12,024. RUDIMENTS, pt. 785

RUDIMENTS pt. 785

(if I told you once I already told you...)

There's a lot of mystery left,

in me; and in all the places

and things I do. The South,

as I've been portraying, of

old Jersey anyway, used to

maintain a lot of really old

attributes. Now, growing up

around everywhere, I never

rightly heard about nor was

told about any of these. My

personal outlaw-mix days, 

same goes. The worst people 

I ever saw, violence, guns, 

Biker stuff, could probably be

equally divided between the

top and the bottom of the state,

yet I maintain that the more

vile of the violent aspects

were in the deep south; as

if sand was currency. I know

they make metal detectors,

but if they ever made body

detectors and someone walked

the sandy barrens with one of

those, there'd for sure be a

goodly share of beeping.

-

Let's take the simple town

of Lawnside. The happiest

people I ever met were from

Lawnside. It was a Negro town;

and when I say that I don't mean

the later arrival blacks, Nigerians,

Ibo's, or Ethiopians or Somalis

either. They mostly become

fashion models now anyway;

or they sell watches on the

sidewalk along the avenues,

from vendor tables heavy

with sunglasses, watches,

perfumes, hats, scarves,

gloves and  -  goodness  -

'pashmina' shawls, (goat's

wool). Lawnside, by contrast,

was peopled by old-line, Negro

American slave descendants.
Maybe Angolans from 1619.

Purely. And simply. No BS,

no attitude over any of that;

just happiness. It was somehow a

bumptious revel to see people

happy and subsumed in their

own subset culture. There was

a small, cinder-block, building

in the middle of things; an

Underground Railroad Museum,

they called it now  -  it had been,

supposedly, one of those stops

for fugitives on their smuggled

way north or to Canada. There's

not been another place like this,

in Jersey  -  the guys I knew

there, they spoke it peacefully

and wisely too. It all bespoke

an old America - one of which

no one really any longer knows

the make-up of. When those

nitwits go to start talking about

reparations and all that now,

I sure hope they're at least

taking about Lawnside folk,

and not those newly arrived

watch-sellers.

-

America had slavery in its blood

since day one. There's no denying

it, and many, many died over the

whole stupid issue. I don't even

know how any God-fearing

Christian type can square all

that Bible-talk and early

American stuff with what

purports today to be regular

American society. There's no

fit at all. And they're all idiots;
if thinking that the Bible making
mention of slavery then supports
the entire concept of subjugation.

All across south Jersey, and

Philadelphia's areas too, a

person runs across Quaker

places of worship and schools

and meeting houses. The big

silence pervades them too. But
at least they objected fully.

On any large tray of American

food, there's an equally  -  or

should be  -  large platter of

sadness. Yet whatever form it

took, it always seemed like

Lawnside got over it a long

time ago. My friend Mike,

who lived down that way and

who first mentioned Lawnside

to me, said 'There's a town

down here called, Lawnside.

It's not 'lawns' really, just, well,

black people; a whole town of

them.' I never understood how

people could wrap themselves

around the idea of having

other people do things for

them, even having 'possession'

of other people. It all made me

barf. I remember, back in the

days of Eugene Genovese,

once a professor at Rutgers,

who was fully embroiled in 

the Vietnam protest situations;

he wrote a book after that time

period, published in, I think

1968, called 'Roll, Jordan,

Roll,' about slavery and all

its ways  -  rather than subject

it to denigration, he shows the

ways that (supposedly) 'slaves'

made the culture work for 

them, achieving their own levels

of gain, comfort and family. It

was, yes, of course, seen as

quite controversial for its times,

for all times, but, in many

respects it made me think of

Lawnside each time I reviewed

all this in my head. My logic

may not have been impeccable,

and my experience, frankly was

nil  -  probably to the effect of

it being stupid for me to even

think about  -  but it represented

what I saw in Lawnside. Sorry.

-

South Jersey was paradoxical.

Motorcycles, bikers, camp-outs,

shacks, bungalows, and shanties

notwithstanding. I think back 

some now and consider, if I 

had it all to do over again, I 

just might have........done it 

all there. Deep, alone, and 

unseen, in those dense and 

sandy, fir-forested roads and

byways. All that could so quickly
become a wonderland of sight,
sound, and imagination.