Look Away
After Chauncey McDade died in a coal mining accident, his grieving wife packed up the couple's few personal belongings, left Lackawanna County, Pennsylvania, and moved back home to Massachusetts where she found employment at a textile mill in Lowell. Forced to leave her toddler, Liam, in the care of her sister-in-law, the widow worked long hours, under poor conditions, for low pay. Despite the economic disadvantages, she and her child somehow managed to get by.
When Liam was still a boy of an age not yet old enough to shave, he was able to help his mother out by working at a local tavern, doing odd jobs such as serving food, clearing tables and washing dishes. Not only was he a hard worker, but he also had a charismatic personality that endeared him to many of the customers. By the time he was sixteen, he took his post behind the bar and served drinks to the tavern's customers.
One night, when business was slow due to inclement weather, he picked up a broom and began sweeping the floor. As he swept, he began to whistle one of his mother's favorite tunes: "Amazing Grace." His whistling turned to humming, and eventually he began to sing.
"I once was lost, but now I'm found ...."
Liam noticed that the half dozen patrons of the tavern were all staring at him, and his face turned red with embarrassment.
"Sorry," he apologized. "I didn't realize I was singly so loud."
"You don't have to apologize," the tavern owner's portly wife said, from the kitchen doorway. "That was beautiful."
"It sure was," one of the diners agreed. "Would you mind singing that song again?"
The teenage bartender gave a repeat performance of "Amazing Grace," yet Paddy Gallaher, the tavern's owner, his wife and his customers wanted more. Since Liam was not one for attending church, he knew few hymns. Instead, recalling some of the folk songs the miners sang back in Pennsylvania, he delighted his listeners with a rendition of "Annie Laurie" followed by "The Bonnie Banks o' Loch Lomond." After the final chorus of "but me and my true love will never meet again, on the bonnie, bonnie banks o' Loch Lomond," the usually gruff Paddy wiped a sentimental tear from his eye, reached into his pocket and tipped the singer with the coins he found there.
"You don't have to ...," the bartender began to object.
"Nonsense! You deserve it, lad."
Several of the tavern's diners followed suit. Liam was surprised to discover upon counting his coins at the end of the evening that he had made more money in tips for his singing than he had in wages for tending bar.
Word of the young man's talent soon spread through Lowell. Even people who had never before set foot in a tavern stopped by to listen. Paddy gladly obliged, often taking it upon himself to serve drinks behind the bar so that his employee could entertain the ever-increasing number of patrons. Soon, Liam became so popular that customers who did not arrive at the tavern early could not get a seat and had to stand. With the additional business bringing in a lot more money, Paddy Gallaher hired two replacement bartenders and gave Liam a full-time job as an entertainer. Along with this new position came an increase in wages.
"I can't believe I'm getting paid money to sing," the young man said to his mother one evening when she came home exhausted after a long day of work at the textile mill. "In fact, I'm making enough money for both of us. Why don't you stop working, Ma? I can support myself and you."
"That's awful generous of you, son," she replied. "But I don't dare quit my job. I might never find another one if I needed to. Besides, you ought to put aside as much money as you can. You never know when times get rough and you might need something to fall back on."
"Even if I was to lose my job at the tavern, it wouldn't be the end of the world. Just last week a man who heard me sing said I could go down to New York City and get myself a job in one of those minstrel shows. He assured me that with my voice I could make a lot of money."
The Widow McDade—for that is how she became known around Lowell—smiled at her son with encouragement, not wanting to trouble him with her doubts.
* * *
Liam's mother lived for only six more months before dying of a sudden illness in late October at the age of forty-three. Her son was inconsolable and often had to force himself to entertain the customers at the tavern.
I'm not singing because I'm happy, he repeatedly reminded himself. I'm only singing because it's my job.
There is an old saying that time heals all wounds, and it proved to be so in this case. By the time winter came to an end and the warmth of the sun coaxed the spring flowers from their slumber, Liam had all but recovered from his loss. He was helped, in part, by the appearance of Kathleen Crosby, the daughter of a local schoolmaster. He was introduced to the attractive young woman by her brother, a man who frequently came to the tavern for a meal.
