About that Minstrel Show . . .

Before we launch into Cokesbury’s final party, the Minstrel Show, pause and ask yourself. Do you want to be associated with the likes of this:

I’m not sure I do. On the one hand, talking about minstrel shows in general may be taken as offensive by African Americans, and for good reason. It’s true as Wikipedia says, “Minstrel shows lampooned black people in mostly disparaging ways: as ignorant, lazy, buffoonish, superstitious, joyous, and musical.” Blackface continued long after minstrel shows fell out of fashion, most notably in film and in “Amos ‘n’ Andy,” one of the most popular radio shows of the first half of the 20th century. The show – and I’ve listened to plenty of them – was pretty degrading and, as evidenced by protests against the show, not universally liked.

Now I couch this next phrase carefully: Degrading if you recall these are white men performing in black face, or degrading if you believe the stereotypes. Amos 'n' Andy are no more buffoonish, superstitious, lazy or musical than, say, Ralph Kramden and Ed Norton of The Honeymooners, who got up to some pretty stupid lower-class antics as well, as I recall.

So that brings in the other hand, shying away from such subjects limits our ability to discuss race openly. If we’re to understand the hurt, we, as a nation, ought to understand the reason behind the hurt. Or result in failing to point out to the oversensitive that in entertainment as in life, stupidity, cupidity, racism and buffoonery knows no racial boundary.

And on that ubiquitous third hand, there’s also stuff like this:

So is “Hee-Haw” a covert way of white liberal guilt getting back at all those who think minstrelsy is so entertaining? After all – and I watched “Hee-Haw” a lot as a kid – the show makes white folks look ignorant, lazy, buffoonish, superstitious, joyous, and musical. I don’t know the answer to that.

I do know Cokesbury’s introduction to the party isn’t promising:

A good way to have a delightful evening of fun and at the same time make some money is to put on a Minstrel Show. A Minstrel Show is a typically American type of entertainment, and to most people thoroughly enjoyable.

I’m not sure I want to have the Cokesbury Party Blog conclude on this note. If anyone out there in Blogland is reading, let me know what you think.

Week Forty Five: Thanksgiving Party

I should warn you that I have a Black Belt when it comes to Thanksgiving writing. You’re talking, after all, to the third-place winner in the 1996 Collegiate Associated Press contest in editorial writing. That doesn’t sound nearly as exciting as the Buckeye News Hawk Award, but I tout this award as much as Uncle Rico touts that game coach shoulda put him in because they would have won state.

Here’s the invitation to this turkey of a party:

To our Thanksgiving Party

We want to invite you,

The things that we’ve planned

We’re sure will delight you.

Turkeys and Red Men

Pilgrim Fathers and Football,

Will help to amuse you,

Making sport for us all.

First of all, rhyming “you” with “you” is a stroke of pure genius. And speaking of strokes, you know the progressives in your crowd are just going to love that line about the Red Men.
As far as decorations go, darn tootin’ crepe paper is involved, along with other elements that “typify the harvest season” such as fruit, vegetables, autumn leaves, plus turkeys, pictures of the Pilgrim fathers or Indian pictures. They’re not clear, but I advise against using live turkeys as decorations. They’re rather cranky birds. Given the season, that’s understandable.

Now, consider this for a moment: What kind of Thanksgiving story do you anticipate will be first out of the box from Cokesbury. Consider the source: conservative Methodists from 1930s Palm Beach, Florida. Already a picture is forming in your mind. Probably something like this:

Here’s what Cokesbury has to say:

Story of Thanksgiving. Thanksgiving to god for blessings received had its beginning with the ancient Jews. They left their homes and dwelt for a week in booths made from the branches of palm, olive, or myrtle trees. The Greeks had a Thanksgiving day called by the Feast of Demeter. The Romans observed a day in honor of Ceres, the fabled goddess of corn fields and gardens. In Old England the Harvest Home festival was observed at the full of the September moon. It was as popular a celebration as Christmas in England, and Queen Elizabeth ordered that there should be no servile labor performed on this day.

Oh, I love to see progressive wharrgarbl stopped mid-garble. Though the hard-cores will still find something wrong with this.

Yes, they go on to talk about Governor Bradford, Massasoit, and the venerable Thanksgiving Turkey. But just as part of the whole. It would do progressives well to give conservatives a little credit once and a while.

And while you’re giving credit, it’s time for a dramatic reading, "The Landing of the Pilgrim Fathers," by Felecia Dorothea Hemans:

The breaking waves dashed high
On a stern and rock-bound coast,
And the woods against a stormy sky
Their giant branches tossed;

And the heavy night hung dark,
The hills and waters o'er,
When a band of exiles moored their bark
On the wild New England shore.

Not as the conqueror comes,
They, the true-hearted came;
Not with the roll of the stirring drums,
And the trumpet that sings of fame;

Not as the flying come,
In silence and in fear;
They shook the depths of the desert gloom
With their hymns of lofty cheer.

Amidst the storm they sang,
And the stars heard, and the sea;
And the sounding aisles of the dim woods rang
To the anthem of the free.
The ocean eagle soared
From his nest by the white wave's foam;
And the rocking pines of the forest roared--
This was their welcome home.

There were men with hoary hair
Amidst the pilgrim band:
Why had they come to wither there,
Away from their childhood's land?

There was woman's fearless eye,
Lit by her deep love's truth;
There was manhood's brow, serenely high,
And the fiery heart of youth.

