Chapter XI: +Double-Shuffle+

Back in the good old days before the World War, things were very simple in Eatonville. People didn’t fox-trot. When the town wanted to put on its Sunday clothes and wash behind the ears, it put on a “breakdown.” The daring younger set would two-step and waltz, but the good church members and the elders stuck to the grand march. By rural canons dancing is wicked, but one is not held to have danced until the feet have been crossed. Feet don’t get crossed when one grand marches.

At elaborate affairs the organ from the Methodist church was moved up to the hall and Lizzimore, the blind man presided. When informal gatherings were held, he merely played his guitar assisted by any volunteer with mouth organs or accordions.

Among white people the march is as mild as if it had been passed on by Volstead. But it still has a kick in Eatonville. Everybody happy, shining eyes, gleaming teeth. Feet dragged ’shhlap, shhlap! to beat out the time. No orchestra needed. Round and round! Back again, parse-me-la! shlap! shlap! Strut! Strut! Seaboard! Shlap! Shlap! Tiddy bumm! Mr. Clarke in the lead with Mrs. Mosely.

It’s too much for some of the young folks. Double shuffling commences. Buck and wing. Lizzimore about to break his guitar. Accordion doing contortions. People fall back against the walls, and let the soloist have it, shouting as they clap the old, old double shuffle songs.

’Me an’ mah honey got two mo’ days
Two mo’ days tuh do de buck’

Sweating bodies, laughing mouths, grotesque faces, feet drumming fiercely. Deacons clapping as hard as the rest.

“Great big nigger, black as tar
Trying tuh git tuh hebben on uh ’lectric car.”

“Some love cabbage, some love kale
But I love a gal wid a short skirt tail.”

Long tall angel--steppin’ down,
Long white robe an’ starry crown.

’Ah would not marry uh black gal (bumm bumm!)
Tell yuh de reason why
Every time she comb her hair
She make de goo-goo eye.

Would not marry a yaller gal (bumm bumm!)
Tell yuh de reason why
Her neck so long an’ stringy
Ahm ’fraid she’d never die.

Would not marry uh preacher
Tell yuh de reason why
Every time he comes tuh town
He makes de chicken fly.

When the buck dance was over, the boys would give the floor to the girls and they would parse-me-la with a slye eye out of the corner to see if anybody was looking who might “have them up in church” on conference night. Then there would be more dancing. Then Mr. Clarke would call for everybody’s best attention and announce that _’freshments was served! Every gent’man would please take his lady by the arm and scorch her right up to de table fur a treat!_

Then the men would stick their arms out with a flourish and ask their ladies: “You lak chicken? Well, then, take a wing.” And the ladies would take the proffered “wings” and parade up to the long table and be served. Of course most of them had brought baskets in which were heaps of jointed and fried chicken, two or three kinds of pies, cakes, potato pone and chicken purlo. The hall would separate into happy groups about the baskets until time for more dancing.

But the boys and girls got scattered about during the war, and now they dance the fox-trot by a brand new piano. They do waltz and two-step still, but no one now considers it good form to lock his chin over his partner’s shoulder and stick out behind. One night just for fun and to humor the old folks, they danced, that is, they grand marched, but everyone picked up their feet. _Bah!!_