Jim fought old Master all the way down the line until one day old Master called him again and said, “I’m not goin’ to ask you to go to war any more, Jim, but I got a little ‘police action’ I’d like you to go and see about.” Yes, Jim tried one more time and when he got back he went straight on up to the Supreme Court in order to get his children in the schools. Old Master got mad as the devil and said “I’ll fight you with my last breath, blood will run in the streets and I’ll spend my remainin’ days seein’ that your children don’t get into the schools!”
Then, Marge, I looked full at Mrs. B. and said, “That is all to the story but the object of this tale is simply this: I know who makes trouble for me!”
… Yes, she said something after that. I’ll bet you can’t guess what it was. She said, “Yes, it sure is a nice sunshiny day, and I hope it doesn’t rain.”
ABOUT THOSE COLORED MOVIES
You KNOW ONE THING. Marge, I get really salty sometimes when I listen to some of my people yammerin’ away ’bout, “What’s wrong with the Negro?”, “The trouble with us is we don’t do this or that,” or, “Oh, Lord, when will we learn?” … and a whole gang of other remarks like that!
Honestly, Marge, it just bugs me to death! Now it is very true that everyone can stand some correction sometimes, but it gets awful wearisome when it begins to look like we’re to blame for everything that happens to us.
For an example, I go to see a lot of movies about colored people, in fact almost all that they put out. I also have seen quite a few of them where they show colored maids and handymen and such. I’m beginnin’ to get a little warm under the collar ’bout what they say!
How ’bout them pictures where people are always passin’ for white? You know, they are always about some colored person bringin’ misery down on themselves by passin’ for white. Only the person actin’ out the part is always white! The one who is tryin’ to pass, and I say tryin’ ’cause look like they never get away with it in spite of us knowin’ that a heap of folks do, well, that person is supposed to make everybody break down and have a good cry ’cause they look white but ain’t! I guess the folk who make the movies think that Jim Crow is all right for darker people but is awful unjust if it happens to somebody who is light-complected. It strikes me as awful strange how they wrap everything up so neat and tidy at the end…. Well, white people will come to the rescue and point out to the “passer” that it is more honorable to be what you are and improve yourself in spite of the fact. Everyone feels real happy in the end ’cause the whites can go away feelin’ no fear of bein’ married to, bein’ the son of, the mother of, or the wife, sister, aunt or cousin of a Negro who lacked the honor to inform them of his race. Girl, you know that we know better than that!
Well, the whole situation is sorry enough without them askin’ us to believe that them white actors are passin’ when we know that they don’t need to be passin’ for white if they are white!
I remember seein’ another picture that had a colored soldier in it…. Oh, no, Marge, he wasn’t passin’ for white, but he was real touchous ’bout bein’ colored. He got so that he would have spells and things and finally it bugged him so much that he couldn’t walk ’til a nice white doctor called him a nasty name, then he got up and walked! … No, Marge, he didn’t pop him in the mouth, he just walked. That’s psychology.
… Yes, I saw that picture ’bout Africa. Wasn’t that the one that showed how good white folk can’t help no colored folk ’cause they will kill good white people instead of thankin’ them? … Yes, and didn’t it also show how we just won’t do right, and it ended up with a nice white man givin’ another one some money to help little African boys? … Sure, Canada Lee was in that…. Yes, he’s dead now. He sure was a good actor, but what I liked best was the time I saw him on the stage in a play that was about Haiti…. Yes, that was a show where colored folk was doin’ right.
No, those kinda movies don’t make me as mad as some ’cause at least you do get a chance to see colored playin’ all the way through a picture instead of comin’ and goin’ so quick ’til you could hardly tell they was in it at all. Sometimes when I think on all those little-bitsy parts, it’s more than I can understand how they all are so much alike and keep sayin’ the same words all the time.
As soon as I see a colored maid that’s workin’ for somebody, I know that she will have a coniption-fit ’cause the lady she works for won’t eat her dinner and before long the maid will say, “You eatin’ just like a bird!” Or, “Somethin’s worryin’ you, chile, and I won’t rest ’til I find out what it is!” I know that maids don’t be carryin’ on like that over the people they work for, at least none of ’em that I’ve ever met!
