The coastland times. [volume] (Mnateo [i.e. Manteo], N.C.) 1947-1959, 1955-08-12
@ Ii M P S E S
OF
TIL z p A ST
By CAROLYN LLOYD

The Music section of Time Maya
zine for August LIST says that the
banjo is back as popular musical
instrument after having "died with
an era in 1922. When l read that
it occurred to me that it had been
a long time since had heard the
plunkety-plunk of an old banjo, a
sound which always brings back
memories of the favorite musician
of my childhood. We called him
Uncle Dock; and though he must
have had another name, l never
heard it. The son of slave, he
lived his entire life in the old slave
quarters of a plantation owned and
run by the grandmother of one of
my friends.
My friend and l spent many
winter week ends and summer
vacations at the plantation. There
were many wonderful things to en-
joy there: hot cakes and sausage
for breakfast in the winter, juicy
green pears and big, red plums in
season, rich cream and country
butter, and all the wonders of the
country to explore. The days were
full of excitement; but when sun
down came, briefly we longed for
home, our families, and the famil-
lar lights and sounds of town.
There was something about that
twilight hour in the country that
brought a feeling of sadness and
loneliness that was inexpressible.
We could hardly wait for supper
to be over, for it was then that
Uncle Dock came from his cabin
to the kitchen with his banjo and
chased the gloom away. We sat at
his feet while he settled himself
into an old wooden chair grown
gray with years of scrubbing, and
the cook took her favorite place
behind the old wood range after
putting plate of molasses cookies
beside us. Then Uncle Dock would
start off with some gay little
tunes, his white head and his right
foot keeping vigorous time to the
rhythm. Those we liked, for they
chased the twilight blues away; but
the real favorites were the spirit
uals with which the hours always
ended. All the musical genius of
his race was there when Uncle
Dock threw back his head and sang
"Swing Low, Sweet Chariot" in
his rich old voice, touching the
strings of his banjo gently. The
old man had never had a music
lesson, and it never occurred to
him, I'm sure, that he was being,
in a sense, a music teacher. To this
day love spirituals and hate to
hear them glazed" or shouted.
Spirituals should be sung as Uncle
Dock sang them, with deep feeling
and simple reverence.
He used to let us pick his banjo
a little, but somehow neither my
friend nor l ever quite got the real
feel of the instrument. Many peo-
pie claimed to be banjo players and
banged out chords with more en-
thusiasm than talent, just as they
did on the ukelele in what was
called the "jazz age, but ] never
heard anyone get the music out of
one that Uncle Dock did. Now that
the instrument is becoming popu-
lar again, there are a few real
artists who even play classic NUM-
bers like the Hungarian Rhapsody.
Uncle Dock wouldn't have known
what to make Of such fancy go
ings-on, any more than he would
have believed that banjo would
some day cost as much as $500.
The contrast between one of the
new, expensive ones and his old
banjo is about the same as that
between Stradivarius and a
homemade fiddle. One thing !
know, though, no matter how fine
banjoist I may hear, there will
never be one who can give me the
same kind of pleasure that l found
sitting in a warm kitchen that
smelled of years of good cooking,
fighting off pleasant drowsiness,
and listening to Uncle Dock strum-
ming on his old banjo. That kind
of playing has gone out of style
and / suppose the "Uncle Docks"
of the world have gone out of
style forever, but I'm glad I
"knew them when"