A Treasury of African American Christmas Stories

by Bettye Collier-Thomas

  The story is a mixture of allegory and fantasy that briefly describes the journey of “Mr. Dollar Bill.” Written at the beginning of the twentieth century, following the Civil War, the end of Reconstruction, and the historic Plessy v. Ferguson Supreme Court decision, which sanctioned segregation, the story proposes a journey akin to the American slave experience, from the feelings of race memory, terror, landlessness, and claustrophobia during the Middle Passage to the severance of relations and relationships with the “ding, click” of the slave trade.

  Utilizing Christmas as a vehicle and the dollar bill as a metaphor for the slave, Plummer examines the African American experience. The dollar bill, like the slave, was a commodity that was constantly being traded, thus each goes through a succession of owners and has a myriad of experiences. She explores the elements of bondage, status, self-definition, self-assertion, hope, and survival through “Mr. Dollar Bill,” as he tells his story to a street-smart, homeless urchin named Jackie, who has become the bill’s most recent owner on a cold wintry Christmas Eve. As a benevolent owner, Jackie wants to keep his valuable possession, but circumstances dictate that this is impossible, and he intends to treat himself to “pleasures” on Christmas Day. This valuable property must be passed on to a new owner in order for Jackie to improve his wretched condition.

  Perhaps Plummer read and used as a model The Interesting Narrative of the Life of Olaudah Equiano, or Gustavus Vassa, the African. In his revealing account of enslavement, Vassa tells of his African heritage, being kidnapped, being sold to slave traders, his experience in the Middle Passage, life on the American plantation, and his acculturation in America. Plummer’s use of “Mr. Dollar Bill,” in the role of a griot, suggests how the oral tradition functioned to acculturate Africans to American slavery and to preserve African heritage among the enslaved. “Mr. Dollar Bill” tells of the experience of being surrounded by “heaps of others just like me”; being placed in a “great big, hollow, cold place”; being “snatched” and “plunged into darkness”; and of conversing with elders who told him of their varied experiences in a bewildering world of uncertainty and confinement. And, like Vassa, “Mr. Dollar Bill” had found his English sea captain in the likes of Jackie.

  The Autobiography of a Dollar Bill

  It was Christmas Eve. The earth was covered with a white fluffy mantle. The snow gleamed brightly on the branches of the frozen trees, where a few brown little sparrows chirped cheerfully. The houses were covered with snow, and every few minutes might be heard the merry ringing of sleigh bells.

  “Hullo” said ragged Jackie. “This is the kind of a Christmas for me; none o’ yur mild dripping Christmases is this, but a good old-timer.” The shivering little urchin addressed replied, that “As for them that has fires, a snowy Christmas [is] all right,” but he was cold. “Anyway,” he concluded, “it ain’t Christmas, it’s only Christmas Eve, and I want to know what you’re going to do when Christmas really comes?”

  “Well,” said Jackie, “just now I’m goin’ to sell my papers and earn some stray cash; then I’m goin’ to that little corner of the bridge and cuddle down, and to-morrer, I’ll treat myself with my cash.” So away he trudged, crying “Paper here, sir, DAILY NEWS, and special Christmas numbers!” But few seemed to hear the little one, so intent were all upon their Christmas shopping. But suddenly in crossing the street, Jackie lost his footing and nearly fell under the heels of a dashing pair of horses, which were drawing an elegant equipage up the street. The coachman sprang down and kindly raised the little arab in his arms. “Why youngster, you want to be careful! Are you hurt?” Then the carriage door opened and a kind face looked out upon little Jackie, who was endeavoring to wrest himself from the coachman’s arms.

  “Are you hurt, little fellow?” a sweet voice asked. “No um” responded the blushing Jackie. Then seeing his rags, a kind hand drew forth some money from a bag and slipped it into the newsboy’s hand. The coachman took his seat, and in a moment the carriage had passed on.

