Can’t you people take a joke?

Carlton E. Spitzer

    Perhaps the most reviled practical joker in Maryland’s history is Jacob Gibson, who pulled off his notorious stunt almost 200 years ago to frighten the 300 inhabitants of Saint Michaels during the War of 1812.

    A blacksmith by trade who’d acquired land and become a plantation owner on Sharp’s Island, Gibson was shunned by the elite gentry whom he disdained as, “those stiff-necked, down-your-nose scholars.”

     Gibson’s speech was brusque, his manner caustic, and he belittled anyone who disagreed with him.  His frequent letters to the editor of The Republican Star criticized his neighbors, local leaders and national figures with equal passion.   Some were so vitriolic the editor refused to publish them.

      His defense was a cynical smile, a hearty laugh, and a perverse sense of humor.  Had his reputation not preceded him on April 18, 1813, Gibson might have received much sympathy from the people in St. Michaels, for the feared British Fleet Commander John Borlase Warren had invaded Sharp’s Island and kept Gibson captive for five days, while permitting his men to take from Gibson whatever they chose.  But no person was injured and no building was destroyed.  Upon his release, Gibson was paid a handsome sum in British Bank Notes to compensate for the cattle and sheep and other possessions Warren’s men had taken before they returned to their ships anchored in the Chesapeake.

      Alone and brooding, Gibson drank a copious amount of rum as he devised his greatest practical joke.  He continued to imbibe from kegs his slaves rolled aboard a barge as they set sail up San Domingo Creek toward St. Michaels.  Gibson took off his red bandana and hung it on the mast.  At his slurred command, slaves rapped a muffled drum roll on the top of empty rum kegs. 

      On patrol that day, Captain Robert Banning was greatly alarmed to see a barge flying what he thought was the dreaded Union Jack, with muffled drums signaling attack.  He rushed ashore, alerting citizens who dashed house to house, farm to farm.  Farmers fled their fields and drove off their livestock to keep them from the British.  Militias were assembled.  Arms were loaded.  Families summoned slaves to pack wagons hurriedly, preparing to flee.  

      But when the barge came into view, drums beating more loudly, someone yelled out from shore that it was a barge recently built by Captain Richard Spencer of Beverly, and that the crew was a group of ragged slaves under the command of a sloshed Jacob Gibson whose red bandana was tied to the mast.

      Dragged ashore, Gibson was manhandled and roundly cursed.  Had not militia officers intervened, there is little doubt he would have been seriously injured.

      Holding him fast, people screamed in his ear: “Did he not appreciate the dire consequences of his ruse?  Look around you, Gibson.  Wagons are packed.  Children are crying.  Livestock must be rounded up.”

      Laughing and slapping his knee, Gibson bellowed, “Can’t you good people take a joke?” When they closed in to pummel him again, he protested plaintively with wringing hands that he intended no harm, and was only trying to spare them the fate he himself had suffered.     

         Gibson’s story was rejected, his joke despised, and the people left him there in a heap in his torn clothing torn and bloody nose.

         A young man smiled down at the prankster, assuring Gibson with a bright smile that he was on his way to give a full report to the editor.  Gibson could read all about his practical joke in The Republican Star.

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Hypocrisy rode the segregated Freedom Train

By Carlton E. Spitzer

     Two years after World War II, and 7 years before school integration was declared mandatory, attorney general Tom Clark persuaded President Harry Truman to send a “Freedom Train” to southern cities, following the courageous example of civil rights leader James Farmer, whose Freedom Riders stood up to segregationists and reminded them our nation was built on the principle of equality.

     It is difficult today to comprehend the depth of their conviction, or the magnitude of their courage.

     The KKK’s  inhumanity to blacks had not been diluted one iota by the sterling performance of black troops who defended freedom in World War II.   Blacks who came home with Purple Hearts, Silver Stars and Battle Ribbons were expected to resume the second-class citizenship they and their parents and grandparents had endured before the war.  But these veterans were defiantly determined to take their rightful place in the mainstream of American society.

     When Tom Clark sketched out his plans for a Freedom Train at the White House, whites were demonstrating in city streets - in the north and in the south -  against any suggestion schools’ should be integrated.  The idea that a white patient might share a hospital room with a black was totally unthinkable.  Segregation dominated political philosophy and action, and was as evident in Chicago and Buffalo as it was in Memphis and Dallas. 

     So it was no small undertaking when Clark assembled representatives of business, labor, religion, the news media, the American Legion and Daughters of the American Revolution, to promote his plans for a Freedom Train that would carry historic documents to cities throughout the land, including the Emancipation Proclamation, the Bill of Rights, and the Charter of The United Nations. 

