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C2 — Sun Journal, New Bern, N.C. — Sunday, June 4,1995BOOKSOld memories of the Harlem Renaissance P“To fling my arms wide In some place of the sun, To whirl and to dance Till the bright day is done. Then rest at cool evening Beneath a tall tree While night comes gently Dark like me.”— “Dream Variation,” by Langston HughesBy Hiilel ItalieAssociated Press WriterTwo excerptsOAK BLUFFS, Mass. (AP) — To find the home of author Dorothy West, the last survivor of the Harlem Renaissance, you must follow a long, narrow highway that gives way to a labyrinth of dirt roads lined with houses that have no numbers.You don't need to be a first-time visitor to Martha’s Vineyard to get lost around this historic section of the island, but it does help. After several failed attempts to locate a neighbor (it’s off-season, after all), someone finally appears to point out West’s small, cedar-shingled cottage.On this bright, cool morning, herdoor is unlocked and the author, who is getting dressed in her bedroom, calls out to make yourself at home. That isn’t easy: There’s no place to sit. Everything from the chairs to the sofa to the telephone is covered by letters, memos, books, pictures and assorted papers.Still standing by the door, you can see straight past the living room to the kitchen in back. An old gas stove stands on the right. It dates back to 1936 and originally was given to actress Gloria Swanson by a rich man who bought her a house on the island: Swanson never showed up to see it.After several minutes, the 87-year-old West emerges, a tiny woman in an old cotton dress. Her mouth is broad, her eyes large and playful, her accent — like her writing — an improbable meeting ground for black folklore and Boston society.She is anxious to begin 'the interview, but the seating problem must be resolved. Brushing away a few papers, West finds an old, plastic lawn chair, places it in the middle of the living room and settles in.“You ever heard of the Harlem Renaissance?” sire asks, her toneFrom the works of Dorothy West, the last surviving member of the Harlem Renaissance:It burst upon him. Blinded him. His hands groped for the bulge beneath his coat. Why this — this was the end! The end of those great moments — the end of everything! Bewildering pain tore through him. He clutched at his heart and felt, almost, the jagged edges drive into his hand. A lethargy swept down upon him. He could not move, nor utter a sound. He could not pray, nor curse.”— From the short story, “The Typewriter,“ published in 1926.Oak Bluffs is an archetype of the art of people living together where their similarities are points of contact and their differences are intriguing regions to explore. Almost everyone, summer or year-round resident, has friends of every race and every level of experience. The few and fragile summer strongholds of resistance still remaining areDorothy Westnow anachronisms. If the best is yet to come, the present will blend with it beautifully.— From the essay “The Legend of Oak Bluffs, published in 1980.somewhere between a boast and achallenge as she refers to “the crowded lift” of writers, poets* artists and musicians based in Harlem during the 1920s and ’30s.When I came to New York I didn’t have a job, and I went to the big place where you go to get a job, and this young man told me he was going to send me to some office,” she said.There were five people I had to talk to, and the job was something I knew nothing about. I remember how No. 1 sent you to No. 2, then to No. 3, and to No. 4.And I’ll never forget when I get to the fifth person. She was an older woman and she said. ‘You know, dear child, you cannot get the job.’ But, she said, ‘You have a quality that you must never lose.’“My point is,” West said in conclusion, “I don’t know what it is that I have, but I think I am a very alive person.”Dorothy West. Bom in Boston in 1907. Her father, Isaac Christopher West, was an ex-slave who foundsuccess as a produce merchant, theblack banana king.” Her mother, Rachel, was a housewife — a beautiful, spirited woman whom West still quotes like scripture.“I always read. Mother taught us to read. Sire always said, ‘The white man is thinking while you’re sleeping, so you had better get up ahead of him,”’ West said, gently mimicking her mother’s lecturing tone.* ‘The poin t is, I remember reading in school. I was reading Jane Austen, and it was a thnll for me. I had read children’s books, and I’ll never forget, I was so impressed that this woman had lived so long ago, she had been dead nearly a hundred years, and I was reading her.”West wrote her first story at age 5 (“My father misplaced it”), had her first piece published when she was still in her teens and, with an ambition worthy of many of her fictional characters, soon left for HarlemAmong her fellow writers, West was the precocious kid sister. Claude McKay scolded her. Countee Cullen — in vain — proposed marriage.Zora Neale Hurston was a “noisy” neighbor. Richard Wright had a chip on his shoulder. She and Langston Hughes danced beautifully together.That was her youth, In 1943, she moved to Martha’s Vineyard, at first to be with her mother, but eventually for herself. The cottage in which she now lives was used by her family as a summer home. Oak Bluffs itself has a long history as a retreat for well-to-do blacks.More than 50 years later, she’s known affectionately here as “Dot-tie.” She’s a long-time contributor to tire local paper, the Vineyard Gazette, and a year-round resident on an island most famous for its summertime contingent of politicians and celebrities.“She is thought of as a bit of a character,” said Richard Reston. the Gazette’s editor and publisher. “Everyone wants to talk to Dot tie; it’s that kindly side of her. People will tell Dottie anything. Once they know her and begin to talk to her, they pour their heart out to her.”This year, West herself is enjoying a minirenaissance. Her first novel in nearly a half century, “The Wedding,” came out in January.. “The Richer, the Poorer,” a collection of stories, sketches and essays, has just been published.The surprise in reading West is discovering the vast difference between her early writing and her more recent writing, the turning point coming when she moved back to Massachusetts.Her work during the Harlem Renaissance tends to be “O. Hen-ryesque” vignettes involving the plight of poor black families. A typical story is The Penny,” in which a little boy enjoys tire rare treat of having a penny to spend.Racing for the candy store, he trips over the curb and loses the coin. A passer-by sees a bruise on his cheek, thinks he’s been beaten by his father and gives him another penny.I almost feel those ironic plot endings are a kind of substitute for characterization,” said Mary Helen Washington, a professor of literature at the University of Maryland who wrote the introduction.‘ ‘They are the endings of stories that involve a community she doesn’t know as well as that black bourgeois community that summered in Martha’s Vineyard.”EOrsu:asonCOstlt;Arwi
Newspaper Details
Sun Journal
New Bern, North Carolina, US
Sun, Jun 04, 1995
Page 28
Full Page
Clipped by
Melissa S.
NA, 27 Feb 2025
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