  Jackie gazed upon the money in his dirty little hand, scarcely able to believe his own eyes. Yes, in that brown little palm lay a clear, crisp one dollar bill. Jackie hugged himself with delight, and clasping his dollar closely, danced off to resume his efforts to sell his papers. But people did not bother with Jackie any more that day, and when night came he had not sold one paper. Nevertheless his heart felt very light and he was happy. Many, many times during the day he had stolen a glance at the crisp little bill; and now when the bright and beautiful lights began to appear in the city street, he rushed off to his little niche in the bridge where he was pleased to curl himself up for the night. “This here’s better’n them old homes where you’r all tucked and cuddled like a girl” he used to say to his young companions. There he cuddled down, still hugging closely his precious dollar bill and thinking of the pleasures it would bring him Christmas day. Suddenly, to his surprise, he heard a squeaking little voice call “Jackie, say Jackie!” Jackie rubbed his eyes and looked around. He saw no one. Suddenly it came again, and this time Jackie did not look for it, but said, “All right, here I am; what do you want anyway?”

  “See here, Jackie,” the voice continued, “I’m Mr. Dollar Bill and I want to tell you all about me. But hug me up nice and tight, for night is cold.” Jackie tightened his clutch upon the precious bill. “Now, I first sprang into this world of wonderful things in a place where I saw heaps of others just like me. Oh my, there were so many of them that my eyes just ached! And there were round little men who were very bright looking but kept very humble before me, for they seemed to know that they were not half so good or valuable as I.

  “Then there were some little silvery things, which we called, ‘little dimes,’ and I believe there were more of them than any of us could ever imagine. Well, I stayed in this a good while, until I got really tired; at last somebody far larger and better clothed than you, Jackie, took me and put me in a great big, hollow, cold place. If I had been alone I would not have liked it at all, but there were lots of others just like me, only none of the shining things were there. I asked some of the more important men what it meant and they said ‘Little ones were to be seen and not heard’ and that I must live and learn. But I was not there long, for a great broad hand came and hauled me out. I felt myself being whirled through the air for a few moments, and then I was suddenly plunged into utter darkness. Ah Jackie! That was a black moment for me. I could not tell where I was. For a long while I felt as if I were moving. Then suddenly, I was whisked out again and put into a little, wee box and felt myself scudding along at a terrific rate. I wondered where I was going. I was snatched from there just as suddenly, but before I was again plunged into darkness, I caught a gleam of bright and pretty things and a great moving mass of people. Jackie, where was I?”

  “Oh I guess somebody went to do some Christmas shopping as they call it, with you and took you into one of those beautiful stores.”

  “Very good” replied the bill complacently. “You’re not a bad little chap for your age, Jackie, not at all. Well, to proceed with my tale, I met there an old friend, Jackie. Yes, my boy, and old friend, for I myself have had so many travels that I am beginning to feel old, though I look so bright and new. The last time I had seen him was when we lay in a great box together. He recognized me instantly and I began to talk to him. ‘Hullo, old fellow?’ I said, ‘Here we are again. Now where have you been?’ Then I noticed that beside him lay a very old and tattered gentleman, at whom I was inclined to turn up my nose, but bless me, Jackie, my friend seemed more inclined to notice the old one than he did me, the bright, the new and pretty. Just then came a ring and a click and my friend was gone.

  “Then the old tattered fellow looked at me seriously and soberly for a few minutes, and began, ‘An old fellow like myself, youngster, is really more valuable than a young one, like you. Oh! young ignorance, if you only knew the many and varied tales I could tell! Ha ha! Youngster, you look as if you thought you knew something.’ Then I [blushed]
and looked down, for do you know, Jackie, I didn’t just like the way the fellow was talking. But he kept on. ‘Why, green one, I have travelled across rough waters, over green fields. I have been in the homes of the rich, where there were many, many more like myself, and I have been in the homes of the poor, where there were none like myself. Little one, I have been where all was innocence and purity, and likewise where all was crime. Yes I have been snatched from wallets by crime-stained hands and been in the pockets of noted criminals. What phase of life have I not seen? I have been the poor man’s joy, the miser’s hoard, and until I fall in pieces, I shall continue to travel these rounds.’ Ding, click! My acquaintance was gone.

