Jump to new as of April 27, 2000
Dear Reader:
Those of us who have come to know and love Jane Austen, her Pride and Prejudice in particular, have come to the realization that this story is universal. We can be sure dear Jane, country girl that she was, could not possibly have foreseen the impact her work would have on a worldwide audience, even into the second millennium. It is in this spirit that I introduce to the Derbyshire Writers' Guild readership another Pride and Prejudice with characters of color.
Our prologue takes place in the 1960's, but the main setting is New York City, in the Village of Harlem, circa 1920-1930. The era is the Harlem Renaissance, and it was glorious. During this time there was a major outburst of creative activity among African American or, in the spirit of the times, Negro artists. Black writers such as Claude McKay, Jean Toomer, Countee Cullen and Dorothy West wrote short stories, poems and novels that celebrated the Negro urban experience and history. We will eavesdrop as Langston Hughes reads one of his poems. In this story you will become privy to conversations held by Florence Mills, a singer and dancer. She was so loved that when she died in 1927, 150,000 people lined the streets of Harlem in what proved to be, up until that time, the largest funeral in that village. This was remarkable when we realize that at the turn of the century, in this two square-mile neighborhood, the total population was two hundred thousand, the highest concentration of black people in the world. We will listen in on the concerns of Noble Sissle and Eubie Blake when their 1921 show Shuffle Along was premiered. You will visit Arthur Schomburg, the curator and writer who has been called the Sherlock Holmes of Negro history. You will also come to understand the importance of the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People in the Negro community. When you have finished this story William Stanley Braithwaite, Paul Laurence Dunbar, Aaron Douglas, Marcus Garvey, W.E.B. DuBois, Reverend Adam Clayton Powell, Sr. and Augusta Savage will have all broken bread with some of our characters. You will take a look at Miss Savages portrait of W.E.B. DuBois and hear the conversation between her and Marcus Garvey as he sat for her on Sunday mornings in his Harlem apartment. Because of the richness I wish to bring to this story I have cheated at times on the time line, bringing people into the story who did not appear on the Harlem scene until a little later. Please forgive this indulgence.
Our main characters will be upper middle class Negroes from this era. They will be the privileged people of Harlem, New York City, Cape May, New Jersey and Martha's Vineyard, Massachusetts. There will also be a sojourn to Jamaica, West Indies. Just as in the original work, our Bingleys and Darcys and even our Bennets will be landed and gentlepeople. They will stand in stark contrast to the majority of their people who are living in the apartment tenements, the broken down brownstones, and the ghettos and shanty towns where the poorest live. Our characters are Harlem's Favorites. The men are in the Masons and Elks, their wives and mothers in the Eastern Star. Their children attend the best schools, at times being sent abroad for schooling if they have relatives in England, they throw lavish parties, balls and picnics. The women are clannish and prejudiced.
Our Mrs. Benson (Bennet) is a stylish, smart woman of West Indian/British extraction, well educated, beautiful and after twenty-odd years of marriage, a royal pain. She came to New York a different sort of person than she is now. She has evolved into a social butterfly who, like the moth of parable, can't seem to stay out of harms way, she at times flies much too close to the flame. The flame in question is her husband, Mr. Benson, now settled, pensive, studious, and sharp-witted.
Since the sensibilities of people have certainly changed since the early 1800's, Mr. Collins is not even a distant cousin. In addition, Mrs. Benson is portrayed as an only child so the relationship between the Gordons & Powells (Gardiners & Phillips) have to come through Mr. Benson. We will also explore the part that skin color and hair texture played in a society that had already experienced one of the worse displays of prejudice in American history. But do not think of this as being a super serious work, humor will be laced throughout, and you will be permitted to LOL.
I wish to also state that some of this story is a product of my own family's history or my personal experiences. But, in keeping in line with the blurb in books and on the screen... 'Any similarity between persons living or dead is purely coincidental'. At the end of some chapters I have included a glossary to define terms that may be unfamiliar to many readers.
Lastly, but most important, I wish to thank my sister, MicheleV, who thought of this setting some time ago. In fact, much of this story was also put to paper some time ago. But unfortunately, my manuscript had not been put on a disc and in error my only copy was tossed. So, bear with me as I reconstruct, and live my story again.
So, now, step with me back into a period of revelation, not just for you, but for me. I hope you will enjoy your journey as I have enjoyed mine. Now, on to the characters and story of Proud & Prejudiced.
CHogans
An upper-middle class Negro family. The father, (Clemson) is the first Negro to be issued a master plumbers license in the city of New York. His wife, from Jamaica, West Indies is a product of the marriage between a Britisher and a native islander. Their union has produced five daughters.
Mr. Collins
A clergyman and step-child of one of Mr. Benson's childhood friends
Charles Davis
An elderly friend from Jamaica, West Indies who was unable to secure the master plumber's license for himself since he was not a U.S. citizen. Mr. Benson was his protégé.
The Lewises (Lucas) Mrs. Lewis Charlotte Lewis Moriah Lewis Unnamed siblings, at least one son.
Mr. Lucas ran several businesses in Harlem prior to his retirement. Mrs. Lewis is the niece of Madam Walker, the self-made millionairess who manufactured hair products for Negro women and educated them in their use and sale. Mrs. Lewis owns and operates the finest and most fashionable beauty salon in Harlem. Her daughter Charlotte is also a licensed beautician, and is Lizzie Benson's best friend. Mr. Lewis is the Grand Master of the Masonic Lodge, a position usually held by a man with more education and prestige, but due to his wife's connections, he has secured this position.
