Ozark Country
Page 11
Dances are frequently held as the culminating event of various workings that call folks together in the hills. Or the frolic may be given to honor some visiting friend, or as a farewell party to someone who is moving to Texas or California. Sometimes the occasion is worked up by local musicians who want to make a little extra cash with their playing. Or some enterprising young man in the neighborhood may get up a dance just to have a good time. Of course, the established dance halls in the villages and the platforms at picnics are strictly commercial affairs and are planned to make money for the managers.
No invitation is necessary to attend a country dance in the Ozarks. The news is “norated ’round” by word of mouth and everybody is urged to attend. Naturally, the rakings of the hills turn out in full force and frequently bring discord to an otherwise pleasant gathering. If trouble is brewing in the neighborhood, the dance is the place to climax the event and get even. Menfolks in the backhills carry pocketknives whetted to a keen edge and do not hesitate to use them when the occasion demands. Almost every hillsman owns a shooting iron and usually conceals it on his person when attending a dance. Preparedness for emergencies is not overlooked.
A few years ago while I was teaching school in the backhills I had difficulty in persuading my larger boys that they should not carry their pistols on basketball trips. Once when my team was warming up for a game in a neighboring town, a pistol dropped from the bottle-pocket of one of my players. But it was out of sight in a flash and nothing was said about it. On numerous occasions I have attended dances where the men would go outside between sets and fire their guns into the air. “Jist t’ raise a little hell.”
If the dance is a public affair and arranged for profit, numbers written on pieces of cardboard are sold to the men who wish to dance. If it is a home affair, twenty-five cents usually pays for the right “to dance all night ’til the broad daylight.” At the picnic and town frolics, round dancing is sometimes alternated with the sets, and the customary price is ten cents for each dance. The average home dance brings in three or four dollars and most of it goes to the fiddler and his accompanists. At the larger dances, two or three sets are run at one time and the promoter makes a good profit. Sometimes supper is served and an additional charge is made for it.
When everything is set for the start, the manager calls out, “Numbers 1, 2, 3, and 4, take the floor.” The young men who hold these numbers secure feminine partners and take their positions with ladies on the right. One of the dancers may call the set or it may be an outside caller. The fiddler tests the strings of his instrument with the bow, and the guitar pickers complete the final tuning. A nod from the caller puts things to work. The catchy music weaves a magic spell, the caller sets his hat on the back of his head and shouts, “All join hands and circle eight.”
The eight dancers take hold of hands and circle to the left, stomping and capering as the mood impels. This is the initial movement in the square dance and is followed by directions that depend upon the call being used. If it is a “pep-up” set, “Across the Hall” is a good example. This is the way I learned to dance it in the Ozarks.
“Circle eight.”
“Half around, turn right back go pat ’er down.”
This preliminary circling, left and right, is a “warmer-upper” for figures to follow.
Balance eight ’til you get straight,
You swing Sue and I’ll swing Kate,
Swing ’em ’round like swingin’ on a gate.
To balance means to move toward a person or couple opposite, then back. The swinging technique varies somewhat in different sections of the country. The traditional square dance does not call for the waist swing with its hugging propensities. The man grasps the lady by the arms and gives her a violent spin, the dancers stepping to the music in a sort of lame-duck fashion. In the early days certain taboos were strictly adhered to but looseness of decorum has crept in recently. Sometimes the girls would lift their arms slightly as if inviting the waist swing but drew them in quickly if it were attempted. A young swain might succeed in getting his arm into the coveted position but it was the exception rather than the rule. For a stranger to take such familiarities would be a gross insult to the lady and might have fatal results. I have seen men knocked down on the dance floor for attempting this unconventional swing.
Once and a half, a cow and a calf,
Twice six bits makes a dollar and a half.
Each man swings the girls in turn with a whirl that goes once around and then breaking at the halfway point in order to meet the next girl at the proper place. This differs from the “grand right and left” where the men take the girls’ hands as they weave in and out around the circle.
The “once and a half ” figure takes a little time and gives the caller opportunity to put in some original wit. He may call out something like this:
Irish potatoes tops and all,
Swing her now or wait ’til fall.
Or:
Pullet in a cage, coon on the ground,
Swing them gals as you go ’round.
The “once and a half ” over, the couples are in their original places facing the center. The caller shouts:
First two gents cross the hall,
Right-hand swing.
Back to your partner and do the same.
Cross the hall and a two-hand swing,
Home again—do the same old thing,
Cross the hall and do-si-do—
Don’t swing at all.
Partners the same.
With the left-hand lady promenade the ring.
These directions are almost self-explanatory. The figures are danced by two couples only with the remaining four dancers waiting their turn. “Do-si-do” means to dance around each other without touching. The promenade with the lady on the left gives the men new partners for the next whirl.
Same two gents with brand-new girls,
Cross the hall with the same old whirl.
