(The Student’s Book of College English. Skwire et. al New York: Macmillan, 1991) When Doby first came into Sue Johnson's life her family were caretakers on a farm way up in New York State. And because Sue had no one else to play with, the Johnson’s reluctantly accepted Doby as a member of the family. The spring that Sue was six they moved to Wessex, Connecticut--a small New England town whose
neat colonial houses cling to a group of hills overlooking the Connecticut River. All that summer Mrs. Johnson had hoped that Doby would vanish long before Sue entered school in the fall. He would only complicate things in school.
For Mrs. Johnson, Doby wasn't real. He existed only in Sue's mind. He had been created out of her need for a friend her own age-her own size. And he had gradually become an escape from the very real world that surrounded her. She first started talking about him when she was two, and he had been with her ever since. He always sat beside her when he ate and played with her during the day. At night he slept in a chair near her bed so that they awoke at the same time in the morning. A place had to be set for him at mealtime. A seat had to be saved for him on trains and buses.
After they moved to Wessex, he was still her constant companion just as he had been when she was three and four and five. On the morning that Sue was to start going to school she said, "Doby has a new pencil too. And he's got a red plaid shirt just like my dress." "Why can't Doby stay home?" Mrs. Johnson asked. "Because he goes with me everywhere 1 go." Sue said in amazement. "Of course he's going to
school. He's going to sit right by me." Sue watched her mother get up from the breakfast table and then followed her upstairs to the big front bedroom. She saw with surprise that her mother was putting on her going-out clothes. "You have to come with me Mommy?" she asked anxiously. She had wanted to walk to school with
Doby, just the two of them. She had planned every step of the way since the time her mother told her she would start school in the fall. "No, I don't have to, but I'm coming just the same. I want to talk to your teacher." Mrs. Johnson fastened her coat and deftly patted a loose strand of hair in place. Sue looked at her and wondered if the other children's mothers would come to school, too. She certainly
hoped so because she wouldn't want to be the only one there who had a mother with her. Then she started skipping around the room holding Doby by the hand. Her short black braids jumped as she skipped. The gingham dress she wore was starched so stiffly that the hemline formed a wide circular frame for her sturdy dark brown legs as she bounced up and down. “Ooh," she said suddenly. "Doby pulled off one of my hair ribbons." She reached over and picked It up from the floor and came to stand In front of her mother while the red ribbon was retied into a crisp bow.
Then she was walking down the street hand in hand with her mother. She held Doby's hand on the other side. She decided it was good her mother had come. It was better that way. The street would have looked awfully long and awfully big if she and Doby had been by themselves, even though she did know exactly where the school was. Right down the street on this side. Past the post office and town hall that sat so far back with green lawn in front of them. Past the town pump and the old white house on
the corner past the big empty lot. And there was the school. It had a walk that went straight down between the green grass and was all brown yellow gravel stuff
-coarser than sand. One day she had walked past there with her mother and stopped to finger the stuff the walk was made of, and her mother had said, "It's gravel."
She remembered how they'd talk about it. "What's gravel?" she asked. “The stuff In your hand. It's like sand, only coarser. People use it for driveways and
walks” her mother had said. “Gravel.” She liked the sound of the word. It sounded like pebbles. Gravel. Pebble. She said the words over to herself. You’re gravel and you’re pebble. Pebble said to gravel. She started making up a story. Gravel said to pebble: "You're a pebble." Pebble said back, “You’re a gravel.” "Sue, throw it away. It's dirty and your hands are clean," her mother said. She threw it down on the sidewalk. But she kept looking back at it as she walked along. It made a
scattered yellow, brown color against the rich brown-black of the dirt-path.