What sought they thus afar?
Bright jewels of the mine?
The wealth of seas, the spoils of war?
They sought a faith's pure shrine!

Ay, call it holy ground,
The soil where first they trod;
They have left unstained what there they found --
Freedom to worship God.

[Pulls up soapbox] Wharrgarbl away, progressives. No use telling you that, hey, the Puritans did come to the Americas looking for freedom. Were they perfect? No. Were they being persecuted? Yes. So they had to go somewhere else. Do they believe they were led by God? Sure did. Do you have to believe so? No. Do you have to respect that others still maintain that belief? Damn right you do. There is no more hypocritical person on the face of the earth than a progressive who will allow for the good in everyone else on the planet to be accepted as gospel and holy; all but the good the conservatives believe. [Puts away soapbox]

If that’s too dramatic, just let this roll. Same idea gets across. Just be prepared for augmented progressive whaaargarbl.

(For additional amusement, read the YouTube comments on this one. Canadians must still be feeling the sting of their preliminary Olympics loss to the team from the United States.)

Breathe, folks. Breathe. And get ready for Follow the Leader:

Each player is given a sheet of paper and a pencil and some colored crayons. The leader then asks them to prepare for a drawing lesson. The leader begins marking on his paper and tells the guests he is drawing a picture of the “Landing of the Pilgrims,” and as he draws he describes the “Mayflower,” which they are to try to draw from his description. The leader should give the students plenty of time to draw and not rush the scene. He should then describe Plymouth Rock. Some description of the scenery along the coast, the shape of the harbor, and the Indians may be given. Give a prize to the one who draws the best picture.

Then there’s this:

Eggshell Football. Cover a table with white paper and mark off a football field. Goals may be made by driving nails down on each end of the field. Prick a small hole in an egg and empty its contents. There should be two or three eggshells in reserve in case one or more are broken. These eggshells may be painted like a football if desired.

A referee is chosen, and he places the ball in the center of the field. There should be about three players from each end of the table and one on each side of the table from both teams. When the gall goes out of bounds the referee picks it up and places it down near the place where it went off. Players do not start to blow until the whistle is blown, or they may be penalized for being offside. A goal will count six. Change every two minutes and put in six new players. There should be a lot of rooting at this game, and it will be found to be very interesting and lively.

That’s a roundabout way to explain how to play the game, but I think you get the general idea. It makes more sense than any explanation I’ve heard of the rules for real football. And guys, make sure to have someone videotaping your wife’s or girlfriend’s face when you drive those nail goals into her nice wooden table.

And lest you think you’ll get out of this party without at least one more slap at the Red Man, here you go:

Indian Drum Race. Line up in two lines facing each other. Keep the same division as for the other competitive games. One side may be called the Indians and the other the Pilgrims. One person is blindfolded and beats a drum. A dishpan may be substituted, although a trap drum is better. One of the players is given a tin can like a baking powder can, with rocks in it so that it will rattle. As long as the drummer keeps beating, the rattle passes back and forth. The line caught with it when the drum stops loses, while the other side wins five points. When the drum starts again the rattle moves on. Continue the game not longer than five or ten minutes. A piano may be substituted for the drum.

Just don’t hurt the piano. You don’t want to upset Miss Leverlily.

And that’s it. Serve your guests pumpkin pie and coffee, or plum pudding with hot chocolate. An alternative is to go all Charlie Brown on them, or actually dip into your rusty wallet and buy an entire Thanksgiving dinner for them. But then you wouldn’t have time for the Indian Drum Race. Better stick with pie and coffee.

We’re coming to the end, folks. Next week, try a Kid Party, complete with costumes. Please, no diapers and bowed legs.

Week Thirty-Four: Indian Party

We’ve all been to parties like this, where the evening goes so entirely awkward from the first second that the party ends abruptly, early, and with an air of relief. Marge Simpson knows the feeling – she attended that infamous New Year’s Eve party at Lenny’s, “and he didn’t even have a clock.”

Cokesbury’s Indian Party is like that. It wouldn’t even be held in these politically-correct times (but if you think this is bad, wait until we present, with much trepidation, Cokesbury’s minstrel show). And although Cokesbury declaims in its introduction to this party that the “Indians were a picturesque people, and some of their manners and customs are well known to all,” it seems the only customs mentioned in the party are those you’d see in a vaudeville act about Indians in full wampum-paying, scalping, peace pipe-smoking glory.

Here’s the invitation, patterned, Cokesbury says, after Longfellow’s poem Hiawatha:

By the side of Tenth and Olive

Stands the wigwam of the princess,

And she sends to all the village

Messengers with wands of willow

A sign of invitation,

As a token of the feasting,

And she bids us all assemble

For an Indian Party, Friday

And at eight we are to gather.

With Longfellow’s romantic ode thus butchered, it’s time to move on to other incorrectness, such as costumes.

Request should be made that everyone come in Indian costume as far as possible. If costumes are not available, each guest should be provided with a feather headdress made of paper. These may either be made or secured from the March Brothers publishing Company, Lebanon, Ohio, at a low price. A blanket and beads can be worn in such a way that they make an effective costume.

In other words, try to look like these guys. (Old-timey Indian action starts at 2:14) Bonus: Watch this clip from the beginning and try to spot Jackie Coogan/Uncle Fester. And don’t get me wrong. This film, The Shakiest Gun in the West, is one of my favorites. But that doesn’t mean they depict the Indians correctly.



