The note was written in a scrawl

Chapter 29) Bangin' Gypsy and the fishing tournament
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In the effort to promote Trinity to important people, Latchy Gray got some folks wound-up from the state capital to sponsor the yearly fish tournament in the field next to the old hay barn. It was close to the town's business district, a slight distance downstream from the bridge and the prettiest spot where the bank wasn't too steep.
The tournament was held there each year.
But past years it was a local event. It had been dying out, and not much interest, but this year was different. It was going to be the social event that put Trinity on the map, and the local business community was behind it.
They spiffied up the town like nothing before, polished the glass, swept the sidewalks, hung banners, and painted the big new flower pots to hide that they were rusty old railroad spike buckets.
Wilkerson's top man drug the buckets out from Wilkerson's warehouse then the sheet metal shop straightened the dents before Louis had his men paint them bright red and set them out along the sidewalk. Some of the wives enthusiastically planted flowers and added other pretties to attact the ladies. It was a fine show of community spirit.

Since the town was putting on it's best, it was paramount to manage the Negro problem. It was more of an instinct than a specific problem, but agreed without word that Negroes could not be seen downtown during the festivities, whatever that might be construed to mean.
The actual management of the Negroes was a curious force that had no clear reason, other than meanness of human nature. And exactly who was in charge of the problem was also unclear.

It wasn't Latchy.
She didn’t know of such ways, not that she would complain because she expected Negroes to be under control so somebody could attend her needs.
It would’ve been harder for Latchy to explain why things happen that way than for her to understand it, but it was for the lesser people to worry about.
It just wasn’t her.

Nor were the barbecue boys in charge of it.
They would be busy.
And distracted. To them, there was no reason for a fishing tournament since they were going to be there. Carve up a boar or skin a steer, but hell with catching fish, because those boys cooked meat.
It was real meat, slow cooked over the mesquite and charcoal unless it got too dark where they had to cut back on the wood ... but it was cheaper that way.
But no fish.
Fish had to be cooked fast.
Might as well eat a cold radish.
To hell with fish.
You couldn’t get the smell out of the grill after cooking a fish they said.

Somebody was in charge, otherwise how would the Negroes know where to locate the latrines that were appropriately dug at the far end of the field? How would they know to make the holes just deep enough that a good rainfall would allow contents to ooze into the river later.
Or know they were not allowed to use those same holes for themselves, because those treasured wood boards with a perfectly formed and shaped oval holes were solely destined for white asses, not theirs.
Nope, the Negro servants in attendance were expected to climb down the hill and do it in front of the fisherman.
And oh well, who cared that no answer was sought for that problem?

Curious the force behind it.
It was everyman and no man, all at once, everybody combining their effort toward ensuring that somehow it took place. Sometimes it was a police office like the missing Homer Dack, or maybe a store owner, or sales clerk, or a casual word of hate.
The real backbone behind it was the Klan because they were any man who wanted to get a gun and level the playing field against the great violators of white people. Especially any violator of white women, or for whatever reason they had that day.

Word travelled to Blacktown that the fishing tourney was going to be a big hoo haa this year and the Negroes were to get back off the river and expect the usual trouble.
And believe me, on the fine day that was planned, with so many white people clamoring about and jockeying notice for their big boner, the Negro problem overall was not forgotten.

The day before the fishing tournament, Top Hat called a meeting outside the church.
We stay back. Everybody get back offen the river til they gone.

He reasoned that was better than having the Klan creeping up at night or a man held underwater over a fish.
But most disagreed. The sharecropping boys had a way to make it, but lots of Blacktown folks depended on the fish.

We go upriver and ...
No, Top Hat said, them people be all over. They say get back, we get back.

What we gonna eat?
You say the Klan ain't coming... but we don't know.
Yeah you listen to dat cracker like he tellin trut.
Yeah. More voices chimed in.

Top Hat was quick with it and said, but wait ... we can ...
A man started yelling, yo got money hid away, we got nuttin.
The old Hoodoo man sitting in the back laughed out, yeah you tell em bout thet crack loving. Ya'll might as well run off to Mississippi with a can o hot pepper, cause he got it off us, paying rent and listening to his shit.

What the hell you doing here, old man? People start to laugh. What's the old hoodoo man coming around in daylight? Or talking.
Ain't you supposed to be out there rolling around on them graves.
People started to laugh and look down.
It was disgusting, because it was either the hogs or that old man that was wallowing out the dirt every time a fresh one was was laid out.

