bluuebunny/crossref_metadata_2025_split huggingface dataset:
Break Up
Authors: Ben-Zvi Linda 
Published: November 2023

Abstract
After the furor surrounding the Pulitzer, Susan felt the need to distance herself as much as possible from New York. Even Truro seemed too close. London had always warmly embraced her work, so she decided in the fall to finally visit there. Throughout the late summer of 193 I she made plans, trying to find a ship that suited their requirements-that is, a ready supply of alcohol. For Norman drinking was a way of dealing with his writer’s block, and he would begin his day with a few drinks to fortify himself. Susan, more abstemious because less fearful of her skill, only began drinking in the early afternoon after putting in her usual workday. When she was in New York, she did not drink at all, finding it impossible both to “do New York” and to drink. Navigating in the city was difficult enough for her because of the recurrent problem with her foot, which required that she wear a special shoe and brace whenever she stood or walked for extended periods. Yet, for her, too, drinking had now become part of her daily routine.
“Out Of Their Mouths”
Authors: Tidwell John Edgar , Sanders Mark A 
Published: November 2023

Abstract
The author of Southern Road draws this “fair sampling of current talk among American Negroes from a store of conversations harvested up and down the Atlantic Seaboard, from Massachusetts to Mississippi, but mainly in the Deep South.” He writes: “Whether in army camps or juke joints or dorms or offices or commissaries or cabins or Jim Crow coaches or bus stations, I naturally found more wartime grousing than beatitudes. “A few were recorded on the spot at interviews; far more were bootlegged into many small notebooks, which sometimes got me into embarrassing predicaments and occasionally got me out of them. In their rendering, I found no better advice than Chaucer’s, written six centuries ago:
“Fats”
Authors: Tidwell John Edgar , Sanders Mark A 
Published: November 2023

Abstract
The two fellows in the box of a smoker on the Georgia Central Railroad looked up when I came in, glancing distrustfully at my brief-case, and stopped talking. But after I had passed the time of day with them, with a word or two about the weather and the train, they opened up. One tall, fairly well-dressed chap went on with his complaining: “They tell me the Army is like a convict camp. Course I ain’t never been on no chain-gang, so I wouldn’t know. I wanted to be a Pullman Porter, now Sam is calling. I don’t mind going, but I don’t want it to be like no convict camp. One thing sure, if I ever get to be a free man again, I’ll never live in the South anymore.” Several railroad workers got on at a flag-stop on the edge of Atlanta. They were too many for the box which had only two long benches facing each other, divided by arms into four seats each. Two of them tried to squeeze in one of the seats, with a lot of laughter. It was Saturday; the weekend off had already started; some were already feeling their liquor. They were riding a fellow they called Scrapper, who wasn’t taking it so well.
“Words On A Bus”
Authors: Tidwell John Edgar , Sanders Mark A 
Published: November 2023

Abstract
The first one who got on was a little girl with a market bag half as large as she; then came a sturdy urchin, rubbing his eyes, pushed along by his young, small mother, carrying bundles and a sleeping baby. An old man, having told the driver he was just helping his daughter with her things, started stowing away a big suitcase. Fortunately the couple behind me got off at Fayette and a seat was vacant. As this family entered, one of the wits in the Caucasian front of the bus had said, “Eeny-meeny-miney-mo!” Some of his mates tittered. He even looked back to our section for appreciation. It was not long after the patch of light had left the old man standing there at the culvert that the talk began. Most of us were a little beaten by the jolting and grinding of the bus; many had drowsed off, waking only when the driver clicked the lights on at Lorman, Fayette, the culvert. Before the lights went off again, however, one man had come up and sat himself on the arm of the chair opposite the mother and her brood. He asked her where she was going. She told him that she was hoping to get off at the bottom of a hill near a gas station and soft-drink place just before the bus got into Natchez itself. The bus driver, He, had told her that he didn’t know whether he could let off there or not, he didn’t know the place that she was talking about and that she’d better go on to the Tri-State bus depot in mid-city. But she hoped that she wouldn’t have to go there; she didn’t want to have to carry all of that luggage and those children all that way. Not with them sleepy and crying. But if she could get off at the foot of the hill, it wasn’t nowheres at all from there. Not nowheres, hardly.
“Symbol Of The Old South”
Authors: Tidwell John Edgar , Sanders Mark A 
Published: November 2023

