WPA Writers' Project transcripts (fwd)

[David Robertson]

LaXiyEm; this came from Jeff, and, well, manak!i Lush ukuk pus wik na-mash
yaka ilEp-saya khapa mcayka!  (This is too good not to send on to you
folks.)  Note that the WPA writers customarily recorded people's dialect
pronunciations of English; I've seen that in the volume of Oklahoma
former-slave narratives (many of them once property of Indians, by the
way, and having a good knowledge of e.g. Choctaw).  I hope you all will go
to the WPA website and find more fine stuff.  Best from............
Dave


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---------- Forwarded message ----------
Date: Sun, 28 Feb 1999 00:49:45 -0800
From: Jeffrey Kopp <jeffkopp at teleport.com>
To: drobert at tincan.tincan.org
Subject: WPA Writers' Project transcripts

Hi, Dave.  A little while back I mentioned the WPA Writers' Project
folklore interviews.  They are at:

http://memory.loc.gov/ammem/wpaintro/wpahome.html

Unfortunately, Alaska was not included; the only Western states where
the interviews were conducted are apparently OR, WA, MT, UT and  NM.
http://memory.loc.gov/ammem/wpaintro/wpamap.html

But a search on "jargon" brought back a handful of hits, most about
other "jargons", but including these few relevant ones [excerpts
below]:

"Pioneer Life"  (interview of Sarah L. Byrd in Portland, Oregon,
1939):

I us'd to talk jargon like a siwash. Once down at Gearhart some
ladies wuz visitin' me, an' they c'd talk jargon too. We
had lunch, an' we wuzn't to say anythin' but in jargon. One of 'em,
Mrs. Vantine, wuz perty good, so I sed to her,
"Potlatch nika mika seopose" (Give me your hat) First she looked
kinda puzzled, an' then, all at once she smiled an'
took off her hat an' giv it to me.

Well, I'm gettin' a little old -- 96 years my next birthday, but I
feel chipper as a chipmunk, an' I jes like to see anybody
call me "Grandma" thet I ain't "grandma" to.


Entitled: Pioneer Reminiscences and Incidents, Ernest P. Elliott,
Portland, Oregon 1939.

The Indians were all around of course. One of the first things
grandad did was to clear and fence the tract, some four or
five acres, for garden truck. It was a split rail fence, and
enclosing so small a tract, naturally didn't extend very far in
any one direction, but it was, at that, too much fence for the
Indians, or they thought it would be. The chief, old Chief
[Quacicity?] of the Molallas, and some of his friends remonstrated.
They did a little more. Every time grandad and
Uncle Charlie, who was helping him, got their fence up a rail or two,
the Indians would throw it down, pow-wowing
all the time. Grandad didn't say anything [md] he didn't want to get
in a fuss with them. Every time the Indians threw
the rails down he and Uncle Charlie would, without a word, pick them
up and put them back in place. Of course, he
understood every word they said, and so did Uncle Charlie, who could
talk jargon like any Indian. Finally Uncle
Charlie told them his father didn't know what they were talking
about, and neither did he. They stared at him in
astonishment. He could talk but he couldn't understand their
language. With a disgusted "Ugh!" old Chief [Quacicity?] stalked off,
his nonplussed braves following behind. I can remember old
Chief [Quacicity?]. He was a big Indian, and he always wore ornaments
in his nose. I used to play with the Indian boys
when I was a little lad. All the Molallas seem to be gone. Old Indian
Henry was the last one, and he died eight or nine
years ago. The squaws used to take on awful when any of them died.
They'd wail all day and all night after a death,
trying to drive away the evil spirit, and when the Indians buried
their dead they put everything the dead Indian owned in
the grave with him.

Pioneer Life of Tabitha Brown, Mrs. H. A. Lewis, Portland, 1939:

In the wagon train in which my mother came to Oregon a woman joker
caused trouble that might have ended in a
tragedy. One day an Indian brave of the Nez Perce tribe visited them
when in camp. It was up in the Nez Perce country,
and, fortunately, as matters turned out, he came alone. This woman,
who could talk a little jargon , just a few words, gathered some of
the girls about her and told the Indian they were all hers, and
wouldn't he like to have one. He indicated he would, and picked out
my mother. Then the woman, either because she
thought the joke would be funnier, or possibly becoming a little
frightened, said; "Oh that one is specially fine; she is
very white. I want a hundred spotted ponies for her." The Indian
grunted and rode off, and it was hoped that ended the
incident, for when the men of the party learned of the matter they
were greatly concerned. And they had need to be, for
next morning, bright and early, here came the Indian, driving in
sixty spotted ponies, all that he could collect, and for
which he demanded his young white squaw. They said my
step-grandfather, Isreal Mitchell, was white as a sheet, when
he, with several of the men, finally placated the Indian; and until
they got out of that section of the country, the camp
guards were kept double what they had before been. They fully
expected him to return with reinforcements to demand
his bride.


Sara B. Wrenn conducted all of these interviews.

While the returns of Jargon-specific info are sparse, a quick look
around shows there is a little gold mine in here of old timers'
reminiscenses, 30-60 minute interviews with people who were very old
in the late thirties and who tell about what it was like here in the
late 1800s, and of their parents an grandparents who were pioneers.
I'll have to peruse it some more when I have time.  A full-text
search is available at http://memory.loc.gov/ammem/wpaquery.html.

Regards,

Jeff