The Powells (Phillips)
Mr. Benson's sister and her husband. They live in Brooklyn. Mr. Powell is a lawyer.
The Gordons (Gardiners)
Mr. Benson's half-brother, wife and their four children live in Cape May, New Jersey where he owns an import export business.
The Dardens (Darcys) F. William Darden Georgia Darden (his sister)
Very wealthy Negroes. Their family were free blacks, landed and educated in the New England states. His family home is on Martha's Vineyard, the site of a centuries old Negro community. Those of the wealthy and middle class vacation on the site known as 'The Oval'.
Sgt. Frank O. Williams (Colonel Fitzwilliam)
Poor first cousin to William & Georgia. Presently in the army. His mother and the Dardens' mother (both deceased) were sisters to Lottie Catherine DuBois.
The Binghams (Bingleys) Charlie Bingham Caroline Bingham Louise Harris Mr. Harris (Louise's husband)
Upper-middle class Negroes who have a home in Cape May, New Jersey. Their wealth comes from numerous business ventures, including undertaking and real estate investments in New York, New Jersey and the south.
Private Wilson (Wickham)
In the same unit as Sergeant William, stationed at Fort Dix, New Jersey.
Col. Flippin (Col. Forster)
Sergeant Williams and Private Wilson's commanding officer.
Lottie Catherine DuBois (Lady Catherine DeBourge) Anne DuBois (her Daughter)
The Darden's aunt, and related by marriage to W.E.B. DuBoise. She is the senior matriarch of Martha's Vineyard's Negro community.
Minor characters include others on Martha's Vineyard, and the social set on the New York scene.
"That's the last one," said Mrs. Elizabeth Darden as she added another box to the stacks on the floor of her library. It was a bittersweet time for her. She stood still and looked around the wood paneled brightly-lit room. She remembered the wonderful times her family had shared in this building. She squared her shoulders and was about to leave the room when her husband Willie appeared, covered with dust from his latest forage in the attic rooms.
"I think I have found it," he said. "If it is not here I can't imagine what has happened to it." As the box dropped with a thud, dust particles spread and caught the sunlight as they joined their brothers and sisters drifting in the shifting breeze of the tall ceiling room. The owner of the house opened the long-closed box and shifted through a pile of yellowed papers. His fingers touched a smooth leather binding and he said, "Got it." He handed the book to his wife who clutched it to her bosom, tears welling in her eyes.
"Thank you!" she said with much passion as she fingered the title, "The History of the Negro in Harlem, Cape May and Martha's Vineyard," by Edward Gordon.
Moving the dust-clothes from one of the sofas he motioned for his wife to sit down. He seated himself next to her as they thumbed through the pages of the now found treasure. It was in this pensive state that their granddaughter, Renee found them. "Well, aren't you two a pretty pair. Slacking on the job with so much work to do. What happened to the vow to be completed with packing today?" she sad with a smile.
Her grandfather's dust covered hand beckoned for her to be seated and a spot was made for between her two grandparents. "Firstly, let me inform you Renee Layne Darden that some things take precedent over everything, and this is one. This book will help you to understand that, despite your Ph.D. in History from Harvard University, majoring in the minorities, you are not the first person in this family to be passionate about your people's history. This book, which will be yours when we are dead and gone, introduces you to your great-uncle, Edward Gordon's, finest research." Elizabeth opened the book again to the title page but did not relinquish her hold on her precious property.
In the excitement of the moment Elizabeth Darden understood why her husband had not commented on their granddaughter's new look. Being a broad minded person, she was not going to over react to the dashiki (1) and her granddaughter's Afro, (2) although she could not see how it was possible to create that look with straight hair. But, if the study of ones roots filled a person with such passion that there was a need to identify more closely, so be it. Mr. Darden had returned to the present and with a startled look on his face posed two questions to his granddaughter, "What have you done to you hair? and Why don't you have on a nice dress or skirt or something instead of that outfit?"
Renee, ever the tease, jumped up, put on an intense face and with a clutched fist said, "Power to the People." Then as she looked at her grandfather's perturbed face, she collapsed with laughter on the sofa. "Grandmother, how have you lived so long with such a serious man?" she said kissing her grandfather's cheek. "Don't worry Poppy, I won't become another Angela Davis." As she said that she placed her fingers at the corners of her grandfather's lips and pulled them upward in a forced grin. "I'm a Darden, that means something you know. I have an obligation to my family, my people and myself.
"If you let go of the book I will be able to get a better look, Nanna, and I promise not to fold, spindle or mutilate in the process," she chided her grandmother. Elizabeth with great deliberation handed the book to Renee.
She said to her, "Through these pages you will come to understand what Harlem has meant to us. You will also come to understand why your grandfather and I want to spend our final days on a little island off the coast of Massachusetts.
"It all began the summer I turned twenty, the year I met your grandfather..."
Lizzie Benson loved to walk. To her it was just the natural thing to do. Her mother discouraged the activity because, as she would say in her soft Jamaican lilt, 'We have two cars, and can afford to ride the trolley, and subway, so explain to me why you have to walk the streets.' But, as Lizzie would try to explain, walking gave her the opportunity to window shop, observe people, and travel her own chosen route as she strolled along. While out, she could visit friends and relatives without worrying about having a car parked and unavailable to the rest of the family.