Abstract
I should see Natchez, I had been told, “where the Old South still lives.” Here, I learned from the guidebooks, more of the old plantation homes were still maintained than anywhere else; here “the leisurely charm of the Old South has lingered long after it was supplanted elsewhere by the grim efficiency of the twentieth century.”
“Gee’s Bend”
Authors: Tidwell John Edgar , Sanders Mark A 
Published: November 2023

Abstract
“Man, what you want to see is Gee’s Bend,” B. T. said in Atlanta, and went on to tell me how far back the place was both in the sticks and in customs. If I could get in, that is, because if the water was high I couldn’t; and if it rained while I was there, I couldn’t get out. There was no guarantee, he added, that I would get out even in dry weather, if I made any missteps while down among those people. At Tuskegee I heard that the inaccessibility of Gee’s Bend had been exaggerated. But the legend of the wildness of the natives was current. The tall waiter at the lunchroom said, “Man, they say the folks are rough down there. Live like wild people. Whenever somebody up here at school doesn’t know how to act they tell him, ‘You must be from Gee’s Bend.’ I’d sure like to see that place.” I had read accounts of Gee’s Bend; one had made the New York Times; and I had planned definitely to see it, even before I heard the legends. Over at the Veterans Hospital, Dr. Peters expressed a long standing interest, partly professional, in the community which he had heard described as quite primitive. He wanted to go along. So did Max Bond of Tuskegee, but under the pressure of securing teachers for the coming school year, he couldn’t manage the trip. Nevertheless, with typically generous hospitality, he put a station wagon at my disposal, and Pete, and Moore the driver, an old friend by this time, and I set out one early Saturday morning.
“Insurance Executive”
Authors: Tidwell John Edgar , Sanders Mark A 
Published: November 2023

Abstract
Though quite busy, E. M. Martin, secretary of the Atlanta Life Insurance Company, affably gave me much time, and proved to be a good talker. He is a sturdily built, sharp-featured man with shrewd eyes; his color is that of sunburned white Southerners; his thin, graying hair is straight. He is energetic and forceful, and from all quarters I heard that he was a resourceful business man. One of his immediate concerns was an eight millimeter technicolor motion picture called “The Parade of Negro Progress” that the Atlanta Life Company had been exhibiting throughout the South. The picture took two years and a lot of money to make, he told me. The machinery belonged to the company and a photographer was employed for the filming and showing. Martin candidly admitted that the primary object of the film was to make money, but in a clean honest way, he said, “to build friendships, and to show others what we’re doing. Many Negro schoolboys in their history classes learned only one thing pertaining to the Negro and that is that Lincoln freed the slaves.” The picture stresses the “highlights of Negro life,” with such items as the Negro hospital in St. Louis, a commencement at Atlanta University, the new plant at the Tennessee A & I State College at Nashville, the celebration at Daytona Cookman Institute when Mrs. Roosevelt went down there on Mrs. Bethune’s anniversary; Negro farmers in southwest Georgia with large mechanized farms, warehouses, fine mule and horse teams, well-fed cattle, and tractors at work in the fields; hair-dressing establishments; the bank in Atlanta; girls at the intricate statistical machines in the Atlanta Life offices; gas stations owned and manned by Negroes; Paul Laurence Dunbar’s home in Dayton, Ohio; green troops marching in the camps; Negro pilots taking off at Tuskegee; Dean William Pickens selling bonds. And so the list went. “It would be an all-day proposition if we showed all the stuff,” Martin said. So it was edited to meet local interest, with the school and church stuff varying according to the section. When shown in Texas, for instance, a few Texas churches and schools would be spliced in.
“Let’s Look At Your Base”
Authors: Tidwell John Edgar , Sanders Mark A 
Published: November 2023

