The Paper
Whistling Dixie . . in Brazil Cont. from Page 6
bolizes family, unity, fraternity and friendship.” Brazil received far more African slaves than any other country in the Western Hemisphere, about 4.9 million through the Atlantic trade, while mainland North America imported about 389,000, according to the Trans-Atlantic Slave Trade Database.
“There’s an attempt by the Confederados to erase the interest in slavery as a principal motivation for their arrival in Brazil,” said Luciana da Cruz Brito, a Brazilian historian of slavery at the City University of New York.
In one example, Ms. Brito documented a case in which Charles G. Gunter, a former Alabama state representative, described in 1866 the acquisition of 40 slaves in Brazil for $12,500. That amount is thought to be cheaper than similar deals in the United States before slavery was prohibited. “Many of the Confederate immigrants were remorseless white supremacists,” said Maria Helena Machado, a historian of slavery at the University of São Paulo.
Another historian, Gerald Horne of the University of Houston, compared the Confederate migration to Brazil to an exodus of American Southerners after the Civil War to Fiji and other places in the Pacific, where they helped establish a trade in enslaved Melanesians and Polynesians. While the descendants are scattered around Brazil, the commemoration at the Cemitério dos Americanos even lured a few Americans who had traveled thousands of miles below the MasonDixon line.
“I feel right at home here,” said Stanley Hudson, 60, a lawyer from Dallas who had heard about the commemoration through the Sons of Confederate Veterans, an association of descendants of Confederate soldiers. Dressed in a captain’s uniform, he added, “You’ve got to admire them for maintaining the culture through so many generations.” Near the stage where couples practiced Fanci-Dancing, as a sign put it, vendors hawked T-shirts with the slogan “Rebel & Proud of It.” Everything on sale could be paid for with Confederate dollars obtainable at the entrance.
“This is a joyful event,” said Carlos Copriva, 52, a security guard who described his ancestry as a mix of Hungarian and Italian. He was wearing a Confederate kepi cap that he had bought online as he and his wife, Raquel Copriva, who is Afro-Brazilian,
Whistling Dixie . . . in Brazil Cont. on Page 11
Page 7 • • December 17, 2020
Chuckles Cont. from Page 2
One fowl is a goose, but two are called geese, Yet the plural of moose should never be meese.
You may find a lone mouse or a nest full of mice, Yet the plural of house is houses, not hice. If the plural of man is always called men, Why shouldn't the plural of pan be called pen? If I speak of my foot and show you my feet, And I give you a boot, would a pair be called beet? If one is a tooth and a whole set are teeth, Why shouldn't the plural of booth be called beeth?
Then one may be that, and there would be those, Yet hat in the plural would never be hose, And the plural of cat is cats, not cose.
We speak of a brother and also of brethren, But though we say mother, we never say methren. Then the masculine pronouns are he, his and him, But imagine the feminine: she, shis and shim! And then there is this . . .
Let's face it - English is a crazy language. There is no egg in eggplant nor ham in hamburger; Neither apple nor pine in pineapple. English muffins weren't invented in England. We take English for granted, but if we explore its paradoxes, we find that quicksand can work slowly, boxing rings are square, and a guinea pig is neither from Guinea nor is it a pig. And why is it that writers write, but fingers don't fing, Grocers don't groce and hammers don't ham? Doesn't it seem crazy that you can make amends but not one amend?
If you have a bunch of odds and ends and get rid of all but one of them, What do you call it? If teachers taught, why didn't preachers praught?
If a vegetarian eats vegetables, what does a humanitarian eat? Sometimes I think all the folks who grew up speaking English should be committed to an asylum for the verbally insane.
Chuckles Cont. on Page 10
Historically Speaking by Tom Morrow
Christmas of Yesteryear in Southern Iowa
Today’s anticipated Christmas booty would never appear on the dreamscape of most youngsters during the 1940s or early 50s. What toy land wonders we didn’t know about in those days weren’t missed.
