Black author committed to damning the black experience
Readers of this Books section should be well acquainted with Chester Bomar Himes, the black American writer (1909-1984) best known for his hard-boiled but wry Harlem Detectives series, all eight of which, and a couple of his others, we have featured as they were republished in the past four years. Now here are eight of his short stories, perhaps some of them written from prison, in a slim volume that is one of a whopping 90 new books selected from the Penguin Random House archive.
The 90 are to celebrate the 90th anniversary of what is now the largest book publisher in the United Kingdom. It was in 1935 that Allen Lane (1902-1970) together with his brothers Richard and John founded Penguin Books to bring high-quality paperback fiction and non-fiction to the mass market. The simple idea was that quality literature shouldn't cost more than a packet of cigarettes. Publishers and booksellers were sceptical at first but within a year Penguin had caused a revolution in the industry, with three million sold.
The Himes book is typical of the 90, it being a short 142-page selection and thus selling at a reduced UK price of £5.99 compared with a normal paperback for £9.99-16.99. The eight stories come from 'The Collected Stories of Chester Himes' that was originally published in 1990 and contained a fulsome 60 tales spanning some four decades of his writing.
Like the other 89 archive titles, 'All God's Chillun Got Pride' has a simple but striking cover, which draws on Penguin's design heritage. The new series uses only one colour, and that colour is red foil, otherwise known as the colour of passion, the idea being that this is intended as a love letter from the publisher for the birthday. The red foil lettering is stamped onto naked white covers, showing the story, author and the year when the author was first published as a Penguin. In Himes' case, he has been 'A Penguin since 1974'.
Otherwise, no further details are given about the contents, which is a pity. It would have been nice to know when Himes wrote his eight stories and where they were first published, because he, of course, started writing at the Ohio State Penitentiary after committing armed robbery and being arrested while attempting to pawn the stolen jewellery in Chicago.
It was 1929 and he was 19 years old. The court gave him the maximum 25 years in prison but he was released on parole in 1936. Biographers say that while incarcerated he bought a Remington typewriter and began tapping out stories. These were sent to magazines and the like, and his work was published in the Pittsburgh Courier, Bronzeman, Atlanta Daily World, Abbott's Monthly and Esquire.
A victim of racism himself, Himes used his writing career to concern himself with black protagonists doomed by white racism and self-hate. This set of eight tales opens with 'Headwaiter', which we think was first published in Opportunity, Journal of Negro Life in 1937. The story explores the necessarily repressed feelings of a black headwaiter, Dick Small, who has held the postion at the Park Manor Hotel for 20 years and must defer to an exclusively white clientele while overseeing an equally exclusively black waiting staff.
These waiters have a Negroid langour that bespeaks liberal tips. Small is reminded of the negro of Mark Twain legend who said he didn't want to make a dime 'cause he had a dime. One diner observes that 'all a nigger needs is something to eat and someplace to sleep'. The diner knows because he's got a plantation of them. A busboy, shouted at by a lady diner, 'jumped a full yard backward, his nostrils flaring like a winded horse's and his eyes white-rimmed in his black face'.
'Lunching at the Rtizmore' is a satirical story about a student bet that will supposedly disprove the existence of racism in Los Angeles. Consternation ensues as the city's down-and-outs tag along to see whether a negro will be allowed to eat in restaurants, ultimately at the Ritzmore, the swankiest of West Coast hotels. How is the bet resolved? It doesn't matter really. It's all rather tongue-in-cheek from Himes. What racism?
The titular short story, 'All God's Chillun Got Pride', is a brilliantly powerful and relentless summation of the daily fear and humiliation that a 'black beast', a nigger, goes through in white America. The man, Keith Richards, known as 'Dick', keeps up a bold front but he's afraid that one day he will crack, and that will be his doom.
'So each day, of a necessity, in order to live and breathe, he did as many of these things of which he was scared to do as he could do short of self-destruction. He did them to prove he wasn't scared so the next day he would be able to get up and live and breathe and go down to the library and work as a research assistant with a group of white people.'
'Pork Chop Paradise' has writing almost as strong, in which an illiterate black man, a convicted rapist, comes to be called God by black and white men and women, duped into fake faith by his messianic messaging and because, for a while, he is able to assuage their hunger. Pavements turned into pork chops? Here is a denunciation of phoney religious cults.
