Hurston - A pair of Eatonville tales - Keeping the Public in Public Domain

 

Alfreda Harris

 

 

 

My fellow storyteller, the late (I would add great!) Alfreda Harris is on the In Memoriam page of Michigan Storytelling. Black History Month was only part of her storytelling work, but I remember fondly her love of the stories of Zora Neale Hurston. It nudged me to look and see if any of Hurston's work was in Public Domain. Imagine my delight to find eight items, but for retelling The Eatonville Anthology was pure gold!

Before I give a pair of gems from it I really should tell a bit more about Eatonville. This Florida town was very much Hurston's home, weaving its way throughout her life. Nowadays the town runs an annual award-winning festival, Zora!, which is described as  “the longest running arts and humanities festival celebrating the cultural contributions people of African ancestry have made to the world.” My apologies for not discovering it at the beginning of this month when this year's festival was held. It began in 1990 and readers might want to explore it for the future.

Hurston's stories flowed throughout her life, with Eatonville being the spring for the fountain of her writing. This 1926 anthology offers a small flood of tales. Because February is also filled with the celebration of Valentine's Day, a very brief tale of "Turpentine Love" is the opening tale here, followed by another, "The Way of a Man with a Train." (I'm a train lover, even married on one, and couldn't resist!)

Turpentine Love

Jim Merchant is always in good humor—even with his wife. He says he fell in love with her at first sight. That was some years ago. She has had all her teeth pulled out, but they still get along splendidly.

He says the first time he called on her he found out that she was subject to fits. This didn’t cool his love, however. She had several in his presence.

One Sunday, while he was there, she had one, and her mother tried to give her a dose of turpentine to stop it. Accidently, she spilled it in her eye and it cured her. She never had another fit, so they got married and have kept each other in good humor ever since.

The Way of a Man with a Train

Old Man Anderson lived seven or eight miles out in the country from Eatonville. Over by Lake Apopka. He raised feed-corn and cassava and went to market with it two or three times a year. He bought all of his victuals wholesale so he wouldn’t have to come to town for several months more.

He was different from us citybred folks. He had never seen a train. Everybody laughed at him for even the smallest child in Eatonville had either been to Maitland or Orlando and watched a train go by. On Sunday afternoons all of the young people of the village would go over to Maitland, a mile away, to see Number 35 whizz southward on its way to Tampa and wave at the passengers. So we looked down on him a little. Even we children felt superior in the presence of a person so lacking in worldly knowledge.

The grown-ups kept telling him he ought to go see a train. He always said he didn’t have time to wait so long. Only two trains a day passed through Maitland. But patronage and ridicule finally had its effect and Old Man Anderson drove in one morning early. Number 78 went north to Jacksonville at 10:20. He drove his light wagon over in the woods beside the railroad below Maitland, and sat down to wait. He began to fear that his horse would get frightened and run away with the wagon. So he took him out and led him deeper into the grove and tied him securely. Then he returned to his wagon and waited some more. Then he remembered that some of the train-wise villagers had said the engine belched fire and smoke. He had better move his wagon out of danger. It might catch afire. He climbed down from the seat and placed himself between the shafts to draw it away. Just then 78 came thundering over the trestle spouting smoke, and suddenly began blowing for Maitland. Old Man Anderson became so frightened he ran away with the wagon through the woods and tore it up worse than the horse ever could have done. He doesn’t know yet what a train looks like, and says he doesn’t care.

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I hope the good humor that fills these two brief stories encourages you to look up more of Hurston's work. I know Alfreda would have a big smile on her face if you did.

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 This is part of a series of postings of stories under the category, “Keeping the Public in Public Domain.” The idea behind Public Domain was to preserve our cultural heritage after the authors and their immediate heirs were compensated. I feel strongly current copyright law delays this intent on works of the 20th century. My own library of folklore includes so many books within the Public Domain I decided to share stories from them. I hope you enjoy discovering them. At the same time, my own involvement in storytelling regularly creates projects requiring research as part of my sharing stories with an audience. Whenever that research needs to be shown here, the publishing of Public Domain stories will not occur that week. This is a return to my regular posting of a research project here. (Don't worry, this isn't dry research, my research is always geared towards future storytelling to an audience.) Response has convinced me that "Keeping the Public in Public Domain" should continue along with my other postings as often as I can manage it. See the sidebar for other Public Domain story resources I recommend on the page “Public Domain Story Resources."

