LEAVING HOME--A MAIDEN
I was seventeen when I at last left M--pls. I accepted a rough job at a
dollar and a quarter a day in a car manufacturing concern in a town of
eight thousand population, about eight hundred being colored. I was
unable to save very much, for work was dull that summer, and I was only
averaging about four days' work a week. Besides, I had an attack of
malaria at intervals for a period of two months, but by going to work at
five o'clock A.M. when I was well I could get in two extra hours, making
a dollar-fifty. The concern employed about twelve hundred men and paid
their wages every two weeks, holding back one week's pay. I came there
in June and it was some time in September that I drew my fullest pay
envelope which contained sixteen dollars and fifty cents.
About this time a "fire eating" colored evangelist, who apparently
possessed great converting powers and unusual eloquence, came to town.
These qualities, however, usually became very uninteresting toward the
end of a stay. He had been to M--pls the year before I left and at that
place his popularity greatly diminished before he left. The greater part
of the colored people in this town were of the emotional kind and to
these he was as attractive as he had been at M--pls in the beginning.
Coincident with the commencement of Rev. McIntyre's soul stirring
sermons a big revival was inaugurated, and although the little church
was filled nightly to its capacity, the aisles were kept clear in order
to give those that were "steeping in Hell's fire" (as the evangelist
characterized those who were not members of some church) an open road to
enter into the field of the righteous; also to give the mourners
sufficient room in which to exhaust their emotions when the spirit
struck them--and it is needless to say that they were used. At times
they virtually converted the entire floor into an active gymnasium,
regardless of the rights of other persons or of the chairs they
occupied. I had seen and heard people shout at long intervals in church,
but here, after a few soul stirring sermons, they began to run outside
where there was more room to give vent to the hallucination and this
wandering of the mind. It could be called nothing else, for after the
first few sermons the evangelist would hardly be started before some
mourner would begin to "come through." This revival warmed up to such
proportions that preaching and shouting began in the afternoon instead
of evening. Men working in the yards of the foundry two block away could
hear the shouting above the roaring furnaces and the deafening noise of
machinery of a great car manufacturing concern. The church stood on a
corner where two streets, or avenues, intersected and for a block in
either direction the influence of fanaticism became so intense that the
converts began running about like wild creatures, tearing their hair and
uttering prayers and supplications in discordant tones.
At the evening services the sisters would gather around a mourner that
showed signs of weakening and sing and babble until he or she became so
befuddled they would jump up, throw their arms wildly into the air,
kick, strike, then cry out like a dying soul, fall limp and exhausted
into the many arms outstretched to catch them. This was always
conclusive evidence of a contrite heart and a thoroughly penitent soul.
Far into the night this performance would continue, and when the
mourners' bench became empty the audience would be searched for sinners.
I would sit through it all quite unemotional, and nightly I would be
approached with "aren't you ready?" To which I would make no answer. I
noticed that several boys, who were not in good standing with the
parents of girls they wished to court, found the mourners' bench a
convenient vehicle to the homes of these girls--all of whom belonged to
church. Girls over eighteen who did not belong were subjects of much
gossip and abuse.
A report, in some inconceivable manner, soon became spread that Oscar
Devereaux had said that he wanted to die and go to hell. Such a
sensation! I was approached on all sides by men and women, regardless of
the time of day or night, by the young men who gloried in their
conversion and who urged me to "get right" with Jesus before it was too
late. I do not remember how long these meetings lasted but they suddenly
came to an end when notice was served on the church trustees by the city
council, which irreverently declared that so many converts every
afternoon and night was disturbing the white neighborhood's rest as
well as their nerves. It ordered windows and doors to be kept closed
during services, and as the church was small it was impossible to house
the congregation and all the converts, so the revival ended and the
community was restored to normal and calm once more prevailed.
That was in September. One Sunday afternoon in October, as I was walking
along the railroad track, I chanced to overhear voices coming from under
a water tank, where a space of some eight or ten feet enclosed by four
huge timbers made a small, secluded place. I stopped, listened and was
sure I recognized the voices of Douglas Brock, his brother Melvin, and
two other well known colored boys. Douglas was betting a quarter with
one of the other boys that he couldn't pass. (You who know the dice and
its vagaries will know what he meant.) This was mingled with words and
commands from Melvin to the dice in trying to make some point. It must
have been four. He would let out a sort of yowl; "Little Joe, can't you
do it?" I went my way. I didn't shoot craps nor drink neither did I
belong to church but was called a dreadful sinner while three of the
boys under the tank had, not less than six weeks before, joined church
and were now full-fledged members in good standing. Of course I did not
consider that all people who belonged to church were not Christians, but
was quite sure that many were not.
The following January a relative of mine got a job for me bailing water
in a coal mine in a little town inhabited entirely by negroes. I worked
from six o'clock P.M. to six A.M., and received two dollars and
twenty-five cents therefor. The work was rough and hard and the mine
very dark. The smoke hung like a cloud near the top of the tunnel-like
room during all the night. This was because the fans were all but shut
off at night, and just enough air was pumped in to prevent the formation
of black damp. The smoke made my head ache until I felt stupid and the
dampness made me ill, but the two dollars and twenty-five cents per day
looked good to me. After six weeks, however, I was forced to quit, and
with sixty-five dollars--more money than I had ever had--I went to see
my older sister who was teaching in a nearby town.
I had grown into a strong, husky youth of eighteen and my sister was
surprised to see that I was working and taking care of myself so well.
She shared the thought of nearly all of my acquaintances that I was too
lazy to leave home and do hard work, especially in the winter time.
After awhile she suddenly looked at me and spoke as though afraid she
would forget it, "O, Oscar! I've got a girl for you; what do you think
of that?" smiling so pleasantly, I was afraid she was joking. You see, I
had never been very successful with the girls and when she mentioned
having a girl for me my heart was all a flutter and when she hesitated I
put in eagerly.
"Aw go on--quit your kidding. On the level now, or are you just chiding
me?" But she took on a serious expression and speaking thoughtfully, she
went on.
"Yes, she lives next door and is a nice little girl, and pretty. The
prettiest colored girl in town."
Here I lost interest for I remembered my sister was foolish about
beauty and I said that I didn't care to meet her. I was suspicious when
it came to the pretty type of girls, and had observed that the prettiest
girl in town was oft times petted and spoiled and a mere butterfly.
"O why?" She spoke like one hurt. Then I confessed my suspicions. "O,
You're foolish," she exclaimed softly, appearing relieved. "Besides,"
she went on brightly "Jessie isn't a spoiled girl, you wait until you
meet her." And in spite of my protests she sent the landlady's little
girl off for Miss Rooks. She came over in about an hour and I found her
to be demure and thoughtful, as well as pretty. She was small of
stature, had dark eyes and beautiful wavy, black hair, and an olive
complexion. She wouldn't allow me to look into her eyes but continued to
cast them downward, sitting with folded hands and answering when spoken
to in a tiny voice quite in keeping with her small person.
During the afternoon I mentioned that I was going to Chicago, "Now
Oscar, you've got no business in Chicago," my sister spoke up with a
touch of authority. "You're too young, and besides," she asked "do you
know whether W.O. wants you?" W.O. was our oldest brother and was then
making Chicago his home.
"Huh!" I snorted "I'm going on my own hook," and drawing up to my full
six feet I tried to look brave, which seemed to have the desired effect
on my sister.
"Well" she said resignedly, "you must be careful and not get into bad
company--be good and try to make a man of yourself."