    Winthrop W. Aldrich, chairman of the Chase National Bank, raised private funds through a coalition called the American Heritage Foundation, to still rumors  that public money would be used.  The only African-American member of the coalition was Walter White, executive secretary of the NAACP.  Black writer Langston Hughes wrote a poem, “The Ballad of the Freedom Train,” which protested the “white version” of freedom and democracy and pleaded for racial equality. He noted that every Marine who guarded the Freedom Train was white.

     Clark understood their anguish, and was persistent.  “When you find a man who is prejudiced against some certain group because of color, race or religion,” he said, “ you can set it down that he is an ignorant man.”  Powerful words from a cabinet officer in 1947.  That whites and blacks would travel on the train together further infuriated segregationists.

    Southern members of Congress were outraged that Truman, a native of Missouri,  would “humiliate them” by sending the train to their cities, and were determined to  enforce historic Jim Crow laws that strictly segregated whites from blacks, blocked blacks’ right to vote, and excluded them from adequate education and meaningful employment.  The war was over.  But blacks were still blacks.

    A new General Electric diesel engine, “The Spirit of ’76,” pulled three exhibit cars decorated in red, white and blue.  Pullman cars segregated staff. The train was warmly received in northeast cities,  but was banned by city fathers in Memphis and Selma.  Famous black achievers came aboard for a day or two, among them Joe Louis, the “Brown Bomber” heavyweight boxing champion; educator W. E. B. Du Bois; singer Marion Anderson, United Nations negotiator Ralph Bunche.  Former first lady Eleanor Roosevelt  rode the train for several days to show her support for desegregation.

      But the little secret no one acknowledged until long after the train had been retired was that the only time blacks and whites actually mixed was when they exited the Freedom Train and lined up together to hear children sing a song composed by the great Irving Berlin to commemorate the traveling exhibit: “Inside the Freedom Train you’ll find a precious freight; those words of liberty, the documents that made us great.”  Robert Parker, who worked as a waiter on the train, and later helped to integrate the Senate Dining Room, tells us in his book, Capital Hill in Black and White, that whites and blacks actually rode and ate in separate cars.  And in southern cities that allowed the train to stop, they stood outside in segregated lines as well.

       The hurt and humiliation of our black brothers and sisters can only be imagined by white citizens today, especially young people who did not live through those degrading times.  The conviction of a Tom Clark, the courage of a Jim Farmer, the wisdom of a Harry Truman, all made the Freedom Train of 1947 a worthy precursor of Congressional legislation that eventually desegregated schools and hospitals, opened the doors of colleges and universities to black students, and executive suites and professions to qualified black candidates.  But it was not accomplished easily, or neatly, or without blood on our streets.  The remnants of those Jim Crow attitudes still surface from time to time at universities, in business circles, and on Capitol Hill, making us cringe.  We have come a long way but still have a long road to travel. 

      Hypocrisy rode that segregated Freedom Train in 1947.  Too much of it is evident in our society today.

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Synopsis: INSIDE UNCLE ROSY’S WHITE HOUSE

A monologue for performance on the life of Franklin Delano Roosevelt

Playwright, Carlton E. Spitzer

Produced by The Hugh Gregory Gallagher Motivational Theatre, Inc.

This fast-moving play covers FDR’s presidency, 1933-1945, focusing on his personal relationships, dynamic leadership, physical disability, and extraordinary ability to restore confidence among a citizenry devastated by the 1929 stock market crash.  His bold initiatives immediately upon taking office bolstered a nation in shock, with revolution in the air.  Within his first 100 days he established programs to build schools and highways and repair the nation’s infrastructure that gave steady work to millions of unemployed citizens.   FDR restored confidence in bank deposits, stabilized food prices, and calmed a fearful nation by his positive attitude, assuring the people they had nothing to fear but fear itself.  His fire side chats kept people informed and encouraged. 

The play reflects on FDR’s privileged youth, his experiences at Groton and Harvard, and old classmates who felt he “betrayed his class” by helping the poor and destitute, and creating old-age security.  The actor speaks to the audience, confiding anecdotes and personal opinions never before dramatized.  At other times, the actor converses candidly with unseen colleagues, such as Louie Howe and Winston Churchill.  At other moments, the actor is at faux microphones, delivering excerpts of inaugural addresses, fire side chats, and key speeches.  FDR’s attempt to pack the Supreme Court, and his deteriorating health as he led the war effort from his wheelchair are fully revealed.

FDR was devoted to the development of Roosevelt Warm Springs Institute for Rehabilitation.  He loved being there among other “residents” recovering from polio, where he was affectionately addressed as, “Uncle Rosy.”  He retreated to Warm Springs following  his exhausting 14,000 mile journey to Yalta to negotiate post-war arrangements with Churchill and Stalin.  And ended his days there, preparing a speech for the United Nations he created.

The audience will learn many new things about the personal life of the 32^nd president, and the many lessons he provided for today.