THE ANNALS AND BLUES OF LEFT WING GORDON
Here is a construction camp which employs largely Negro workers. In
four years 8,504 laborers were employed and there was an average labor
turnover of once each month, or forty-eight different sets of men
working on the buildings and road under construction during that time.
This camp employed men from different Southern states in the order
named: North Carolina, South Carolina, Virginia, Tennessee, Georgia,
Florida, Alabama, Texas, Mississippi, Louisiana; while stragglers
represented eleven states outside the South. Why this turnover? Why
do men travel from state to state? Of what sort are they? How many
road camps and construction groups throughout the South duplicate this
record? What are the experience, history, difficulties of the Negro
worker by the roadside? Why does he quit his job? Where will he go for
the next?
The entire story of the casual laborer will, of course, have to be told
elsewhere in thorough studies of migration and case studies of many
individuals. It is a remarkable story, sometimes unbelievable. It is
not the purpose of this chapter to go into the matter of causes, but
to present a picture of the workaday songster as a sort of cumulative
example of the whole story of this volume. It is true that his early
home life, his training, his experience, his relation to the whites,
have all influenced him greatly. It is true also that there is often
slack work, poor conditions of housing and work, little recreation,
small wages, and always a call to some better place. But we are
concerned with these here only as they are a part of the background of
the picture. Here is a type perhaps more representative of the Negro
common man than any other. Now a youngster of eight, father and mother
dead, off to Texas to an uncle, then--“po’ mistreated boy”--he goes to
Louisiana, then to Mississippi, then to Georgia, across South Carolina,
back home to North Carolina, then off to Philadelphia, to Pittsburg,
to Ohio, to Chicago, then back to the East and Harlem and back South
again. He is typical of a part of the Negro movement of the decade. But
there is continuously a stream of moving laborers from country to town,
from town to town, from city to city, from state to state, from South
to North. Here is hardship, but withal adventure, romance, and blind
urge for survival.
As an example of this worker and songster we present John Wesley
Gordon, alias Left Wing[86] Gordon, commonly called “Wing.” He is very
real, and one could scarcely imagine a better summary of the lonesome
road, if made to order. Recent popular volumes portraying the _species
hobo_ show no wanderers arrayed like these black men of the lonesome
road. Walt Whitman’s
Afoot and light-hearted I take to the open road
Healthy and free, the world before me,
The long brown path before me, leading wherever I choose
would seem a gentle taunt to Left Wing Gordon on the red roads of
Georgia or on the Seaboard rods in “sweet ol’ Alabam’.” He had, at the
last writing, given excellent tale of working, loafing, singing his
way through thirty-eight states of the union, with such experience
and adventure as would make a white man an epic hero. “You see, boss,
I started travelin’ when I wus ’leven years ol’ an’ now I’ll be thirty
this comin’ August 26th. I didn’t have no father an’ mother, so I jes’
started somewheres. I’d work fer folks, an’ they wouldn’t treat me
right, so I moved on. An’, Lawd, cap’n, I ain’t stopped yet.” And so
he hadn’t, for when on the morrow we came to put the finishing touches
on his story, a fellow laborer said, “Law’, boss, Wing done gone to
Philadelphia.”
[86] So called because he had lost his right arm.
“Wing,” who started from St. Joseph in Missouri, lost his arm at
eighteen years of age. He gives the following concrete data about some
of the places where he has worked and loafed. What story might have
been written if we had taken the states alphabetically, asking him for
full details, with plenty of time, one can only imagine. Here is the
order in which he volunteered information about the different states,
in the geography of which he appears to be something of a scholar. The
phraseology belongs to Wing and the inconsistencies remain as in his
Iliad.
_Louisiana._ Worked on boat some an’ saw-mill some.
_Florida._ Worked on hard roads.
_Alabama._ Worked in steel plants six miles from Birmingham.
_Texas._ Didn’t do nothin’ in Texas, had a little money to spend.
_Arkansas._ Worked at H---- Hotel at New Port, fellow runnin’ name
Jack N----.