Abstract
He comes naturally by his spunk. He and his sister told me tales of the family proving that. Their grandmother Ellen was their pride. Her slave master found places for all the good-looking slaves to work in the house, and when she came to Louisiana from far off Virginia, a fine looking fair woman, he put her to work in the house too. Old Mistis didn’t like her as well as Master did. Once when they were having a big party, Ellen made some mistake, and she was threatened with a whipping after the party was over. When the time came, Ellen was made to take off every piece she had on. At the third lick, however, she flew through the yard and sat on the front gallery on the base of one of the columns: “Stark bark naked” was the phrase her grandson used. Ellen was still young, but she was the mother of a child. The white children made a great fuss, yelling, “Look at Ellen, stark naked!” Mistis got all upset and ordered Ellen around to the back. But Ellen would not leave her perch until assured that she wouldn’t be whipped. Every time after that when Ellen was threatened with a whipping, she would dutifully strip and then go around to the front gallery, stark naked, to wait. Ole Mistis got sick of seeing Ellen walking around naked in front of her children and menfolks, and soon Ellen was no longer whipped. She had made a front porch affair out of what was supposed to be a back door matter.
“No Ties That Bind”
Authors: Tidwell John Edgar , Sanders Mark A 
Published: November 2023

Abstract
I saw other historical cities: Lynchburg, Virginia; Augusta and Athens, Georgia; Nashville, Louisville, Montgomery, Mobile, and Vicksburg. Although called a “valley of humility between two mountains of conceit,” North Carolina still cherishes its old homesteads like its neighbors. In New Bern I saw the well-preserved homes and churches that resembled those of far-off Salem, Massachusetts, with whom the town traded, more than they do those of nearer Williamsburg and Charleston. In the Salem part of Winston-Salem, the com-pact and rugged dwellings and churches, graced with the hooded entrances that the Moravian settlers brought down from Pennsylvania, had a warm dignity that pleased me more than the ostentatious homes of the tobacco barons in the suburbs of Winston. Throughout the South almost every town had one or two showplaces. Sometimes on a back road an old columned big house would suddenly loom at the end of an avenue of cedars or out of a grove, or from high grown scrub pine. I saw many houses falling to pieces, the paint peeling or gone, the floors sprung, the roofs sagging, the blinds askew. In the towns, several decaying mansions took in poor whites or Negro roomers; I found two that were colored Y.M.C.A.s, and one that was an old folks’ home.
“Vicious Circle”
Authors: Tidwell John Edgar , Sanders Mark A 
Published: November 2023

Abstract
It is not good to admit, but like many members of the teaching profession since Socrates, I have collected students’ “boners.” I was a party to a session discussing boners at the end of one summer school at Atlanta University. Three of us teachers gathered in the hall, near the rooms where our students were taking examinations by a sort of honor system. “I won’t stay out too long,” said Tic. “I don’t want them to steal too much of the wrong stuff.” “If they know where to find what I asked for in the books in one hour, they’re good enough to pass,” Bacote said. I had just about decided what grade my students had reached in the six-weeks gallop, so I was also at ease. Bacote said, “Man, I’ve got some howlers here. I corrected the papers last night for my American history class. Listen to these.” He read excerpts. We laughed. I asked to copy down two of the answers. One went as follows: “During the early days of history two men said they founded America and Columbus died thinking all the time that he had destroyed America. In 1492:
“Signs Of Improvement”
Authors: Tidwell John Edgar , Sanders Mark A 
Published: November 2023

Abstract
With the hearty good cheer of a doctor at the bedside of a very sick patient, Virginius Dabney says, “Negro education has made tremendous strides below Mason and Dixon’s line during the past several decades.” I am skeptical of the word tremendous; it must have different meanings on different sides of the line. The best authorities that I could find agree that the patient has better than a fighting chance and that he is on the mend. But he is still a very sick man, and it will be long before he takes any tremendous strides. I have been as anxious as any to see signs of improvement. I have read reports of the philanthropic foundations; it is difficult to imagine what the diagnosis of Negro education would be had it not been for their generosity. Scattered over the South are nearly six thousand Rosenwald schools, warrants to a skeptical people of what could be done. And now the Rosenwald Fund is concentrating on the realistic preparation of rural teachers. The General Education Board, the Phelps-Stokes Fund, the Slater Fund, and the Jeanes Foundation have poured millions of dollars into Southern education, especially for Negroes. This philanthropy has meant the setting up of state agents for Negro schools who have worked to raise the standards of teachers and high schools; the partial payment of Jeanes supervisors; surveys, summer workshops, publications, and scholarships.
“And He Never Said A Mumbalin’ Word”
Authors: Tidwell John Edgar , Sanders Mark A 
Published: November 2023