With your authentic Indian costumes on display, it’s time to move on to some authentic Indian games, showing that indeed, as Cokesbury says, Indian manners and customs are known by all:

Big Game Hunt. Before the guests arrived the hostess has hidden around the room animal crackers with numbers on them or animals cut out of cardboard with numbers on them. The guests are told to find them, and the tribe that finds the largest number will get a prize. Prizes for the evening may be feathers to put in the headdress. In this case each one in the tribe that finds the largest number or whose total score, taking the numbers from the animals, makes the largest total wins.

This is, of course, mirroring the fine Indian tradition of scurrying around the house looking like an idiot, trying to find animal crackers, trying not to tread on the crackers and trying not to eat the crackers before the score is tallied.

Then we move on to this game:

Indian Tribes. The guests are supplied with sheets of paper, typewritten, using carbons, or mimeographed:

What Indian tribe is
(1) A girls name? Sioux
(2) Flowing streams? Creeks
(3) Known by its caws? Crow.
(4) The name for a South Atlantic state? Delaware.
(5) Slang for “you’re wise to it.” Huron (You’re on).
(6) A vowel and an herb? Osage
(7) The lower extremities of a Negro? Blackfeet.

And we stop there. See? You’ve managed to offend two races in a single party. Care to try for a trifecta?

And note: I love the celebration of ‘modern’ technology in this game. The sheets are typewritten. And duplicated using carbons or a mimeograph. A mimeograph! How quaint.

Let’s move on to the word you’ve all been waiting for:

Squaws’ Relay. An equal number of squaws are chosen from each tribe. They stand in parallel line facing a goal. The goal is about twenty feet from the head of each line and is made by a circle drawn on the floor about eighteen inches in diameter. In this are placed five Indian clubs or Coca-Cola bottles. Each squaw runs to the circle, the first taking the clubs out of the circle, the next placing the clubs back in the circle. The tribe that finishes first wins.

Squaw squaw squaw. Once again Cokesbury presents a party meant to make progressive heads just explode.

Here’s another chance for some good old-fashioned Indian fun:

Archery Contest. Secure from the five-and-ten-cent store a bow and arrows. The target may be the usual target with circles on it, numbered so that the center circle about four inches in diameter counts twenty-five, the second circle, twenty, the third fifteen, the fourth ten, and the fifth five. The score of each one is kept and the score by tribes. A prize should be given the best individual archer and the prizes to the best tribe.

Another way to do this would be to cut from cardboard the shapes of animals, mounting these on bases so that they will stand up. Have some larger and some smaller. Graduate so that to hit the small one will count twenty-five, the next largest twenty, and next largest fifteen, and so on. Give prizes in the same manner as described above.

Just remember when you get a bunch of enthusiastic folks in the same room with archery equipment, hijinx can result. Observe:



On to something perhaps a bit more sophisticated. No more politically correct, of course.

Medicine Dance. Squares or circles are marked off on the floor in such a way that couples marching around will not be able to avoid them. Somone plays a lively tune, such as “Turkey in the Straw” and all march. When the music suddenly stops, whoever is inside a ring must take a seat. This is done by couples, and if one of the two is in the ring, both must be seated. The object is to see which couple can remain on the floor the longest. This may be done twice if it goes over well the first time and there is plenty of time.

Turkey in the Straw. That song just oozes Indian sophistication:



That’s George Rock on the trumpet, by the way.

One last game. Because Indians do a lot of hopping. And spelling, apparently.

Hopping Relay. Six contestants are selected to represent each group and are arranged in lines at one side of the room. At the opposite side of the room a large blackboard should be provided. The first contestant in each group should be given a piece of chalk and at the signal will hop on one foot to the blackboard, write the letter “I,” hop back, and hand the chalk to the second man in his line, who hops to the board and writes “N,” and continuing until the word “Indian” has been written.

And so on. Maybe after this party, you’ll understand how Chief Joseph felt:



That’s it. Time for refreshments such as apples, nuts, pop corn, and “laughing water (lemonade), wolf meat (hot dogs).”

How?

How.

Aaand be sure to tune in next week, when you’ll see the author stumble over how to present the next few parties in the book in a way that makes sense. It might not be easy. So next week might be a Measuring Party. Or it might not. Stay tuned.

What Makes the White Man Blush?

If you're hoping that Cokesbury's Indian Party will be a nuanced exploration of Native American culture, I have to wonder if you've been paying attention. Plan on lots of stuff like this:



And this:



Truth be told, these presentations of the "red man" are, in fact, a bit more palatable to our politicially correct times than Cokesbury's party. But perhaps I should let you judge.

Week Thirty-Three: School Days Party

Now that Christmas is over but Christmas vacation still has its legs, the following party is meant to offer a bit of solace to all those parents who have spent their holiday in the bosom of their family but are now really, really ready for school to start again.

Here’s the invitation:

School days, school days,
Dear old Golden Rule days’
Readin’ and writin’ and ‘rithmetic,
But without the sound of the hickory stick.
We will live all over again,
So don’t come like women and men;
But come like kids you used to be,
And we’ll have an evening of fun and glee.

More proof – as if we needed any – that some people will do anything for a rhyme.

As this is a costume extravaganza, Cokesbury advises thusly:

For the girls, play dresses with bloomers, sunbonnets, middies, and skirts. Some may care to go back to their grandmother’s day and wear the pantalet dresses of that day. The boys should wear overalls, knickers, short pants with old-fashioned waists, with round collars, and perhaps some come barefooted. A toe tied up with a rag would add to the effect.

