RUNAWAY ROSE
Chapter Thirty-Five
Rose soon learned why Tom had looked so
skeptical when she had said that she was used to being looked down upon. Whatever
she had occasionally faced in her life before, she found to occur on a daily
basis as a colored person.
She hadn’t realized just what life would be
like as a minority, and what she found shocked her. Although she had applied
makeup lightly, making herself only slightly darker than the average tanned
person, she was still regarded as inferior. Few of those they entertained were
willing to look beyond surface appearances, of herself or anyone else. But
then, she thought, haven’t I seen this before in many different places? What
counted was what people saw on the outside, not what was truly inside a
person’s heart.
The knowledge struck her as grossly unfair,
and she wondered if she had ever been responsible for such thinking in her own
life. She couldn’t remember, but after a few days of being colored, she vowed
that never again would she even consider judging someone on outside
appearances. A person’s skin color did not make them superior or inferior, anymore
than their mode of dress, their wealth, or their social class.
What also surprised Rose was the way that
people expected them to act. She had seen the blackface performances when she
had worked in vaudeville in New York and had never thought much about them. She
had never participated in one herself, but she knew enough about theater and
acting to understand that it wasn’t real. Some people, however, seemed to
believe that what they had seen in such shows was reality and expected Rose and
Tom to behave in the same way. Rose understood that most people had little
experience with the acting profession, or with the way that things were
overemphasized or even completely made up there, but it didn’t stop her from
being annoyed by people’s attitudes.
Tom wasn’t so affected by these attitudes as Rose.
He had been living with them all his life, and, while he didn’t care for them
either, he had grown used to much of it and had learned the wisdom of shrugging
such things off in a world where he was powerless to stop it. Rose had been at
the top of the heap for most of her life and saw the injustices from a
different perspective.
At first, Rose tried to shrug off the way
that people treated them, but it galled her. Why should race matter so much?
Why was it that some people rejected their money, or their business, or had
establishments into which they were not allowed to enter? It made little sense
to her.
Rose tolerated the matter for a few days, but
one afternoon, when she walked into a small restaurant to buy lunch and was
promptly told to leave, her temper boiled over.
"Why should I leave?" she snapped
at the woman working at the counter. "My money’s as good as anyone
else’s."
"I don’t allow niggers in here,"
the woman responded, glaring at Rose. "Now, get out."
"Of all the stupid, idiotic...you’re an
ignorant bitch!"
The woman’s face flushed angrily. "I
won’t stand for that kind of language in this establishment. Now, leave."
"You should watch your own language!"
Rose shouted back. "Of course, there’s no use in explaining to you what
word you used that was so...ignorant. You wouldn’t understand anyway. Oh, and
by the way," she continued sweetly, "I don’t want to patronize your
establishment after all. I only patronize decent places."
Rose was halfway out the door when Tom
collared her and dragged her around the corner. Rose squirmed furiously.
"Let go of me!"
"You’re going to get yourself in a lot
of trouble if you keep that up," he told her. "You can’t talk that
way to white people."
"I don’t see why not. They insult
us."
"Get it through your head. They are the
ones who have all the power. They can do as they please and no one is likely to
do anything about it. Just keep your mouth shut, behave subserviently, and
you’ll be okay."
"It’s not fair!"
He looked at her. "You can go back to
being white anytime you like. All you have to do is remove that tignon and wash
off that makeup and you’ll be respected again."
"And then I wouldn’t be permitted to
associate with you."
"That’s an unfortunate fact of life. Negro
men and white women don’t go into business together. If I could change that, I
would. I like working with you. You’re a pleasant person and you’ve got a good
voice. I’d rather you didn’t have to darken your skin—I’ve always thought
blackface was insulting. But it’s the way the world works."
"If you think this makeup is so
insulting, why did you agree to work with me?"
"I agreed to work with you because I saw
that it could be to our mutual benefit. But the makeup..." He shook his
head. "It’s not just the makeup that’s insulting; it’s the whole attitude
of white people towards Negroes. I’m sure that you’ve noticed that many people
expect us to be just like the blackface shows."
"Yes. I’ve noticed. It doesn’t make much
sense. Can’t people tell that shows like that are fake?"
"Obviously not."
Rose paced back and forth. "It isn’t
right! Why should people be...discriminated...against just because they are
different? Where do those attitudes come from, anyway?"
"Hundreds of years of slavery."
"But slavery was abolished a good fifty years
ago! Shouldn’t people have learned something by now?"
"What should be, and what is, aren’t
always the same thing."
"I know." Rose sighed. How many
times had she learned that things weren’t always as they should be? This was
just another lesson in a long string of them. "I just wish that things
weren’t this way."
"Like it or not, they are."
"But if enough people tried to change
things..."
"Then maybe they would change and maybe
they wouldn’t."