I will also bet that we’d never be able to figure out how much brass railin’ we have polished up in movin’ pictures and how many dishes we’ve washed and all such as that. Yes, pictures and plays will pretty much show the same kind of thing. It seems that the maid can never be married, or if she is, her husband always has to be no good, but contrary to real life, she likes him ’cause he’s that way and will say somethin’ like, “I don’t know why I likes that man. I guess it’s ’cause he keeps me laughin’ all the time! He won’t come home, and I hate to tell it, but I don’t think he’s none too crazy ’bout workin’, but Lord! when that man hears music, he just can’ keep still, he ain’t much good, but I guess he’s all I got, and no matter how he does, I just can’ do without him!” Ain’t that disgustin’?
What gets me is how the audience seems to go for that stuff and will be blowin’ their noses and wipin’ their eyes ’cause they’re so touched…. Yes, anybody that believes all that mess is touched, all right, touched in the head!
… No, Marge, they’re not pinnin’ as many bandana handkerchiefs on our heads these days, but they get the same result in other ways. Sometimes they will dress up the maid in a frumpy, old black dress and a black straw hat sittin’ up on top of her head, and she will walk right nice and dignified-like, but when you boil everything down to the nitty-gritty she’ll be talkin’ the same old line!
Yes, I bet a whole lot of folks is real disappointed ’cause the maids they hire ain’t like that at all! If the truth was to be known, they’d be searchin’ a devilish long time before they found one, too!
Why, it gets so that every time I see colored comin’ on in a picture, I kind of hold my breath ’cause I don’t know if I can stand how they gonna have him actin’! Ain’t that a shame? Who writes all that mess anyway? … I know it can’t be the actors ’cause they sure would like to look better than that! It’s a sin and shame the way they show colored people!
… No, I don’t mean just us either! I can’t see why a white man always got to play the part of a American Indian. I’m that tired of lookin’ at blue-eyed Indian chiefs! Seems awful mean that they can’t have a Indian play the Indian sometimes. And you never get to see no Chinese unless they’re comical or lurkin’ ’round in the shadows, waitin’ to jump somebody or somethin’ like that.
… How ’bout that! Sure, they show these pictures and plays all over the world! Marge, can you imagine some of these things bein’ shown in countries where they have never had the chance to meet any colored? I bet they think that we act just the way the pictures and the plays show! … That’s ’right and if they ever meet me, they gonna get on the wrong side of my list almost as soon as they open their mouth!
They’re gonna come walkin’ up to me expectin’ me to laugh and grin, sing ’em a song, do a little jig for ’em, act simple and foolish, be lovable and childish, be bowin’ and scrapin’ and keep ’em laughin’ at every word I say. I can tell you now that if that was to happen, I would most likely forget that they got them notions from some play or book, I would be too mad to be calm and cool and explain to them just what kind of person I am! I would probably cuss ’em out before I could do anything else. “What’s the matter with you?” I would say. “Don’t come walkin’ up to me and actin’ like I’m some puppy-dog or pet bird
or somethin’! Are you out of your mind?” And then they would back up from me and say to their friends, “They’re not like we thought they was at all. Here we was thinkin’ that they laugh and play all the time and the truth is, they are mean!”
Yes, that would be a shame, Marge. But it’s not my fault that they got all the wrong notions ’bout me, and before I could feel sorry for what they don’t know, we would have had a big fuss and busted up friendship before we even got to be friends!
… Yes, that’s true, too! We have seen some nice plays in the churches and halls here in Harlem. But hardly anybody ever gets to see ’em but us!
… Oh, girl, stop talkin’ ’bout the Federal Theatre or people will find out our right age! … Sure, I recall some of the plays they did. Remember one called “Turpentine”? … That’s right they did have one called “Noah” and another named “Sweet Land” and how ’bout when they did “Macbeth”! … You sure are good at rememberin’ names. Yes, there was Lionel Monagus, Mercedes Gilbert, Georgette Harvey, Thomas Mosely, Frank Wilson, Bebe Townsend, Hayes Pryor, A. B. DeComathier, Laura Bowman, Alberta Perkins and Jacqueline Andre…. Oh, no, Marge, all of them wasn’t on the Federal Theatre. You must have seen some of ’em someplace else! … Do you remember Monty Hawley? … Yes, a lot of ’em were great actors…. When I get to thinkin’ ’bout how some folks never got to see them at all, it just tears me up. Didn’t they miss somethin’!