Abstract
Though he preferred talking of other things, Roland Hayes was a long way from forgetting Rome. His mobile face was expressive of anger and disgust when he referred to the apologetic note in the white press that the clerk did not know who he was, as if that could serve for apology. “I know that they knew who I was,” he said. “It wasn’t just a little rumpus.” He saw design in it. And the hushhush campaign was bad too: “They try to put blinders on us so that we cannot see. With troubles like this all around, they tell us to keep our eyes straight ahead.” Roland Hayes is not a propagandist, and he did not want this injustice to be made into a cause célèbre, nor into mere publicity of another outrage. He wanted something definitely done, something that would stick. Just as the trouble had affected the entire group, so he felt the punishments should be far-reaching. But he wasn’t talking much along that score. The affair was in the hands of his legal counsel and the NAACP. According to Cliff McKay, he promised the full details of the story in his forthcoming autobiography, but the book appeared with only this reference: “Once, not so long ago, I was beaten and thrown into jail.” Roland Hayes continues in his autobiography: “But I see no good in reciting the details of a thousand such misadventures.” And he tells of a white minister who wanted “to take up with somebody” a case in Duluth of discrimination. “There is nothing you can do,” Hayes said. “That is a job for me and my own people.” In that sentence probably lies the key to what perplexed several persons in Roland Hayes’s comments after the case. He confronted his ordeal with what seemed to be an oriental fatalism, probably derived from Africa, which, I learned later, informed so much of his personal philosophy. Was it a Gandhi policy of passive resistance, I wondered? I was not then and am not now sure. He had stacks of letters of condolence and protest; several of them, especially from Southern white sympathizers, who praised his lack of bitterness. And the white press focused their stories more on his statement, “As for me I am not bitter toward anyone, for the humiliation is on the other side. I am only ashamed that this should happen in my native state.”
“Po’ Wanderin’ Pildom, Miserus Chile”
Authors: Tidwell John Edgar , Sanders Mark A 
Published: November 2023

Abstract
When Horace Mann Bond and Willis James regaled me with a report on their 1942 Summer Festival of Folk Music at Fort Valley, I was struck with envy. W. C. Handy, an honored guest, had played “St. Louis Blues” on his cornet, backed by a Georgia jam band of harmonica, guitar, and washboard. Buster Ezelle had sung “Salt Water Blues” to his own guitar playing, and then had played a oneman duet on guitar and a harmonica harnessed around his neck. The prize-winner for originality had played “John Henry” on a strand of haywire strung between two bricks on a plank. An inventor, this fellow certainly was going to have his music. But these were curiosities, Willis assured me: the real musical value of the festival lay in the guitar playing and singing. My unconcealed envy touched the sympathies of my informants, who put their heads together, invited me down to Fort Valley State College to give a talk, and managed to raise traveling expenses so that the two prize-winning quartets of the Festival could again drive over from Macon.
“Jitterbugs’ Joy”
Authors: Tidwell John Edgar , Sanders Mark A 
Published: November 2023

Abstract
Before the war ban on bus traveling, Atlanta was a good city for one-night stands. Several Negro businessmen formed an entertainment company to sponsor Negro name-bands at the municipal auditorium. Under all-Negro management the affairs had only a comparative sprinkling of whites. But they weren’t missed; the Negroes came in droves. As Al Moron, the manager of the housing project, complained to me, “Atlanta Negroes will turn out in crowds for only two things: a free revival in church and a pay dance at the auditorium.” The crowds that I saw at those dances were composed largely of high school youngsters, of teen age, or in the early twenties: the boys in polo shirts and full draped trousers; the girls in flowered print dresses, or snuggling sweaters, dark skirts, bright colored socks, and low-heeled shoes. The place belonged to them those nights, and they took the lid off. Between numbers they screamed and chased each other about, but when the music started, they either went silently into their pirouetting, stamping routine, or pressed around the footlights, staring hungrily at the famous jazzmen, anticipating time-honored riffs, applauding triumphantly at some startling improvisation, more often taut and concentrating, slaves to the harmony and the rhythm.
“Cubs”
Authors: Tidwell John Edgar , Sanders Mark A 
Published: November 2023