One Sunday—his only day off—Liam was invited to the Crosby home for dinner. When Kathleen walked into the room, he fell instantly in love. The red-haired, green-eyed seventeen-year-old was a vision to behold. Likewise, she was attracted to the handsome young man. With her father's permission, Liam began to court her. Many a Sunday evening he would spend at Kathleen's home. Often he would sing to the family after dinner. He even took the time to learn the lyrics to Mr. Crosby's favorite hymns since he believed it was only a matter of time before the schoolmaster became his father-in-law.
Although Liam had made his honorable intentions clear to his beloved, he had yet to officially propose to her when on a summer evening in 1853 he was invited for dinner. The family broke tradition in that they did not retire to the sitting room for an evening of song afterward. Instead, there was a discussion of Harriet Beecher Stowe's Uncle Tom's Cabin.
"Have you read Mrs. Stowe's novel?" Mr. Crosby asked his daughter's suitor.
"No, I haven't. I'm afraid I don't have much free time to read books. I work at the tavern twelve hours a day, six days a week."
"That's too bad. If you ever do find the time, I highly recommend it. No other book has captured the spirit of the anti-slavery movement quite so well."
"Well, I'm no abolitionist," Liam confessed.
The widowed schoolmaster and his two children turned to stare in disbelief at their guest.
"Surely you're not pro-slavery?" Mr. Crosby asked.
"I'm neither for nor against the institution. Quite frankly, it's none of my concern."
"What? Millions of human beings are living in bondage under deplorable circumstances, and you think it's none of your concern!" Kathleen exclaimed, aghast at his callous disregard.
"Are the Irish treated much better? We weren't exactly welcomed to America. My skin may be white, but I came from a family of poor coal miners. My father didn't have it easy either. Neither did my mother or the other women and children working in the mills right here in Lowell. I don't see anybody wanting to help them get a better life."
"It's not the same thing," the young woman argued. "Hard as your parents' lives must have been, at least they were free to go where they pleased. They were not anyone's property."
"Slavery might not be legal in Pennsylvania, but those collieries might as well be Southern plantations because the owners of both work men into the grave. And while you're feeling sorry for slaves, think on this: no one ever died of black lung from picking cotton."
In the interest of harmony, the schoolmaster changed the subject to one less controversial, that of Jenny Lind, the Swedish Nightingale, whose recent tour had taken America by storm. Conversation then shifted to P.T. Barnum, the man who had arranged for the singer to cross the Atlantic. However, once they exhausted the topic of General Tom Thumb and the Feejee Mermaid, an uncomfortable silence settled on the room.
Noting the lateness of the hour, Liam said his farewells and left the house. Not only was he not invited back, but Kathleen soon ended their relationship as well.
With his mother gone and his hopes for marriage at an end, Liam saw no reason to remain in Lowell. For the next six months he put aside as much money as possible and then quit his job. Paddy tried to talk him into staying but without success.
Nothing in the coal mining towns of Pennsylvania or the more industrialized centers of Massachusetts prepared young McDade for what he was to find in New York. It was a city of stark contrasts. The filthy, overcrowded, crime-ridden slums seemed far removed from the elegant mansions of the city's social elite.
That's the type of home I'm going to live in someday, he thought, staring up at a lavish townhouse owned by a well-known millionaire.
The singer had foolishly believed he would arrive in New York City and immediately find high-paying employment in a minstrel show; however, despite making the rounds of the theaters, he was not even given an audition. Knowing his meager savings would not last long, he took the first job he could find, that of a bartender for a saloon in the notorious Five Points neighborhood in Lower Manhattan. As was the case in Lowell, once the customers had the opportunity to hear him sing, he drew in large crowds. Word of his talent spread, and one evening the manager of the New York Knickerbocker Theater visited the saloon to listen to the bartender's folk ballads. Not surprisingly, he liked what he heard.
"You come by the Knickerbocker on Friday, young man," the theater manager told him as he was about to take his leave of the squalid establishment. "We'll see if we can't find you a better job and get you out of Five Points."