So, basically, come like the kids from The Little Rascals:



Maybe folks back in the 1930s had it easy. I’ve got my 20th high school reunion coming up this summer and, as far as I can tell, we’re being encouraged to come dressed as we were in high school. And seeing that my high school was about seven years behind the times national trend-wise, that means we’ll be smack in the 1980s, so we’ll have to come dressed like this:



Complete with the Futura font. Eew.

Let’s move on to something less nauseating. Like Cokesbury’s School Days Party decorations:

If it is possible to use a room that can be transformed into one with the appearance of a classroom, this would be ideal. At any rate, try to create this atmosphere by the use of blackboards, globe, maps, etc. In a home, remove the lighter furniture and bring in a desk for the teacher. Borrow blackboards from a school or church to put around the walls.

Use the following dialogue when you ask your church or school for the loaner blackboards:

You: Hello, [principal or clergyman]. I’d like to borrow several blackboards for a school-themed party.

Principal/Clergyman: What?

You: Blackboards. You have them I presume?

P/C: Well, yes we do, but . . .
You: Loan them to me. I paid for them with my tax dollars/donations so by right of payment, they are, indeed, mine.

Let me know how that works for you.

Be sure to jolly it up with your atheist friends that you borrowed the stuff from “the church,” just to make them really antsy and make the more militant ones grumble about separation of church and state. Then explain to them that you’re not a “state,” and that if they really want to whine, what they ought to be whining about is the fact you used Holy Water from the church to make the post-party punch. Then once they’re really riled up, move them into head-explosion territory with the following Cokesbury activity:

Opening of School. School should be opened in the regular customary manner by the salute to the flat and the singing of “America.” Perhaps there might also be a good morning song.

If their heads fail to explode immediately, be sure to emphasize the “regular and customary” portion of Cokesbury’s description. Boom Boom!

A good morning song? Something like this?



In case your party is suddenly getting too artsy, assure your guests that the next game will have them using their mathematical brains. If that doesn’t glue them to their seats, nothing will.

Arithmetic. The fist class should be a class in arithmetic with the students reciting orally. Call one someone to recite the nines of the multiplication table and another to recite them backward. If one pupil makes a mistake, call on another to finish. Ask another pupil to count with Roman numerals to ten, and give the Roman characters to one thousand. Ask others to give some of the tables, such as the table for liquid measure, dry measure, and weights and measures. Those making mistakes should be put on the dunce stool and made to wear the dunce cap. Successful pupils should be given lollipops.

This is a game that separates the men from the boys, literally and metaphorically. You’ll soon find out whether any of your friends are smart enough to know that four gills equals a pint in liquid measure, or that 63 gallons equals one hogshead. Or that a rusty can of corn equals a moosehead, or three sick chickens equals a bag of potatoes. But that’s for barter. I get all confused.

So let’s move on to geography, in which Cokesbury immediately shows its, ahem, colors:

The next is to be a lesson in geography. Give each pupil a paper on which the following questions have been typed, making carbon copies, or mimeographed. Give each one a pencil. A definite time may be set for the completion of the lesson. The teacher should then collect the papers, grade them, and perhaps reward the pupils with lollipops.

(1) What state is the Negro state? Col.
(2) What is Noah’s state? Ark.
(3) What state is a girl’s name? Minn.
(4) What state is a Catholic Church service? Mass.
(5) What state is a physician? Md.
(6) What state is Coolidge’s state? Cal.
(7) What state is a letter of the alphabet? O.
(8) What state is a mineral substance containing metal? Ore.
(9) What state is a personal pronoun? Me.

This game, of course, won’t get past the first question. Maybe you’d best save it for last, and then only if the party is bombing so badly you want the guests to leave angry.

Let’s move on to something less controversial: Declamation.

Yes, there was a time, folks, when people had to memorize things. They couldn’t rely on the Internet to be their long-term memory. So here’s Cokesbury’s memorization game:

Mother Goose rhymes could be recited, and the pupils should use as much rhetorical display as possible.

You know, this kinda reminds me of something that happened to me in high school. A few friends and I were in a study room off the library when we heard what we thought was either an argument or a person having a nervous breakdown in the next room. One of our group ventured next door to see what was happening, only to find our resident Thespian with the capital T, Kenny, reciting a declamation for a drama competition he was heading to. We, the callow, shallow talentless souls that we were, thought it was really weird that he was making such a spectacle of himself. Now one of us is an artist-slash-mailman, the others have dropped off the face of the earth and I work at a dump. Kenny’s still out there:



So it’s time for refreshments – box lunches consisting of random sandwiches, cakes, fruit and the aforementioned Holy Water punch. The randomness is meant to afford the activity of lunchroom trading. Eat your lunch in peace, while I try to figure out how to recover my shattered hull of a life. And Kenny, I’m sorry we laughed at you.

Be sure to tune in next time for an enlightened Cokesbury look at the Native Americans in its Indian Party. Ugh, and How!

Week Twenty-Eight: Celebrities Party

We all love a celebrity. Even Homer Simpson, in creating his Hollywood Musem of Jerks, admitted to loving celebrities to the point he put their underpants on display. So why not, the folks at the Cokesbury Party Book thought, put on a Celebrities Party so all of our chums can dress up as their favorite celebrities and pretend to be glamorous and famous and important for an evening?

