Volume One Number One

EDITORIAL OFFICES 314 West 138th Street, New York City Price $1.00 per copy Issued Quarterly

Cordelia the Crude

_Physically_, if not mentally, Cordelia was a potential prostitute, meaning that although she had not yet realized the moral import of her wanton promiscuity nor become mercenary, she had, nevertheless, become quite blasé and bountiful in the matter of bestowing sexual favors upon persuasive and likely young men. Yet, despite her seeming lack of discrimination, Cordelia was quite particular about the type of male to whom she submitted, for numbers do not necessarily denote a lack of taste, and Cordelia had discovered after several months of active observation that one could find the qualities one admires or reacts positively to in a varied hodge-podge of outwardly different individuals.

The scene of Cordelia’s activities was The Roosevelt Motion Picture Theatre on Seventh Avenue near 145th Street. Thrice weekly the program changed, and thrice weekly Cordelia would plunk down the necessary twenty-five cents evening admission fee, and saunter gaily into the foul-smelling depths of her favorite cinema shrine. The Roosevelt Theatre presented all of the latest pictures, also, twice weekly, treated its audiences to a vaudeville bill, then too, one could always have the most delightful physical contacts ... hmm....

Cordelia had not consciously chosen this locale nor had there been any conscious effort upon her part to take advantage of the extra opportunities afforded for physical pleasure. It had just happened that the Roosevelt Theatre was more close to her home than any other neighborhood picture palace, and it had also just happened that Cordelia had become almost immediately initiated into the ways of a Harlem theatre chippie soon after her discovery of the theatre itself.

It is the custom of certain men and boys who frequent these places to idle up and down the aisle until some female is seen sitting alone, to slouch down into a seat beside her, to touch her foot or else press her leg in such a way that it can be construed as accidental if necessary, and then, if the female is wise or else shows signs of willingness to become wise, to make more obvious approaches until, if successful, the approached female will soon be chatting with her baiter about the picture being shown, lolling in his arms, and helping to formulate plans for an after-theatre rendezvous. Cordelia had, you see, shown a willingness to become wise upon her second visit to The Roosevelt. In a short while she had even learned how to squelch the bloated, lewd faced Jews and eager middle aged Negroes who might approach as well as how to inveigle the likeable little yellow or brown half men, embryo avenue sweetbacks, with their well modeled heads, stickily plastered hair, flaming cravats, silken or broadcloth shirts, dirty underwear, low cut vests, form fitting coats, bell-bottom trousers and shiny shoes with metal cornered heels clicking with a brave, brazen rhythm upon the bare concrete floor as their owners angled and searched for prey.

Cordelia, sixteen years old, matronly mature, was an undisciplined, half literate product of rustic South Carolina, and had come to Harlem very much against her will with her parents and her six brothers and sisters. Against her will because she had not been at all anxious to leave the lackadaisical life of the little corn pone settlement where she had been born, to go trooping into the unknown vastness of New York, for she had been in love, passionately in love with one John Stokes who raised pigs, and who, like his father before him, found the raising of pigs so profitable that he could not even consider leaving Lintonville. Cordelia had blankly informed her parents that she would not go with them when they decided to be lured to New York by an older son who had remained there after the demobilization of the war time troops. She had even threatened to run away with John until they should be gone, but of course John could not leave his pigs, and John’s mother was not very keen on having Cordelia for a daughter-in-law--those Joneses have bad mixed blood in ’em--so Cordelia had had to join the Gotham bound caravan and leave her lover to his succulent porkers.

However, the mere moving to Harlem had not doused the rebellious flame. Upon arriving Cordelia had not only refused to go to school and refused to hold even the most easily held job, but had also victoriously defied her harassed parents so frequently when it came to matters of discipline that she soon found herself with a mesmerizing lack of home restraint, for the stress of trying to maintain themselves and their family in the new environment was far too much of a task for Mr. and Mrs. Jones to attend to facilely and at the same time try to control a recalcitrant child. So, when Cordelia had refused either to work or to attend school, Mrs. Jones herself had gone out for day’s work, leaving Cordelia at home to take care of their five room railroad flat, the front room of which was rented out to a couple “living together,” and to see that the younger children, all of whom were of school age, made their four trips daily between home and the nearby public school--as well as see that they had their greasy, if slim, food rations and an occasional change of clothing. Thus Cordelia’s days were full--and so were her nights. The only difference being that the days belonged to the folks at home while the nights (since the folks were too tired or too sleepy to know or care when she came in or went out) belonged to her and to--well--whosoever will, let them come.