Finally, 'God' is brought to grief by falling to his own suppressed human desires, especially sex, losing his head with a blinding lust for Cleo, 'a high-yellah gal… from down Harlem way, and she sent him to the dogs. Sent him to the dogs'.
The opening pages of 'Friends' are a bit difficult to follow – the alligators – until we reach a murder that is difficult to read, because the bloody and horrific account is so chillingly recounted. It is harrowing. The rapist accidentally cuts off his penis to free it from the corpse with a butcher knife. Phew.
In 'His Last Day', cop killer 'Spats' Wilson is on Death Row and hours away from the big chair. He's determined not to give way to fear, to go to his destiny with a smile on his face, though mainly for the benefit of his fellow inmates and the newspaper coverage. Deep down he is desperate for a reprieve, which never comes, and he is scared. He rejects the preacher who wants him to make peace with God. He just about manages to carry off his final minutes with bravado, but take at look at his eyes and see his true feelings. (Written in prison and Himes' first published short story, in Abbott's Monthly in 1933.)
In 'The Snake', the search for a rattlesnake that has invaded a woman's home leads to the discovery of her missing husband in a grave under the floorboards. (Esquire published this on October 1, 1959.)
Black America needed, and probably still does – Black Lives Matter – the perspective of a person such as Himes. As he mentions here, didn't (Founding Father, United States President and slave owner) Thomas Jefferson write that 'All men are created equal'? Not in Himes' telling of the black experience.
'They don't hang Negoes in the north; they have other and more subtle ways of killing them,' he writes. But when you shear away the falseness of tradition and ideology, who can tell the black from the white?
Let's hope that 'All God's Chillun Got Pride', which is in effect a sampler, generates enough interest to allow 'The Collected Stories of Chester Himes' to see the light again.
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Budapest Times
24-05-2025
- Budapest Times
Black author committed to damning the black experience
Readers of this Books section should be well acquainted with Chester Bomar Himes, the black American writer (1909-1984) best known for his hard-boiled but wry Harlem Detectives series, all eight of which, and a couple of his others, we have featured as they were republished in the past four years. Now here are eight of his short stories, perhaps some of them written from prison, in a slim volume that is one of a whopping 90 new books selected from the Penguin Random House archive. The 90 are to celebrate the 90th anniversary of what is now the largest book publisher in the United Kingdom. It was in 1935 that Allen Lane (1902-1970) together with his brothers Richard and John founded Penguin Books to bring high-quality paperback fiction and non-fiction to the mass market. The simple idea was that quality literature shouldn't cost more than a packet of cigarettes. Publishers and booksellers were sceptical at first but within a year Penguin had caused a revolution in the industry, with three million sold. The Himes book is typical of the 90, it being a short 142-page selection and thus selling at a reduced UK price of £5.99 compared with a normal paperback for £9.99-16.99. The eight stories come from 'The Collected Stories of Chester Himes' that was originally published in 1990 and contained a fulsome 60 tales spanning some four decades of his writing. Like the other 89 archive titles, 'All God's Chillun Got Pride' has a simple but striking cover, which draws on Penguin's design heritage. The new series uses only one colour, and that colour is red foil, otherwise known as the colour of passion, the idea being that this is intended as a love letter from the publisher for the birthday. The red foil lettering is stamped onto naked white covers, showing the story, author and the year when the author was first published as a Penguin. In Himes' case, he has been 'A Penguin since 1974'. Otherwise, no further details are given about the contents, which is a pity. It would have been nice to know when Himes wrote his eight stories and where they were first published, because he, of course, started writing at the Ohio State Penitentiary after committing armed robbery and being arrested while attempting to pawn the stolen jewellery in Chicago. It was 1929 and he was 19 years old. The court gave him the maximum 25 years in prison but he was released on parole in 1936. Biographers say that while incarcerated he bought a Remington typewriter and began tapping out stories. These