1919

1919

History in poems
It was a hot Chicago day--just four degrees short of 100.
People headed for the beaches for heat relief. Back then there were
White beaches and Black beaches. When Black teens drifted into a
White zone White guys started throwing stones. One boy, Eugene
Williams, died. White police officers refused to arrest anyone.
What started out as an ordinary miserable day turned into the
Chicago Race Riot of 1919. When it was over 38 people were dead, 537
injured, and a thousand homeless.
A long term Chicago native, Ewe Ewing, was doing research for a
book on racism in her hometown's educational system. She found a 1922
document, The Negro in Chicago: A Study on Race Relations and a Race
Riot, to be not only useful, but inspiring.
"...This report was prepared by a committee appointed by the
governor, made up of six Black men and six White men, all deemed by
their peers to be upstanding and respectable citizens. Its stated
purpose was to dissect the 1919 race riot that had happened in Chicago
three years prior, to analyze its causes, and try to prevent something
like that from happening again. In order to figure out the race riot,
the authors reasoned what they really had to figure out was the
reality of everyday life for Black people in their era, and so that's
what they set out to do."
For her research Ewing needed only one small part of the
report. But she kept reading other sections, fascinated by the
glimpses they gave her into Black lives in her home city a century
earlier. Instead of pedantic and dull, she found it reminding her of
poetry.
Ewing's 1919 is a response to the report on the form of poetry.
It's intended to start conversations about a key but overlooked
historical event many people would have no interest in reading
government reports about. It covers a period of time that goes from
the first Great Migration that brought 60,000 Black people from the
South to Chicago to the aftermath of the riot. Each poem is preceded
by the fragment of discourse that inspired it.
A paragraph on how little Whites knew about Blacks, even those
working in their homes, is followed by a poem that includes this stanza:
"my mother taught me
to be silent in their homes.
they forget you're there.
this way you pass as a ghost.
come and go as you please, hushed."
A statement on the heat on the fatal day and those leading up to
it is followed by a poem in the form of a call and answer that starts
off:
"man it was so hot
how hot was it
it was so hot
you could cook an egg
on that big forehead of yours
you a lie..."
A poem about cars of maurading Whites terrorizing Black
neighborhoods and Blacks defending themselves is followed by one of
the scariest poems in the book. A child is sent to take the trash
out. He (In 1919 this was a boy's chore) is paralyzed with fear when
a motorcycle "barreled toward me like a dart." His father springs to
his defense, shooting the rider who lies dying in the garbage.
The period photographs are very eloquent. In my favorite a
group of migrating Blacks (maybe a family) poses with their
suitcases. They are dressed in their best. Their expressions are a
blend of determination and trepidation. In another a large group of
White men and boys is gathering behind a row of wooden houses. Their
excitement and thirst for action are evident--even in a century old
black and white photograph.
1919 is deceptively slim--about the size of a picture book. It
could be skimmed in less than an hour. But it is deserving of a lot
more contemplation. It can lead to powerful insights about the event
it was structured around abd the world in which we live today.
On a purrrsonal note, I'm having quite an eventful weekend. Saturday
Eugene and I found a yard sale in the morning. He bought me the
really cool stuff pictured below. In the afternoon we went to his
mother's birthday party. All my kids and Brian and Jacob were there.
It was wonderful to see them! We had cake (which I'll send) and ice
cream and refreshments. I had little gifts for my kids which they
appreciated. It was such a wonderful afternoon!
Today I went to the old house (the one in which he grew up) with
Eugene. He mowed enough grass that I could place Queen Anne's lace on
Joey cat's grave. The first anniversary of his death is August 11.
(Jules)
I think it will rain soon. (Tobago)
A great big shout out goes out to precious Joey cat, wherever his soul
may be.
Tobago and Jules Hathaway


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