Cordelia had been playing this hectic, entrancing game for six months and was widely known among a certain group of young men and girls on the avenue as a fus’ class chippie when she and I happened to enter the theatre simultaneously. She had clumped down the aisle before me, her open galoshes swishing noisily, her two arms busy wriggling themselves free from the torn sleeve lining of a shoddy imitation fur coat that one of her mother’s wash clients had sent to her. She was of medium height and build, with overly developed legs and bust, and had a clear, keen light brown complexion. Her too slick, too naturally bobbed hair, mussed by the removing of a tight, black turban was of an undecided nature, i.e., it was undecided whether to be kinky or to be kind, and her body, as she sauntered along in the partial light had such a conscious sway of invitation that unthinkingly I followed, slid into the same row of seats and sat down beside her.

Naturally she had noticed my pursuit, and thinking that I was eager to play the game, let me know immediately that she was wise, and not the least bit averse to spooning with me during the evening’s performance. Interested, and, I might as well confess, intrigued physically, I too became wise, and played up to her with all the fervor, or so I thought, of an old timer, but Cordelia soon remarked that I was different from mos’ of des’ sheiks, and when pressed for an explanation brazenly told me in a slightly scandalized and patronizing tone that I had not even felt her legs...!

At one o’clock in the morning we strolled through the snowy bleakness of one hundred and forty-fourth street between Lenox and Fifth Avenues to the walk-up tenement flat in which she lived, and after stamping the snow from our feet, pushed through the double outside doors, and followed the dismal hallway to the rear of the building where we began the tedious climbing of the crooked, creaking, inconveniently narrow stairway. Cordelia had informed me earlier in the evening that she lived on the top floor--four flights up east side rear--and on our way we rested at each floor and at each half way landing, rested long enough to mingle the snowy dampness of our respective coats, and to hug clumsily while our lips met in an animal kiss.

Finally only another half flight remained, and instead of proceeding as was usual after our amourous demonstration I abruptly drew away from her, opened my overcoat, plunged my hand into my pants pocket, and drew out two crumpled one dollar bills which I handed to her, and then, while she stared at me foolishly, I muttered good-night, confusedly pecked her on her cold brown cheek, and darted down into the creaking darkness.

Six months later I was taking two friends of mine, lately from the provinces, to a Saturday night house-rent party in a well known whore house on one hundred and thirty-fourth street near Lenox Avenue. The place as we entered seemed to be a chaotic riot of raucous noise and clashing color all rhythmically merging in the red, smoke filled room. And there I saw Cordelia savagely careening in a drunken abortion of the Charleston and surrounded by a perspiring circle of handclapping enthusiasts. Finally fatigued, she whirled into an abrupt finish, and stopped so that she stared directly into my face, but being dizzy from the calisthenic turns and the cauterizing liquor she doubted that her eyes recognized someone out of the past, and, visibly trying to sober herself, languidly began to dance a slow drag with a lean hipped pimply faced yellow man who had walked between her and me. At last he released her, and seeing that she was about to leave the room I rushed forward calling Cordelia?--as if I was not yet sure who it was. Stopping in the doorway, she turned to see who had called, and finally recognizing me said simply, without the least trace of emotion--’Lo kid....

And without another word turned her back and walked into the hall to where she joined four girls standing there. Still eager to speak, I followed and heard one of the girls ask: Who’s the dicty kid?...

And Cordelia answered: The guy who gimme ma’ firs’ two bucks....

WALLACE THURMAN.

Color Struck

_A Play in Four Scenes_

_Time: Twenty years ago and present._ _Place: A Southern City._

PERSONS

JOHN _A light brown-skinned man_ EMMALINE _A black woman_ WESLEY _A boy who plays an accordion_ EMMALINE’S DAUGHTER _A very white girl_ EFFIE _A mulatto girl_ A RAILWAY CONDUCTOR A DOCTOR _Several who play mouth organs, guitars, banjos._ _Dancers, passengers, etc._

SETTING.--_Early night. The inside of a “Jim Crow” railway coach. The car is parallel to the footlights. The seats on the down stage side of the coach are omitted. There are the luggage racks above the seats. The windows are all open. There are exits in each end of the car--right and left._

