October 17, 1999Uncle Remus Tale Explains Gov. Whitman's Entreaty
Aesop, the Greek writer of 550 B.C.E.,
is well remembered for developing fables
whereby talking animals illustrate moral judgments.
Nearly forgotten is Joel Chandler Harris,
an American editorial writer who in the late 1880s
brought the art form to its peak through
the medium of a former slave.
Uncle Remus, Chandler's alter ego, was an elderly, respected African-American yardman who had spent the largest part of his life as a plantation field hand.
Harris wrote that in the evenings Uncle Remus was welcome to come into his employer's home, sit by the kitchen fire and enjoy some special leftover from the white family's supper. During these interludes, he told folk tales to the seven-year-old Little Boy of the house.
Your present day writer -- filling this space every Sunday with relatively recent history -- also doubles as an editorialist. It is a reaction to an editorial column that inspires today's "Our Fascinating Past."
After noting that New Jersey Gov. Christy Todd Whitman had declared she was not interested in running for president, I opined: "All she asks is not to throw her into a briar patch."
Several young readers were puzzled about the briar patch reference. It is apparent they had not read the classic Uncle Remus stories.
Folk tales written in dialect have gone out of style. That literary device is hard to read unless you have been exposed to the real thing -- or are adroit at hearing speech in your mind by letter sounds rather than recognizing it by word forms.
The briar patch admonition was the punch ending
of Harris' most popular two-part story titled "The
Wonderful Tar-Baby" and "How Mr. Rabbit
Was Too Sharp for Mr. Fox."
A few years ago there was some criticism that the Uncle Remus stories were racist inasmuch. His speech was seen to be slave-related. The Tar-Baby was perceived to be a black caricature.
The criticism sparked a fuller reading of
Uncle Remus's tales. The consensus of the general
public - black and white - now is that
Harris has accurately captured the wit, wisdom
and generous spirit of the Africans of his day in
the deep south.
The Tar-baby is black because that is the color of the sticky material --- then commonly available -- of which it is constructed. The dialect is that of both uneducated blacks and whites of the time. The stories reflect more influence from Aesop than from African roots.
In any event, the dialect and subject matter are historically accurate. Those who would see these qualities as demeaning, can appreciate the strength of character portrayed that enabled former slaves to overcome their plight.
Harris was a 12-year-old boy in the little town of Hillsborough, Georgia, when the civil war started. He and his mother were abandoned by his day-laborer father before he was born. Mother and son struggled to make ends meet.
His most enjoyable past time was going to the post office after school to read unclaimed newspapers and magazines. Consequently his grasp of literature and current events was unusual for someone of his age. These qualities enabled him to get a job as a "printer's devil" (type sorter and press tender) for the weekly "Countryman" newspaper.
Young Harris also submitted humorous pieces to his paper, and these were widely reprinted by other newspaper "exchanges." This gained him considerable recognition.
He joined the Atlanta Constitution in 1876. There he divided his time between writing editorials urging southerners to "reconstruct" their racial attitudes, and penning dialect stories humorously sympathetic to "Negro" character.
Throughout his career, Harris insisted his stories were true recollections of former slaves and "uncooked" - that is, not slanted by him for political effect. Linguists marvel at his ability to capture dialect so accurately.
Harris' popularity soared as that of Samuel Clemmons (Mark Twain) tapered off in old age. Both are considered American literary giants who reflected the changing relationships of whites and blacks during a critical period of our history.
In the famous Uncle Remus story following, listen to the sounds of words. A bit of translation will help you get started. Brer means Brother. Hatter means have to. Dish year means this here. Bimeby means by and by. Twel means til. Gwine means going. Sezee means says he.
* * *
Brer Fox went ter wurk an
got 'im som tar, an mix it wid some turkentime, an fix up a contrapshun w'at he call a Tar-Baby, an he tuk dish yer Tar-Baby en he sot 'er
in de big road, en den he lay off in de bushes
fer to see what de news wus gwine ter be.
He didn't hatter wait long, nudder, kaze bimeby here come Brer Rabbit pacin' down the road - lippity-clippity.
Brer Fox, he ley low.
Brer Rabbit come prancin; 'long twel he spy de Tar-Baby, en den he fotch up on his behime legs like he was 'stonished.
De Tar-Baby, she sot dar, she did; and Brer Fox,
he ley low.
"Mawnin!' sez Brer Rabbit, sezee. 'Nice wedder dis mawnin," sezee.
Brer Fox, he wink his eye
slow, en ley low, en de Tar-Baby she ain't sayin' nothin.'
"How you come on, den? Is you def?" sez Brer Rabbit, sezee. "Kaze if you is, I kin holler louder," sezee. Tar-Baby
stay still, en Brer Fox, he ley low.
