§ 204 Where Republicans Are Scarce
That famous wit, the late Private John Allen of Mississippi, while a member of Congress used to tell a story illustrative of political conditions in his home state.
According to Allen, there was a man in his county who hankered to hold public office. “Every time we had a Democratic primary,” said Allen, “this fellow turned up, seeking the nomination for one job or another. But always he was turned down—he never made the grade.
“Finally, he just naturally abandoned the Democratic party. He said the Democrats didn’t appreciate true worth; that they didn’t know real merit when they saw it. So he turned Republican.
“At the next election he entered himself as a candidate for sheriff on the Republican ticket. Well, sir, that fellow certainly made a spirited campaign. If ever a man worked to bring out the full strength of the white Republican vote he was the man. He canvassed the county from end to end. He spoke at every cross-roads blacksmith shop and every country schoolhouse. He left no stone unturned.
“Well, election day came. He got exactly two votes—and was arrested that night for repeating!”
§ 205 The Sole Drawback to Utter Success
Probably there are a dozen differing versions of this story but the one I like best of all is the one I heard some twenty-five years ago. Mandy, the cook, left her employer’s kitchen early one afternoon to attend a marriage ceremony in the colored quarter of the town.
The high contracting parties to the union were to be distinguished members of local Afro-American Society, and Mandy, as one of the invited guests, anticipated an enjoyable evening. Nor, as it would appear, was she disappointed. For, when she appeared at 8 o’clock next morning she gave her mistress an enthusiastic account of the affair.
“Miss May,” she declared, “dat suttinly wuz a scrumptious weddin’! I reckin very few w’ite folks an’ no niggers at all in dis town ever did have a weddin’ dat wuz de beat of dish yere one. I only wisht you mout a’ seen de bride yore own se’f. My! My! Dat gal suttinly wuz got up regardless. Her weddin’ gown wuz all hollered out at de top an’ ’twuz trimmed ’round de aidges wid rows of w’ite vermin. An’ her hair wuz done up high on her haid in a pampydo, an’ right in de middle of it wuz stuck one of dese yere w’ite regrets. And de contras’ betwixt dat black pamp and dat w’ite regret—Ump huh!