As she passed the dignified brownstones* on Strivers Row, she could not imagine any setting more beautiful. She always imagined how wonderful the interiors must be with their parquet floors, crystal chandeliers and fashionable furnishings. It would be grand living in one of them. It was not as if her own home was insignificant. Her family's home, while not in the prestigious part of Harlem, was quite lovely. The difference between the two locations had to do with land. Her family's elegant, Victorian style home was on elevated grounds, surrounded by well kept gardens and out buildings. So, even in New York City, in Harlem, Lizzie had the luxury of space and a wonderful view of the East River.
As she continued down the block a moving truck turned the corner and stopped. The black Packard* that followed the van pulled up to the curb and two well-dressed men exited the vehicle. One man entered the gate, climbed the stone steps and opened the door. The other gentlemen spoke to the moving men and also entered the parlor floor door. Several young men appeared from the house with rolled up sleeves ready for heavy lifting. From Elizabeth's vantage point across the street she was able to enjoy the parade of couches, chairs, tables, tapestries, boxes, pictures and mirrors. All that she saw was elegant, speaking of prosperity and good taste. Well, it looks as if the neighborhood has new residents, it'll be the talk of the village by morning, she thought to herself. She felt that she was the early herald and would be sure to mention it to her father when she returned home.
Elizabeth rose from where she had seated herself on a stone fence in front of one of the adjacent homes. Having had her fill of the display, she stood up, brushed off her skirt, straightened her hat and proceeded to the corner of Amsterdam Avenue and Strivers Row. As she walked by, unknown to her, many male eyes followed her, including those of the new resident of 156 Strivers Row and his friend. It was a fact, Elizabeth Benson was an exceptionally pretty brown-skinned girl.
"Papa," Elizabeth called out quietly as she knocked on her father's office door. "You may come in Lizzie," Mr. Benson replied, taking off his reading glasses. His favorite daughter entered and kissed him on the top of his head.
"How are you feeling, Heap-Big Chief?" Elizabeth asked, using her term of affection for the father she loved so well. She was the only one in the household fine-tuned to Mr. Benson's many moods.
"Well Lizzie, I have no need to worry or complain this hour," he said with his usual dry humor, "And I see you were pleasure bent again today. Where did you wander off to?"
Elizabeth enumerated the many shops and streets she had visited, but left the best until last, "I happened to be on Strivers Row when new neighbors moved in. I only saw two young men, but the furnishings could just as well serve a large family."
Just as Lizzie finished, the library door opened and her mother, fresh from the local woman's club, burst in, "Mr. Benson! Mr. Benson!" she cried, almost breathless, "You will never believe the news I heard today. The old Hudson brownstone has been rented and the tenants are already moved in. It seems a young man from Boston has taken the house. That is such good news, Mr. Benson, a fine, eligible, wealthy young Negro man. How fortunate for our girls!"
"How do you know he's a fine young man, Mrs. Benson?" her husband retorted.
"Well you know what I mean, my dear. Harlem needs sprucing up. And nothing spruces up as well as the Yankee dollar."
"Yes. That was probably the thought in your home, Mrs. Benson," her husband answered. Smiling and winking at Lizzie, he leaned back in his chair and continued on, "I'm sure that a brilliant Jamaican singer will make a song about that subject. Give it some time."
At that, Mrs. Benson placed her hands on her hips, made her lips thin as paper and shuspt* him as she exited the room. Elizabeth, after glancing at her father sitting smug and well-pleased with himself, managed a small smile. Mr. Benson, you see, took delight in vexing his wife.
The Bensons were a prosperous family. They lived very comfortably in their fashionable home. New York City was growing and Mr. Benson was the first Negro to receive a plumber's license from the City. His work crews covered all five boroughs, and while the company's motto, 'Benson's Plumbing-We Go Everywhere' was true, most of his clientele were from the Negro community. His membership in the local lodges and Abyssinian Baptist Church, the largest Negro church in New York City, granted him fellowship and access to its property owners and wealthy parishioners. He was on the deacon board, and was on first name basis with the church pastor, Adam Clayton Powell, Sr.
And, to add even more to the status of his family, the women in Mr. Benson's life were exceptionally good looking. His five daughters were considered to be local beauties. Their oldest daughter Janet was a fine girl, beyond lovely. She had inherited her mother's fair skin and 'good hair'*. She also had the most beautiful hazel eyes, flecked with gold.. Her closest sibling, in age and emotional attachment, was Elizabeth. One degree shy of passing the brown paper bag test*, this daughter had flawless brown skin, which made her beautiful eyes even more noticeable, and more noteworthy. An intriguing shade of hazel, they somehow managed to appear green most of the time. Elizabeth, called Lizzie by her family and friends, had extremely thick, wavy hair that, during sultry Harlem summer days, would occasionally need a lick with the straightening comb* to help control the frizz. Marion, who aspired to teach, was studious and plain by choice, not by nature. The two youngest, Kitty, nick-named Kitten, and Lydia, often called Liddie, were 17 and 15 years old respectively. They were both pretty girls, in an unremarkable sort of way. Light skinned with light brown hair, they were silly, idle, vain, and caught up in whatever gossip could be repeated at the dinning room table. And they were both inclined to fall in love with anyone in a military uniform.
