachers as characterized by the use of “vivid imageries and innovative metaphors, storytelling, signifying, humor, and a kinetic style referred to as ‘stylin’ out,’ which involves innovative vocal techniques such as moaning, shouting, and uses of rhythmic repetitions that rouse congregations to ecstatic and frenzied emotional states.” Black preachers were revered for their oratorical skills, verbal wizardry, and aesthetic vitality. They occupied an unparalleled position of power in the community. It is no accident that Martin Luther King Jr., the most acclaimed African American spiritual and political leader, served first as a pastor, at the Dexter Avenue Baptist Church in Montgomery, Alabama. But it could also be said that countless “aesthetic tributaries” flow from the figure of the preacher and include dancers, actors, comedians, storytellers, as well as performers of jazz, blues, hip hop, soul, rhythm and blues, and funk (Rabaka, Greenwood Encyclopedia, II, 1015).
If many preachers were true artists, gifted with verbal and performative skills that stirred emotions and inflamed passions, some were also con artists, opportunistic men less invested in saving souls than in capitalizing on the respect and remuneration bestowed on them by members of their congregations. Or so African American preacher tales imply, with a host of clergymen who are greedy, deceitful, promiscuous, and dishonest. Their pranks range from wolfing down all the food on the table while no one is looking to seducing wives while their husbands are at work in the fields. No form of authority is sacred when it comes to folklore and storytelling.
HOW THE BROTHER WAS CALLED TO PREACH
“Aw, Ah don’t pay all dese ole preachers no rabbit-foot,1” said Ellis Jones. “Some of ’em is all right but everybody dats up in de pulpit whoopin’ and hollerin’ ain’t called to preach.”
“They ain’t no different from nobody else,” added B. Moseley. “They mouth is cut cross ways, ain’t it? Well, long as you don’t see no man wid they mouth cut up and down, you know they’ll all lie2 jus’ like de rest of us.”
“Yeah; and hard work in de hot sun done called many a man to preach,” said a woman called Gold, for no evident reason. “Ah heard about one man out clearin’ off some new ground. De sun was so hot till a grindstone melted and run off in de shade to cool off. De man was so tired till he went and sit down on a log. ‘Work, work, work! Everywhere Ah go de boss say hurry, de cap’ say run. Ah got a durn good notion not to do nary one. Wisht Ah was one of dese preachers wid a whole lot of folks makin’ my support for me.’ He looked back over his shoulder and seen a narrer li’l strip of shade along side of de log, so he got over dere and laid down right close up to de log in de shade and said, ‘Now, Lawd, if you don’t pick me up and chink me on de other side of dis log, Ah know you done called me to preach.’
“You know God never picked ’im up, so he went off and tol’ everybody dat he was called to preach.”
“There’s many a one been called just lak dat,”3 Ellis corroborated. “Ah knowed a man dat was called by a mule.”4
“A mule, Ellis? All dem b’lieve dat, stand on they head,” said Little Ida.
“Yeah, a mule did call a man to preach. Ah’ll show you how it was done, if you’ll stand a straightenin’.”
“Now, Ellis, don’t mislay de truth. Sense us into dis mule-callin’ business.”
Ellis: These was two brothers and one of ’em was a big preacher and had good collections every Sunday. He didn’t pastor nothin’ but big charges. De other brother decided he wanted to preach so he went way down in de swamp behind a big plantation to de place they call de prayin’ gr
ound, and got down on his knees.
“O Lawd, Ah wants to preach. Ah feel lak Ah got a message. If you done called me to preach, gimme a sign.”
Just ’bout dat time he heard a voice, “Wanh, uh wanh! Go preach, go preach, go preach!”
He went and tol’ everybody, but look lak he never could git no big charge. All he ever got called was on some saw-mill, half-pint church or some turpentine still. He knocked around lak dat for ten years and then he seen his brother. De big preacher says, “Brother, you don’t look like you gittin’ holt of much.”
“You tellin’ dat right, brother. Groceries is scarce. Ah ain’t dirtied a plate today.”
“Whut’s de matter? Don’t you git no support from your church?”
“Yeah, Ah gits it such as it is, but Ah ain’t never pastored no big church. Ah don’t git called to nothin’ but saw-mill camps and turpentine stills.”
De big preacher reared back and thought a while, then he ast de other one, “Is you sure you was called to preach? Maybe you ain’t cut out for no preacher.”
“Oh, yeah,” he told him. “Ah know Ah been called to de ministry. A voice spoke and tol’ me so.”
“Well, seem lak if God called you He is mighty slow in puttin’ yo’ foot on de ladder. If Ah was you Ah’d go back and ast ’im agin.”
So de po’ man went on back to de prayin’ ground agin and got down on his knees. But there wasn’t no big woods like it used to be. It had been all cleared off. He prayed and said, “Oh, Lawd, right here on dis spot ten years ago Ah ast you if Ah was called to preach and a voice tole me to go preach. Since dat time Ah been strugglin’ in Yo’ moral vineyard, but Ah ain’t gathered no grapes. Now, if you really called me to preach Christ and Him crucified, please gimme another sign.”
Sho nuff, jus’ as soon as he said dat, de voice said, “Wanh-uh! Go preach! Go preach! Go preach!”
De man jumped up and says, “Ah knowed Ah been called. Dat’s de same voice. Dis time Ah’m goin ter ast Him where must Ah go preach.”
By dat time de voice come agin and he looked ’way off and seen a mule in de plantation lot wid his head all stuck out to bray agin, and he said, “Unh hunh, youse de very son of a gun dat called me to preach befo’.”
The Annotated African American Folktales Page 57