  “There were lots of other bills there, who, I do not doubt, were worthy of my notice, but really, Jackie, that last wonderful fellow had scarcely gone, when rude hands snatched me, sped me through space, and once more consigned me to gloom. But I did not mind the darkness so much this time, for I reflected upon the old one’s story and hoped that I might live to be the ragged, worn old fellow he was. You see so much more of life, Jackie. While I studied and thought, I could hear sweet voices speaking and suddenly a kindlier and gentler hand gave me into your keeping. Some way or other I took a fancy to you directly. You seemed to treat a fellow as if he had some feeling and you had some consideration for it. I really like you, Jackie, and when Christmas morning comes and I am leaving you, for I suppose I must, do not grieve for I shall always be on the watch for you again.”

  “Oh no, you shall never go,” cried Jackie with energy. He gave a start and sprang to his feet. It was early, early in the blessed Christmas morning and already the bells were chiming the birth of the Babe at Bethlehem. How they rang in Jackie’s ears and heart.

  “What! Have I been dreaming all this? Not a bit of it! I heard that dollar just as plain as I hear these bells and I know that even if I part with my dear old bill, he’ll be on the lookout for me and someday I’ll have him again.”

  MIRAMA’S CHRISTMAS TEST

  Timothy Thomas Fortune

  Journalist, writer, and civil rights leader, T. Thomas Fortune was born to enslaved parents in Marianna, Florida, on October 3, 1856. After the Civil War, he briefly attended schools sponsored by the Freedmen’s Bureau. In 1876, he attended Howard University, in Washington, DC, but did not graduate. While in Washington, Fortune worked for the People’s Advocate, a black newspaper. He married Carrie C. Smiley, and they had five children, two of whom reached adulthood. In 1879, Fortune moved to New York, where he worked as a printer. Around 1880, he became part owner of a weekly tabloid, the Rumor, which in 1881 became the Globe, with Fortune as its editor. Following the failure of the Globe, he began publishing the New York Freeman, which in 1887 became the New York Age. For many years, the Age had a reputation as the leading black newspaper in America, primarily because of Fortune’s editorials, which condemned racial discrimination and demanded full equality for black citizens. Fortune’s militancy drew extensive criticism from the white press.

  In spite of its successful outreach and reputation, the Age was not a financial success. Fortune supplemented his income by writing for other publications. In the 1890s, he wrote for the New York Sun and Boston Transcript, and he sold his freelance writing to a number of other newspapers. Fortune also published the book Black and White: Land and Politics in the South (1884), as well as articles and short stories that appeared in the Age and other black newspapers.

  In 1896, the Indianapolis Freeman published “Mirama’s Christmas Test,” a story that reflects the concerns of educated black women who wished to marry men of equal stature. It is set in Jason, Florida, on Christmas Eve around 1895 in the home of Mirama Young, an upper-class, educated black schoolteacher. Mirama is the daughter and only child of a prosperous builder and contractor, who had been allowed to hire out his time before the Civil War. Like Frederick Douglass and a small number of “trusted” slaves, Mirama’s father had enjoyed a status between that of a slave and a free person. As a trusted slave, he moved freely, “acting as a free person,” contracting his time and giving his master an agreed upon percentage of his earnings. This experience provided him the background and knowledge necessary to establish his own business after the war.

  Mirama is engaged to Alexander Simpson, a mathematician and “somewhat of an architect,” who is the principal at the school where Mirama teaches. Simpson’s father shared the views of many former slaves, including Booker T. Washington, who believed that one should acquire all the education he or she could, but that one should also have a practical skill. The owner of a successful carpentry business, Simpson taught his son the carpenter’s trade. His wish was that Alexander would acquire a college education and become a master carpenter and builder. His death before Alexander finished his college course, and the satisfaction of his business debts, left the family with minimal funds. Alexander could have saved the business and property, but he thought that, as an educated man, carpentry was beneath him. Essentially this was the issue that divided Mirama and Alexander and threatened to break up their engagement.

