The Sharecropper's Son

James and Nathaniel set off to work. Since their father’s accident, Jeremiah used a walking stick to steady his gait. An improvised walking stick that James had assembled from a branch of an elm tree. It did its job as it made it easier for the proud father to move around despite the chronic pain from an unhealed injury. James looked back on occasion as they took the familiar path that led to the fields that so many before had toiled. He knew his dad’s unattended leg had left a permanent limp coupled with pain with his every step. Torn and at times angry at his life, James, like his father, felt attached to the land, knowing that it was the only means to help his family. Yet, James wanted out so badly! Little did he know that this day—October 7th would be a new beginning for him.
The walk to the Crawley fields would take just six to ten minutes, depending on their pace and eagerness to start the day’s work. These fields had witnessed so much drama in the past. It was indicative of the large tracts of agrarian Deep South that produced profits at the forced expense of slave labor in antebellum South. Crawley’s large acreage of land demanded much manual labor now as it had in the past. Picking and sorting out cotton was still done the same way. Day after day, year after year.
Despite the advancement of farming and the onset of the automobile and tractor, old man Crawley still wanted his product to go to market from the 22 people in his employ like it was in the past. “He’s too damn cheap to buy us any new tools; do you expect him to buy a new tractor?” James’ dad remarked. The old, rusty tractor that caused his father’s accident was abandoned, leaving no modern convenience for the hands tilling the soil.
In reality, the advancement of such improvements vis-à-vis modern machinery speeded up the production at the expense of the labor pool. With the dismal forecast of no work, many, like Uncle Moses, had left in search of a better life in the north. Technological advances contributed to the Great Migration of blacks and poor whites from the rural South in search of a better life in the North. Workers were needed in the Ford Motor Company in Dearborn and the steel mills around Pittsburgh and the Goodyear Tire Factory in Akron and the garment industry in New York City. Jobs was the goal of these migrants and a better life devoid of the racism and paternalism dotting the Southern landscape.
Most of the laborers, like the Hayes family, were beholden to Mr. Warren as were their ancestors. The small patch of land to sharecrop adjacent to their shack was a token gesture. It allowed the family to get by and grow the few crops on their small turf of land. Throughout the South, many ex-slaves, poor whites and the few newly arriving immigrants faced similar circumstances. Sharecropping became a way of life, dismal and subsistence as it was.
Once given the opportunity to farm, sharecroppers felt almost a loyalty to the land and the owners. Like other families, the Hayes’ were tied to the Crawley farmstead. Like it or not, it was a living and the only escape was to join the now called Great Migration north that Moses and others had done to seek jobs. Either that or stay and grow old in the Delta. It was on James’ mind as he watched his father maneuver with difficulty towards his daily grind. “I sure as hell am not to end up like that,” he told himself often. He wanted desperately to take his whole family north in search of a better life, but it was not feasible. Without financial resources and the added drama of a new life, his family held back and stayed on.
The brothers got to the farm and Crawley nodded adding, “Good morning. We got a lot to do today boys.” James knew that Crawley wanted to get his bales to market and onto the barge to take it downstream to Vicksburg. His curt salutation would be the only acknowledgement of their presence. He demanded much and expected much from his hired help.
The bales! They would be weighed; Crawley would pay for shipment to Vicksburg and be paid per bale. The more bales meant more money in his pocket. It was a constant race to get the cotton to market before other landlords arrived with the same shipment. Crawley was known to the men on the docks and generally tolerated despite his aloofness towards the workers. James hated to accompany him to the docks, as it meant more back-breaking labor with a token stipend to cover his added burden. Often times he looked around at the hectic back-and-forth with cargo being loaded and thought of the places he could go if only he could stow away on one ship. The old river boat gambling boats had long gone out and now the steam powered barges aligned the piers. ‘Not the prettiest sight on the river,’ though James. But, the idea of going it alone and travelling and meeting new people, finding a job with extra cash in his pocket and settling down to a comfortable life without the segregated life he was forced to endure. These trips down to the dock made him all the more antsy.
The thought always was there but then the guilt of leaving his family to fend for themselves took over. As rough as the trips to the bank of the Mississippi were, they provided a momentary lapse in his dismal existence. It put a smile on his face and made the situation bearable, always dreaming of that escape and to explore a new life. But, these dreams would have to wait for the moment.
Today’s bales seemed unusually heavy. Perhaps it was due to the heavy rain that fell two nights before. The bales, still saturated with excess water, made its towing to the carts and subsequent trip to the docks all the more difficult. Looking around at the seven attached bales, he knew the other crew members had toiled hard and into the night before. He often worked with his nearby neighbors. Not as strong as he, yet they were a comfort and source of communication. Often breaking into gospel songs, their presence made life a little easier. James could belt out a tune in a basso profoundo voice. His favorite was ‘Swing Low, Sweet Chariot.’ He loved the lyrics he learned at his country church whose pastor saw something in the young man. James especially liked the verse:
“I looked upon the river and what did I see?
A band of angels coming forth to carry
me home.”

He envisioned the angel as a young, beautiful woman clad in a silk white gown in need of him. In his daydream, he would sweep her away and they would have no cares and live a free and abundant life. It kept him going in the worst of times while humming the songs he learned in church. And the music now in the Delta was taking on a unique style of old-time religious songs plus the lyrics put to a different rhythm of deliberate distortions and timbre. He could hear it in the clubs whenever he went into Vicksburg and listened intently to the new sound. He had heard of musicians going from town to town and making the new sounds of jazz available to all audiences. “Perhaps it will happen, I’ll sing or strum the guitar that I have and make it at some club.” It remained an illusive dream but kept him thinking of his future as a performer.
Music would set James off to a new height. Improvised with slapping of thighs to keep a constant rhythm, unpredictable and improvised, creative lyrics would spew forth. What resulted is a new music variation born in the Delta—jazz. Harmony, tone and a constant syncopated rhythm were its elements. James was a quick learner and soon he would have his own variation of the new music sound. Indeed, James would attract an instant crowd whenever he broke into unique style. People would join in, adding their own lyrics or just humming along.