were sent to magazines and the like, and his work was published in the Pittsburgh Courier, Bronzeman, Atlanta Daily World, Abbott's Monthly and Esquire. A victim of racism himself, Himes used his writing career to concern himself with black protagonists doomed by white racism and self-hate. This set of eight tales opens with 'Headwaiter', which we think was first published in Opportunity, Journal of Negro Life in 1937. The story explores the necessarily repressed feelings of a black headwaiter, Dick Small, who has held the postion at the Park Manor Hotel for 20 years and must defer to an exclusively white clientele while overseeing an equally exclusively black waiting staff. These waiters have a Negroid langour that bespeaks liberal tips. Small is reminded of the negro of Mark Twain legend who said he didn't want to make a dime 'cause he had a dime. One diner observes that 'all a nigger needs is something to eat and someplace to sleep'. The diner knows because he's got a plantation of them. A busboy, shouted at by a lady diner, 'jumped a full yard backward, his nostrils flaring like a winded horse's and his eyes white-rimmed in his black face'. 'Lunching at the Rtizmore' is a satirical story about a student bet that will supposedly disprove the existence of racism in Los Angeles. Consternation ensues as the city's down-and-outs tag along to see whether a negro will be allowed to eat in restaurants, ultimately at the Ritzmore, the swankiest of West Coast hotels. How is the bet resolved? It doesn't matter really. It's all rather tongue-in-cheek from Himes. What racism? The titular short story, 'All God's Chillun Got Pride', is a brilliantly powerful and relentless summation of the daily fear and humiliation that a 'black beast', a nigger, goes through in white America. The man, Keith Richards, known as 'Dick', keeps up a bold front but he's afraid that one day he will crack, and that will be his doom. 'So each day, of a necessity, in order to live and breathe, he did as many of these things of which he was scared to do as he could do short of self-destruction. He did them to prove he wasn't scared so the next day he would be able to get up and live and breathe and go down to the library and work as a research assistant with a group of white people.' 'Pork Chop Paradise' has writing almost as strong, in which an illiterate black man, a convicted rapist, comes to be called God by black and white men and women, duped into fake faith by his messianic messaging and because, for a while, he is able to assuage their hunger. Pavements turned into pork chops? Here is a denunciation of phoney religious cults. Finally, 'God' is brought to grief by falling to his own suppressed human desires, especially sex, losing his head with a blinding lust for Cleo, 'a high-yellah gal… from down Harlem way, and she sent him to the dogs. Sent him to the dogs'. The opening pages of 'Friends' are a bit difficult to follow – the alligators – until we reach a murder that is difficult to read, because the bloody and horrific account is so chillingly recounted. It is harrowing. The rapist accidentally cuts off his penis to free it from the corpse with a butcher knife. Phew. In 'His Last Day', cop killer 'Spats' Wilson is on Death Row and hours away from the big chair. He's determined not to give way to fear, to go to his destiny with a smile on his face, though mainly for the benefit of his fellow inmates and the newspaper coverage. Deep down he is desperate for a reprieve, which never comes, and he is scared. He rejects the preacher who wants him to make peace with God. He just about manages to carry off his final minutes with bravado, but take at look at his eyes and see his true feelings. (Written in prison and Himes' first published short story, in Abbott's Monthly in 1933.) In 'The Snake', the search for a rattlesnake that has invaded a woman's home leads to the discovery of her missing husband in a grave under the floorboards. (Esquire published this on October 1, 1959.) Black America needed, and probably still does – Black Lives Matter – the perspective of a person such as Himes. As he mentions here, didn't (Founding Father, United States President and slave owner) Thomas Jefferson write that 'All men are created equal'? Not in Himes' telling of the black experience. 'They don't hang Negoes in the north; they have other and more subtle ways of killing them,' he writes. But when you shear away the falseness of tradition and ideology, who can tell the black from the white? Let's hope that 'All God's Chillun Got Pride', which is in effect a sampler, generates enough interest to allow 'The Collected Stories of Chester Himes' to see the light again.