Mr. Benson's wife, light skinned with wavy light brown hair, was recognized as a beautiful, talented, creative person, though somewhat high strung, and given to abrupt analysis and outspoken criticism at any given time. But, her real claim to fame was her parties, grand beyond belief, where Harlem's intellectual and creative elite met and dined.
Harlem's fashionable community was made up of professional men, doctors, lawyers, well-to-do shopkeepers, teachers, clergymen, writers, artists, musicians, and other well educated residents, and it was in this circle that the Bensons moved. But even with all of this going for them, the Benson family, and others in Harlem who had money, education and position, were restricted from one important aspect of their neighborhood. There was a part of Harlem that was strictly off limits to them: the world-famous Harlem night life. The vast majority of the most fashionable clubs were not opened to the inhabitants of the community that housed them. Small's Paradise, the Cotton Club and others, opened their doors to clientele who arrived from downtown in their limousines to enjoy the music of the Negro: jazz, the blues, Bee Bop and even ragtime. But the people who performed were not allowed through the front door. But despite all this, these were still grand times. At this time, more than any other, Harlem's creative juices and forces were flourishing, and were almost volcanic in their proliferation.
Glossary
From the Prologue:
Dashiki: This brightly colored African tunic was worn by African Americans as a symbol of black pride. Especially popular during the turbulent Sixties.
Angela Davis: A black activist and member of the Black Panther Party who made headlines during the sixties. Once a fugitive from the FBI, she is now a university professor in California.
From Chapter 1
Brownstones: Brown sandstone was commonly used as the facing material for row houses in New York City. The word has come to be synonymous with the houses themselves.
Packard: A luxury car no longer manufactured.
Shuspt: A West Indian term for sucking one's teeth. A sound of disgust or derision.
Brown paper bag test: A 'test' once used by some African American sororities or clubs to limit membership to those whose skin at their wrist was no darker than a brown paper bag.
Good hair: An expression even now still being used by some African Americans to refer to hair that is naturally straight or wavy, a misnomer since hair has no moral character.
Straightening comb: A metal comb heated on an open flame. Used to achieve 'good hair' if you weren't born with it.
"Mamma, Jane and I are going to meet Charlotte for lunch this afternoon. She said we should try the new uptown Horn & Hardart Automat. She went there the other day and said it was so much fun! You put in your coins, a little door opens and you reach in and get your food. It's the latest thing."
"Jane is going with you?" her mother asked.
"Yes, she said she's even willing to miss her favorite radio program for an adventure like this," was Lizzie's reply.
"Well, bring a cake from Horn & Hardart's for dinner."
As Lizzie stood in the vestibule putting on her hat she decided they should take the scenic route, including a walk down Strivers Row. Their leisurely stroll took longer than anticipated, and as she spied her friend waiting at the door of her mother's salon she knew an apology was in order.
"We hope you haven't been waiting long," Lizzie inquired as she embraced her dear friend, Charlotte Lewis.
"No hon, not at all. And on such a beautiful day as this it feels good have a chance to be outside. Momma was very generous, she gave me the entire afternoon off," Charlotte said with a broad smile. A smile that brightened her face considerably. Charlotte was a young woman of contrasts. While her mother operated the most successful beauty salon in Harlem, making it hardly necessary for Charlotte to earn a living, she chose to get her license and work by her mother's side. (Of course, the fact that her mother's salon was the hub of Harlem's grapevine news, did make working there a plus.) And, though Charlotte worked hard to make her patrons look their very best, she spent very little time on herself. She preferred it that way for, as she put it, 'l am not a beauty, and never will be. To pretend, would only mean I'm not being true to myself.' This quote would be most often uttered when Lizzie or anyone else made the effort to 're-do' Charlotte. With such a plain jane for a sister, her brothers' worst fear was that she'd end up an 'old maid'.
Mrs. Lewis appeared at the door to the back salons. She beckoned to Charlotte, "Your father will be attending a lodge meeting tonight. I'm going to be quite late here with two important clients. So, please be a dear and have supper with your brothers and sisters tonight. Charlotte responded with a slightly disappointed wag of her head.
The three girls decided that the day was much too nice to climb onto a crowded trolley or travel on a stuffy subway, so they headed downtown on foot, and after passing Central Park and Columbus Circle, they turned onto Fifth Ave. They were all stylishly dressed, and the Benson sisters pleasingly coifed and made-up as they made their way downtown from Harlem. Jane and Elizabeth drew attention wherever they went, and Charlotte was left to bask in their afterglow. This did not upset Charlotte in any way. She cherished the friendship they had.
Jane's beauty was flawless, and equally distributed from head to toe. But if one had to determine her sister's most outstanding feature, it was her eyes, hazel with flashes of green, encircled by clear white and alarmingly long eye lashes. To make the statement that they were beautiful was true, but there was something more that drew a person's attention to her eyes; they mirrored great intelligence and humor. And those eyes did not lie. So if you wanted to laugh, even at yourself, Elizabeth could make you see the folly in almost any situation. This she did as the three girls, arm in arm, traveled downtown.