She held on to Doby's hand a hide more tightly. Now she was actually going to walk, up that long gravel walk to the school. She and Doby would play there every day when school was out. The school yard was full of children. Sue hung back a little looking at them. They were playing ball under the big maple trees near the back of the yard. Some small children were squatting near the school building, letting gravel trickle through their fingers. "I want to play, too." She tried to free her hand from her mother's firm grip. "We're going inside to see your teacher first." And her mother went on walking up the school steps holding on to Sue's hand. Sue stared at the children on the steps. "Why are they looking so hard?" she asked. "Probably because you're looking at them so hard. Now come on," and her mother pulled her through the
door. The hall inside was dark and very long. A neat white sign over a door to the right said FIRST GRADE in bold black letters. Sue peered inside the room while her mother knocked on the door A pretty lady with curly yellow hair got up from a desk and invited them in. While the teacher and her mother talked grown-up talk, Sue
looked around. She supposed she’d sit at one of those little desks. There were a lot of them and she wondered if there would be a child at each desk. If so, then Doby would have to squeeze in beside her. “Sue, you can go outside and play. When the bell rings you must come in,” the teacher said. "Yes, teacher," Sue started out the door in a hurry. "My name is Miss Whittier," the teacher said, "You must call me that." "Yes, Miss Whittier. Good-bye, Mommy," she said, and went quickly down the hall and out the door. "Hold my hand, Doby," she said softly under her breath.
Now she and Doby would play in the gravel, squeeze it between their fingers and pat it into shapes like those other children were doing. Her short starched skirt stood out around her legs as she stepped down the steps. She watched the children as long as she could without saying anything. "Can we play, too?" she asked finally. A boy with a freckled face and short stiff red hair looked up at her and frowned. He
didn't answer but kept ostentatiously patting at a little mound of gravel.
Sue walked over a little closer, holding Doby tightly by the hand. The boy ignored her. A little girl in a blue and white checked dress stuck her tongue out. "Your legs are black," she said suddenly. And then when the others looked up she added, "Why, look, she's black all over. Looky, she's black all over." Sue retreated a step away from the building. The children got up and followed her. She took another backward step and they took two steps forward. The little girl who had stuck her tongue out began a chant, "Look, look. Her legs are black. Her legs are black." The children were all saying it. They formed a ring around her and they were dancing up and down and screaming, "Her legs are black. Her legs are black." She stood in the middle of the circle completely bewildered. She wanted to go home where it was safe and quiet and where her mother would hold her tight in her arms. She pulled Doby nearer to her. What did they mean her legs were black? Of course they were. Not black but dark brown. Just like these children were white some other children were dark like her. Her mother said so. But her mother hadn't said anyone
would make her feel bad about being a different color. She didn't know what to do, so she just stood there watching them come closer and closer to her -their faces red with excitement, their voices hoarse with yelling. Then the school bell rang. And the children suddenly plunged toward the building. She was left alone with Doby. When she walked into the school room she was crying. "Don't you mind, Doby," she whispered. "Don't you mind. I won't let them hurt you." Miss Whittier gave her a seat near the front of the room. right near her desk. And she smiled at her.
Sue smiled back and carefully wiped away the wet on her eyelashes with the back of her hand. She turned and looked around the room. There were no empty seats. Doby would have to stand up. "You stand right close to me and if you get tired just sit on the edge of my seat," she said. She didn't go out for recess. She stayed in and helped Miss Whittier draw on the blackboard with colored chalk-yellow and green and red and purple and brown. Miss Whittier drew the flowers and Sue colored them.
She put a small piece of chalk out for Doby to use and Miss whittier noticed it. But she didn't say anything, she just smiled. “I love her,” Sue thought. “I love my teacher." And then again. I love Miss Whittier, my teacher.At noon the children followed her halfway home from school. They called after her and she ran so
fast and so hard that the pounding in her ears cut off the sound of their voices.
"Go faster, Doby," she said. "You have to go faster." And she held his hand and ran until her legs ached. "How was school, Sue'?" asked her mother.“It was all right,” she said slowly. "I don't think Doby likes it very much. He likes Miss Whittier though." "Do you like her?" "Oh, yes," Sue let her breath come out with a sigh. “Why are you panting like that?" her mother asked. "I ran all the way home," she said.