ACTION.--_Before the curtain goes up there is the sound of a locomotive whistle and a stopping engine, loud laughter, many people speaking at once, good-natured shrieks, strumming of stringed instruments, etc. The ascending curtain discovers a happy lot of Negroes boarding the train dressed in the gaudy, tawdry best of 1900. They are mostly in couples--each couple bearing a covered-over market basket which the men hastily deposit in the racks as they scramble for seats. There is a little friendly pushing and shoving. One pair just miss a seat three times, much to the enjoyment of the crowd. Many “plug” silk hats are in evidence, also sun-flowers in button holes. The women are showily dressed in the manner of the time, and quite conscious of their finery. A few seats remain unoccupied._

_Enter Effie (left) above, with a basket._ ONE OF THE MEN (_standing, lifting his “plug” in a grand manner_). Howdy do, Miss Effie, you’se lookin’ jes lak a rose.

(_Effie blushes and is confused. She looks up and down for a seat._) Fack is, if you wuzn’t walkin’ long, ah’d think you _wuz_ a rose--(_he looks timidly behind her and the others laugh_). Looka here, where’s Sam at?

EFFIE (_tossing her head haughtily_). I don’t know an’ I don’t keer.

THE MAN (_visibly relieved_). Then lemme scorch you to a seat. (_He takes her basket and leads her to a seat center of the car, puts the basket in the rack and seats himself beside her with his hat at a rakish angle._)

MAN (_sliding his arm along the back of the seat_). How come Sam ain’t heah--y’ll on a bust?

EFFIE (_angrily_). A man dat don’t buy me nothin tuh put in _mah_ basket, ain’t goin’ wid _me_ tuh no cake walk. (_The hand on the seat touches her shoulder and she thrusts it away_). Take yo’ arms from ’round me, Dinky! Gwan hug yo’ Ada!

MAN (_in mock indignation_). Do you think I’d look at Ada when Ah got a chance tuh be wid you? Ah always wuz sweet on you, but you let ole Mullet-head Sam cut me out.

ANOTHER MAN (_with head out of the window_). Just look at de darkies coming! (_With head inside coach._) Hey, Dinky! Heah come Ada wid a great big basket.

(_Dinky jumps up from beside Effie and rushes to exit right. In a moment they re-enter and take a seat near entrance. Everyone in coach laughs. Dinky’s girl turns and calls back to Effie._)

GIRL. Where’s Sam, Effie?

EFFIE. Lawd knows, Ada.

GIRL. Lawd a mussy! Who you gointer walk de cake wid?

EFFIE. Nobody, Ah reckon, John and Emma gointer win it nohow. They’s the bestest cake walkers in dis state.

ADA. You’se better than Emma any day in de week. Cose Sam cain’t walk lake John. (_She stands up and scans the coach._) Looka heah, ain’t John an’ Emma going? They ain’t on heah!

(_The locomotive bell begins to ring._)

EFFIE. Mah Gawd, s’pose dey got left!

MAN (_with head out of window_). Heah they come, nip and tuck--whoo-ee! They’se gonna make it! (_He waves excitedly._) Come on Jawn! (_Everybody crowds the windows, encouraging them by gesture and calls. As the whistle blows twice, and the train begins to move, they enter panting and laughing at left. The only seat left is the one directly in front of Effie._)

DINKY (_standing_). Don’t y’all skeer us no mo’ lake dat! There couldn’t be no cake walk thout y’all. Dem shad-mouf St. Augustine coons would win dat cake and we would have tuh kill ’em all bodaciously.

JOHN. It was Emmaline nearly made us get left. She says I wuz smiling at Effie on the street car and she had to get off and wait for another one.

EMMA (_removing the hatpins from her hat, turns furiously upon him_). You wuz grinning at her and she wuz grinning back jes lake a ole chessy cat!

JOHN (_positively_). I wuzn’t.

EMMA (_about to place her hat in rack_). You wuz. I seen you looking jes lake a possum.

JOHN. I wuzn’t. I never gits a chance tuh smile at nobody--you won’t let me.

EMMA. Jes the same every time you sees a yaller face, you _takes_ a chance. (_They sit down in peeved silence for a minute._)

DINKY. Ada, les we all sample de basket. I bet you got huckleberry pie.

ADA. No I aint, I got peach an’ tater pies, but we aint gonna tetch a thing tell we gits tuh de hall.