"Sometimes, people working together can
accomplish what one person losing her temper in a restaurant can’t," Rose
told him. "After all, people worked together to abolish slavery and they
finally won."
"After a terrible war."
"True, but it’s not always that way. In
many states now, women have the right to vote, and they got the vote by working
together to push things through. There weren’t any wars to accomplish that. I’d
bet that if enough people on both sides came together to change things, the
world could be a better place for everyone."
"People have tried to change things
before and it didn’t work."
"Sometimes it takes time," Rose
admitted, "but when things work, it makes the world a better place."
She paused. "I wonder if the people who made all these laws ever really
got out there and saw the damage they could do. They’re hurting people on both
sides by keeping them apart and unequal. We don’t really have equality, even if
the Declaration of Independence says that people do."
"I think that the laws are there to keep
people unequal," Tom replied dryly.
"But they shouldn’t. It’s...it’s
unconstitutional."
"Convince them of that."
"Maybe we should. One person alone can’t
do much, but two people could start something."
"Not much, and we’d probably end up in
jail—or worse."
"But if we could inspire others to join us..."
"We’d still end up in jail."
"It would be for a good cause. I’ve been
in jail before. I could handle it."
Tom looked at her, one eyebrow raised, but
didn’t ask what she’d been in jail for. He didn’t really want to know.
Rose was warming to her idea. "Or maybe
we could somehow convince people that they came up with the idea without us
looking like the culprits. My father handled his business associates that
way."
"And how do you think you’re going to
accomplish that?"
Rose smiled. "Music." At Tom’s skeptical
look, she elaborated. "Think about it. How many people were given hope
during slavery by songs? How many people were inspired to get away from their
lives by music?"
Tom nodded thoughtfully, agreeing but still
skeptical. He had seen much more of how deeply rooted racism was than Rose, and
wasn’t so sure that a few songs would be enough to effect a change. Still, he
had seen, many times, how songs could give people hope, express their feelings
and their situations, and sometimes, it did help improve things, if only
slightly. Hope, and a feeling of community, were powerful forces.
"All right," he agreed. "We’ll
try it." He was still not certain that her idea would work, even slightly,
but if they could help to make changes that would improve the lives of his
children and grandchildren, he was willing to try.
"Are there any songs that tell about
struggle and people trying to change things besides the ones we’ve already
sung?" Rose asked, her mind working.
"Some. There are plenty of songs about
freedom, and about life. You already know many of them."
"Teach me more." Rose paused,
thinking. "I’d bet that if I made up some new verses to old songs, we
could say something. After all, isn’t that how many songs came to be in the
first place?"
"You do know that you’re playing with
fire, don’t you? You don’t have to do this. You can go back to your own race
anytime."
Rose shrugged. "Just because I don’t
have to be a part of it doesn’t mean I don’t care. I’m going to do what I
can."
*****
Both Rose and Tom were right. Some of the
songs could indeed be inspiring, especially when Rose sang them in her most
emotional voice. She strongly believed in her cause, although people weren’t
nearly so inspired as she had hoped.
Tom had known that they wouldn’t be, but he
was pleased to see that some people at least listened and thought about the
ideas being presented. More people simply viewed their music as entertainment,
but the money they paid kept their act going. Some people were offended by
their music and their refusal to behave in a stereotypical manner, but others
appreciated their efforts.
Rose sang many of the old songs, adding new
lyrics where they seemed appropriate. She also made up a few new songs and sang
them until they seemed right, as thousands of folk singers before had done and
thousands would after.
A few people did listen to their message,
subtle though it was, and Rose heard some of the new songs being sung in an
establishment near her hotel that allowed people of all races to come in. The
owner of the establishment—a sort of cross between a dance hall, a bar, and a
restaurant—was the grandson of a slaveholder, who had defied the present views
held by so many, including his family, and emphasized freedom and equality. He
often got into trouble because of his views, but it didn’t stop him.
Rose wondered if she should be upset because
he was using her songs in his establishment without her permission, but she so
pleased by the fact that the efforts of herself and Tom seemed to be working,
at least somewhat, that she didn’t raise a fuss.
*****
Not everyone was so pleased with the musical
efforts of Tom and Rose, and they did find themselves harassed and driven off
of some streets on occasion. While most listeners viewed the music as entertainment,
and a few viewed it as a positive message, there were others who recognized
what they were doing and tried to put a stop to it.
Several times, they were driven from a street
where they were performing because of the complaints of those who disagreed
with them, while at other times, when the local law enforcement either didn’t
care or was more concerned with other things, people shouted at them, spat on
them, and called them names.
Rose gritted her teeth and refused to
retaliate. Fighting back wouldn’t accomplish anything, and it would only serve
to reinforce the views that these individuals already held.