As a newcomer to the minstrel show circuit, Liam first performed as part of the chorus, appearing in blackface with the others. His early days at the Knickerbocker were similar to an apprenticeship. Although he was blessed with a fine singing voice, he had to learn to dance, tell jokes and play the tambourine.
After six months in the chorus, he was ready for his first solo performance. He sang "Oh! Susanna" while the troupe's Tambo and Bones accompanied him on banjo. The audiences enjoyed his lively renditions of "Camptown Races" and "Swanee River"; but when he sang the slower, sentimental "Jeanie with the Light Brown Hair," he won their hearts. Over the next five years, he became one of the most popular minstrel stars in New York.
* * *
When Liam initially learned of the troupe's proposed six-month tour of the southeastern states, he was less than enthused about the prospect. Relations between North and South had been steadily heating up, and he feared the issue of slavery might eventually lead to violence. He had only to remember his painful breakup with the lovely Kathleen Crosby to know how fervently abolitionists would act to put an end to the institution.
However, his warm reception at the show's first stop, Richmond, put him at ease. As the troupe travelled through Virginia and the Carolinas, his appreciation for Southerners increased. He saw them as hospitable, gracious and far more refined than the coarse audiences at the Knickerbocker.
"Weren't you the one who wanted to remain in New York?" asked Simon Wills, as the two men sat together on a train headed west.
Like Liam, Simon, who portrayed the character Bones on stage, was born into a poor family and raised in a rural farming community in northwest New Jersey. The two young men, both longing to better themselves, had much in common and soon became close friends.
"Yes, but then I didn't know any better. I had never been farther south than Pennsylvania. Now ... well, frankly, I would like to live in the South permanently."
"Not me! It's too damned hot!"
"I don't mind the heat."
"You say that now because it's early March. You've never been down here in July or August. I have; it's brutal!"
"I still wouldn't mind owning one of those fine homes in Charleston or Savannah," Liam argued.
"Wait until you see the French Quarter in New Orleans and the plantation homes along the Mississippi."
As they continued their journey through Georgia, they talked about Southern foods, beautiful belles in hoop skirts, the scent of magnolia blossoms and the taste of mint juleps. Not once in their conversation did the subject of slavery arise. Despite the often unflattering, stereotypical, racist caricatures of slaves they performed on stage, neither man gave a thought to the plight of America's enslaved black population.
Thank goodness Simon is not an abolitionist like Kathleen's father and brother! If he were, no doubt he would lecture me about the evils of slavery and ruin the entire tour for me.
It was not as though Liam had anything against African-Americans. He certainly felt no animosity toward them like so many whites did. In fact, he did not care one way or another about them. Indeed, since crossing the Mason-Dixon Line, Liam took no notice of those he passed, slave or free men. To the coal miner's son, they might just as well have been invisible.
* * *
After leaving the Crescent City of New Orleans, which the singer found every bit as beautiful as Charleston and Savannah, the troupe traveled to Baton Rouge. Although most of their tour stops were for a minimum stay of two weeks, they played only three shows in Louisiana's new capital. Then it was on to Natchez, a wealthy city well-known for its vast cotton and sugarcane plantations, where every performance was sold out.
Having been on the road for four months, many of the performers were eager to return to New York. Liam was not one of them.
Tennessee, Kentucky and then home, he thought forlornly as he stared at the moonlight reflected on the Mississippi River from his observation point on the Natchez Bluff.
"There you are!" Simon called to him. "I've been looking all over for you."
"I left the theater immediately after the show ended."
"Why? Have you got a date with one of the South's lovely belles?"
"No. Tomorrow is our last show here. Before we head north to Jackson, I wanted to have one last look at the river."
"Don't look so gloomy. In another year or two, we'll probably do another tour of the South."
"Don't be so sure," Liam replied skeptically. "If that man Lincoln wins the election ...."
Simon dramatically threw his hands up into the air and cried, "No talk of politics, please! I'm sick to death of hearing about states' rights and the Kansas-Nebraska Act. Look, it's after eleven o'clock, and I'm famished! Let's go get something to eat."