_Missouri._ Worked on boat.
_Illinois._ Sold papers in Chicago, started mowin’ lawns,
white-washin’ fences, brushin’ furniture, an’ worked in packin’
house.
_Wyoming._ Had a little money in Cheyenne an’ didn’t have nothin’ to
do.
_Nebraska._ At Omaha worked at packin’ house.
_Iowa._ Worked in mines and on railroad.
_Canada._ Worked at government camp ’cross from Detroit, an’ broom
factory at Montreal.
_Michigan._ Worked at Ford factory at district on P. & M. railroad
out north of Detroit.
_Kansas._ In harvest fields ’bout 37 miles from Leavenworth--Naw sir,
never been in Leavenworth prisons.
_North Carolina._ On a job.
_Arizona._ Didn’t do nothin’ much.
_South Carolina._ On hard roads an’ Southern Power Company.
_Georgia._ Comin’ in a hurry, never fooled ’round there much. Did
work in saw mill eight miles out from Waycross two weeks.
_Tennessee._ Out at Knoxville and Maysville at maloominum plant.
_Mississippi._ In boats at Vicksburg and Natchez.
_Virginia._ Worked most everywhere--Richmond at Broad Meadows, 1227
Brook Avenue.
_New York._ Out at Bessemer plants stirrin’ pots.
_Washington._ At Alexandria, Virginia side.
_Ohio._ Worked for Mayor of Bridgeport, named C. J--.
_West Virginia._ At coal mines.
_Pennsylvania._ Worked in Pittsburg steel mills eight miles from
Pittsburg.
_Maryland._ I’s in Baltimore, had boat carry us out an’ bring us
back, Double A flashlight factory at 47 cents a hour.
_New Jersey._ Cross from New York, four miles from Nooark, work on
Hansack River.
_Wisconsin._ Used to work out o’ Milwaukee, butler on C. B. & Q.
road; eight miles out but we stayed in Milwaukee.
_Connecticut._ Used to ketch boat an’ go over to New Haven, Hartford,
Thomasville, eight miles out from Springfiel’, Massachusetts.
_Massachusetts._ Springfiel’ and Boston, too. Didn’t work none in
Boston but had sister there.
_Rhode Island._ Never stopped there but I could walk all over that
little state. Hartford is capital.
_North Dakota._ Wiped up engine on Great Northern, 237 miles from
Minneapolis.
_South Dakota._ Worked out in Aberdeen in wheat fields, harvest for
Al T----, mostly carried water.
_California._ When war was goin’ on, time of government camp at Los
Angeles an’ Sacramento an’ Miles City.
Wing was also a great songster. “When de ‘Wing Blues’ come out, dat’s
me,” he would say. His chief refrain was always
O my babe, you don’t know my min’,
When you see me laughin’,
Laughin’ to keep from cryin’,[87]
of which he had many versions. This chorus was easily adapted to a
hundred songs and varied accordingly. “When you see me laughin’,
I’m laughin’ just to keep from cryin’,” or “I’m tryin’ to keep from
cryin’,” or “When you think I’m laughin’, I’m cryin’ all the time.”
There were his other versions, such as
O my babe, you don’t know my min’,
When you think I’m lovin’ you
I’m leavin’ you behin’,
with its similar variety, such as “I’m leavin’ to worry you off my
min’,” or “When you think I’m leavin’ I’m comin’ right behin’.” Wing
claimed a “Blues” for every state and more; if there was none already
at hand, he would make one of his own. There were the various Southern
blues, the _Boll Weevil Blues_, _Cornfield Blues_, _Gulf Coast Blues_,
_Atlanta Blues_, _Alabama Blues_, _Birmingham Blues_, _Mississippi
Blues_, _Louisiana Low Down_, _Shreveport Blues_, _New Orleans Wiggle_,
_Norfolk Blues_, _Virginia Blues_, _Oklahoma Blues_, _Memphis Blues_,
_Wabash Blues_, _St. Louis Blues_, _Carolina Blues_, _Charleston
Blues_, and many others.