The conversation turned immediately to the latest goings on in the private rooms. "So, who was in the back salon today, Charlotte?" The back rooms of Mrs. Lewis' salon were reserved for the most wealthy, influential ladies in the community. It was here they could have their hair styled with a hot comb*, marcelled*, and even have their wigs repaired, tightened or adjusted. Of course, these services were all performed with the understanding whatever was done there was strictly confidential. All of the back room clients were "natural beauties."
"Mrs. Fleming* was there. When she came in there was a buzz all around. Can you imagine? All the way from Brooklyn! I understand she and her husband have a very fine home over on Decatur Street. Crystal chandeliers, Persian carpets and everything. Well, her husband can afford it. After all he's the first Negro detective in the New York City Police Department."
"Describe her," said Elizabeth.
"She is very tiny, dark skinned with lovely hair. I've heard tell that her mother was half Indian, and had hair long enough to sit on. And she has the most wonderful wardrobe! I've heard it said she has accounts at all the fashionable department stores: Lord & Taylor's, Macy's, Abraham & Straus, Gimbel's..." she continued, shaking her head in wonderment, "And she even works in an office, at a switchboard."
"Has she brought any of her children to the salon? was Elizabeth's next question.
Charlotte saddened Elizabeth with her answer, "She and her husband have no children. The only youngster she talks about is her niece Bettie*. She visits from time to time. I understand she is a very smart young girl. Mrs. Fleming belongs to the Virginia Society at her church, so that must be where her family comes from. Although she was today's most important guest, all the back rooms were in use, and mother was in and out for supplies for the beauticians the entire day. I'm really fortunate that she let me off this afternoon, but you notice there is a hitch," Charlotte said with a smile.
Lizzie nodded, and Jane agreed. Elizabeth briefly turned her thoughts within, and considered how extremely dutiful Charlotte was. I'm not sure that I would want to be bridled with all her responsibilities. At home and at the salon Charlotte was always the one called upon. It was difficult for her to have a life of her own. Lizzie turned and smiled at Charlotte, gave her a much needed hug and thought to herself how glad she was that her lot in life was so different from her friend's.
As they reached 42nd Street and Fifth Avenue, they walked one block over to Madison Avenue to reach their destination. Just as they turned the corner of 42nd and Madison, a shiny black Packard pulled away from the curb in front of Horn & Hardart's. Two Negro men could be seen entering the building. Not too far behind them, the girls, like excited school children, also entered the restaurant. At the front was the cashier's booth, where paper money was readily exchanged for coins. The white tiled walls were inset with scores of small, gleaming, chrome-framed windows. Behind each window was a compartment containing individual portions of vegetables, meats and deserts. As each compartment emptied, a hand could be seen replacing whatever had been retrieved. In the center of the far wall were two large spigots in the shape of lions that dispensed hot coffee. So, after making your selection, you placed the required coins in the slot, the door opened, and you placed your selection on your tray. It was almost like a game. Charlotte, Jane and Elizabeth decided on baked macaroni, chicken, green beans, coffee and cake. A hardy lunch to be sure, but appropriate for the three young women who had just walked a number of miles. After making their selections, they headed for their seats.
Now, while segregation is often though to be indigenous to the South, New York had its more subtle ways of accomplishing the same thing. When a person of color took a seat in the proximity of a window, they would sometimes be asked to move. There was usually an area, in the rear, where most Negros, and others of non-white skin tones, would seat themselves without question. So, in the South you could not eat at all. In the North you probably could eat, but only by the establishment's accepted rules.
Unbeknown to the three friends, the two men they had observed entering the establishment were seated not too far away, and were now observing them.
"Darden, what do you have to say about those three young women?"
"Two of them are passable," was the curt reply.
"There you go gettin' all high hatty* again. What do you mean passable? I think two of them are easily among the most beautiful women we've ever seen. And the third one seems to be a real likable sort of gal," was Bingham's good natured observation. The two men continued to sit and drink their coffee, admiring the sights, and trying to place one of the three girls who's face seemed increasingly familiar. "Moving day," Bingham finally said in a hushed voice, "She was across the street, remember?" Darden shook his head abruptly. Just at that moment they saw their car ease up to the curb, and so they finished their coffee and hurried out.
But not without being noticed by the three young women who had likewise been enjoying their coffee.
Glossary
Hot comb: Another term for straightening comb
Marcelled: A (French) chemical process that straightened the hair, after which metal clips were applied to set large finger waves into the hair, close to the scalp.
Mrs. Fleming: A personal indulgence. Mrs. Fleming was our great aunt.
Bettie: Our mom :-)
High hatty: In the slang of the times, this described a person who was aloof, conceited.
Authors notes: There are several things I wanted to say. First of all, I guess a dose of financial reality is in order. To a people just sixty years removed from slavery, subjected to some of the most regimented, potentially spirit numbing, often violent discrimination, and whose work options were often limited to the most menial, ill paying positions, to achieve middle class status was really 'something'. To achieve upper middle class, as had the Benson's, and to a much greater extent the Binghams, was truly 'something else'. To be out and out wealthy, for several generations, as were the Darden's and Lottie DuBois, was mind boggling, to say the least. And the status associated with being the 'first' Negro anything, was very great indeed!
After a moment or so Elizabeth said, "I know who those two fellows are! They're the ones staying in the Hudson brownstone on Strivers Row. Remember Jane? I was taking a walk on the day they moved in. They don't seem to be very friendly though. Maybe they think they're too high and mighty for the village of Harlem and its people."