Budapest Times
08-03-2025
- Budapest Times
Doing time with Chester Himes
As this 1952 novel opens, Jimmy Monroe, convict number 57232, is spending his first night in a prison dormitory serving 'twenty to twenty-five' for robbing 'just some people'. In real life, Chester Himes was convicted of armed robbery at the age of 19 in 1928 and sentenced to the maximum 20 to 25 years hard labour in Ohio State Penitentiary. Spot the connection… Monroe is repeatedly kicking himself, recalling how he asked a Chicago pawnshop owner for five hundred dollars for a stolen ring, then just stood there while the man phoned the police – to run would have made him cowardly. The cops hit Monroe in the mouth, hanged him by his handcuffed feet upside down over a door, and beat his ribs with gun butts until, 'with the live red pain eating out his guts and blood running down his unbearably hurting legs', he confessed to highway robbery of the first degree. For Monroe read Himes, who got the same. As the book blurb tells us, the novel was 'Originally published in 1952, in an expurgated version, as 'Cast the First Stone'.' but that's all we learn. The Budapest Times was intrigued and went looking for more particulars, and one is that the book was issued as Himes' third novel when In fact it had been written before the first two, 'If He Hollers Let Him Go' (1942) and 'Lonely Crusade' (1947). It had struggled to find a publisher (nothing unusual there for many would-be writers) until eventually released by Coward-McCann in 1952, though apparently barely resembling Himes' original manuscript of some 10 years earlier. It had been rewritten multiple times by the author and suffered heavy bowdlerisation and rejigging by the publisher. Written originally in the third person, it was rewritten in the first person in a more 'hard-boiled' style. Then it went back to the third person. And somewhere along the line, the pulpish 'Cast the First Stone' became the more sophisticated and complex 'Yesterday Will Make you Cry'. One reason put forward for the corporate reticence is Himes's unusually candid treatment for that time of his/Monroe's homosexuality with another prisoner. Himes' demoralising experiences with the American publishing industry, not to mention widespread racial discrimination against black people, of whom he was one, led him to relocate permanently to Paris in 1953. From there he began to gain success, and some financial relief, especially with his eight crime novels set in New York's Harlem district featuring two black police detectives, Coffin Ed Johnson and Grave Digger Jones. Himes' death in Spain in 1984 aged 75 meant he missed seeing his original 'Cast the First Stone' manuscript published by Norton in 1998 under the correct title 'Yesterday Will Make You Cry'. It now appears again this February 2025. Such can be an author's fate. Still, it's safe to say that even posthumous redemption is better than none (take Sylvia Plath, Stieg Larsson, Jim Thompson, John Kennedy Toole and numerous others, for example). While an undergrad at Ohio State University, Himes had sought out a rougher kind of education in the gambling dens, speakeasies and bordellos around campus. After being expelled from college he took up crime, mostly robbing people and working in gambling dens. He was arrested more than once, including using fake ID and cashing a bad cheque. Out on bail, Himes stole a car, drove to a white neighbourhood and, armed with a handgun, forced his way into a wealthy home and robbed the couple. He was caught the next day. While 'Yesterday Will Make You Cry' is clearly based on Himes' experiences in lock-up, fortunately prison marked the end of his criminal life and the start of his writing life. He ordered himself a Remington typewriter bought partly with gambling winnings. Trapped in his cement cellblock, he spent his time voraciously reading and practising his craft. He was encouraged by a fellow prisoner with literary aspirations with whom he had a sexual relationship – a relationship Himes would fictionalise and not hide from his two wives. His polished, tight short stories started appearing in black magazines such as Abbott's Monthly and Atlanta Black Star, and eventually Esquire, the new magazine that was publishing articles and short fiction by Theodore Dreiser, F. Scott Fitzgerald, Ernest Hemingway and Langston Hughes. One of his articles in Esquire was 'To What Red Hell?', published on October 1, 1934 after Himes had witnessed the Ohio State Prison fire on April 21, 1930, still the deadliest penitentiary fire in United States history, killing 322 inmates. Such literary success was a factor in his eventual release on parole in 1936 after seven and a half years. Prison officials cited his writing and reading as proof that he had redeemed himself. A thought could be raised that rather than getting himself out of the cellblock by cutting through his bars with a nail file or tunnelling with a spoon, Himes wrote himself out. Did the prison authorities, seeing what was coming out of the Remington, decide Himes was a man whom it would be better to let back into the wide world? Were they, one wonders, influenced by such powerfully fine writing as this, taken from