[87] One of the most popular blues today is a piece called _You Don’t
Know My Mind Blues_. We have evidence, however, which tends to show
that numerous vulgar versions of the same title were current among
the Negroes long before the formal song was published.
It must be admitted that Wing’s blues were mixed and of wonderful
proportions. He could sing almost any number of blues, fairly
representative of the published type, with, of course, the typical
additions, variations, and adaptations to time and occasion.
Ohio, Ohio, West Virgini, too,
De blues dis nigger’s had only very few.
What you gonna do?
Lawd, what you gonna do?
When I come from New York,
Walkin’ ’long the way,
People pick me up
Jes’ to get me to pay,
Ain’t my place to live,
Anyway you can’t stay here.
O Illinois Central,
What can you spare?
Fo’ my baby’s in trouble
An’ I ain’t dere.
Hey, Lawdy, Lawdy, I got crazy blues,
Can’t keep from cryin’,
Thinkin’ about that baby o’ mine.
Lawd, I woke up dis mornin’,
Found my baby gone,
Missed her from rollin’
An’ tumblin’ in my arms.
O Lawd, if I feel tomorrow
Lak I feel to-day,
Good God, gonna pack my suitcase,
Lawd, an’ walk away.
I’d rather be in jail,
Standin’ like a log,
Than be here
Treated like a dog.
Creek’s all muddy,
Pond’s gone dry,
I never miss my baby
Till she said goodby.
Well, I went to graveyard
An’ looked in my baby’s face,
Said, “I love you, sweet baby,
Jes’ can’t take yo’ place.”
Whistle blowed on,
Church bell softly toned;
Well, I had good woman
But po’ girl dead an’ gone.
Well, I woke up dis mornin’,
Had blues all ’round my bed;
I believe to my soul
Blues gonna kill me dead.
O baby, you don’t know my min’.
When you think I’m laughin’,
Laughin’ to keep from cryin’,
Laughin’ to keep from cryin’.
Wing called that the _Louisiana Blues_, and certainly for the time
being it was so. And for Georgia, although in his narrative he had
given the Empire State of the South the usual Negro reputation of quick
passage, he sang a mixed blues.
Dear ol’ Georgia, my heart is sinkin’
An’ my way come blinkin’ to you,
If you ever leave Georgia any length o’ time,
Yo’ heart come blinkin’, no other way but you,
Can’t be no other way.[88]
Then for Alabama, Tennessee, Florida, California, Virginia, there were
other fragments, besides numerous formal versions.
Alabama, Tennessee,
I wrote my mother letter.
Don’t write back to me,
Reason I tell you, I got de ’fo’-day blues.
I got de Florida blues,
Hey, mama, hey, baby, I got de crazy blues,
Hey, baby, you don’t know my min’,
When you think I’m leavin’, I’m comin’ all the time.
I ain’t got no money,
No place to stay.
Hey, baby, hey, honey,
I got de Florida blues.
I got Elgin watch
Made on yo’ frame.
Hey, baby, hey, honey,
I got Florida blues.
California ridden,
Don’t think I’m didden,
De reason I’m tellin’ you,
I have no place to stay.
Mother an’ father dead,
Done gone away,
I’m a lonesome boy,
Got nowhere to stay.
Hey, mama, hey, baby,
I got de ’fo’-day blues.
I’m California ridden,
I got de California blues.
California in U. S.,
Dat is where my love lie,
An’ she will treat me best,
You all take Alexander for ol’ plaything,
But Alexander no name for you.
O baby, you don’t know my min’,
When you think I’m lovin’ you, I’m leavin’ you behin’.
[88] This and many other of Wing’s stanzas have no clear meaning as
far as we can tell. Sometimes his songs give the impression that he
has learned the titles of numerous popular blues and has woven as
many of them as possible into each stanza.