"Well maybe most, not all, of its people," Charlotte amended, for she had overheard snatches of their conversation. And based on what she heard, she knew for a certainty that much of the variety in Harlem would be against the taste of at least one of the young men.
And everything was perfect. The food was beautifully displayed and well prepared. The ladies associated with both organizations took credit, and rightly so, for that accomplishment. The music was popular, up-tempo, and begging for dancers. A short time after the dance floor had been opened to the public there was a slight commotion at the door. Judge Sutton* excused himself from the Dais and came forward. At the door were three men and two ladies dressed, shall we say, 'to the nines.' As the judge reached the group, one of the gentlemen, a handsome, cheerful looking young man, leaned forward and whispered something in the judge's ear. Judge Sutton responded with a slap on the back and a hardy handshake. He then escorted the group to a table to the right of the stage which had been marked as reserved. The group was seated, and the judge returned to the dais. After speaking privately to several of his associates, these ones were escorted down to the new guests to be introduced to them. It appeared that the newly arrived gate crashers were persons of note. Judge Sutton then went over to the band leader and took the microphone. He requested silence and said. "My dear friends and neighbors. Tonight we wish to welcome into our community our new neighbors and newly arrived friends, Mr. & Miss Bingham, and Mr. & Mrs. Harris of Cape May, New Jersey and their friend Mr. Darden of Martha's Vineyard, Massachusetts. May we say welcome! Harlem embraces you," This was followed by the obligatory neck craning and polite applause, and then the music resumed.
Elizabeth, Jane & Charlotte, seated in the shadow of the heavy portieres* which framed the entry to the anteroom, noticed and recognized two of the gentlemen in the newly arrived group. They were the same ones that had exited from the very elegant black car in front of Horn & Hardart's the week before. They were dressed exceptionally well. All of them wore the customary tails, but Mr. Darden's was tailored in soft gray. Everything about him spoke quiet elegance: the perfectly centered part in his hair, the soft glow from his moonstone cufflinks, the immaculate patent slippers. And his white gloved hand held a silver-headed cane. The other two men were dressed in the usual black jackets and striped trousers . One of the women, as if to mirror the gentlemen in gray, was dressed in a gown embroidered with silver sequins and bugle beads. She wore a silver lame' turban topped with a large white ostrich feather. Her female companion was dressed entirely in black, from the tight cloche* with sequined brim, to her moiré silk fabric shoes and matching evening length gloves. From the way that they were seated it appeared that the older looking of the three men was married to the lady in black. Lizzie whispered with a mischievous smile, "That one's come dressed for a high class funeral, while the rest of us are here to have a good time. I wonder what she's trying to tell us?"
Out of the corner of her eye Elizabeth could see her mother making her way across the perimeter of the room. Her mother did indeed look beautiful. She had chosen to wear a deep coral colored gown which picked up the pink in her complexion. As she approached she started fanning herself, "They are our new Strivers Row neighbors," she said, slightly out of breath. "The Binghams, the single gentleman there," she said pointing with her fan, "His single sister there, she gestured again and married sister and husband. The fellow with them, the one dressed in gray is named Darden. His family has property all over. The talk is that his home on Martha's Vineyard is a palace! He also has a grand place in Westchester County. His family has 'old money', and lots of it. It seems his grandfather was a Portuguese ship captain who was partially raised on the island of Dominique. There is where his father had a sugar plantation named Rosewood. This young man has traveled all over the world..."
"And thinks the world of himself," Elizabeth interjected.
And as if on cue, Mr. Darden started his inspectionary walk around the room. He placed his cane tip slightly in front of him as if to punctuate each step. It was easy to see that he was used to creating a stir. Painfully handsome, and knowing it, this time was no exception. It almost seemed as though everything and everyone in the room moved in slow motion, as all heads and eyes turned to see if he would choose any of the ladies present as a dancing partner. But the gentleman chose not to dance at all.
His friend though, did just the opposite. Elbowing his way through the crowd, while still managing to befriend those he pushed to the side, Bingham determinedly forged ahead with one goal in mind, the trio sitting by the curtain-framed doorway. As he stopped in front of the three ladies, he formally bowed, extended his hand and introduced himself. "Charlie Bingham at your service ladies," he said with an arresting smile. "You have no idea how happy you'd make me if you would accept my invitation to dance," he said, addressing Jane, who blushed and accepted. He led Jane to the floor just in time for the Peabody. Elizabeth was so proud of the graceful way her sister executed the turns and bounces that were part of that very difficult dance. There was a lot of talent in the Village of Harlem, and anyone with a non-prejudiced eye would have to make that admission. But not all present had that kind of eyesight.
After the song ended, Mr. Bingham and Jane left the dance floor. He escorted her to his table so that she might be introduced to his family. After returning Jane to her seat, and seeing Darden missing, he went off in search of his friend. Darden had visited the buffet table and, with turned up nose, had declined all of the attractively displayed and well prepared dishes. His only concession was a cup of punch that he carried with him as he made his way to the end of the room and within earshot of Elizabeth. "Darden, Hey!, what's wrong with you man. This is really a great party. All the belles of Harlem are here and all you're doing is sitting around nursing a cup of punch."
Darden considered the contents of his cup, "Where's the hooch* when you need it? You really should have picked a better party to crash, Bingham..." He glanced at his friend reproachfully, "...because, my good man, there's not a whole lot going on here at all."
