Just Plain Folks

by Lorraine Johnson-Coleman

  For an old lady, his grandma used to be able to really swing a switch. Now she was past her prime. Her legs bothered her and she couldn’t get around too good, so he had to do all the punishing work for her now. First he’d have to tell her several times what he’d done ’cause she’d remember one minute but forget the next. He’d have to holler it too to make sure she heard it all, and then he’d have to go get the switch. Once he’d picked out the perfect one he had to help her position it in her one good hand, ’cause one hand didn’t open and the other one did, but it was all twisted up so she had a hard time getting ahold of things. After that, he had to make sure he got close enough so she could reach him without having to swing too wide ’cause she had arthritis in her elbow. Once she’d hit him a couple of times he had to put on a real good show, pretending all the while that she’d hurt him with all that hitting when in reality she’d probably missed him altogether. Finally he had to hug her ’round the neck and tell her he was sorry and then help her into bed, ’cause all of that activity was sure to wear her out. He loved his grandma though. He usually tried real hard not to do anything too much to upset her. Sometimes he just couldn’t help it, however.

  Miz Mildred came out at last. She sat down in her chair and pointed for him to sit again. She didn’t offer him one of her sitting chairs, so it was either the steps or the damp ground. He chose the steps.

  “So, boy, what all you been up to?” She was chewing tobacco so it came out sounding all run together, but he understood. But what was he supposed to say? Was this some kind of trick to get him to tell something he wasn’t ready to admit to yet, or was she just making conversation?

  “Boy, you ever heard tell of Wiley and the Hairy Hairy Man?” She looked over at him real serious-like.

  “Wiley? He got a name almost like mine,” Willy said, proudly pointing out that he’d almost been made the star of a story.

  “Well, he ain’t you, so just hush up. ’Course, now his story could be your story if you don’t start acting right. That Hairy Hairy Man is all the time looking for them ones that’s causin’ a ruckus.”

  The Hairy Hairy Man, Willy thought. Ain’t nobody ever told him about nothing like that, and Willy wasn’t too sure he wanted to be hearing about it now. Didn’t look like he had no choice in the matter though. Miz Mildred had already leaned back her chair into its famous storytelling position, and she’d spit the chewing tobacco out too. This was serious stuff. He’d better listen up.

  “Now they tell me that Wiley’s daddy was just no darn good. Fact was that he’d steal watermelons after dark, and one time he even robbed a dead man Joyner had laid out for burying. They even said that he was messing around with old man Hesse’s new young bride, but chile, that’s another story. So you see, everybody knew that when Wiley’s daddy died he’d never cross Jordan ’cause the Hairy Hairy Man would sure ’nough be waiting for him. That must of been what happened, ’cause they never found him after he fell drunk face first into Crooked Creek that runs just a few miles from here. They looked for him everywhere but they ain’t never found him, and when they heard a big man laughing ’cross the river, everybody just figured out that it was the Hairy Hairy Man and they stopped looking.

  “‘Wiley,’ his mama told him, ‘the Hairy Hairy Man done got your daddy and he’s gonna get you too if you don’t watch out.’ ‘Yes, Mama,’ Wiley replied. ‘I’ll be sure to take my hound dogs everywhere I go.’

  “Wiley knew that the Hairy Hairy Man didn’t like no hound dogs ’cause his mama had told him and she knew stuff like that there. Why, she even knew conjure, that magic that gets folks to acting anyway you wants ’em to by mixing this and that together just right. Well, Wiley’s mama knew conjure, so of course, she knew all about a Hairy Hairy Man. Anyways, not too long after that, Wiley went out to cut some wood for his mama. He took his hound dog with him too, but soon as they got to where they was going, that hound dog saw a rabbit and took off to chasing him. Sho’ ’nough, here come the Hairy Hairy Man.

  “Lord have mercy, that Hairy Hairy Man was ugly as sin too. He was hairy all over, his eyes bugged out, and he had real big teeth. Well, Wiley got scared as could be and climbed up a real big tree. He knew that the Hairy Hairy Man couldn’t come up there on account of them big cow feet he had. Do you know that that Hairy Hairy Man looked up at Wiley and said, ‘You can’t get away from me and I’m gonna get you too.’ Then he picked up Wiley’s ax and started chopping down the tree. Wiley was scared then, but soon after, his hound dog come on and chased that Hairy Hairy Man clear on outta there. When Wiley got home, he told his mama what happened.