Going back after lunch wasn't so bad. She went right in to Miss Whittier. She didn't stay put in the yard and wait for the bell. When school was out, she decided she'd better hurry right home and maybe the children wouldn't see her. She walked down the gravel path taking quick little looks over her shoulder. No one paid any attention and she was so happy that she gave Doby's hand a squeeze.And then she saw that they were waiting for her right by the vacant lot. She hurried along trying not to hear what they were saying. "My mother says you're a little nigger girl," the boy with the red hair said. And then they began to shout: "Her legs are black . Her legs are black."It changed suddenly. “Run. Go ahead and run.”. She looked over her shoulder. A boy was coming toward her with a long switch in his hand. He raised it in a threatening gesture and she started running. For two days she ran home from school like that. Ran until her short 1egs felt as though they couldn't move another step.
"Sue," her mother asked anxiously, watching her try to catch her breath on the front steps,"What makes you run home from school like this?" "Doby doesn't like the other children very much," she said panting. “Why?”"I don't think they understand about him," she said thoughtfully. "But he loves Miss Whittier."The next day the children waited for her right where the school's gravel walk ended. Sue didn't see them until she was close to them. She was coming slowly down the path hand in hand with Doby trying to see how many of the big pebbles they could step on without stepping on any of the finer, sandier gravel. She was in the middle of the group of children before she realized it. They started off slowly at first."How do you comb that kind of hair?" "Does that black color wash off?” And then the chant began and it came faster and faster: "Her legs are black. Her legs are black." A little girl reached out and pulled one of Sue's braids. Sue tried to back away and the other children
closed in around her. She rubbed the side of her head-it hurt where her hair had been pulled. Someone pushed her. Hard. In the middle of her back. She was suddenly outraged. She planted her feet firmly on the path. She started hitting out with her fists. Kicking. Pulling hair. Tearing at clothing. She reached down and picked up handfuls of gravel and aimed it at eyes and ears and noses. While she was slapping and kicking at the small figures that encircled her she became aware that Doby had gone. For the first time in her life he had left her. He had gone when she started to fight.She went on fighting-scratching and biting and kicking-with such passion and energy that the space around her slowly cleared. The children backed away. And she stood still.She was breathing fast as though she had been running. The children ran off down the street-past the big empty lot. Past the old white house with the green shutters. Sue watched them go. She didn't feel victorious. She didn't feet anything except an aching sense of loss. She stood there panting. wondering about Doby. And then, "Doby," she called softly. Then louder. "Doby! Doby! Where are you?" She listened -cocking her head on one side. He didn't answer. And she felt certain he would never be back because he had never left her before. He had gone for good. And she didn't know why. She decided it probably had something to do with growing up. And she looked down at her legs hoping to find they had grown as long as her father's. She saw instead that her dress was torn in three different places. her socks were down around her ankles, there were long angry scratches on her legs and on her arms. She felt for her hair-the red hair ribbons were gone and her braids were coming undone. She started looking for the hair ribbons. And as she looked she saw that Daisy Bell, the little girl who had stuck her tongue out that first day of school. was leaning against the oak tree at the end of the path."Come on, let's walk home together," Daisy Bell said matter-of-factly. "All right." Sue said. As they started past the empty lot, she was conscious that someone was tagging along behind them.It was Jimmie Piebald, the boy with the stiff red hair. When she looked back he came up and walked on the other side of her. They walked along in silence until they came to the town pump. They stopped and looked deep down into the well. And spent a long time hallowing down into it and listening delightedly to the hollow funny sound of their voices. It was much later than usual when Sue got home. Daisy Bell and Jimmie walked up to the door with her. Her mother was standing on the front steps waiting for her. "Sue." her mother said in a shocked voice. "What's the matter? What happened to you?" Daisy Bell put her arm around Sue. Jimmie started kicking at some stones in the path. Sue stared at her mother, trying to remember. There was something wrong but she couldn't thinkwhat it was. And then it came to her. "Oh," she wailed, "Doby's gone. I can 't find him anywhere."
Ann Petry
b. 1908-1997
The women work because the white folks give them jobs -washing dishes and clothes and floors and windows. The women work because for years now the white folks haven't liked to give black men jobs that paid enough for them to support their families. And finally it gets to be too late for some of them. Even wars don't change it. The men get out of the habit of working and the houses are old and gloomy and the walls press in. And the men go off, move on, slip away, find new women. Find younger women.