"Then you must have been wearing black lens goggles when I was dancing," Bingham retorted. "Look me in the face and tell me she isn't beautiful!"
"Okay, one pretty girl, or maybe two. Really Bingham, you amaze me. We've traveled in Europe, been to New Orleans, Savannah, Nova Scotia, seen their 'best of the best', and now you drag yourself into Harlem to test the waters here," Darden said, slightly raising his voice.
"Well, I intend to have an enjoyable evening. You can dance with my sisters if you like, since Harris doesn't dance. But, if you really want to make the evening memorable, and have something to talk about tomorrow, why don't you try a dance with my partner's sister, who I believe you admired at previous meetings. Or, should I say 'observations'. You do remember moving day? And Horn & Hardarts? Don't try to deny it, man! I saw those eyebrows of yours kick up a notch."
"She's passable Bingham. Passable. I don't dance with 'passable'."
With that Bingham turned on his heels to find Jane so they could be the main attraction once again. Mrs. Benson observed his attentions with delight, for this only confirmed in her mind what she knew to be true all along, Jane could not have been so perfectly beautiful for nothing. The challenge of having five daughters to marry off might have seemed a formidable task to someone less creative than Mrs. Fanny Benson. But this lady was never put off by any challenge. Already, Mrs. Benson was hearing wedding bells.
So Mrs. Benson planned, Mr. Bingham danced, and Mr. Darden preened. But unknown to them all, there was one person in the room whose outlook on the evening's events had taken a decided turn for the worse.
Glossary
Judge Sutton: Another personal indulgence, this time my husband's family. The Suttons were a somewhat prominent family in Harlem around this time.
Portieres: A drapery treatment often used in doorways.
Cloche: A type of close fitting, bell shaped hat, often associated with the 'flapper' look.
Hooch: Liquor. During prohibition, you probably wouldn't find any of 'that' in the punch. At least not at this sort of function. ;-)
Late that evening, in two different households, the conversation was focused on the events that had transpired during the dance.
"Mr. Benson, it was our finest hour. I am truly sorry that business kept you away. The ballroom was glorious, the music heavenly, the participants angelic..."
Mr. Benson, looking over the top of his glasses commented, "My dear, only you could confuse the Mason's Dinner and Dance with the Rapture*."
Mrs. Benson, in her usual way of ignoring her husband, continued on, "The new neighbors were all very fine dressers. And Mr. Bingham could not stay away from Jane! But, that friend of his, Darmon, Darwin, whatever...," here she exercised her habit of mispronouncing the names of presently disapproved individuals, "... was arrogant and anti-social the whole evening. He seemed to think we were all nothing but uncouth lowbrows. He even slighted Elizabeth, saying she was just 'passable' and that he 'didn't dance with passable girls'," Mrs. Benson's commentary grew animated and comical as she mimicked Mr. Darden's voice and posture. Then she reverted back to her original indignation, "Can you imagine that! Our Lizzy being talked about in such a manner by that... that... stuffed shirt!
With this narration of his favorite daughter's experience, Mr. Benson attention was finally gained. "My Lizzy not a dish*? Not good enough? Ahh, well, Mrs. Benson, we must pity the young man and perhaps take up a collection so he can purchase a nice tin cup, and some good thick eyeglasses, for it goes without saying that the man must be blind."
Mrs. Benson, satisfied with her husband's displeasure, blew him a kiss as she left the room.
On Strivers Row Caroline Bingham, a semi-attractive, semi-talented, semi-educated, young woman initiated the conversation. "So, this was Harlem's finest. On a scale of one to ten, where would you place them Mr. Darden?"
"Off the scale... in the wrong direction." was his brusque reply. He did not enjoy conversing with Caroline.
Caroline tittered in response, but then, that was always her response to whatever Mr. Darden said. Sad to say, although Caroline Bingham wore all the latest fashions, had a standing appointment at the best beauty parlor, and had graduated magna cum laude from Mme. LeGrand's School of Charm, something was still lacking. Perhaps it was the fact that none of these places or things for beautifying could guarantee the success of her usually vain, often pathetic, attempts to be witty, charming and beautiful. Her one natural talent was the ability to say cutting things cloaked in silly girlish giggles. She was of average height, had beautifully marcelled hair, manicured hands and rouged cheeks, but was not a beauty. That being the case, she took great pains to show herself to her best advantage, even when it was at the expense of others. Her insecurities were evident to everyone but herself, and in her obvious attempts to attract the romantic attentions of Mr. Darden, she had allowed suitors to slip away, and now there were none.
Her sister, Mrs. Harris had married a man she thought to be stable and educated, but after a few years of marriage discovered him to an idler. Without a job or a business his free time, which was all the time, was spent snuggling up to a bottle and sleeping it off. The Harrises had no children and just a semblance of a marriage. Mrs. Harris, with an even greater share of insecurity and frustration, had in recent years been reduced to the position of her sister's 'Amen Corner'.*
The day after the Mason's Dinner there was a telephone call for Jane from the Bingham household. Caroline Bingham requested that Jane accompany them on a sightseeing tour of the city. She said, "I know we haven't known each other long, but you simply must forgive us for being so forward. You see, the fellows have gone to meet Col. Flippin, and we just can't bear the idea of being cooped up together in this house. It would be better for both of us if we hit the town. You would be doing us a big favor if you would go with us, and filled us in on the latest goings on in the city. Then afterwards we'll have lunch here, if you don't mind. We'll send the car around for you in an hour.