"You er stuck up, dat's w'at you is," sez Brer Rabbit, sezee, "en I'm gwine ter kyore you, dat's w'at I'm gwine ter do," sezee. Brer Fox, he sorter chuckle in his stummick, he did, but Tar-Baby ain't sayin' nothin.'
"I'm gwine ter larn you how ter talk ter 'spectubble folks ef hit's de las' ack," sez Brer Rabbit, sezee. "Ef you don't take off dat hat en tell me howdy, I'm gwine ter bus' you wide open," sezee.
Tar-Baby stay still, en Brer
Fox, he lay low. Brer Rabbit keep on axin' en de Tar-Baby she keep on sayin' nothin' twel presently Brer Rabbit draw back wid his fis', he did, en blip! he tuck 'er
side er de head.
Right dar's whar he broke his merlasses jug. His fis' stuck, en he can't pull loose. De tar hilt 'im. But
Tar-Baby, she stay still, en Brer Fox he lay low.
"Ef you don't lemme loose, I'll knock you agin," sez Brer Rabbit, sezee, en wid det he fotch 'er a wipe wid de udder han' en det stuck. Tar-Baby, she ain't sayin' nothin',
en Brer Fox he lay low.
"Tu'n me loose, fo' I kick de netchul stuffin' out'n you," sez Brer Rabbit, sezee, but de Tar-Baby she ain't sayin' nothin'. She des hilt on, en den Brer Rabbit loose de use er his feet in de same way. Brer Fox he lay low. Den Brer Rabbit squall out dat ef de Tar-Baby don't tu'n 'im loose he butt 'er
cranksided. Den he butter, en his head got stuck.
Den Brer Fox, he sauntered
fort' lookin' des ez innercent ez one er yo' mammy's mockin' birds. "Howdy, Brer Rabbit," sez Brer Fox, sezee. "You look sorter stuck up dis mawnin." sezee, en den he rolled on de groun' en laughed en laughed twel he couldn't laugh no mo'.
"Well, I speck I got you dis time, Brer Rabbit," sezee. "Maybe I ain't, but I speck I is. You been runnin' 'roun' here sassin' atter me a mighty long time, but I speck you done come ter de cen'er de row. You bin currin' up yo' capers en bouncin' 'roun' in dis naberhood ontwel you come ter b'leeve yo'se'f
de boss er de whole gang.
"En youer allers some'rs whar you got no bixness," ses Brer Fox, sezee. "Who ax you fer ter come en strike up a 'quaintence wid dish yer Tar-Baby? En who stuck you up dar whar you iz? Nobody in de roun worril. You des tuck en jam yo'sef on dat Tar-Baby widout waintin' fer enny invite," sez
Brer Fox, sezee.
"Dar you is, en dar you'll stay twel I fixes up a bresh-pile and fires her up, kaze I'm gwineter bobbycue you dis day, sho," sez
Brer Fox, sezee.
Den Brer Rabbit talk mighty 'umble.
"I don't keer w'at you do wid me, Brer Fox," sezee, "so you don't fling me in dat brier-patch. Roas' me, Brer Fox," sezee, "but don't fling me in dat brier-patch," sezee.
"I ain't got no string," sez Brer Fox, sezee, "en now I speck I'll hatter drown you," sezee.
"Drown me des ez deep es you please, Brer Fox," sez Brer Rabbit, sezee, "but don't fling me in dat brier-patch," sezee.
"Dey ain't no water nigh," sez Brer Fox, sezee, "en now I speck I'll hatter skin you," sezee.
"Skin me, Brer Fox," sez Brer Rabbit, sezee, "snatch out my eyeballs, t'ar out my years by de roots, en cut off my legs," sezee, "but please, Brer Fox, don't fling me in dat brier-patch," sezee.
Co'se Brer Fox wanter hurt Brer Rabbit bad ez he kin, so he cotch 'im by de behime legs en slung 'im right in de middle er de brierpatch. Dar wuz a considerbul flutter whar Brer Rabbit struck de bushes, en Brer Fox sorter hang 'roun' fer ter see w'at
wuz gwinter happen.
Bimeby he hear somebody call 'im -- en way up de hill he see Brer Rabbit settin' crosslegged on a chinkapin log koamin' de
pitch outen his har wid a chip.
Den Brer Fox know dat he bin
swop off mighty bad. Brer Rabbit wuz bleedzed fer
ter fling back some er his sass, en he holler out: "Bred en bawn in a brier-patch, Brer Fox - bred
an bawn in a brier-patch!"
En wid dat he skip out des
ez lively as a cricket in de embers."
Author: Lindsey Williams
cutline - 3
col. drawing
Original
illustration from "Uncle Remus: His Songs
and His Sayings"
[ "Bred and bawn in a briarpatch, Brer Fox - bred
en bawn in a brierpatch."
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