Would Congress pass Father’s Day today?

16 Jun

Official White House Photo by Pete Souza

Note: I wrote this four years ago, including the line about Donald Trump! Happy Father’s Day.

Ebenezer didn’t seem to have much to say about Father’s Day. He didn’t acknowledge it in his columns. He never mentions his own father — whose name, Joseph Ray, I have had to glean from his marriage licenses. He doesn’t utter the name of his stepfather (He might not have liked that term; let’s say his mother’s husband) James Alkins, whose name I found by piecing together information from obituaries and death certificates. And since he was not a father at the time of his New York Age writings — and would not become one until he was 50 years old — he didn’t have any first-person insight to offer.

When I look at the history of Father’s Day, it makes more sense. Although Mother’s Day gained full recognition in the United States in 1914, Father’s Day would not gain equal status until 1972, when President Richard Nixon made it a permanent national holiday.

The effort to recognize fathers began in 1910 by Sonora Smart Dodd. Her father, William Jackson Smart, a Union Army veteran who reared his six children in Spokane, Wash. after his wife died in childbirth, deserved more props, Sonora thought. After hearing a Mother’s Day sermon in 1909, Sonora told her pastor that fathers should have a similar holiday. According to Wikipedia, she initially suggested her father’s birthday, June 5, but the pastors didn’t have enough time to prepare their sermons, and the celebration was deferred to the third Sunday of June.

So what happened between 1910 and 1972? Politics, according to Wikipedia.

A bill to accord national recognition of the holiday was introduced in Congress in 1913. In 1916, President Woodrow Wilson went to Spokane to speak in a Father’s Day celebration and wanted to make it official, but Congress resisted, fearing that it would become commercialized. President Calvin Coolidge, [a Democrat] recommended in 1924 that the day be observed by the nation, but stopped short of issuing a national proclamation. Two earlier attempts to formally recognize the holiday had been defeated by Congress. In 1957, Maine Sen. Margaret Chase Smith [a Republican] wrote a proposal accusing Congress of ignoring fathers for 40 years while honoring mothers, thus “[singling] out just one of our two parents.” In 1966, [Democratic] President Lyndon B. Johnson issued the first presidential proclamation honoring fathers, designating the third Sunday in June as Father’s Day. Six years later, the day was made a permanent national holiday when [Republican] President Richard Nixon signed it into law in 1972.

It’s a good thing. Can you imagine the current Congress trying to pass a law recognizing Father’s Day? I can just imagine House Speaker John Boehner insisting that President Obama was trying to gain political advantage by spending time with Sasha and Malia. Donald Trump would probably insist that the president’s daughters are not really his.

Of course, I’m just being silly. I hope . . .

But when we despair over the attempts to pass campaign finance reform or a jobs bill or to hold on to the Affordable Care Act, keep in mind that it took Washington 60 years to fully recognize Father’s Day.

Have a happy one!

Harlem Jubilee

3 Jun

I love this emblem, “ER” of course stands for Elizabeth Regina,” but my father and I also share these initials.

My father would have loved all the pomp and circumstance associated with Queen Elizabeth II’s Diamond Jubilee. After all, before he was a naturalized American, he was technically a Brit.
Apparently, he was not the only Harlemite with an affinity for the Crown. In 1937, a year after King George VI, Elizabeth’s father, ascended to the throne, folks on this side of the Pond went all out to reenact the Coronation Day celebration taking place in Great Britain.

In a column published in the New York Age on May 21, 1937, my father wrote:

“On Wednesday evening last (May 12) British patriotism reared its head in no uncertain terms here in Harlem when approximately four thousand persons, motley as motley is, descendants of British soil and their descendants, jammed the spacious Rockland Palace, where a Coronation Ball and Pageant was held under sponsorship of the Church of St. Ambrose, of which the Rev. E. Elliott Durant is rector.

Sir Gerald Campbell, British Counsel General, Lady Campbell and an official and family entourage added distinguished patronage.
National colors flew liberally from the gallery of the casino. The Union Jack was there, no doubt. . . .

Conservative and discriminating faces looked down from the gallery at the horde of dancers below. For this night they were Britain’s aristocracy, the dancers below the proletariat.