  “‘Did he have his sack?’ she asked him.

  “‘Yes, ma’am,’ said Wiley.

  “‘Next time that he comes after you, don’t climb up no tree. Just stay on the ground and say, “Hello, mister Hairy Hairy Man.” You understand what I’m telling you?’ she asked firmly. Well, Wiley understood, but for the life of him he couldn’t figure out how just standing around saying hello was going to help somebody eye to eye with a Hairy Hairy Man.

  “‘He ain’t gonna hurt you, chile,’ she said. ‘I knows. You can put him in the dirt and I’m gonna tell you how to do it.’

  “‘I don’t know,’ Wiley told her. ‘If I just stand around, he might just grab me and put me in that croaker sack he always has.’

  “‘You do like I says,’ his mama said back. ‘You says to him, “Hello, mister Hairy Hairy Man.” Then you say, “Hairy Hairy Man, I done heard you the best conjure man around.” Then he’s gonna say, “I reckon I am.” Then you gonna say, “I bet you can’t turn yourself into no giraffe,” and he will. Then you say, “Well, anybody can turn themselves into something as big as a man, but I bet you can’t turn yourself into nothin’ as small as a possum.” Then he will, and that’s when you grab him.’ Well, Wiley figured his mama was pretty smart about these things, but still he wasn’t sure about it all.

  “So Wiley went out and tied up his hound dogs. He couldn’t take them on account of the fact that he would scare away the Hairy Hairy Man. Then he went on down to the swamp and sure enough here he come along ugly as can be and grinning like always. He figured Wiley was gonna climb up that tree, but Wiley didn’t do that. He did just like his mama told him and soon the Hairy Hairy Man turned himself into a giraffe and finally a possum and Wiley grabbed him just like his mama said to and threw him into the croaker sack. He took the sack down to the river and threw it in. He was heading home through the swamp, and who did he see but the Hairy Hairy Man looking down at him.

  “‘I turned myself into the wind and blew myself right out of the sack,’ the Hairy Hairy Man told him. Oh no, Wiley was in for now. The Hairy Hairy Man was gonna get him and there was nobody around to stop him. His hound dogs were all tied up. Wiley figured he’d try to trick that Hairy Hairy Man one more time, so he looked at him and said, ‘I’ll bet you can’t make things disappear.’ The Hairy Hairy Man said, ‘I bet I can,’ so Wiley challenged him to make a tree disappear and he did. Then Wiley asked him if he could make all the rope in the world disappear, including the magic rope holding up his britches, and he did that too. Well, Wiley figured if the rope holding up his pants was gone, then the rope tying up his dogs was gone too, so he called them. ‘Here boy, here boy,’ and they come running up and chased that Hairy Hairy Man right away.

  “When Wiley got home he told his mama what happened. ‘That’s bad,’ she said, ‘but you done got away twice. You fool him once more and he’ll leave you alone for good.’

  “‘Well,’ said Wiley, ‘then you gots to figure out a way to fool him.’

  “‘Okay,’ said his mama. ‘I’ll think one up and let you know.’ She sat down by the fire with her head in her hands and started studying things real hard. Wiley wasn’t studying nothing though but keeping that Hairy Hairy Man away. So while his mama was studying, he did all the things he knew to scare away evil. He took his hound dogs out and tied one to the front porch and one to the back and then he used an ax
handle and an old broomstick and made a cross over the front door. Finally he made a fire in the fireplace and then sat down next to his mama. After a while she said to go on down to the pigpen and get that baby pig. ‘Bring it here. After that you go on up to that loft and hide.’

  “Wiley did what she told him to. After a while he heard the wind howling and the trees blowing and the dogs barking. He looked out through a knothole and saw something ugly comin’ from the direction of the swamp and heading to their front door. ‘Lordy,’ said Wiley, ‘the Hairy Hairy Man is coming for sure.’ He heard something like a cow running and he knew the Hairy Hairy Man was there. Then he heard a knock on the front door, big as you please.

  “‘Mama,’ said the Hairy Hairy Man, like he had a mama. ‘Mama,’ he said again, ‘I done come for your baby.’