Before continuing Left Wing’s story, giving something more of the
scope of his adventures, perhaps the best further introduction will be
the exact record of some of his songs in the order in which he gave
them. Wing had practically no variation in his tunes and technique of
singing. A high-pitched voice, varied with occasional low tones, was
the most important part of his repertoire. But what variation in words
and scenes, phrases and verses, the recording of which would exhaust
the time and endurance of the listener and call for an ever-recording
instrument! For certainly the effort to transcribe everything Wing
gave left the visitor amazingly exhausted, marveling at the jumbled
resourcefulness of the singer, wishing for some new type of photography
which would register the voice, looks, experience, and inimitable
temperament of this itinerant camp follower.
Anna yo’ peaches, but I’s yo’ man.
How I wonder where you goin’ to-day,
That my mother an’ father have nowhere to stay.
Would you take them in, oh, would you take them in?
How I love you, how I love you,
Would you take me in, would you take me in?
Anna yo’ peaches, but I’s yo man,
Would you take me in, would you take me in?
Lawd, I woke up dis mornin’,
Couldn’t keep from cryin’,
Thinkin’ about that
Lovin’ babe o’ mine.
O my babe, you don’t know my min’,
O you don’t know my min’.
When you think I’m laughin’,
I’m cryin’ all de time.
Reason I love you so,
’Cause my heart is true,
Reason I love you so,
I’m goin’ ’way.
I’m goin’ ’way to worry you off my min’.
Reason I think you worry,
I’m ’way all the time,
I got de ’fo’-day blues.
You put yo’ coat on yo’ shoulder,
You want to walk away,
You got yo’ lovin’ baby,
You want a place to stay.
Well, I love you, baby,
God knows I do.
Reason I love you,
Yo’ heart is true.
Reason I love you,
Got de weary blues.
Differing slightly in tone, Wing sets out on a new song only to swing
back again to the same lonesome blues; indeed he makes his technique
and his whines as he goes, the result blending into a remarkable
product.
Eddy Studow been here,
You got de so long well,
’Cause I feel you sinkin’,
Easin’ down to hell,
O sweet baby, you don’t know my min’,
’Cause when you think I’m laughin’, I’m cryin’.
If you don’t b’lieve I’m sinkin’,
Jes’ look what a hole I’m in.
If you don’t b’lieve I love you,
Jes’ look what a fool I been.
O sweet baby, you don’t know my min’.
When you think I’m lovin’ you, I’m leavin’ you behin’.
O baby, jes’ ship my clo’es out in valise,
O baby, jes’ ship my clo’es out in valise.
Reason I tell you ship ’em,
Yo’ heart I don’t believe.
Thought I woke up yesterday,
My heart was very sick,
’Cause reason I love you.
’Day’s nearer pay day.
The reason I love my lovin’ baby so,
Oh, reason I love my lovin’ baby so,
’Cause if she make five dollars
She sho’ bring her father fo’.
Yes, it’s hey, sweet baby,
You don’t know my min’.
’Cause it’s hey, sweet baby.
You don’t know my min’.
When you think I’m laughin’,
Laughin’ jes’ to keep from cryin’.
O Lawd, what you gonna say,
I need de woman for de money,
I got no place to stay.
For de reason I love my lovin’ baby so,
When she make eight dollahs,
Sho’ bring her father fo’.
Ruther see you dead,
Floatin’ in yo’ grave;
Ruther see you dead,
Lawd, floatin’ in yo’ grave.
Than be here, Lawd,
Treated dis a-way.
Geech had my woman
An’ two or three mo’;
Oh, de Geech had my woman
An’ two or three mo’.
He’s a hard headed man
An’ won’t let me go.
I wake up dis mornin’,
Feet half-way out de bed,
Lawd, I wake up dis mornin’,
Oh, de blues you give me
Sho’ gonna kill me dead.
Left Wing’s story of his wanderings does not omit, of course, the
woman part of his “lovin’ worl’.” Try as he might to sing of other
experiences, inevitably he would swing back to his old theme.
I ruther be dead
In six feet o’ clay,
Than to see my baby,
Lawd, treated dis a-way.