Penguin Random House's 2025 'Yesterday Will Make You Cry' – 'Blue-coated firemen passed his vision; their loud, megaphoned voices reached his ears. In his eyes were the sight of policemen, of living convicts lugging the dead, of smoke and flame and water and prison guards. He could not help but think of these convicts who were working overtime at being heroes as men who had committed murder, rape, arson, men who had cut little living girls open with butcher knives to insert their oversized organs, who had mutilated women and carved their torsos into separate arms and legs and heads and packed them in trunks, who had stolen automobiles and forged checks and shot down policemen, working like hell, now, in the face of death to save the lives of other men who had raped their baby sisters.' Prison, perhaps, could be the next-best thing to a hermit's cave in the upper Himalayas for a spot of where-did-it-all-go-wrong self-contemplation, and Himes explores his thoughts and actions to the full. Using Monroe as his second self, he also dissects his pre-prison life – unfortunate relationships with his parents, peers, teachers, girls and employers; those bad attitudes and stupid decisions that brought him to his self-inflicted incarceration. Much more is known these days about the perils of doing stir, which could make Himes' experiences a little dated, but equally it could be a case of ' P lus ça change, plus c'est la même chose ' (The more things change, the more they stay the same). A sociologist, or historian, might tell us that reforms in US prison conditions between Himes' time in the 1930s and today have been for the better. But for Himes in 'Yesterday Will Make You Cry' it was a time of terror, chaos, brutality, corruption, sadists and sodomites. In the 'hole', or isolation cell, it was dark, silent and cold. There were a lot of shivs around. Death Row. Alongside all the impressive writing, the insights and descriptions, there is inconsequential or overwritten material that could have been what made those early publishers wield the blue pencil. The gay stuff is awfully mushy. And a real surprise is that race is not front and centre, as quickly became the case with 'If He Hollers Let Him Go' and onwards. All the central characters here are white, with an absence of the nigger-honky divide that Himes would pursue later. The inmates are tough but they have feelings and crave human connection. Here is the novel/semi-autobiography, unabridged and solid, that set Chester Bomar Himes, born July 29, 1909 in Jefferson City, Missouri, US, died November 12, 1984 in Moraira, Spain, convict number 59623, on the path to today's status as an important black American writer.
Budapest Times
18-01-2025
- Budapest Times
Black man with a grievance
Each of the eight book covers in Chester Himes' Harlem Detectives series is a jumble of chopped-up images that perfectly represent the African-American author's haunt, the hotspot black neighbourhood of New York City where whiteys fear to tread. "Blind Man with a Pistol' is his final deep delve into a crime-ridden world that is equally jumbled up, jumping about from incident to incident. Himes really lets it all hang out this time, probably more so than in the seven previous episodes. We know he can write straight – the debut novel 'If He Hollers Let Him Go' from 1949, for example – so this must be just the way he wanted it, disjointed and difficult to follow at times. Who or what is behind the riots and looting, murders and other crazy stuff? The confusing plot shifts between a few side-by-side stories not fully explained even at the end. All of which naturally doesn't make things easy for the reader. If it was a muddle in 1969 when first published, it still is with this 2024 reissue. Himes (1909-1984) was a black man – a nigger, a coon – who left the United States in 1953 to escape the white-ruled world's racism, and settled in Paris. From there he looked back in anger, sometimes in an absurdist way. There is, though, a terrifically promising opening to 'Blind Man with a Pistol'. Two white cops in a cruiser are intrigued by a card requesting 'Fertile womens, lovin God, inquire within' in the window of an old dilapidated three-storey brick house. Going in, they meet a man who calls himself Reverend Sam, a Mormon, and 11 black nuns, all his wives, plus 50 little pickaninnies, all naked, sleeping in the same room on loose dirty cotton and eating stewed pigsfeet and chitterlings on hands and knees from troughs. Reverend Sam says he is about 100 years old to the best of his knowledge and the children are all from the seeds of his loins. The sign in the window is to attract a twelfth wife because one died and must be replaced. Yes, his nuns respect vows of chastity but they are virgins when they arise in the morning and it is only at night, in the dark, that they perform the functions for which God had made their bodies. The nuns beg alms to support everyone. The cops find three suspicious-looking mounds in the dirt cellar. When examined, they contain the remains of three female bodies. Next up, Himes switches to a white man – a sissie, a pansy; don't expect political correctness – plucking up his courage at night to go