The directions continue as before and so on until the last girls go through. Then comes “balance eight” and the other two men go through the same movements with all the girls. Sometimes all four men cross the hall at once and this makes it a fast set. The boys have a chance to show off while crossing the room, “cutting a Dido,” as they call it, though they never heard of The Iliad.
Dancing contests are sometimes held between sets and prizes are given for the best jiggers. It is said that the men sometimes danced barefoot in the old days but I have never talked with an old-timer who would admit it. Vance Randolph in his Ozark Mountain Folks reports a story, told to him by natives of the Missouri Ozarks, about an Arkansas politician who was run out of his native settlement for fraud in a backwoods dancing contest.
“They was all a-dancin’ t’ see who could stomp th’ loudest,” the story goes, “an’ this feller he win easy, but some o’ th’ boys suspicioned somethin’, an’ purty soon they ketched him a-cheatin’. He had went an’ stuck some o’ these hyar chinkapins betwixt his toes—’t warn’t no wonder he raised sich a clatter!”
Some of the popular Ozark dance calls are: “Old Joe Clark,” “Cheat or Swing,” “Grapevine Twist,” “Indian Style,” “Bird in a Cage,” “Arkansas,” “Rattlesnake Shake,” “Chinese Puzzle,” “Old Jim Lane,” “Two Little Sisters,” “Ocean Wave,” and “The Girl I Left Behind Me.” There are fiddle tunes to fit each call but they are sometimes used promiscuously. “Indian Style” goes well with “Big-Eared Mule” and “The Grapevine Twist” seems to fit with “Sally Goodin.”
Mountain girls usually wear neat print dresses of percale or gingham at dances, but the boys frequently attend wearing denim shirts, overalls, and stout brogan shoes. It is not considered out of place to work all day in the field or woods and then go to the dance without changing clothes. Recent years have brought changes in dress, however. Most mountain men now follow the fashions set by their city cousins and the girls, with rouge and lipstick and permanent waves, keep pace. One must go deep into the b
ackhills to get away from modern trends of fashion.
The barn dance, now a favorite radio feature, was once a popular pastime in the hills. Let us look in on one of these old-time frolics in its natural setting.
The main floor of the barn has been swept clean and given a thorough scrubbing. Kegs and boxes are provided as seats for the musicians, but the spectators perch in hay-filled mangers or lounge in spring seats carried in from their wagons. Lanterns are hung on the walls for lighting and the doors flung open for ventilation.
I got a gal at th’ head o’ th’ holler,
She won’t lead an’ I won’t foller.
These words seem to spring from the fiddle as the orchestra tears loose on “Sourwood Mountain.” The dancers rule on the floor and the caller is shouting directions. The cares of the day are locked out.
A group of young folks, waiting their turn, climb to the loft and sit on the hay with their feet dangling over the edge. Loud laughter rises spontaneously and almost stops the dance when a young swain sits down on a nest of eggs while trying to maneuver closer to his sweetheart.
The hour of midnight arrives. The older folks yawn and wiggle their tired toes methodically. Some of them doze in resignation. But the younger members of the crowd continue to balance and swing with tireless ecstasy. The dance may continue until the morning star peeps over the horizon and shoots its rays into the open doorway.
Farewells are said as wagons and buggies are loaded by the light of swinging lanterns. Young men on horseback yodel and sing as they ride through the night. A cock, roosting in a persimmon tree, flaps his wings and crows as jolt-wagons rattle homeward bound over the rocky roads.
Social Pastimes
The social life of the Ozarks a quarter of a century ago had many of the primitive trappings of pioneer days. Recreational activities harmonized with the ways of life conditioned by the stern backwoods existence. The social scheme had traditional patterns which were followed almost exclusively. But the tempo of fun and frolic has been greatly accelerated in recent years by the use of the automobile, and by the invasion of modern entertainment in the form of movies and roadhouses. A new order of social life is being established in the backhills.
When youth reaches the age of indiscretion, romance sets the stage for the social drama. Nature maneuvers in strange ways to accomplish her purpose. It is good usage to encourage Cupid in his quest. Tame social pastimes, firmly anchored by convention, may have subtle motives.
One of the rural customs that takes the starch out of sophistication is the husking bee. Its double purpose cannot be denied. First, it gets the work done in a satisfactory manner with a minimum of expense. Second, it offers romantic incentives and rewards, and ultimately leads to courtship and marriage. Without doubt, it is the search for the red ears in the pile of corn that puts zest in the husking. To a bashful country lad, who could never muster the courage to kiss a girl in secret, it is opportunity given social approval.
The husking bee is strictly an American institution and used to be popular throughout the Midwest. It was only one of the many neighborhood “bees” such as logrolling, house-raising, quilting, hog killing, and soapmaking, but its romantic slant gave it special appeal and unending popularity. It was “folklure” at its best.
Sometimes the husking bees were conducted on a stag basis with the womenfolks gathered at the house for the frolic to follow the husking. To stimulate and add relish to labor, the farmer who owned the corn would measure the crib and stash a jug of corn whiskey in the very center of the pile of ears. Captains were appointed to choose up so that the crowd would be evenly divided. With wooden pegs or bare hands, the men worked fast and furiously, tearing the shucks from the ears. The winners had the privilege of emptying the jug in the presence of their opponents; such an opportunity was worth working for.