"You go along. I'll catch up with you in a few minutes."
After Simon walked off into the night, Liam returned his gaze to the Mississippi where a steamboat was headed downriver toward New Orleans. He closed his eyes and listened to the splashing sound its paddle wheel made as it churned up the water.
I'm going to miss all this, he thought when he opened his eyes and gazed longingly at a plantation home on the other side of the river.
The idea of going back to New York with its overcrowded, unsanitary tenements and its filth-covered streets made him feel ill.
"The next time I come down to the South, I'm staying here," he vowed, not realizing that the white columned plantation homes were as far out of his reach as Astor's stately New York mansion was.
The steamboat having passed him, he decided to join Simon for a bite to eat before turning in for the night. As he walked toward the tavern where his friend was waiting, he passed three white men whose sweat-stained clothes marked them as common laborers, most likely dock workers who loaded and unloaded the steamboat cargoes. The three men had dragged a young black woman into the bushes and were tearing at her clothes.
"Help me," the girl cried, her doe-like brown eyes pleading with Liam and her soft, full lips quivering with fear.
Although he was not easily intimidated and had never run from a fight before, three burly men against one hardly seemed fair. While he felt sympathy for the terrified woman, he ignored the better angel of his nature and looked away.
"Please don't leave me here with them!"
The singer kept walking, paying no attention to her urgent pleas.
"Damn you!" she screamed angrily as the three drunken men argued over who would rape her first. "I curse you for the cold-hearted coward you are."
"That's no way to talk to your betters, gal," one of her attackers warned moments before his fist broke her jaw.
I pray to God you find out what it means to be at the mercy of men like these, she thought before she mercifully slipped into unconsciousness.
* * *
Liam woke late the following day, having slept until well after the noon hour. His previous night's slumber had been repeatedly interrupted by nightmares of a doe-eyed slave girl with the soft, full lips. When he was finally awake, he felt a twinge of regret.
I should have helped her, but I'm only one man. What chance did I have of overpowering those three brutes? he thought, justifying his actions and easing his conscience.
After a hardy breakfast, Liam packed his clothes and personal belongings in his trunk. At the close of the evening's performance, the troupe would board a train and head for Jackson. Then, in anticipation of an uncomfortable train ride, he decided to stretch his legs and get some exercise by taking a walk. As he made his way along the main street, he passed several female slaves trailing behind their masters and mistresses. Was it his imagination or did they glare at him, their eyes filled with rage.
No, he concluded. These women are all too afraid to look me, a white man, in the eye.
Still, the eerie feeling of being an object of their hatred persisted. For the first time since being enchanted with the antebellum world in Charleston, he wished to escape to the relative safety of Manhattan. But the city of Jackson, as well as Tennessee and Kentucky—both slave states—loomed ahead of him, and there was still the final performance to be held in Natchez later that evening.
As he made his way toward the theater, he endured what he imagined were hostile feelings from every young black woman he passed.
Just look away, he told himself.
Look away—exactly as he had done the previous night when a terrified young woman desperately needed his help.
Liam entered the theater through the stage door at the rear of the building. Having arrived early, there was no need for him to elbow his way through a crowded dressing room. There were only two other performers seated at the long, communal makeup table. He quickly donned his costume, took a seat in front of the mirror, picked up a jar of burnt cork makeup and began applying it to his face, careful not to get any in his eyes.
As he covered his chin with blackface, he noticed a bizarre change in his reflection. His features first became indistinguishable and then softened, taking on a decidedly feminine appearance. It was no longer his face he saw in the mirror but hers!
"Damnation!" he swore, pushing back from the table.
"What's the matter?" the troupe's interlocutor, sitting next to him, inquired.
Liam looked into the mirror and saw his own face made up in a racial caricature.
"N-nothing," he stammered in reply. "I-I think I need some fresh air."
He walked out the stage door into the warm Mississippi night and breathed deeply. Shaken by the bizarre experience, he had no desire to speak to his fellow performers, so he took shelter in the growing darkness. In fact, he did not emerge from his shadowy sanctuary until the audience was seated and the show was about to begin.