Abstract
Without difficulty Lieutenant Marchbanks, medical officer of the primary field at Tuskegee, obtained permission for me to hang around the headquarters room. There was a board indicating times of flight and records of the flyers. A placard read: “Don’t forget that aviation is not unsafe, but like the sea is terribly unforgiving of any carelessness or neglect.” A cartoon showing a torn-up house, its chimney off, and the tail of an airplane sticking out of it, told of “A Very Hot Pilot”: A very hot pilot was Henry Hightowers Who boasted of having three hundred hours To prove it he dove on his girl’s house one day They would have been married the fifteenth of May. In spite of these warnings, the flyers had made some mistakes, as indicated by gold stars beside their names. Mistakes were inevitable. Nevertheless, as instructor Charley Woods told me, it didn’t take but one mistake to bring down the curtain. Extra severity in marking the cadets might save trouble later. Charley was a tall, slim, nonchalant chap, with whom I could talk easily, especially when he recited a few stanzas of my Slim Greer poems. He had the reputation of being one hell of a fine pilot.
“Primary Field”
Authors: Tidwell John Edgar , Sanders Mark A 
Published: November 2023

Abstract
John circled low over a patch of woods, landed on a large field, and jockeyed to the large hangar. Since it was Sunday, there weren’t many people about, but I met several mechanics, electricians, and a licensed parachute rigger. John named the planes for me: a Howard, nicknamed DGA for “damned good aeroplane”; a dismantled Stinson, a rugged, reliable load carrier; several Luscombes, Wacos, and small yellow Cubs for pilot training. John showed me the Link trainer for blind flying and described it: “They put you in, pull down the hood, and you get every sensation of flying. You’re supposed to learn to fly entirely by instruments.” At the field, cadets receive primary training under civilian instructors furnished by Tuskegee Institute under contract with the Army. The training is supervised by the Army, the maintenance by Tuskegee Institute. The general manager is G. L. Washington, formerly director of mechanical industries at Tuskegee. He told me a great deal of the history and purposes of the field. He had corralled Negroes from all over the country from Boston to Texas: pilots, airplane engineers, men trained in Civil Aeronautics, mechanics, all the many technicians needed not only for teaching flying but also to service engines, aircraft, and manage the multiple duties connected with aeronautics. The staff met all the standards. The prevailing attitude had been that of the skeptic who asked in the Congressional Record for February 1939 “if a Negro could really fly a plane,” though at that time there were approximately three hundred licensed Negro pilots. The Army naturally made frequent investigations to see that the field met the strict stipulations, and, every time, maintenance and training came up to snuff.
What’s the Matter with Reception Study?
Authors: Radway Janice 
Published: November 2023

Abstract
In posing the question contained in my title, my aim is not to suggest that reception study is somehow ailing. In fact, since the early 1980s, it has become an accepted part of literary studies, communication studies, cultural studies, and the still-developing field called “history of the book.” Judging by the success of titles such as Purnima Mankekar’s Screening Culture, Viewing Politics (1999), Elizabeth Bird’s Audience in Everyday Life (2003), Elizabeth Long’s Book Clubs (2003), and Lila Abu-Lughod’s Dramas of Nationhood (2005), different forms of reception study have established a substantial foothold within anthropology and sociology as well. Given the widespread adoption of reception study as a scholarly method, as well as the range of careful critiques of some of its founding assumptions, one would think that it would not be necessary to reflect further on the concept of reception or to raise the question of whether the research paradigm built on it will remain a useful one for the foreseeable future.
Blue Danube
Authors: Ray Robert B 
Published: November 2023

Abstract
Film history offers Grand Hotel as one of the first Hollywood movies to layer scenes with nondiegetic music. Here, however, that process betrays its own immaturity by sending contradictory signals. Thus, beginning with the opening overhead lobby shot, Johann Strauss’s Blue Danube Waltz plays continuously for several minutes on the soundtrack, presumably issuing from the ballroom’s orchestra (boasting about his new residence, Kringelein claims, “[There’s] music all the time”).