As one observed the revelry of the fashionably dressed ladies and their escorts, and the occasional greeting of friends, one was inclined to ask whether it was patriotism that prompted the turnout, or just another social affair. But when the rafters of the casino literally shook with legion voices raised in singing the British National Anthem, followed by Rule Britannia, one quickly concluded that when origin of birth is accentuated, the span between it and the land of one’s adoption is brief, very brief. The singing of the Star-Spangled Banner climaxed this song fest.

It was long after midnight when the replica of the Coronation took place. Preceded by a procession of ‘representatives’ of various colonies, Gordon Ward, by selection of the church, was bestowed the paraphernalia befitting a King. The Queen was represented by Mrs. Ulrica Baird, chorister. Mrs. Baird’s selection was by acquisition of 1,340 votes. Her closest runner-up was Miss Alma Simmons, ‘Queen of Scotland’ with 1,228 votes. Murcott Wiltshire, lay reader, essayed the role of Archbishop. Africa was not forgotten, as Acolyte Charles Cheesman, portraying Haile Selassie, received a rousing ovation from the spectators.”

Ebenezer goes on to quote Rev. Durant, a native of Barbados, who said:

“’It is joy unspeakable to me to address you on this most joyful occasion, which comes to us once in a generation. Once we were Britishers and now we are Americans. But because we were good Britishers, we are now better Americans.’”

Aunt Maude’s tragic death

27 May

Barbados Supreme Court Building

CHRIST CHURCH, BARBADOS, MAY 27, 2012 I spent a good part of Friday at the Barbados Supreme Court in Bridgetown to see what I could find out about my father’s sister, Maude, whom he wrote about in a column when she died in February 1934.

The item simply said: “News was received Friday evening last of the death of my sister Maude Victoria, aged 26 years on Friday, February 2, at her home in Barbados, BWI. May the sod rest lightly on her.”

When the administrator at the courthouse came back with the death certificate, he commented on what a tragic, horrible death Maude’s had been. “She died in childbirth, he said, “five days of labor.”

The death certificate lists the cause of death as “Puerperal septicemia; Cardiac failure and exhaustion from prolonged and difficult labour.” The “informant” was listed as “Noel Alkins, printer,” my father’s brother. It was a role he would take on again; two years later when their mother, Malvina, died.

There was a lot of waiting and appealing (Getting such documents is not usually a one-day process. Many of the court staff worked right through their lunch hours to accommodate the lines of those seeking records.) I did not find out whether the child (or children) Maude was birthing lived or died.

Malvina did apparently have a granddaughter, Carmen, who I had assumed was Noel’s child, but perhaps not.

My father’s column item about Maude’s death seemed much more detached than what he wrote when his mother died. He did refer to her as “my” sister rather than referring to himself in his customary third-person. Of course, it is always a tragedy when you lose someone in their mid 20s, but my father’s column betrayed no indication of Maude’s agony, or that a baby died or was born an orphan.

I imagine Malvina was heartbroken when she died in 1936. She’d lost her husband just a month before her own death and two years before she had buried her own child.

This item appeared in the New York Age, August 17, 1940, four years after Malvina, my grandmother died. It is the first and only mention I have found of Carmen.

Meanwhile, I had a delightful meeting with Barbados family historian Patricia Stafford Friday morning. She took copious notes on the Wray/Ray/Alkins clan and, with no guarantees, said she would try to find more on our family’s tree.

From Barbados, with love

24 May

Zuri Adele on Accra Beach, Barbados

CHRIST CHURCH, BARBADOS, May 24, 2012 — Zuri, my sister-in-law Tracy and I are in Barbados for a little R&R after a whirlwind Spelman Commencement Weekend. It also happens to be my father’s birthday. He would be 115.

In a column he published shortly after his 43rd birthday  in 1940, he uses the occasion to commemorate Empire Day, the birthday of Queen Victoria, with whom he shared a natal day:

“It is difficult  if not at all impossible for ye paragrapher to forget Empire Day, though we may be many years removed from the British Empire, because it was on that day our late beloved mother told us we ‘came from somewhere in a box.’ Most readers of this column think we should have been left in the box.”

Tomorrow, I have an appointment with a specialist in Barbados genealogy who is going to try to help me get to the bottom of that box.

For today we’ll take a tour of the island, hit the beach and pour a ibation in honor of Ebenezer’s birthday.