Kissing games were popular at Ozark parties a generation ago. Some of the popular games of this type were: “Post Office,” “Log Chain,” “Build the Bridge,” “Spike in the Wagon Wheel,” “Wade the Swamp,” “Lost My Glove Yesterday,” and “Possum Pie.” The note of sentiment is outstanding in these games and there was no attempt at disguise. Even children encouraged love’s conquest in their play by “Marching ’Round the Levee.” Perhaps many a mountain courtship began in the acting out of this old song.
We’re marching ’round the levee,
We’re marching ’round the levee,
We’re marching ’round the levee,
For we have gained the day.
Go in and out the window,
Go in and out the window,
Go in and out the window,
For we have gained the day.
Go forth and face your lover,
Go forth and face your lover,
Go forth and face your lover,
For we have gained the day.
I kneel because I love you,
I kneel because I love you,
I kneel because I love you,
For we have gained the day.
I measure my love to show you,
I measure my love to show you,
I measure my love to show you,
For we have gained the day.
One kiss before I leave you,
One kiss before I leave you,
One kiss before I leave you,
For we have gained the day.
“Build the Bridge” is a party pastime played without the formality of blueprints. Vance Randolph found it popular with young folks in southwestern Missouri. “In this game,” he says,
a boy and a girl stand facing each other holding hands with arms extended to form an arch. Then the girl chooses a second boy who walks under the arch or span and kisses the girl as he passes. Then he takes his position by the side of the girl, locking his arm with hers, and calls the name of another girl. The girl kisses boy number one as she passes through the arch, then locks her arm into his and clasps hands with her partner, so as to form the second span of the “bridge.” The boy whose name she calls kisses both girls and locks arms with girl number two, after which he calls a third girl to be his partner, and so on. The completed bridge has as many spans as there are couples in the game, and the last few couples to line up certainly do a lot of kissing.
But not all the party games in the backhills were so richly flavored with sentiment. In some communities, kissing games were restricted by straitlaced folks or entirely prohibited by social ethics. Tamer diversions were known at parties in these neighborhoods. Snap was a popular game at such parties.
In playing Snap a boy and a girl take a position in the center of the room holding hands. A boy is usually the first “it.” He walks around the room, finally snapping his fingers in a girl’s face. The girl chases the boy around the couple in the center until she catches him. He then takes the place of the boy who was standing and the girl who caught him “snaps” another boy. The chase continues until the girl is caught. She takes the place of the girl standing and the game goes on. This game is a good warmer-upper at parties and continues to be a favorite with Ozark young people.
Other conventional party pastimes, sometimes called “parlor games,” in the backhill country are: “Spin the Plate,” “Cross Questions and Crooked Answers,” “Going to California,” “Philadelphia,” “Clap-in and Clap-out,” “The Duke of York Has Lost His Hat,” “My Ship Comes Sailing In,” and “Going Walking.” Some of the games are so arranged that forfeits are given as penalties. These pawns consist of knives, rings, watches, pins—anything of value. After the peddler makes the rounds collecting these things, a judge is appointed to decree the acts that must be performed to redeem the article. “Heavy, heavy hangs over your head,” says the peddler. The judge inquires whether it is “fine or superfine.” Fine means that the article belongs to a boy, superfine to a girl. The penalty for redemption is left to the judge. He may have Jack Elzey doing a barefoot dance while Millie Stout tries to kiss her elbow. Ted Richmond is sentenced to eat three crackers and then whistle “
Dixie.” Opal Garton must walk around the house with Claude Johnson to redeem her engagement ring. Tom Anthony sings a solo, Payne Mitchell calls hogs, Anna Bolinger proposes to Fred Berry, and so the game goes on until each person in the room has performed a stunt to redeem his property.
In nutting time the young folks play “Hull-gull.” This is a guessing game played with chinkapins. With one or more nuts secreted in the closed hand, the antagonist challenges a companion with “hull-gull” which, being interpreted, means “How many chinkapins have I?” The person challenged makes a guess and, if correct, wins the handful of nuts. If incorrect, which is usually the case, the guesser must pay his companion the difference between his estimate and the actual number of nuts.
“Candy-breakin’” is a popular party pastime throughout the Ozarks. In the old days sorghum molasses was boiled down and pulled into strands to be used at the breaking. In recent years store-bought stick candy is used. It is broken into pieces an inch or two long and placed in a box or utensil and covered. A boy selects a girl as his partner and they draw one of the short pieces from the container. With the candy between his teeth, the boy challenges his partner to bite off the free end. If she accepts the challenge, she clamps the offered sweet between her teeth and the contest begins. The rules of the game compel the couple to stand without touching each other, hands clasped behind their backs. The one who is first to bite through the candy wins the contest and may choose a new partner for the next “chawin’.”