Marge, a number of those actors are dead now…. I only wish that all the oldtimers that are livin’ and these new actors that are comin’ up now will make some pictures and plays sometimes that we could be real proud about…. Yes, I know that they don’t pick out the stories, but, after all, somebody does.
WHY SHOULD I GET UPSET?
WELL, IT SURE IS NICE to know that you had a real good time, and I must say that I would have had a much better time if I’d gone to the picture show with you instead of over to Brooklyn…. Oh, no, the people were real nice, and we had a pleasant evenin’ playin’ cards and talkin’ … I mean, if I had gone with you, I wouldn’t have got in this big old fuss with Berniece as we was comin’ home!
You know how touchous Berniece can be! Well, just the same I’d rather not be arguin’ with her ’cause she is a very nice friend in lots of ways. She was real helpful when my sister was sick and if the least thing goes wrong, you can count on her to come runnin’ and do whatever she can. But Berniece can act so grand and is so filled up with herself sometimes ’til she grates on my very nerves!
There we was ridin’ along on the subway when in walks this drunken man. He was a Negro. This drunk has a wine bottle stickin’ out of his back pocket and his clothes looked like he had spent the day rollin’ around on the ground. The first thing he does is take the bottle out of his pocket and wave it around to everybody and then start takin’ swigs off of it.
In the next few seconds he begun to grin at all the white folks and start dancin’ a little jig. Oh, he was disgustin’ all right!
Guess what that Berniece did! … She turns to me and says real loud, “Mildred, let’s move to another car, I find this too humiliatin’!” I says to her, “He’s not gonna bother us!” And she says, “I’m not afraid of that, but I do hate these people who act up like this, it’s a reflection on all of us. I want to show the people in this car that we do not approve of his actions!” “Oh, you do!” I says, “I don’t know what in the hamfat should make them think that we approve, and I don’t notice any of them runnin’ to different cars! And in fact,” I says, “when we went over to Brooklyn, there was a white drunk fallin’ all over his seat and I never noticed you jumpin’ up to change cars!”
“You don’t seem to understand,” she says, “this is one of the reasons why we can’t get any further than we do! Who would want somebody like that ridin’ the trains with them or eatin’ in the same restaurants? We’ll never get our rights until we improve ourselves more! Someone like that holds us back fifty years! When we prove ourselves …”
You know, I wasn’t thinkin’ ’bout lettin’ her run on with that foolishness! “Honey,” I says, “this man ain’t no reflection on me whatsoever. You’re talkin’ like a first-rate fool! Where did you get all that crazy talk ’bout provin’ yourself? Why, if only the races that had no drunks in them was allowed to have rights, why, nobody in the country could vote, that’s a fact! And if we had to wait ’til all the colored folks was perfect in order to be treated as citizens should be treated, we wouldn’t make it. No, we’d never make it ’cause that perfection stuff falls just outside of human nature!”
She was goin’ to argue me down anyhow: “Well, it makes me ashamed to see something like that happenin’ when we’re tryin’ to get someplace!” “And that’s just too bad!” I says, “I don’t see why you have to fall for that old line ’bout provin’ yourself. When you open the newspaper, you see all sorts of crimes and stuff that white people have done and they ain’t thinkin’ of givin’ up their rights because of it. I hope you don’t believe that all these jails are built special for us!” “No,” she says, “but we have to prove …” I stopped her before she could say another word. “If you say ‘prove’ one more time, you’ll force me to lose my temper. If everybody is so eager and all-fired anxious for us to prove ourselves, why would they fight us so when we try to get in the schools and libraries?”
Marge, she set her mouth all prim-like and got a look in her eyes that meant, “I’m not gonna say another word to you.” So I went on talkin’. “Are we citizens?” I asked her. She goes right on lookin’ at me like the subject is closed. “Are we citizens?” This time I said it so loud ’til she says, “Yes! Shhhhh, everybody is watchin’ you.” “Well,” I says, “in that case, we’re entitled to all our rights.”
By this time the drunk had flopped down in a seat and was hummin’ a tune to himself. No, we didn’t move ’cause I wasn’t thinkin’ ’bout takin’ the burden of some poor soul’s weakness on my shoulders!