  This story echoes a theme that becomes a much-debated issue in the African American community, and one that Carter G. Woodson immortalized in The Miseducation of the Negro (1933). Woodson argued that college-educated blacks had become immersed in a superficial reality, embracing empty values, and that instead of becoming educated, they were miseducated. Many college-educated blacks chose jobs in the professions, whether they were suited for them or not, because this gave them status and freed them from working with their hands. It did not matter that these jobs paid less and that they may not have offered opportunity for advancement. It is through the characters of Mirama Young and Alexander Simpson that Fortune conveys his concern about blacks who reflected these beliefs.

  Fortune presents the reader with a positive model of an African American woman who has a well-defined race and gender consciousness. He characterizes Mirama as an intelligent, outspoken, independent female, “intensely devoted to her race and its best interests,” who is not willing to settle for a man who does not share her values. This indicates that there was a cadre of educated black women who held high expectations for themselves and their race and who were not willing to compromise and accept men who did not meet their standards.

  At the same time, Fortune reinforces the idea of love between black women and black men, who are striving to better themselves and their race.

  Mirama’s Christmas Test

  It was Christmas Eve, and there was but little frost in the air, but it was frosty enough to make people move along briskly, as they stirred about Jason, in the land of sunshine and flowers, of mocking birds and alligators, getting together “Christmas things” for the little ones, and for the big ones, also; for it is very true, as the poet has said: “We are but children of a larger growth.” Some of the large ones are bigger children than the small ones.

  This is just what Mirama Young thought, as she sat near Alexander Simpson, in the neat parlor of her own home, in the upper part of Jason, and watched the big logs in the fireplace blaze and hiss. Mirama Young was angry.

  These two young people were up-to-date Afro-Americans, with positive views on most subjects and with good sized tempers with which to back them up. They both taught school. Mr. Simpson taught for a living, but had no sort of love for the work. It seemed to him more dignified to teach school than to follow the trade of a carpenter, the mastery of which he had acquired in his youth, and for which he had real aptitude. His supreme ambition was to be a lawyer, with political influence, and all that. He even dreamed that someday he might be commissioned by the President as Minister Resident and Consul General near the court of Faraway, a soft snap much sought after by ambitious men of his race.

  Mirama taught school because she liked it, and because she was intensely devoted to her race and its best interests. She had a good home, and had graduated from a famous seminary at the head of her class. Her father was a builder and contractor, one of the old time
rs who hired his time before the war and had been hiring the time of other people ever since. He was a practical old gentleman, and thought there was nothing too good for Mirama, his only child.

  Mirama was engaged to be married to Alexander Simpson. They had reached an agreement on that point, but there were others necessary to the fulfillment of their mutual pledges upon which they were still as far apart as the North and the South. They were argumentative and dogmatic, were Mirama and Alexander, in their discussions. There was nothing of the spoilt child about Mirama, but for so small a woman, she had enough will force for three women. When she put her small foot down, Alexander Simpson could not make her take it up, although he weighed almost twice as much as she did. This was very painful to Mr. Alexander Simpson, who was entirely devoted to Mirama and twice as sentimental as she, and not half as studious in burning the midnight oil. Indeed, Mr. Alexander Simpson did not possess a literary head, although he thought that he did. Mirama had come out of school at the head of her class. Alexander had come out at the foot of his, and during the year that she had taught under him in the city school she had upheld the discipline and the dignity of the work at the school.

  Mr. Alexander Simpson was a fine mathematician and somewhat of an architect. He had learned the carpenter’s trade in his youth, and his father hoped that with a college education, he would become a master carpenter and builder. His father died just before Alexander finished his college course, and as he had a great many irons in the fire at the time of his death, there wasn’t much left for Alexander and his mother when all the creditors were satisfied.

  Now if Alexander had been a wise young man, he would have taken up his father’s business where his father left off. If he had done so he could have saved much of his father’s business and property. But Alexander Simpson was not going to bother with the carpentering business, not if Alexander knew himself. He did not think it a proper sort of business for a young man with a college education. Any sort of a common man could be a carpenter, he thought, but any sort of a common man could not be a lawyer.