Even the invitation is inspiring. Hope you know someone named Smith:

If your name is not in Who’s Who,

You can be great just the same.

Come dressed like a celebrity, any will do

If he’s in America’s Hall of Fame.

Come out to Smith’s on Friday night,

And act the part you dress.

We’ll live in the past and present both,

And have a good time? Well, I guess!

So, the long march equating celebrity status with greatness began long before anyone in the modern age realizes. But of course I’m sure there were cavemen who followed the likes of Oog, Inventor of Fire, and Mog, Inventor of the Wheel, if not for their intellectual prowess but because they were famous.

A cultural note: Cokesbury isn’t dissing their party when they suggest they “guess” they’ll have a good time at this party. The English language is ever-evolving. Back then, “I guess” was the equivalent of today’s “Of course,” or to put it more colloquially, “Duh.”

But then there’s celebrity trouble. Back then, there were no Charles Nelson Reilleys, no Paul Lyndes, or whomever is the hot, edgy character popular today among those who are not hopelessly stuck in the 1970s as I am. Cokesbury has a few celebrities to suggest.

First, Celebrities of the Past:

Alexander Hamilton (Ed: or, alternately, Aaron Burr)

Andrew Jackson

Edith Cavel

Woodrow Wilson

Knute Rockne

John Philip Sousa

Gen. Robert E. Lee

Gen. Ulysses S. Grant

Betsy Ross

Thomas Alva Edison

Abraham Lincoln

Carrie Nation

Pocahontas

(Note: It seems the name "Gertrude Ederle" flummoxed either the writer or proofreader of this text. The only reason I found out the correct spelling were the clues scattered throughout the book. I felt like a treasure hunter.)

Now, Celebrities of the Present:

Douglas Fairbanks

Mary Pickford

Herbert Hoover

Calvin Coolidge

Charles Lindbergh

Will Rogers

Admiral Richard E. Byrd

Gertrude Elder

Buddy Rogers

Charlie Chaplain

Clara Bow

Babe Ruth

Helen Wills Moody

Helen Hicks

Just to illustrate how far American culture has evolved – if evolved is the proper term for it – in the ensuing 70-some-odd years, here’s a list of celebrities one might pick today:

Perez Hilton

Al Gore

Steve Jobs

Bernie Madoff

Ronald Reagan

Bill Clinton

Larry King

Madonna

Michael Jackson

Johnny Depp

Tiger Woods

So you’ve still got your jocks, your politicians, your actors, your wonks, your captains of industry, your brainless twits (that might be redundant with politicians), and your reformers and rabble-rousers. But with a lot less clothing, particularly in the case of Madonna. And Larry King.

Guys: For a real challenge, I suggest going as Carrie Nation, pictured here. Bonus points if you can find and bring a little hatchet, and then know the story of why Miss Nation was so hatchetlery famous.

"Who is it, Norman?"

For Cokesbury Party Blog readers already a-prickle with the nationalistic bias of the lists proffered by Cokesbury, don't worry. Cokesbury admits its bias. And encourages it further (in other words, 'Heads, get ready to explode.').

The list of famous persons suggested here is confined to American names, so it would be well to use the national colors in the decorations. Streamers of red, white, and blue, with bunting and flags, would be a very effective setting for such a group of people.

You might have to go to Wal-Mart to buy more bunting. Put a plastic bag over your head so your Whole Foods friends don't see you.

Now we all know dressing up as celebrities is only hafl the fun. We also need to act like celebrities in order to make the evening a success. This is probably a good reason not to dress like modern celebrities, whose behavior as of late has boiled down to defrauding via Ponzi schemes, organizing dog fights, getting pancreatic cancer and inventing even more useless, expensive gadgetry, and bloviating. Instead, Cokesbury suggests the following: 

Have the impersonations which are given below written on slips of paper and put in a box. The lader draws them out one by one; and if she draws number seven, she starts counting at the head of the line of guests and counts to seven. The person who is number seven must do the impersonation indicated. In every case she starts from the same person, counting frmo that person to the number whis is on the slip of paper. The following are suggested impersonations:

 Betsy Ross making the flag

Babe Ruth knocking a home run

Charlie Chaplin making a movie

Gertrude Elder swimming in the English Channel (Ed: Ah! One of the clues to Gertrude Edler's real identity!)

John Philip Sousa directing a symphony orchestra (Ed: Didn't he direct marching bands?)

Mayor James J. Walker making an after-dinner speech. (Ed: I have NO idea who this guy is. Maybe he's the guy who said "Dy-no-MITE!")

Herbert Hoover fishing

Admiral Byrd flying over the North Pole

Tom Mix on horseback

Charles Lindbergh making love to Anne Lindbergh (Ed: Honest, this is exactly how this suggestion is written. Please keep it G-rated, for the children.)

Aimee Semple McPherson delivering a sermon. (Ed: Make one of your liberal friends do this, but a la "Beavis and Butthead" in No Laughing)

 

 

Martha and George Washington doing the minuet

Clara Bow flirting

Calvin Coolidge riding his mechanical horse

Buddy Rogers directing a jazz orchestra

 

You know, I kinda like the image of one of our less-colorful presidents using a mechanical horse as an exercise device, and "whooping it up" like a cowboy as he rode it. All we seem to get nowadays are Vietnam vets and community organizers with good pectoral muscles. Can't have everything, I guess.

 

 

"Yee-Haw!"