Mrs. Benson was overjoyed at the invitation and told Jane. "Do anything you can to stay till the young men come home. I don't want you to leave that house without seeing Mr. Bingham again!" Unknown to Jane, she was soon to fulfill her mother's dearest wish.
After arriving at the Bingham's abode, Jane Benson found that their plans for an outing would be delayed. Caroline and Mrs. Harris desired to take Jane on an extensive tour of the house, thinking that this would be an ideal way in which to learn more about their pretty visitor and her family. After inquiring about her family's background, level of education, homes, business dealings and each one's favorite color, it was determined (at least in their minds) that this tour would serve another purpose as well, to emphasize the fact that their family was much superior to her own.
Navigating the many turns and landings of the elaborate staircase, they finally reached the fourth floor, where the guest bedrooms were located. While showing one of these rooms, Caroline called Jane aside to show her yet another new Tiffany lamp. In her haste to follow, and distracted by Caroline's incessant chatter, Jane somehow struck her left foot on the sharp corner of a low lying table. The foot immediately swelled, making her shoe impossible to wear, and sending her first to an adjacent chair and finally to the bed. The return trip down that staircase would now be impossible. A call was immediately made to her family.
Mrs. Benson applauded her daughter's cleverness (so much like her own!) and once again heard wedding bells.
Elizabeth's response was of a different style, "I'm going over to see Jane. There's no way I'm leaving my sweet sister to the mercy of those two women."
"I'll have Jerome drive you over."
"No, papa, that's not necessary, I really prefer to walk."
"Walk? Walk! You make sport*!" in her excitement, Mrs. Benson slipped into her Jamaican vernacular, "What is it you want, to appear common before these people?"
As expected, Mr. Benson came to his favorite daughter's rescue, "Let her walk Fanny. It may come as a surprise to you, but people do walk here my dear. The danger from rampaging ox carts is not quite so high in this town."
Completely frustrated by her husband's response, Mrs. Benson rolled her eyes, shupsed and walked out of the room.
It was as if the fates were not shining on either of the two eldest Benson girls on this day. Halfway through Elizabeth's walk to Strivers Row, it started to rain, or shall we say, the sky opened wide. What was once a friendly blue had suddenly turned black, leaving Lizzy in a dilemma. Should she forge ahead or return home? She chose the former. Her quick stride soon turned to a mad dash, but she was still not quick enough. By the time she reached the Bingham's she was soaked quite through. What a sight she was! Flushed and flustered, Lizzy's smooth brown skin now had rosy undertones. Her hair, undone by the rain, now framed her heart-shaped face with a soft, frizzy halo. But what was already a bad situation in her mind would soon become worse, for the gentlemen had just returned. And as she was shown into the front parlor she almost collided with one of them who was on his way out.
Any pleasantry that he might ordinarily have had in his power was completely forsaken. Instead of the usual 'hello' or 'how do you do', Darden could only exclaim, "You walked in all this rain?"
To Elizabeth Benson this was yet another insult from the impossible Mr. Darden. Lizzy flashed her eyes in his direction, "City people do it all the time Mr. Darden. It's called exercise."
On the hallway side of the parlor door, Mr. F. William Darden was left by himself to ponder various newly discovered benefits of exercise. On the parlor side of the door, Mr. Bingham immediately approached Lizzy, took her hand and expressed his sincere pleasure at seeing her again. "Please make yourself at home! Take off that wet coat and I'll show you to your sister."
Caroline Bingham, thinking that Lizzy's hair and clothing had said quite enough already, had nothing further to add to the conversation. As the door closed behind her brother and Lizzy Benson, she rolled her eyes heavenward and went off in search of Mr. Darden.
Upon entering the sick room, Lizzy and Mr. Bingham found Jane in bed with her ankle elevated, surrounded by pillows and looking quite lovely. "It really is a shame about that staircase, Jane. I hope you don't mind being stuck here for a while," Bingham expressed his regret by grinning lopsidedly. After lingering a bit longer than was necessary, he finally made as if to go, "Well, I guess I'll leave the two of you alone," The door almost closed behind him, when he suddenly remembered something else. This time he spoke to Lizzy, "Oh! By the way, I insist that you stay with your sister until she's better. I've already called your home and someone's bringing your clothes over," The door almost closed a second time, when Bingham found yet another reason to turn back. Standing in the doorway he gave Jane an approving smile, and said, "Miss Jane Benson, I swear, you are the bee's knees* and the frog's eyebrows*!" Lingering just long enough to see Jane blush, he finally closed the door.
Dish: A good looking woman. Equivalent in today's slang to a 'fox' or a 'babe'
Amen Corner: At one time, there was a literal corner in many African American churches, where those who could be counted on to say 'amen' during the service would be seated. In a secular context, those in the 'amen corner' are followers who can be counted on to agree with whatever their leader says.
You make sport: A West Indian expression accusing someone of making a joke at your expense, pretty much equivalent to 'you're pulling my leg'
The bee's knees: In the slang of the times, this was a compliment of the highest order. Calling something or someone 'the bee's knees' meant they were pretty hot stuff.
The frog's eyebrows: ditto