Then a voice said, yeah, but ol hoodoo right. Top Hat got our money. He doing ok.
The clamor started back up.

Mons spoke up. It was her turn.
The big Negro waved his arm, shut up, let her say.
The noise died down some.

Ya'll right. Theys not enough hot powder, an this not Mississippi, but we gonna fight ... but we gonna fight smart ... not stupid.
Crazy old lady? The clamor came back.

Mons yelled, I say this. Those fishing people use the field next to the barn.
So what? ... what you wanna do ... we gonna hide out in a barn?
Ha ha ha. We could could shoot from there. More laughter.

Not if we get Gypsy to play.

Gypsy? The laughter almost turned to screaming ... what you saying?
What the hell you talking about? What good that do?

One of the regular fishing men from the river yelled out, she got it, she got it. Ya'll wait. She got it. When Gypsy play at the barn, we love it, but we never catch fish because the noise.

What?
But ... we still got nothin to eat.

The fishing man, said, yeah but they bite the next day. If we let them catch all our fish, there won't be any left.
And then the realization leaned down and smacked Blacktown across the forehead.
Yeah, hell yeah woman, but how we gonna find Gypsy?

Discussion over, Top Hat started laughing. Dang you woman, that's good one. We gonna get Gypsy.

Yeah, where is she?
The old Hoodoo man chimed in, she at the Juke in Arlington.
How you know thet old man?
I see it. I see it like it was today. She there.
Might be true ... sometimes that old man knew something ... but sometimes he was blowing a song off his butt.
It was hard to know what was which.

Bangin' Gypsy's band practiced with Junkyard Cleveland from Tupelo, and sometimes with Topeka Brown's hillbilly band at the old barn next to the river, right directly next to the field where the tournament was going to take place.
She sang gospel at church services, but with Topeka, she sang gospel or country depending if the audience was black or white.
That bunch up on stage were a bawdy combination of spirit and flesh, dancing around and grinning like cheesecake. They could fever a sweat out of the crowd like no other band.
Below the barn was the best fishing spot, and the Negroes fishing at the river would sing along especially when Junkyard, Topeka and Bangin' played their hit song, oopa oopa.
It went like this;
♪ ♫ sleepin' days and nights, wish I had you back,
gave ya all I had, you stole my heart away,
can't git you off my mind, you're with me all the time,
and now I'm sad and blue, lovin' only you,
gimme 'nother chance, to winnn your romance,
we won't look back again, I love you to the end.
oopa oopa looooo, oopa oopa looooo,
oopa oopa looooo, oopa oopa looooo,
or something like that, followed by whistling, with a fiddle and banjo playing notes.
You can give a quick listen to a cheapened hillbilly version sung by the author of this book by clicking the following link: oopa-oopa-looo

The music carried across the river, and the fishermen, unseen, from their secret fishing spots behind stumps and piles of logs, sang, sleepin' days and nights, oopa oopa looooo, oopa oopa looooo, oopa oopa looooo.
Then somebody would yell out something, and one time a guy proclaimed, hey one jumped in my boat, followed by everybody laughing.
It scared the fish away but maybe they weren't biting anyway.
It didn't matter, because the oopa oopa looooo days were special.

The hoodoo man was right, so it happened as planned, and just as the event started getting filled up in the field next door, Bangin' Gypsy showed up at the barn and started to play.
There were no Negroes in the field next door that were willing to keep tap with the music, just a bunch of beer-drinking moneyboys who couldn't scratch the fuzz off a peach who hated Negroes.
The crowd was beginning to fidget with some people yelling to shut it down ... until the band started playing Dixie.
Well that split it apart, and started bringing white people over the fence.
Fish weren't going to bite ... not with that racket.
And right away the fence was torn down so the women and children could get through.
It was a beautiful rendition and no time at all, Bangin' moved the band outside and had folks laughing and singing along with requests.

While the wording of those songs was changed to match their usual rowdy crowd, they sang it without much thought of changing them back since most white people didn’t understand what they were saying ... and the music was good and generally more wholesome than watching a Crooks Tail juggler recite Annabel Lee while the stripper removed her clothes.

So the party carried on until the crowd thinned out late afternoon. The fish stocks were saved, the Negroes went home hungry, and the day was a great success for white people.

In the mean time, the plan to take important visitors on a tour of Trinity was unfolding with Latchy in charge.

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