 

But let's move on to celebrating another of the 1930's presidents, one Herbert Hoover, in a game that I'm sure would make Archie Bunker go postal:

The Stock Market Has Crashed. The guest impersonating Herbert Hoover should start this game off. Have him to rise as the guests are seated in a circle with all the chairs filled, and as he calls guests by their famous names they rise and folow him around. When he says, "The stock market has crashed," all try to get charis. The one left out has to continue the game, calling the names as before.

One final game, then we're on to refreshments.

The Head of George Washington. Give guests a half cake of Ivory soap and a paring knife. The boys, of course, may use their pocket knives. Any kind of sharp instrument could be substituted for a paring knife. Give a prize to the one who can sculpture the best head of George Washington. Newspaper whould be provided so that the scraps of paper will not get on the floor.

This game, in its four simple sentences, is a minefiled of anachronisms for modern man. Soap, fortunately, is universal, though with the advent of liquid soap, such carving activity might be harder to accomplish. And, of course, no one dares nowaways to carry their own personal pocket knives or any other sharp instruments for fear of being expelled from school for having it on school property, kicked off an airplane, tasered if one brings said sharp instrument out in public or frowned upon by the same people who want to put padding around poles in London to prevent texticated individuals from injuring themselves in a collision. Pad the world, Mitch Benn said. Save it from a soap-carving activity. Then there's the newspaper thing. You might get away from this by lining the floor with iPod instructions, but they're so damn small you'd need a thousand of them to do any good. And you can't have it outside, what with all those phosphates from the soap leaching into the soil. Maybe you'd better collect the shavings in a bowl, invest in a soap-making kit, or just bag the whole thing and use the suggested alternate refreshment as carving material, as there's no way anyone is going to eat it.

Refreshments, as suggested by Cokesbury, include the mundane (cake and ice cream with Boston tea) to the absolutely frightening. And I quote:

Another suggestion would be a salad of cottage cheese, covering the cheese with crushed pineapple, and topping with mayonnaise. Serve with crackers and coffee.

And barf bags.

That's it, thankfully, until next week and the gala Fish Under the Sea Dance. No, wait. The gala King Neptune's Carnival, which Cokesbury describes as a "water carnival or pageant). Bring your swim fins and snorkel. Leave the cottage cheese at home.

Bonus!

As part of the Gipsy Party, Cokesbury suggests that, either during the festivities or during dinner, that gipsy stories (or at least stories; they don't necessarily have to be gipsy) be told, and thoughtfully offer a few, one of which is reproduced here:

Why the Chinese Have Short Names

Long, long ago, in far-away China, there lived two little boys. One was named Choy, and the other Tinky-tuky-timbo-no-si-nembo-hooy-booy-bousky-peooy-pen-do-hickey-pon-pon-nickey-no-me-on-don-peooy-eo. He was named this because it was a custom in those days for the mother to name her child a long name just according to how much she loved him.

One day, little Choy and Tinky-tuky-timbo-no-si-nembo-hooy-booy-bousky-peooy-pen-do-hickey-pon-pon-nickey-no-me-on-don-peooy-eo were playing beside the well, when all of a sudden little Choy fell in the well. Little Tinky-tuky-timbo-no-si-nembo-hooy-booy-bousky-peooy-pen-do-hickey-pon-pon-nickey-no-me-on-don-peooy-eo was so very frightened and ran. “Mother, Mother, Choy has fallen into the well. Come quickly and get him out.” She said: “Little Choy fell in the well? Oh, little Choy fell in the well. Well, darling, run tell the gardener to get little Choy out of the well.”

So little Tinky-tuky-timbo-no-si-nembo-hooy-booy-bousky-peooy-pen-do-hickey-pon-pon-nickey-no-me-on-don-peooy-eo ran to the gardener and cried, “Oh, Gardener, Gardener, poor Choy has fallen into the well. Come quickly and get him out.”

“Huh, what’s that you say?” he asked.

“Oh, come quickly. Choy has fallen into the well.”

“Oh, Choy has fallen into the well. Well, we well get Choy out right away.”

So the gardener ran and put a ladder in the well and climbed down and got little Choy and brought him out of the well.

Many weeks after that when Choy got well enough to play, the two boys were playing beside the well again, when all of a sudden poor little Tinky-tuky-timbo-no-si-nembo-hooy-booy-bousky-peooy-pen-do-hickey-pon-pon-nickey-no-me-on-don-peooy-eo fell into the well.

Little Choy ran to his mother and cried: “Oh, Mother, Mother, little Tinky-tuky-timbo-no-si-nembo-hooy-booy-bousky-peooy-pen-do-hickey-pon-pon-nickey-no-me-on-don-peooy-eo has fallen into the well. Come quickly and get him out.”

She said: “Little Tinky-tuky-timbo-no-si-nembo-hooy-booy-bousky-peooy-pen-do-hickey-pon-pon-nickey-no-me-on-don-peooy-eo fell in the well, Oh little Tinky-tuky-timbo-no-si-nembo-hooy-booy-bousky-peooy-pen-do-hickey-pon-pon-nickey-no-me-on-don-peooy-eo fell in the well. Run, darling, and tell the gardener to get little Tinky-tuky-timbo-no-si-nembo-hooy-booy-bousky-peooy-pen-do-hickey-pon-pon-nickey-no-me-on-don-peooy-eo out of the well.”