into a lunch counter frequented by blacks of the same leaning. When he finally enters and is picked up, the two of them leave for some quiet sexual action. It's a fatal move. The whitey should have known better. In another change of direction we meet Marcus Mackenzie, an idealistic young black man who wants to save the world and solve the Negro Problem by leading a march of 48 blacks and whites across the heart of Harlem. This, he reckons, will spark an outpouring of brotherly love. He wants negroes to arise, to lead them out of the abyss into the promised land. Enter Himes' black New York Police Department detectives Coffin Ed Johnson and Grave Digger Jones, cruising the unlit side streets in their old dark Plymouth sedan at 3am to surprise anyone in the act of maiming, mugging, rolling drunks or committing homicide. They see a black man running off with a pair of trousers, then a white man, trouserless, with a cut jugular who dies at their feet. They don't know it yet but we do: it's the sissy fellow. While readers may have managed to keep up so far, a complication arises when Doctor Mubuta, Mrs Dawson, Mister Sam, Dick, Anny, Viola, Sugartit, Van Raff and Johnson X are all introduced in short order. Who? Whoever, Doctor Mubuta has his own solution for the Negro Problem. 'We're gonna outlive the white folks. While they has been concentrating on ways of death, I has been concentrating on how to extend life. While they'll be dying, we'll be living forever, and Mister Sam here, the oldest of us all, will be alive to see the day when the black man is the majority on this earth, and the white man his slave.' Another puzzle may be the seemingly disconnected italicised 'Interludes' that punctuate the story, short pieces peppered throughout as asides. One is about stomach juices and dandruff, said to be the result of corn in the brain heating, popping and coming through the skull. It becomes clear that Himes is not about to offer a typical mystery novel with police procedure resulting in a neat Agatha Christie-like solution. He's writing about racism, violence and inequality, the reality of Harlem in the 1960s, a string of stabbing, beating and riots, of prostitutes, pimps, pederasts, pickpockets, sneak thieves, con men and steerers (a person who coaxes potential customers to a gambling game, brothel, drug dealer, et cetera). It's familiar ground for anyone who's read the seven earlier Coffin Ed and Grave Digger misadventures but probably even wilder this time around. There was to have been a ninth Harlem Detectives book, 'Plan B', which Himes started writing in the late 1960s but had left unfinished when he died in Moraira, Spain, in 1984. It was finally published in French in France in 1983 and not in English in the United States until 1993 after being completed from his notes by writers Michel Fabre and Robert E. Skinner. It seems Himes wrote around 155 pages and Fabre and Skinner added just a few. Himes offers a Preface in 'Blind Man with a Pistol': 'A friend of mine, Phil Lomax, told me this story about a blind man with a pistol shooting at a man who had slapped him on a subway train and killing an innocent bystander peacefully reading his newspaper across the aisle and I thought, damn right, sounds just like today's news, riots in the ghettos, war in Vietnam, masochistic doings in the Middle East. And then I thought of some of our loudmouthed leaders urging our vulnerable soul brothers on to getting themselves killed, and thought further that all unorganized violence is like a blind man with a pistol.' A second Preface: 'Blink once, you're robbed,' Coffin Ed advises the white man slumming in Harlem. 'Blink twice, you're dead,' Grave Digger adds dryly. Later, 'What the hell's got into these people all of a sudden?' Coffin Ed asks. 'It ain't been sudden,' Lomax replies, 'They been feeling a long time. Like all the rest of us. Now they making their statement.' 'Statement? Statement saying what?' 'Each of them got a different statement.' Or: 'They believed in Black Power. They'd give it a trial anyway. Everything else had failed. What did they have to lose? And they might win. Who knew? The whale swallowed Jonah. Moses split the Red Sea. Christ rose from the dead. Lincoln freed the slaves. Hitler killed six million Jews. The Africans had got to rule – in some parts of Africa, anyway. The Americans and the Russians have shot the moon. Some joker has made a plastic heart. Anything is possible.' A common theme: 'It was Harlem, where anything might happen.' The point seems to be that most violence is like a blind man with a pistol but no aim or strategy or point. Tragedies happen because people keep butting into each other. It's the way of the world. When a blind man just points and fires, whoever gets hit goes down. There are those aficionados who place Chester Himes in the same elevated company as crime writers Raymond Chandler (1888-1959) and Dashiell Hammett (1894-1961). At The Budapest Times we've started to think of Himes as a precursor to the 'Demon Dog of American Crime Fiction', James Ellroy himself (1948–). Discuss. And those eight strikingly colourful covers are by Romare Bearden, an American artist, author and songwriter (1911-1998).
