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Jump, Jump,
Jump
Helen Saine on Alto
Sax
From ballroom to ballroom, the unsleeping eye of Jim
Crow
ever upon us, we traveled the United States
of colored America, bouncing on back-country roads
and gliding on highways. At picnics, we practiced our
charts,
our polished brass gleaming. We welcomed farm children
who ran
one or two miles to be able to listen and dance.
Do you want to jump, children?
—Yeah!
Do you want to jump, children?
—Yeah!
Domestics, farm-laborers, new hires in factory jobs;
the Apollo, the Royal, the Regal, and the Cotton Club,
redolent of Dixie-Peach pomade and Ivory soap,
they jumped ‘til the stars disappeared and the roosters
woke up.
It Don’t Mean a
Thing
Pauline Braddy on
Drums
On some tunes, she’d lash the bass home like a jockey;
on some all she did was high-hat tickle the beat,
always gracefully making the transitions,
watching the music and the dancers’ feet.
The jitterbug was one way people forgot
the rapidly-spreading prairie-fires of war.
Man, the house would bounce, when her licks were hot!
We gave those people what they were dancing for.
Note: These poems are from a book about The
International Sweethearts of Rhythm, an integrated
all-girls swing band which toured the country 1937 - ca.
1952.
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