--The Street
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Biography / Criticism
Ann Lane Petry was born on October 12, 1908 in Old Saybrook, Connecticut. She was the second daughter of Peter C. Lane and Bertha James Lane. She grew up middle class in a predominantly white community. Her parents both had a professional status in the community. Her father owned the local drugstore and worked as a pharmacist. Her mother was a licensed chiropodist, and worked also in many other occupations such as a hairdresser, a barber, a manufacturer, and an entrepreneur. This status helped to shield her from a somewhat hostile community environment.
Petry first encountered racial prejudice when she was on a Sunday school outing at the age of seven. This, along with other experiences of racial prejudice and oppression, brought about a feeling of outrage within her. This outrage remained with her for many years. The memories that Petry holds of her family are those of a caring and protective environment. Her parents created an environment that enabled her to survive against the effects of bigotry and isolation.
Petry is proud of her family heritage which includes four generations of African American New Englanders who were born in Connecticut. Hearing the accounts of ancestors struggling against racial oppression introduced her to the power of the word to transport the listener beyond time and place. These stories, and listening to her mother read her stories, inspired her with a love for narrative and reading.
Petry first began writing while in high school. She started out with creating a slogan for a perfume company. From this she went on to writing one-act plays and short stories. When she graduated from Old Saybrook High School in 1929, she had not yet chosen writing as a career. Instead, she went on to graduate from Connecticut College of Pharmacy in 1931 with a Ph.D. With this she returned home to work in the family drugstore for a period of five years. Then for two years she managed the other family drugstore in Old Lyme. During her time as a pharmacist she observed the customers who she later included in her writing.
Petry left her career in pharmacy to marry George D. Petry, a New York mystery writer, in 1938. They moved to New York and here she decided that she wanted to pursue a career in writing. She started out working for the Amsterdam News selling ad space until 1941. On August 19, 1939, her first story, "Marie of the Cabin Club," was published in the Afro-American under the pseudonym Arnold Petry. She had decided to save her own name for her more "serious" work.
In 1941, she began working as a reporter for the People's Voice. She credits her five years as a journalist, working in almost every aspect of the newspaper business, as the most influential on her writing. She then shifted her objective from observation to direct interaction with the people of Harlem by founding Negro Women, Inc., and then in 1944 becoming a recreational specialist at P.S. 10, a Harlem elementary school. Here she designed programs for problem children. She also took up an active civic and social life. She studied painting, took piano lessons, acted in Striver's Row, an American Negro Theater production, and taught a business letter-writing course at the Harlem Branch of the NAACP.
permissions infoShe kept up her writing among her many other endeavors. In the 1940's she appeared in many literary magazines. It wasn't until 1943 that her career finally took off though. Her story "On Saturday the Siren Sounds at Noon," was published by Crisis magazine. This is when Houghton Mifflin discovered her and encouraged her to write a novel. When she began her novel she was living off her husband's allotment check from the armed forces because writing had become her career. After she applied for a literary fellowship, Houghton Mifflin granted her $2400.00 in 1945. In 1946, they published her first novel, The Street. Her second novel, Country Place, was published in 1947. In 1948, she and her husband decided to move back to Old Saybrook. By this time, she had already established herself as an independent writer. After moving, she only wrote one more novel, The Narrows, which was published in 1953. She decided to devote her time to raising her daughter, Elisabeth Ann, and writing a collection of short stories.
Ann Petry died on April 28, 1997 near her old home in Old Saybrook, Connecticut after a brief illness.
As a writer, Petry revealed her knowledge of how the interconnections of race, gender, and class can shape tragic experiences for both blacks and whites, and showed her desire to represent blacks in all of their humanity and complexity. Critics have attempted however, to enclose her in the narrow space of the naturalistic tradition. She has overcome this through her writing, exposing the limits of naturalism by creating a narrative space to fit her unique perspective of telling not only one story of black oppression, but telling many stories of black survival.
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