Alfreda Harris plus Wheeler - Kuau (The Frog) - Keeping the Public in Public Domain

One of the things I remember my late mother-in-law saying was so hard as we get older is the number of friends we lose by their going before us.  I was shocked this past week to learn Alfreda Harris, had died.  Alfreda was my friend and fellow member of the former storytelling group, Flint Area Story Tellers.

Today's article is posted in loving memory of Alfreda Ann Harris.  Someone so special will not be forgotten.  Alfreda was a lively, knowledgeable storyteller who called her work Porch Stories.   I will miss her and know those who heard her tell will miss her, too.  She had so many stories to tell and they were often enriched by her travels, both as a Peace Corps volunteer in the South Pacific's Solomon Islands and travels beyond to a total of 16 countries which I remember definitely included Africa. 

Because many of my readers may be here only to read a story, I decided to hunt for a Public Domain story from the Solomon Islands since I am sure Alfreda would want people to discover this little known Pacific Island, especially during this Asian and Pacific Islander Heritage month.  While this annotated bibliography of Solomon Islands folklore shows coverage starting in the second half of the Twentieth Century, little is available earlier and therefore free of copyright.  

Gerald Wheeler in 1926 was the exception.  Wheeler's ability to speak many languages served him well when he went on an anthropological expedition in 1908 and 9 to the Solomon Islands.  His 1926 book, Mono-Alu folklore contains 79 myths, stories, and songs.  He gives both the story in a brief English version and the original as he heard it.  In 1926 Wheeler published Mono-Alu folklore, describing 79 myths, stories and songs. For each myth he provided a transcription in the Mono-Alu language and an English translation.

His English version is so brief and seems to miss the way it was originally told.  This little tale of why the frog lives in the water seems better told with all the repetition left in as Wheeler heard it.  The book took a bit of prowling, but I finally learned a Pakusi is a stone axe

 

(Laughing Frog by photographer Andreas Gramiger)

That story just seem to call out for a laughing frog picture and when I think back on Alfreda I always picture her with a smile.  

To let Alfreda speak again to us, I went searching online.  There weren't a lot of places, but there were a few where Alfreda described herself: her professional LinkedIn write-up; when she became a Crim Mindful Fellow for Flint's Crim Finess Foundation (that brings a smile to me since the Crim annual race always seemed to coincide with the Michigan Storytellers Festival . . . may the festival someday return!); an online story from the Thirty-Three Days of Covid lockdown when her severely health damaged youngest sister hovered near death; and her 2005 article to Peace Corps Online about her gathering of Flint's "Porch Stories" for the Sloan Museum exhibit, "A View from the Front Porch"; she also led Virtual Story Circles for Sloan Museum "exploring themes of  resilience, neighborhoods, housing, and education. Community members are invited to share their own stories through guided discussions that lead to new experiences and narrative change for the Flint community" -- they said Alfreda "shares stories in hopes of transcending cultural boundaries and expanding global horizons. She believes there are lessons and wisdom to be gained in the telling and hearing of stories. Through stories she seeks to provide audiences with lasting learning, entertaining, and inspirational experiences. Her diverse background provides fertile ground for capturing the storytelling within everyone’s life journey."

If you follow those links you will see her strong connection to her family and living in the home where she grew up, along with her dedication to bringing out the stories of Flint's residents, and, as the Crim article let her say, she had a:

lifelong passion for learning, teaching, and making a difference in her community.  She has practiced mindfulness for over 30 years. She seeks opportunities to share mindfulness through storytelling.  Alfreda has a diverse background in education and the arts. 

Her love for Flint and both her volunteer and paid work will be missed.  Her love of her mother, brothers and sisters show where she has gone to be with family.  She said it best in her opening paragraph of Thirty-Three Days:

I am sheltering in place alone, but not lonely. I miss my Mama. She passed on Friday, January 24, 2020, after five weeks in the hospital. Besides being my mother, she was my housemate and best friend. The eldest of her six children (two boys and four girls), I am her next of kin. I am the one everyone looked to when it came to making decisions. I am the facilitator and advocate on behalf of our family. Now, walking through the house we shared and where I grew up, her presence is all around me. I hear her voice and see her everywhere. Mama left me with many wonderful, sunshine memories. As I grieve her, I am sheltering in place alone, but not lonely.

Talking about that family home in the Flint community of Beecher, the final sentence of the Crim article says "She resides in Beecher in the house where she grew up."  She still does. . . and in all the Porch Stories told through her encouragement.