DINKY (_mock alarm_). Naw, don’t do dat! It’s all right tuh save the fried chicken, but pies is _always_ et on trains.

ADA. Aw shet up! (_He struggles with her for a kiss. She slaps him but finally yields._)

JOHN (_looking behind him_). Hellow, Effie, where’s Sam?

EFFIE. Deed, I don’t know.

JOHN. Y’all on a bust?

EMMA. None ah yo’ bizness, you got enough tuh mind yo’ own self. Turn ’round!

(_She puts up a pouting mouth and he snatches a kiss. She laughs just as he kisses her again and there is a resounding smack which causes the crowd to laugh. And cries of_ “Oh you kid!” “Salty dog!”)

(_Enter conductor left calling tickets cheerfully and laughing at the general merriment._)

CONDUCTOR. I hope somebody from Jacksonville wins this cake.

JOHN. You live in the “Big Jack?”

CONDUCTOR. Sure do. And I wanta taste a piece of that cake on the way back tonight.

JOHN. Jes rest easy--them Augustiners aint gonna smell it. (_Turns to Emma._) Is they, baby?

EMMA. Not if Ah kin help it.

_Somebody with a guitar sings_: “Ho babe, mah honey taint no lie.”

(_The conductor takes up tickets, passes on and exits right._)

WESLEY. Look heah, you cake walkers--y’all oughter git up and limber up yo’ joints. I heard them folks over to St. Augustine been oiling up wid goose-grease, and over to Ocala they been rubbing down in snake oil.

A WOMAN’S VOICE. You better shut up, Wesley, you just joined de church last month. Somebody’s going to tell the pastor on you.

WESLEY. Tell it, tell it, take it up and smell it. Come on out you John and Emma and Effie, and limber up.

JOHN. Naw, we don’t wanta do our walking steps---nobody won’t wanta see them when we step out at the hall. But we kin do something else just to warm ourselves up.

(_Wesley begins to play “Goo Goo Eyes” on his accordion, the other instruments come in one by one and John and Emma step into the aisle and “parade” up and down the aisle--Emma holding up her skirt, showing the lace on her petticoats. They two-step back to their seat amid much applause._)

WESLEY. Come on out, Effie! Sam aint heah so you got to hold up his side too. Step on out. (_There is a murmur of applause as she steps into the aisle. Wesley strikes up “I’m gointer live anyhow till I die.” It is played quite spiritedly as Effie swings into the pas-me-la_--)

WESLEY (_in ecstasy_). Hot stuff I reckon! Hot stuff I reckon! (_The musicians are stamping. Great enthusiasm. Some clap time with hands and feet. She hurls herself into a modified Hoochy Koochy, and finishes up with an ecstatic yell._)

_There is a babble of talk and laughter and exultation._

JOHN (_applauding loudly_). If dat Effie can’t step nobody can.

EMMA. Course you’d say so cause it’s her. Everything she do is pretty to you.

JOHN (_caressing her_). Now don’t say that, Honey. Dancing is dancing no matter who is doing it. But nobody can hold a candle to you in nothing.

(_Some men are heard tuning up--getting pitch to sing. Four of them crowd together in one seat and begin the chorus of “Daisies Won’t Tell.” John and Emma grow quite affectionate._)

JOHN (_kisses her_). Emma, what makes you always picking a fuss with me over some yaller girl. What makes you so jealous, nohow? I don’t do nothing.

(_She clings to him, but he turns slightly away. The train whistle blows, there is a slackening of speed. Passengers begin to take down baskets from their racks._)

EMMA. John! John, don’t you want me to love you, honey?

JOHN (_turns and kisses her slowly_). Yes, I want you to love me, you know I do. But I don’t like to be accused o’ ever light colored girl in the world. It hurts my feeling. I don’t want you to be jealous like you are.

(_Enter at right Conductor, crying “St. Augustine, St. Augustine.” He exits left. The crowd has congregated at the two exits, pushing good-naturedly and joking. All except John and Emma. They are still seated with their arms about each other._)

EMMA (_sadly_). Then you don’t want my love, John, cause I can’t help mahself from being jealous. I loves you so hard, John, and jealous love is the only kind I got.

(_John kisses her very feelingly._)

EMMA. Just for myself alone is the only way I knows how to love.

(_They are standing in the aisle with their arms about each other as the curtain falls._)