Little Choy ran to the gardener and cried: “Oh Gardener, Gardener, poor little Tinky-tuky-timbo-no-si-nembo-hooy-booy-bousky-peooy-pen-do-hickey-pon-pon-nickey-no-me-on-don-peooy-eo has fallen into the well. Come quickly and get him out.”

“Huh, what’s that you say?”

“Poor little Tinky-tuky-timbo-no-si-nembo-hooy-booy-bousky-peooy-pen-do-hickey-pon-pon-nickey-no-me-on-don-peooy-eo has fallen into the well. Come quickly and get him out.”

“Oh,” he said. “Little Tinky-tuky-timbo-no-si-nembo-hooy-booy-bousky-peooy-pen-do-hickey-pon-pon-nickey-no-me-on-don-peooy-eo has fallen into the well. We will get little Tinky-tuky-timbo-no-si-nembo-hooy-booy-bousky-peooy-pen-do-hickey-pon-pon-nickey-no-me-on-don-peooy-eo out right away.”

So the gardener got a ladder and climbed down and down and down and got little Tinky-tuky-timbo-no-si-nembo-hooy-booy-bousky-peooy-pen-do-hickey-pon-pon-nickey-no-me-on-don-peooy-eo, but poor little e Tinky-tuky-timbo-no-si-nembo-hooy-booy-bousky-peooy-pen-do-hickey-pon-pon-nickey-no-me-on-don-peooy-eo was almost drowned. He didn’t grow up to be a strong man like Choy, so that taught the Chinese mothers a lesson, and ever since that time they have been naming their children real short names like Choy, Tu, Chong, Wu, and Fu.

(Written by Mrs. J.G. Deriso, Jacksonillve, Fla., or so Cokesbury says, apparently so you know who to blame.)

Remember, I'm just the cultural anthropologist here. I make no excuses for this story whatsoever. Pity me that I had to type it in.

Week Twenty-Seven: Gipsy Party

Okay, so this is a Victorian-era photo.

Still gets the stereotypical gypsy idea across.

Interesting concept here. In reading Cokesbury's Gipsy Party, the suggestions are that Gypsies steal, stargaze, tell stories, steal, tell and keep secrets, steal, kidnap, steal, sing, and, what else? Oh yeah. Steal. So buckle in.

Maybe this music will keep the sting off:

	Anonyme - Bubak and Hungaricus Early 18th Century Gypsy Music .mp3
	Found at bee mp3 search engine

Since this is a costume party, on with the costumes:

Costumes may be made from red or yellow cheesecloth. Or at least headbands, sashes, and scarfs can be made from these materials. Further suggestions for the girls would be beach pajamas, Spanish costumes, with hair loose or braided down the back. A timbrel would add to the effect. Use plenty of beads, earrings, bracelets, or other jewelry. Boys could wear loud colored shirts, bandana handkerchiefs, slouch hats, large earrings, such as brass curtain rings tied on to the ears, mustached paste on, or masks. Plenty of color should be put on the cheeks with rouge or cocoa.

Rouge or cocoa. Really? Let's move on to the kidnapping.

Guests should be met at the door or entrance to the place where the party is held by rough-looking gipsies with knives or revolvers. Each guest is kidnapped and taken before the gipsy king and initiated. To do this he is made to get on his knees, put his head to the ground, and say:

I know my mind,

And I know my heart.

I know I have a foolish part.

This should be repeated three times as the guest bows before the king. He is then initiated into the order of gipsies.

I suggest trying this first with your uberconservative friends just too see how many heads you can make explode. For added interest, have them utter some simple fealty oaths. Make sure to bring plenty of dropcloths.

And what's up with that initiation oath? Are they saying whomever chooses to be sworn in as a gipsy is foolish? Or that the act of being sworn in is foolish? Or that you're a moron for making your friends do this in the first place? Jury's still out on that one, if you ask me.

And, yes, I know they make a big deal about becoming a gipsy, meeting the gipsy king, et cetera, in Hunchback of Notre Dame. Just because it's in literatchoooor doesn't mean it makes sense.

This king appears confused. It's a sceptre, buddy. What do you do with it? Well, now I'm all confused.

Now, on to the bartering. Gipsies barter, right?

Each guest has been notified in advance that he is to bring some article wrapped in a package. A price limit should be set on this of ten cents or twenty-five cents. After all have been initiated, the elader then tells the guests that, as they are now gipsies, they must trade, for gipsies trade. Each person it to talk up the article in his package wthout revealing its identity. When the trading has been going on for about ten minutes, the leader blows the whistle, and all open their packages to discover the misfits. Usually, there will be noise maker, mechanical toys, teething rings, candy with salt and pepper in it, et cetera.

And then with the bartering over, the stealing begins, right?

The leader should announce that another characteristic of gipsies is that they steal, and that, as they have been initiated into the order of gipsies, they will have the privilege during the evening of stealing. Also a prize will be given to the one who can display, at the close of the evening, the largest number of articles stolen. The leader should explain that stealing does not mean taking by force, but that the gipsies have light fingers. This stealing should continue while the games are being played, and later in the evening after the games are over there should be a time to return stolen property.

So, in addition to your uberconservative friends, invite those who naturally have sticky fingers. Remind your technologically-advanced guests that this is not a party to which they should bring cell phones, iPods, fancy watches, or anything they don't want to get back in a hurry. I'm not saying your friends are thieves, but with some people, it only takes a little party suggestion like, well, that stealing is okay, to send some of your more questionable friends over the edge. Or if you have technologically advanced but rather forgetful friends, encourage them to bring all their toys plus any extra stuff you've seen lying around their house. If you're going to steal, steal big, I say. And if they complain, say, "Well, gipsies steal, no?" Have fun with it.

