Document text
STATE New York
NAME OF WORKER
Forms to be Filled out for Each Interview
FORM .A
Circumstances of Interview
Frank Byrd
ADDRESS 224 W. 135th Ste New York City
DATE December 7, 1938
SUBJECT AFTERNOON IN A PUSHCART PEDDLERS' COLONY
I. Date and time cf' interview
2. Place of interview
3. Name and address of informant Evans Drake and "Oliver" (mechanics helper)
(see text)
FOLKLORE
NEW YORK
Reported by staff -writer based on personal
contacts and observations, Harlem River
waterfront, West Bank.
4. Name and address of person, if any, who put you in
touch with informant.
5. Name and address of person, if any, accompanying you
6. Description of room, house, surroundings, etc.
(Use as many additional sheets as necessary, for any of the forms, each
bearing the proper heading and the number to which the material refers.)
FORM C
Text of Interview (Unedited)
STATE New York
NE OF WORKER. Frank Byrd,
ADDRESS 224 West 135th Street, NYC
DATE December 7, 1938
SUBJECT AFTERNOON IN A PUSHCART PEDDLERS' COLONY
FOLKLORE
NEW YORK
It was snowing and, shortly after noontime, the snow changed
to sleet and beat a tattoo against the rocks and board shacks that
had been carelessly thrown together on the west bank of the Harlem.
It was windy too and the cold blasts that came in from the river sent
the men shivering for cover behind their shacks where some of them
had built huge bonfires toward off the icy chills that swept down
from the hills above.
Some of them, unable to stand it any longer, went below
into the crudely furnished cabins that were located in the holds of
some old abandoned barges that lay half in, half out of the water.
But the men did not seem to mind. Even the rotting barges afforded
them some kind of shelter. It was certainly better than nothing, not
to mention the fact that it was their home; address, the foot of 133rd
Street at Park Avenue on the west bank of the Harlem River; depression
residence of a little band of part-time pushcart peddlers whose cooper-
ative colony is one of the most unique in the history of New York City.
These men earn their living by cruising the streets long
before daylight, collecting old automobile parts, pasteboard, paper,
rags, rubber, magazines, brass, iron, steel, old clothes or anything
they can find that is saleable as junk. They wheel their little push-
carts around exploring cellars, garbage cans and refuse heaps. When
they have a load, they turn their footsteps in the direction of the
American Junk Dealers, Inc., whose site of wholesale and retail oper-
ations is located directly opposite the pushcart colony at 134th Street
and Park Avenue. Of the fifty odd colonists, many are ex -carpenters,
painters, brick -masons, auto -mechanics, upholsterers, plumbers and even
an artist or two.
Most of the things the men collect they sell, but once in
awhile they run across something useful to themselves, like auto parts,
pieces of wire, or any electrical equipment, especially in view of the
fact that there are two or three electrical engineers in the group.
Joe Elder, a tall, serious minded Negro, was the founder of
the group that is officially known as the National Negro Civil Association.
Under his supervision, electrically inclined members of the group set
up a complete power plant that supplied all the barges and shacks with
electric light. It was constructed with an old automobile engine and
an electrical generator bought from the City of New York.
For a long time it worked perfectly. After awhile, when a
city inspector came around, he condemned it and the shacks were tem-
porarily without light. It was just as well, perhaps, since part of
the colony was forced to vacate the site in order to make roam for a
mooring spot for a coal company that rented a section of the waterfront.
A rather modern and up-to-date community hall remains on the
site, however. One section of it is known as the gymnasium and many
pieces of apparatus are to be found there. There are also original
oil paintings in the other sections known as the library and recreation
room. Here, one is amazed (to say the least) by the comfortable divans,
lounges, bookshelves and, of all things, a drinking fountain. The
water is purchased from the City and pumped directly to the hall and
barges by a homemade, electrically motored pump. In the recreation
room there are also three pianos. On cold nights when the men want
companionship and relaxation, they bring the women there and dance to
the accompaniment of typical Harlem jazs... jazz that is also supplied
by fellow colonists. (For what Negro is there who is not able to extract
a tune of some sort from every known instrument?)
After being introduced to some of the boys, we went dawn into
Oliver's barge. It was at shaky, weather-beaten and sprawling, like the
other half -dozen that surrounded it. Inside, he had set up an old iron
range and attached a pipe to it that carried the smoke out and above the
upper deck. On top of the iron grating that had been laid across the open
hole on the back of the stave were some spare -ribs that had been generously
seasoned with salt, pepper, sage and hot -sauce. Later I discovered a faint
flavor of mace in them. The small and pungency of spices filled the law
ceilinged room with an appetizing aroma. The faces of the men were alight
and hopeful with anticipation.
4
There was no real cause for worry, however, since Oliver
had more than enough for everybody. Soon he began passing out tin
plates for everyone. It makes my mouth water just to think of it.
When we had gobbled up everything in sight, all of us sat back in
restful contemplation puffing on our freshly lighted cigarettes.
Afterwards there was conversation, things the men elected to talk
about of their own accord.
"You know one thing," Oliver began, "ain't nothin' like
a man being his awn boss. Now take today, here we is wit' plenty
to eat, half a jug of co'n between us and nairy a woman to fuss
arounl mantin' to wash up dishes or mess aroun' befo' duh grub gits
a chance to settle good."
"Da sho is right," Evans Drake agreed. He was Oliver's
helper when there were trucks to be repaired. 'amen ain't good
fuh nuthin' but one thing."
The conversation drifted along until I was finally able to
ease in a query or two.
"Boys," I ventured, "how is it that none of you ever got on
Home Relief? You can get a little grub out of it, at least, and that
would take a little of the load off you, wouldn't it?"
At this they all rose up in unanimous protest.
"Lis'en," one of them said, "bet°, I'd take Home Relief I'd
go out in duh street an' hit some bastard oveh de haid an' take myse'f
somelnl. I know one uv duh boys who tried to git it an' one of dam
uppity little college boys ovah dere talked tuh him lak he was some
damn jailbird or someint. If it had been no, I'd a bust hell mitt"'
him an' walked outa duh place. llot duh hell do we wants mid relief
anyhow? We is all able-bodied sans an' can take it. We can make our
own livin's."
This, apparently, was the attitude of every man there. They
seemed to take fierce pride in the fact that every member of Joe
Elder's National Negro Civil Association (it used to be called the
National Negro Boat Terminal) was entirely self-supporting. They even
had their own unemployment insurance fund that provided an bloom for
any member of the group who was ill and unable to work. Each week the
men give a small part of their earnings toward this common fund and
automatically agree to allow a certain amount to any temporarily in-
capacitated member. In addition to that, they divide among themselves
their ill brother's work and provide a day and night attendant near his
shack if his illness is at all serious.
After chatting awhile longer with them, I finally decided to
leave.
*Well boys," I said, getting up, "I guess I'll have to be
shoving off. Thanks, a lot, for the ribs. See you again sometime.'
Before leaving, however, I gave them a couple of packs of
cigarettes I had on no in part payment for my dinner.
"0. K." they said. "Cora ovah ag'in some time. Some SatIdly.
Maybe we'll have a few broads (women) and a little co'n.w
"Thanks."
Outside the snow and sleet had turned to rain and the snow
that had been feathery and white was running down the river bank in
brawn rivulets of slush and mud. It was a little warmer but the damp
air still had a penetrating sharpness to it. I shuddered, wrapped my
muffler a little tighter and turned my ooat collar up about my ears.
There was wind in the rain, and behind me lay the jagged
outline of the ramshackle dwellings. I hated to think of what it
would be like, living in them when there was a scarcity of wood or
when the fires went out.
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