Comparatively speaking, post-war vintage toys were, at best, primitive. After the War, plastic was hard to get and metal of any kind was expensive. After the War, toys were, shall we say, fragile.
Fighting off Indians and robbers trying to win the American West. The biggest problem with six-shooters of the last half of the fourth decade (1940s) many toys, especially pistols, were made of compressed sawdust. We had to lay our pistols down on the ground ever so gently lest it break apart. More than one occasion Mom came to the rescue, but got the barrel glued back a bit crooked … sometimes she glued the barrel upside down. Roy, Gene and Hoppy would be shocked. The only gift Santa might bring that would be close to that of today were “Tinker Toys” … the “Legos” of yesteryear.
Gift ideas for Santa was limited because there was no television. Surveying hints for the big guy, as well as Mom and Dad were found primarily in store windows or in the annual Sears, Wards, or Spiegel catalogs. Somehow our requests were hinted to Mom and Dad. Of course, a little help from the U.S. Post Office was our backup for direct requests. Being “good” was always part of the bargain. Those items of joy neatly on display in stores had price tags. The price of $3.95 seemed to be the most popular number. As it happened, the price was just a tad out of our Dad’s budget range.
Having lots of presents under the tree measured the amount of joy you expressed. If you were lucky enough to get a “biggie,” then it occupied a place of honor unwrapped displayed among a pile of gift-wrapped goodies. On lean years, Mom would increase the gift count by separately wrapping socks, making the big day seem more abundant than it really was.
Electric trains were high on the lists for most-coveted items. While Lionel train sets were the most popular, no selfrespecting railroad man would be satisfied with anything but an “American Flyer.” Lionel train sets were powered via a “center” track — three total. “American Flyers” mimicked the real thing with just two rails. ‘Flyers” were authentic-looking in every respect. Mom didn’t understand such things. Dad did, but had trouble with a more expensive price tag. A Lionel set was around $14.95; An “American Flyer” commanded $19.95. Dad never made more than $2,500 a year, such extravagances’ at our house were out of the
question.
Ironically, today if you could find either a Lionel or an American Flyer, they’d probably command a collector’s price tag in the hundreds of dollars. But, the Holy Grail on nearly every boy’s wish list was a “Red Ryder” air rifle. Mom said what nearly every mom did: “No! You’ll shoot your eye out.”
Remembering Mom and Dad at Christmas could be a bit of a challenge. Weekly allowance didn’t go very far. I got .50 cent a week, and my sister got a quarter. (So much for equal opportunity). If you had any money, it wouldn’t be enough to buy more than one item. For Mom there was always “Evening in Paris” perfume – for 50 cents it certainly wasn’t “Chanel No. 5” – more like Kids’ No. 001. (years ago when my sister was helping our Mom close up her house, a number of “Paris” bottles had been stashed away in keepsake manner. Ironically, the traditional kids’ parental gift of choice is still being made. As for Dad, we somehow managed to buy him a necktie … for a man who only wore one for weddings and funerals. Mom usually helped by giving us a dollar or three to buy him something. Dad went through a number of fashion seasons.
One year late in their married life, they had made some huge expenditure, causing Mom to tell Dad not to worry about getting her a gift for Christmas … you can see this one coming. Dad took Mom at her word, causing a very tense Christmas morning. Of course, as she always did, Mom remembered Dad with at least two or three presents. From that year forward, my sister and I made sure Dad had something for Mom under every tree. Throughout my years at home, I don’t think Dad ever shopped for anything at Christmas or birthday … Mom took care of that sort of thing. For those who annually watch Jean Shepherd’s movie, “A Christmas Story,” you get a picture of what Christmas was like in my hometown of Seymour, Iowa during the ‘40s and ‘50s. (On a personal note, in that movie, the 1937 Pontiac parked in the family’s driveway is exactly like my Dad’s car. Memories? You bet!