"There you are, Liam!" Simon Wills exclaimed when he saw his friend in the wings. "I thought you were going to miss tonight's performance. Where were you?"
"Waiting outside."
"Just can't tear yourself away from the beauty of the South, can you?"
"I suppose ...."
Words failed Liam as he glanced at the faces of the people in the audience. Was that a slave sitting in the third row aisle seat?
Don't be ridiculous! he scolded himself. Only whites are allowed inside the theater.
"Are you all right?" Simon asked. "You look like you've just seen a ghost?"
Liam was spared the need to reply when the orchestra began to play a minstrel classic to start the show.
Throughout the troupe's farewell performance to Natchez the singer imagined he saw the face of his tormentor in the theater. Trembling with fear, he somehow managed to retain a semblance of calm. After his last song, however, he ran to the dressing room, not bothering to wait for the curtain calls at the end of the show. He sat down at the makeup table, grabbed a rag and began scrubbing the burnt cork from his face. The singer was horrified when his efforts revealed a much darker complexion underneath.
"What the hell?" he swore.
As Liam frantically scrubbed harder, he heard the words of the slave's curse echo in the room: "Damn you! I curse you for the cold-hearted coward you are. I pray to God you find out what it means to be at the mercy of men like these."
All the burnt cork was removed, yet his face was still black.
"Hey, boy!" the stage manager yelled when he saw what he assumed was a slave sitting at the dressing room table. "You know your kind ain't supposed to be in here."
"But it's me," the singer cried. "Liam McDade. I'm a singer in the minstrel show."
"Yeah, and I'm Thomas Jefferson. Now get out of here before I whip your black ass."
When Liam exited the dressing room, he heard the sound of applause coming from the audience. The other performers had walked off the stage and were hurrying to the dressing room, all eager to make the train to Jackson. He immediately ran up to Simon Wills, confident his friend would recognize him.
"What is it, boy?" the young man from New Jersey asked. "Has your master sent you here with a message for someone?"
"Don't you know me?" the singer asked.
"No. I don't keep company with slaves."
"It's me, Liam McDade!"
"Get out my way," Simon said, pushing the dark-skinned man aside. "I've got a train to catch. I don't have time for this foolishness."
When Liam saw the stage manager coming toward him, he ducked out the door to escape physical harm. He ran to the train station but because of the color of his skin was prevented from boarding the passenger car.
Where can I go? What can I do?
His only thought being one of escape, he ran toward the Mighty Mississippi. Along his route, at about the same location where the slave girl was abducted the previous evening, he encountered a group of half a dozen drunken white dock laborers.
"Well, look what we've got here," the tallest one of them drawled.
"You wouldn't be trying to run away now, would you, boy?" asked a shorter, heavier man.
Liam tried desperately to explain.
"I'm not a slave. I'm a singer in a minstrel show. I was born in Pennsylvania where my father was a coal miner."
"Seems to me you been rollin' in the coal dust, boy," the tall one said, eliciting laughter from his five companions.
"I'm a white man—honest! It's the blackface makeup. It must have discolored my skin. I really am a singer in the minstrel show."
"A singer, huh?" the short, heavy man asked. "Let's hear you sing something then."
Liam tried to perform a popular Stephen Foster number, but the words would not come to him. In his moment of fear, he had forgotten the lyrics. Fueled by too much alcohol, the tall man then grabbed the entertainer by the arms and dragged him to a sprawling live oak tree that grew nearby. One of his companions found a rope near the dock and tossed one end of it over a sturdy limb, while his fellow laborer tied the other end around Liam's neck.
"You can't sing worth a damn," the tall one said, watching with giddy anticipation as his accomplices strung up the young man from Pennsylvania. "Let's see if you can dance."
Swinging helplessly from the end of the rope, Liam McDade glanced at the six upturned faces that were watching his body thrash about as his hands tore at the rope that was cutting off his oxygen supply. All of them had doe-like eyes that glowed with triumph and soft, full lips that smiled with satisfaction.
Last Halloween Salem staged his own minstrel show. All the performers had to wear black fur.