Well, I love my baby,
I tell the worl’ I do,
But reason I love her,
Her heart is true.
Gonna lay my head
On some ol’ railroad iron,
Das de only way, baby,
To worry you off my min’.
I went to depot,
I looked up on de boa’d,
My baby ain’t here,
But she’s somewhere on de road.
But I’m goin’ to town,
Goin’ to ask chief police,
Fo’ my baby done quit me
An’ I can’t have no peace.
An’ I’m goin’ away, baby,
To worry you off my min’,
’Cause you keep me worried
An’ bothered all de time.
I wonder whut’s de matter,
Lawd, I can’t see.
You love some other man, sweet woman,
An’ you don’t love me.
Befo’ I’d stay here
An’ let these women mistreat me,
I’d do like a bull frog,
Jump in de deep blue sea.
Wing, however, does not jump into the deep blue sea, although like
the other traditional bull frog he does jump from place to place.
Concerning the women about whom he sings, he affirmed, “Can’t count
’em, take me day after tomorrow to count ’em. Find fifteen or twenty
in different cities. New Orleans best place to find most fastest, mo’
freer women,--person find gang of ’em in minute.
“But I had some mighty fine women. Fust one was Abbie Jones, ’bout ----
Ioway Street. Nex’ was in M----, Missouri, Jennie Baker, Susan Baker’s
daughter. Nex’ one St. Louis, lady called Bulah Cotton, Pete Cotton’s
daughter. Nex’ one was in Eas’ St. Louis, her name Sylvia Brown. Nex’ I
had in Poplar Bluff, one dat took my money an’ went off, Effie Farlan,
had father name George Farlan. Nex’ Laura, she’s in Memphis, Tennessee,
she’s ’nother took my money an’ gone. Jes’ lay down, went to sleep,
jes’ took money an’ gone. Wake up sometimes broke an’ hongry, they jes’
naturally take my money. Nex’ woman was at Columbia, S. C., ’bout las’
regular one I had, Mamie Willard, mother an’ father dead. Sweethearts I
can git plenty of if I got money. If I ain’t got none I’se sometimes
lonesome, but not always, ’cause sometimes dey feel sorry fer you an’
treat you mighty fine anyway.”
Wing tells some remarkable stories, evidently products of the perfect
technique of appeal and approach, in which formality and easy-going
ways are blended with great patience and persistence. This series of
adventures alone would make a full sized volume albeit there is no need
to publish it abroad. Typical, however, are the chant verses below.
I seed a pretty brown,
Lawd, walkin’ down the street,
I sided long up to her,
Said, “Lady, I ain’t had nothin’ to eat.”
Lawd, she don’t pay me no min’,
Walkin’ wid her head hung high.
But still I knows
I’ll git dat gal by an’ by.
So I walks up behin’ her,
And asts her good an’ polite,
“Miss, can you tell me
Where po’ boy can stay tonight?”
Still she don’t pay me no min’,
An’ she’s movin’ on her way,
I asks her, “Good Lawd, lady,
Where can po’ boy stay?”
I ast her to tell me
If she knows girl name Sady,
’Cause if she does,
I’s her man Brady.
Co’se I don’t know no Sady
An’ I could git place to stay,
But I wants to stay wid dis lady,
So I walks on her way.
So she takes me to her home
An’ makes me pallet on de flo’;
An’ she treats me, baby,
Better ’n I been treated befo’.
Wing says he never stays in any place more than three weeks, “leastwise
never mo’ ’n fo’.” Sometimes he walks, sometimes he rides the rods,
sometimes when money is plentiful he rides in the cars. He has had his
tragic and his comic experiences. The spirit of the road is irrevocably
fixed in him and he can think in no other terms. Some day a Negro
artist will paint him, a Negro story teller will tell his story, a
“high she’ff” will arrest him, a “jedge” will sentence him, a “cap’n”
will “cuss” him, he will “row here few days longer,” then he’ll be
gone.