And with the singing. This is the song Cokesbury suggests you sing:



Be sure to book a good blues combo for accompaniment. Or invite an adequate accordionist. It's touches like this that make for a good gipsy party, and might possibly convince some of your more impressionable guests that you really are gipsies so all the stealing is okay and they won't ask for their stuff back.

On to the games. Cokesbury suggests a lot of games. I'll give you two:

Handkerchief Laughs. The leader throws the handkerchief into the air and calls the name or number of a person in the circle, and that person must laugh while the handkerchief is in the air and cease immediately when it falls to the ground. If that person fails to laugh while the handkerchief is in the air, or laughs when the handkerchief is not in the air, he must be It. In order to accomplish this end It may make a motion as though he were going to throw the handkerchief and then fail to throw it. The game may be varied by designating certain kinds of laughs, such as nervous laugh, coquettish laugh, boisterous laugh, horse laugh, silly laugh, stage laugh, giggle, et cetera.

Kinda sounds like the "I Love to Laugh" scene from Mary Poppins.



If my father were participating in this game, you'd have to add another laugh category, that being "laughing silently while tears roll down your cheeks." Try imitating that, Karl Marx.

Next we go on to gipsy fortunes whihc, according to Cokesbury, have little to do with love, warts, the removal of either love or warts, or anything generally involving curses, frogs,a nd other cliches. Nor do they include "Your cockney accent will be hackneyed, but the film you're in will be beloved by all."

Fortunes. The easiest way to accomplish this is to have the fortunes prepared in advance and placed in capsules. These capsules should be about one inch in length and the fortune typewritten and rolled up and placed inside. Players draw for their fortunes, and at the signal open the capsule and read aloud. These fortunes may be written with a pen, using lemon juice for ink. This makes an excellent invisible ink, and this may be passed to the Gipsy Queen, who holds it over the candle, and the words of the fortune will appear on what seemed a blank piece of paper. The following are suggestions for written fortunes:

For the Boys

You'll go to college and get a degree,
and a brilliant man you'll surely be.

You'll be a preacher, a man good and true;
You'll fall in love with a girl named Sue.

You'll be a pilot and fly a ship like Lindy;
You'll have the reputation of being rather windy.

You're going to be a railroad man,
and be the superintendent if you can.

You're going to be a farmer and raise corn and wheat,
and when you are old you'll live on Easy Street.

For the Girls

You are going far away to a university;
when you return a teacher you will be.

You are going to keep house in a bungalow,
with a cat -- and a husband too, you know.

In far-off China you'll spend your life
As a much-loved missionary's wife.

You're going to live alone, just as happy as can be,
with your cat and your parrot and your little cup of tea.

You'll be a lady lawyer and read law books,
and attract a lot of clients with your good looks.

Ah, the aspirations of the 1930s. Adventure, money, and preaching for the men, housekeeping, spinsterism and attracting clients as a lawyer not because you're smart but because you're a looker for the ladies. So who says the world has turned upside down in the past thirty years?

On to the final game, which combines two well-known gipsy traits -- secrets and, you guessed it, stealing.

Secrets. Gipsies have secrets. Divide crowd into groups. If the party is large, however, it would be best to divide into four groups. Each group selects a captain. Each group selects some object to be stolen while on some imaginary raid to town. Each group keeps this objet a secret from the other bands. A member of each camp is sent over to the rival camp to be questioned. They try to get out of him the name of the object he is going to steal. The visitor must answer the questions by "Yes" or "No." If the group guesses the object after five questions, they retain the visitor in their camp. If they fail to guess after five questions, the visitor returns and a visitor is sent to his camp from the rival group. In case the ojbect is guessed, another object must be selected for the second visitor.

Yeah, it's not much of a game. But it does involve stealing. And gipsies steal, right. Damn right they do:

Returning Stolen Property. This should be given some time, and all stolen articles should be identified and returned to the woner and a prize given to the one who can show the largest collection.

All right. All that's left are refreshments. Hope you've got a lot of time on your hands:

Refreshments should consist of gipsy goulash and coffee, to which each one serves himself. paper cups and plates may be used. the following is a recipe for the goulash, which, of course, must be cooked before the party and just heated up on the fire at the party:

Cook a large piece of beef or veal [stolen by preference, ed.] in a fireless cooker or over a slow fire until about half done. Season this with salt, pepper, onions, and bay leaf. Remove from the fire and cut meat into pieces suitable for serving and return to the fire. Add about one half can of tomatoes with additional seasoning if necessary, and enough uncooked rice to absorb the stock and the tomato juice. Cook until rice has had time to thoroughly cook. if cooked on top of the stove, care must be taken that it does not stick to the bottom of the kettle. A little red pepper and more onions may be added if desired.

Yes, it's goulash for the WASPs, devoid of spice so as not to offend the palate with flavor.

Okay, you're done for another week. Tune in next time for the Celebrities Party, in which you'll ask your guests to dress up like contemporary (at least for 1932) celebrities, including Herbert Hoover, Mrs. Herbert Hoover, Will Rogers, Admiral Richard E. Byrd, Charlie Chaplin, Henry Ford and the ever-popular Billy Sunday. Huzzah!