The New York Age, June 1, 1940

Zuri Adele: We knew her when

16 May

I’ve been looking for an excuse to post this video in this blog since I launched it. Now it seems like this is my last chance. My good friend Jack Hubbard shot it when my daughter Zuri, whom he calls “The Swan” graduated high school. I can’t believe it’s been four years.

On Sunday, Zuri Adele will graduate from Spelman College, BA in Theatre, Phi Beta Kappa, Magna Cum Laude.

Ebenezer would have been proud.

She’s all grown up, but her essence has not changed. She is still, as the citation for the Gunn High School Faculty Cup Award, written by teacher Jessica Hawkins, stated:

“Observant, wise, generous and funny. All the light she shines makes the rest of us look better, want to ‘be’ better, on stage and off. She doesn’t steal scenes, she makes you want to give them to her – but she’d never abuse the privilege. She’s impossible not to watch and listen to: a live, beating heart with a ready mile-wide smile and the brains to back it up. The only consolation in her leaving is the understanding that she was meant for greatness beyond the boundaries of the school she’s already helped make great. She walks to a rhythm everyone wants to follow and the world will be a better place with her leading it.”

A Mother’s Day tribute

8 May

I queued this up a year ago just so I would remember to revisit it for Mother’s Day 2012. (Apparently, it went live several days ago.) My father never missed an opportunity to sing the praises of he mother, Malvina. It’s clear my grandmother was God-loving and generous to a fault. I wish I had a photo.

The New York Age May 20, 1933

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‘If I were mayor of Harlem’

15 Apr

Last  Thursday, I got a call from a fellow blogger, Valerie Bailey, who was doing research on a Ted Yates, a black newspaper columnist whose career overlapped with my dad’s. I told Bailey, whose fascinating video blog is febone1960.net, that the name was familiar, and that I would get back to her if I found anything.

Then,  while  looking for a column to feature this week, I came across one my father published on April 14, 1934 titled “If I were Mayor of Harlem.” It is one of several “If I were . . . ”  pieces Ebenezer wrote, including “If I were editor ” and “If I were the Hitler of Harlem.” (I’m not quite ready to delve into that one.)

Under the headline of the mayoral column was a note: “With apologies to W.W.” Could that be Walter White, then head of the NAACP? Not sure.  What I did find was a note in another  of my father’s columns that referred to  Ted Yates. That column was likely what led Bailey to me.

In the April 14, 1934 column, my father rails against “soap box orators,” those who used the street corners of Harlem as their bully pulpits. My father, staunch defender of the King’s English that he was, seemed less offended by their opinions and more put off by their imperfect grammar.

“Those allowed on Lenox Avenue would have to pass a grammatical test by answering three questions on the principles of correct speaking. One of these questions would be: Why should IS not be used for ARE, not ARE for IS? Most of them, having apparently paid little attention to such principles, their elimination would be easy.”

Ebenezer also pledged to deal with teenagers who frequented movie theaters on school nights and who “interrupt older patrons  with their premature bits of sophistication” and parents who kept their little ones out past their bedtimes.

“I would give power to police officers to issue summonses to parents and guardians seen hauling tired looking little children behind them from theatres between 10 p.m. and midnight. In court they would be fined. Later than midnight they would be put in a cell without a bed so they could realize what it is to be sleepy and not be able to lie down. “

Further, he would call a press conference for the black press, with editors from the rival  New York Age and the Amsterdam News sitting front and center. “Then I would advise them to bury the hatchet.”

Back to Ted Yates: In a column published a month later, there is a note under the subhead “Petty Larceny.”  It read, “Ted Yates column: If I Were Mayor of Harlem in the Afro-Amer. After all, Ted, there is still something you can glean from an ancient rag.”

I guess Yates, who wrote for the Age and a number of other black papers,  borrowed that line for one of his own columns published in the Afro-American, which was based in Baltimore, but had a national edition. I’ve done a bit of searching in the Afro-American’s archives, but haven’t turned up the Yates’ column in question yet.

Perhaps my dad should have taken his own advice about burying the hatchet.

Click “continue reading” for the full column: BTW: Tap dancer Bill “Bojangles” Robinson was nicknamed “The Mayor o Harlem.”
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