INHIBITIONS
MARGE, AIN’T THERE A LOT of talk goin’ on about inhibitions? The woman I worked for today says she does not want her son to be inhibited…. This means that he can climb up the drapes, smash up the dishes, be rude to tradespeople, sass his parents, eat what he wants and in general act like the cock o’ the walk. When he starts in to cryin’, he can write his own ticket and get the moon with star-sauce on it…. You’re right, girl, he can also get in my hair and on my blasted nerves…. As far as his parents are concerned they think the whole business is “cute.” I’m tellin’ you, one of these days he’s gonna marry some woman and make her miserable!
Well, the point I want to make is this: I usually just gear myself to ignorin’ whatever goes on in order to get my work done, so I’ve gotten used to him rulin’ the house. Today was rush day for me, and I was in a hurry and tryin’ to get finished so I could make it on home. He come runnin’ in the kitchen and wanted to stick his fingers in the chopped meat patties, and when I wouldn’t let him, he started screamin’ bloody murder. His mother came rushin’ in to find out what happened, and I told her, “I won’t let him play in the hamburger.” She kept explainin’ to him, “Mildred loves you! Mildred loves you! But she’s busy.” He kept kickin’ up his heels and screamin’, “She does not! She does not!”
At this point his mother turned to me and said, “Tell him, Mildred, tell him you love him and explain why he can’t play in the hamburger.” Then I says to him, “Because I said not, that’s why!” Well, his mama was some shocked and after she was finished givin’ her son cookies, candies, kisses, and also let him go out to play, she asked if she could have a few words with me. The few words were: “Mildred, you can’t deal with children abruptly, you always have to let them know the reason why things take place or else they will feel unwanted and inhibited.”
“And that’s bad?” I asked her. “Definitely!” she said. “Well,” I says, “don’t you think that should hold true for everybody? Why should I be inhibited? I can’t tell that child why h
e can’t do things and make any sense out of the tellin’ ’cause I’m in such a inhibited state myself. I got to walk around here bein’ considerate of you, and the only way I could explain to him why he shouldn’t do things would throw you smack-dab in the middle of the explanation.” Then she says, “I don’t see how that can be.”
So I told her, “You have spoiled that boy so rotten ’til you’ve made it impossible for anybody to have any dealin’s with him at all. If I was to tell him why he couldn’t play in the dinner, I would have to talk about you some. If I did that, it would put you and me in a awful strain, so I just go along and tell him don’t do it ’cause I said so.”
“Well,” she says, “I’d rather you speak up and tell me just what’s on your mind.” “Since that’s what you’d rather,” I said, “here it is: the reason he can’t do any and everything that strikes him is ’cause somebody has given him some wrong ideas about his rights! In spite of what you tell him, it is not his right to walk over everybody, to be rude and sassy, to hold me up from doin’ my work, to make everybody sick ’cause he feels like playin’ in their food. No, it is not his right to do these things or to get rewarded for not ruinin’ the supper. He needs to be told that there are things that everybody ought to do whether they feel like it or not, and the sooner they get used to the idea, the better they will get along in the world.”
Oh, Marge, she started a whole lot of goin’ on ’bout how I don’t understand the modern methods of teachin’ children and by the time she said “you don’t know” and “you don’t understand” about fifty-’leven times, she began to make me mad! “Look here,” I says, “I know that half the time you’re givin’ in to that boy because you don’t want to be bothered with him!”
Marge, she looked so dumbstruck that I thought she’d faint. “Mildred!” she says, “Are you tryin’ to tell me that I don’t love my son?” “No, I’m not tryin’ to tell you anything,” I says. “I’m tellin’ you that you get sick of him a whole lot of times and then he does somethin’ naughty to make you give him things and try to prove that you love him! That’s why you come in here hollerin’, ‘Mildred loves you! Mildred loves you!’” “Well, I never!” she says, and I went right on talkin’, “You never! That’s right, you never take time out to talk to him like he’s a person. You never feel like lookin’ at his drawin’s and talkin’ about his games and things. You never tell him what’s on your mind, but you will always be on hand just in time to shove a piece of candy in his mouth and start talkin’ about love!”
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