  “‘You can’t have him,’ said Wiley’s mama.

  “‘You give him to me or I’ll conjure you,’ said the Hairy Hairy Man.

  “‘I know conjure too,’ said Wiley’s mama, ‘and I ain’t afraid of you.’

  “‘You give me that baby or I’ll set your house afire.’

  “‘That would be pretty mean,’ said Wiley’s mama.

  “‘That’s ’cause I is mean,’ he said.

  “‘Well,’ said Mama, ‘if I give you my baby, will you promise to go away and never ever come back?’

  “‘Yeah,’ said the Hairy Hairy Man.

  “‘Well,’ said Mama, ‘he’s over there in that bed.’

  “Well, the Hairy Hairy Man walked over to the bed and snatched back the covers. ‘Hey,’ he said, ‘there ain’t nothing here but a pig.’

  “‘I ain’t said what kind of baby I was going to give you. That there is my baby too, or least it was ’til I give him to you.’ Now the Hairy Hairy Man was too mad then. He stomped and screamed awhile ’fore he picked up that pig and left. The next day the swamp looked like it had been lifted up and slashed straight through the middle. The trees were torn out from the roots and there was rocks everywhere. Wiley figured that it was finally okay to come down from his hiding place.

  “‘Is everything all right, Mama?’ he asked.

  “‘Yep,’ said Mama, ‘we done fooled him three times. He’s gone for good. You ain’t got to worry. But I tell you this, Wiley, and you tells everybody you know that if you’re no count, do no good, sass grown folks, or treat people evil then the Hairy Hairy Man is gonna come get you just like he come for your daddy, and chile, not even their mama gonna be able to save them then.’

  “Well, Willy grew up to be a fine young man and he never did nobody wrong ’cause he always remembered what his mama said, and he declared to everybody that anytime he even thought about being bad he would see the Hairy Hairy Man grinning over his head.”

  At the end of the story, Miz Mildred looked at him for a minute and then waved him on his way. The Hairy Hairy Man. Now he had something else to worry about. Wasn’t it enough that he spent all that time and energy trying so hard to be good, now he had to worry on a monster too. Jeez, Willy thought grudgingly, an eight-year-old just didn’t stand a chance.

  AFTERTHOUGHTS

  The power of the front porch has always been a significant part of African American heritage. It was especially significant in the socialization of black children. Dr. Spock was not a part of my grandmother’s reality, so the raising up of a child into the way it should go would have come from tried-and-true, old-fashioned methods — Bible stories sometimes and folktales the other. The antics of Brer Rabbit could take on the same serious implications as the disciples themselves if the telling of the story was done just right. Listen to Anasis the spider, the old folks would say, and you could find all the wisdom that you were looking for. Folklore provided proverbial paths to good living, and the listener best heed all the appropriate warnings.

  Rural African Americans often used a tale of some other equally frightening possibility to scare children into proper behavior. Sass an elder in the church and their spirit was likely to haunt you for the rest of your days. Naughty at school? Watch out for the pig lady ’cause she was sure to be waiting, anxious to carry you off to a place where nobody would ever hear from you again. Staying out late at night? Beware the night doctors — those white medical men who roamed the black side of town looking for the useless and disobedient to drag back to their labs to experiment on. “That’s how come they know so much,” folks would say, “’cause they all the time a-cutting us up and peeking inside, learning what all they needs to.” Even during slavery the superstitious nature of the black folks themselves was often used against them as masters created tales about the frightening possibilities of escape. The human patrollers were one thing, but the ghosties who loved to eat up runaway slaves was another.

  “Wiley and the Hairy Hairy Man” is an old African American tale that has existed for generations. I love to hear it and I love even better telling it. I use stories to socialize my own children — biblical ones as well as the longstanding cultural variety. I try to emphasize the lesson within the story rather than the more frightening aspects, hoping they get all the same wonderful wisdom I received when I first heard it. If any of you ever get tired of running yourselves crazy with all this newfangled stuff on child rearing, there’s always the old-fashioned way, and I have plenty of good stories to share with you that I guarantee will work just fine.

