"Story in Harlem Slang" Zora Neale Hurston

"Wait till I light up my coal-pot and
I tell you about this Zigaboo called Jelly. 
Well, all right now.  He was a sealskin brown and
papa-tree-top-tall."

I have subscribed to the Library of America story of the week.  The selections are interesting and varied, but sadly I haven't had a chance to read them all.  I liked Hurston's novels and was intrigued by the description of this story.  Published in 1942, it is set in Harlem, and is not so much a story as an introduction to the culture of the street life at the time. 

I am always surprised by how much criticism authors like Hurston came under at the time they were published.  It is said that her biography was watered down to make it palatable to a white audience and other African-American authors at the time said that Hurston ignored the issues of her race.  It is unfortunate that honesty was not marketable at the time.  Hurston's literary success was short-lived and she spent the end of her life in poverty.

This story tells of a day in the life of Jelly, the nickname for Marvel, a man up from Alabama, as he negotiates the streets of Harlem looking for a hot meal.  He is a "pimp," which at the time does not mean a man who procures prostitutes for other men, but rather a man who makes his living selling himself for a hot meal or a longer consensual relationship.  In short, Jelly is a male prostitute.  This particular day, Jelly meets up with Sweet Back, another Harlem pimp, hoping he can con him out of a plate of beans.  Neither is flush with cash, so they spend some time on the street posturing while keeping their eyes out for a woman to sweet talk into a meal.

This seven-page story includes a three-page glossary to explain the slang used.  I was glad that I had read through the glossary first before trying to negotiate the story.  I was surprised both by how much of the slang I didn't know and how much had become a part of our national language.  I didn't know that "jelly" was term for sex nor that a "frail eel" was a pretty girl.  But I did recognize red neck, rug-cutter, dig (as in "collar that jive"), and monkey chaser (east Asian).  Some phrases were new to me, but their meaning was clear like "What's on the rail for the lizard?" (i.e., is sex in my future?) and "I shot him lightly and he died politely" (i.e., he was an easy mark).  The story is a snapshot of a specific culture in a specific neighborhood, but one that lives on in our national conscience.

It has been some time since I read Hurston, and I am reminded that I like the rhythm of her prose and should reread some of her books or read "Seraph on the Suwanee," one that I've missed.  I also think I need to locate "Dust Tracks On The Road," her memoir even though it was toned down for Caucasian sensibilities.