A few people joined them in their efforts,
but after the entire group was carted off to jail one afternoon, the budding
civil rights group fell apart. There were a small but significant number of
people who wanted change, but the timing and the political climate weren’t
right. The changes that Rose envisioned would not come about for several
decades, when other groups of people, inspired by the words and actions of
those who refused to accept oppression, would push the changes through. They,
too, would face opposition, but they would ultimately be successful.
Unfortunately, the political climate of the
South in 1914 was different from the political climate that would emerge in the
1950’s and 1960’s. Still, the seeds of change had been planted long before, and
the efforts of people across time kept them alive.
*****
On an evening late in February, Rose was
walking alone back to her hotel. She had taken off her tignon and scrubbed the
makeup off her face, since the hotel she had been staying in for several weeks
was only for white people. Thus far, the ruse had been successful. No one
seemed to have made the connection between her disguises.
As Rose walked past a bar, she failed to
notice several young men emerge from the shadows. Already fortified by liquor,
and egged on by each other, they began following her through the growing
darkness.
Rose turned when she heard footsteps behind
her. Startled, she recognized several of the individuals who had been harassing
herself and Tom over the past couple of weeks.
They recognized her, too. In the shadows of
dusk, they didn’t notice that she had removed the makeup from her face; they
only assumed that Rose, alone now, would be easy prey.
"Looks like somebody’s trying to pass
for white," one of them said, his voice somewhat slurred.
"Yeah, look at those curls. She’s a
pretty one, ain’t she?"
Rose faced them unflinchingly. "Go away.
What you want can be had for a price anywhere on this street."
"She’s trying to tell us what to
do!" one of them exclaimed, grinning. "Who does she think she is,
anyway?"
So suddenly that they were startled, Rose
whirled around and began to run. She had just made her way around a corner when
the fastest of her pursuers caught up to her. He grabbed a handful of her hair,
yanking her back. Rose yelped with pain and whirled on him, her hands forming
into claws.
She swiped at one of them, but another caught
her hands and pinned them behind her back. Rose looked from one smirking face
to another. There were four of them, far more than she could fight off, and she
doubted that anyone would come to her aid. But she had to try.
She kicked out, catching one of her attackers
in the shin. He yelped, then slapped her. Rose’s head snapped back. Recovering,
she spat at him, knowing even as she did that it was a bad idea. He retaliated,
hitting her in the jaw. Rose saw stars, but did not go down.
As the drunkest one in the group reached for
the top buttons of her dress, another voice came echoing through the darkness.
"What’s going on?"
The others turned to see who it was. Rose
couldn’t quite make out the face, but the voice sounded familiar.
"Robert," one of the men said,
loosening his grip on Rose. "Come join us. This uppity nigger bitch was
trying to pass for white. Think we ought to teach her a lesson?"
Rose bristled furiously at the insult,
kicking out at the distracted man. Her foot found his knee and he collapsed in a
heap. His friends laughed uproariously as he slowly got to his feet, favoring
his injured leg.
"I think you’d better let her go,"
Robert said, coming closer. "She obviously doesn’t want to be with
you."
Rose heard the northern accent and was
heartened. Maybe this wasn’t one of the rednecks who’d been harassing them.
Maybe, for once, her attackers would behave in a civilized manner. And maybe
pigs will fly, she thought as they laughed derisively.
"Come on. You’ve managed to drink us all
under the table. Surely you’re man enough to take her."
"I don’t need to prove my manhood by
raping a defenseless woman. Now, let go of her." His voice brooked no
arguments.
Rose was suddenly concerned for her
unexpected rescuer. The four men holding her back were drunk and were no doubt
used to fighting. And there were four of them.
"Let go of her, or you’ll have two
people against you instead of just one."
"Two?" The man who Rose had kicked
in the knee looked confused, his drink-addled mind not comprehending what was
being said.
"She’s already proven that she doesn’t
want to be with you and put some hurt into you. Do you really want to fight two
of us?"
One of them laughed. "There’s four of
us, and two of you. You wouldn’t last a minute."
"I think I would." Rose watched,
shocked, as her rescuer drew a knife from his pocket and opened the blade.
"You want to fight?"
Cowards to the last, Rose’s attackers backed
off, not wanting to chance getting stabbed. One of them started casually down
the alley.
"Come on. She’s not worth it." His
friends hurried after him, turning to glower at Robert before disappearing
around the corner.
"Are you all right?" Robert asked
her as Rose leaned shakily against the wall, her fingers exploring her sore
jaw. She would have a bruise in the morning.
"Yes, yes. I’m fine. Thank you,"
she told him.
"Do you need any help?" He came
closer, looking at her with concern, and Rose saw his face for the first time.
Her mouth dropped open, gaping in shock, as
she recognized Robert Calvert. What was he doing in New Orleans?
He recognized her at the same moment.
"Rose? What the hell?"