  White Folks

  White Folks

  White folks. In all my born days, the white folks in this town done only come two ways — quality white folks and poor white trash. Now, them two right there is really ’bout different as collards and cabbage, though some folks would call ’em both greens. ’Course don’t neither of them there white folks mean us coloreds one bit of good. Mama used to say that “there ain’t much difference between a hornet and a yellowjacket when they gets up in your britches, and baby, either of ’em will tear up your tail if you don’t get him ’fore he gets you!”

  Now, your poor white trash can be some mean, hate-filled son-of-a-gun. Sometimes they hate gets so big that it can’t even rightly stay inside ’em, then it gets to walkin’ on beside ’em and whisperin’ a whole lot of mess — and we all in trouble then! That’s why they can’t keep the right and wrong straightened out, you see — they too busy listenin’ to all them evil spirits. If they would just be still and get kinda quiet, they would hear for theyselves the voice of the Lord. And then they would know we don’t mean ’em one bit of harm.

  But that poor white trashy man ain’t listenin’ for no goodness — he’s too busy bein’ meaner than a junkyard dog. He ain’t got nothin’, and he’s surrounded by nothin’ — but still, what little he sees is supposed to be his, and he can get to barkin’ pretty loud if he thinks anybody is fixin’ to get anywhere near it. ’Course your colored man is every bit as down and out as that white man — sometimes worser — and there gonna come times when there ain’t gonna be but one stingy little bone to go on round.

  Now what you got? I’ll tell you what — two hungry, down-and-out dogs with they eye on the same bone. Yeah, that’s ’bout the way it is with us coloreds and them poor white folks — we’s a-wallowing in the exact same trash, but ain’t neither of us got sense enough to realize that the fight ain’t with one another, it’s really ’bout them others.

  Now we done arrived at them quality white folks I was telling you about. Them the ones that got every dangblasted thing you can think of, and they aiming to keep it that way too! They ain’t lookin’ to give none of it to no coloreds, and they ain’t got nothin’ much for them poor white folks, neither, even though they got them fooled into thinkin’ that they do. ’Long as they can keep ’em down there wallowing in all that trash, and a-fightin’ with us over them same couple of bones, then them poor ones won’t have to come after them — you know, the quality white folks. See, if us coloreds and them down-and-out white folks would ever get together, then we’d be plenty strong enough to take all we needed. It ain’t never gonna happen, though, ’cause they b
een taught too long and too strong that we the ones they got to hate to make it, and you can’t sense ’em into nothin’ else.

  Now your quality white folks, they is the tricky sort, I do declare. They don’t act up like them others, nosirree, ’cause they ain’t got to. They just don’t say nothin’ — nothin’ at all. They figure we supposed to be smart enough to know that we wouldn’t know what in the world to do without ’em. Now, them kind ain’t got to be a-barkin’ and a-howlin’ — a dog only needs do that when he’s scared, and them there know they ain’t got nothin’ to fear from us. We ain’t no threat, no threat at all. I can tell you this, though — they might not fear us, but they sho’ as the dickens need us. We got to do everything for ’em ’cause they sho’ can’t take care of theyselves. Miss Anne, the lady I worked for, she couldn’t iron, wash, cook, or take care of her own babies. Now, what kind of woman is that?

  Well, them quality white folks, like I said, they is somethin’ else. They can look right at us, but ’lessen they needs us for a thing, well, they don’t even bother to see us. I remember one time when I was out a-wandering, I seen her, Miz Anne, coming on down my way. She looked right at me, and believe it or not, she still ain’t seen me. Why should she? At that moment she didn’t need no washwoman, wasn’t lookin’ for no nursemaid, and couldn’t use no beast to bear none of her burdens. So since she ain’t need me, well, I just ceased to be. What a sight she was, all dressed up in her finery, but finer ain’t never meant better. Yeah, my skirt was soiled with them years of hard work and toil, but hers was tainted, too — stained with all my blood, my sweat, and my tears. There we were, her womanhood and my womanhood, just a-standin’ there so very close but yet so far apart.

  Them mens may be fightin’ over the same old bones for a long time to come. You can’t really blame ’em, neither — it’s all they have ever knowed. No, it will take my sister and me to join hands and reach for that miracle together if it’s ever gonna be. We bring the world its babies, and we ought to have an understandin’ that a man will never know — but chile, it’s sad to say, it still ain’t so. I’m just a sister away from my healin’, but my partner, well, she just plain refuses to see it.