Ben Hecht Biography & Books at the Snickersnee Press

" I remembered songs. And in the night the American scene underwent a curious change. The whining, shouting Slavic folk tunes, the chants from the Congo, the rollicking street ditties from Paris, Prague, Vienna; Chinese, Malay, African, European, Asiatic--all of them lay in the anthems of our cabarets. Illiterate, monotonous jingles which stuttered out the loves and despairs, the gawky mirths and naive excitements of a conglomerate folk."

I Got the Blues, by Ben Hecht 

"Alas," said my friend," there is no
romance or passion in your country. Business, commerce and platitude have killed them. There is no romance, no passion."

And he wept into his lemon pop.

And the cabaret singer sang:

"Nobody lied, when they said I
cried over you.

Nobody lied, when they said I 'most
died over you.

Ever since I've been away,
I've been grieving night and day.

I want you always by my side.

Nobody lied, when they said
I was blue over you.

Got so blue, I scarce knew what to do.

All my life before me looks
so dreary and so black.

I think I'll choose the river
and I'll never come back.

Nobody lied, when they said
I cried over you.

"Business, all business," resumed my friend when the applause around us had subsided, "I find America dollar-mad. With no feeling for the deeper things. Your country is drained of emotion."

And the cabaret singer sang:

"I've got the lonesome mama blues
Since my love has been refused.

My poor heart's grievin'
because he's leavin' me.
But wait and see.
Someday he'll come back again
on that very same old train.

I know he'll never find
another gal so good and kind.

Every night upon my knees
I'll pray the Lord above
hear my pleas, send back to me
the only man I love.

Lord my prayer now don't refuse.
His sweet love don't let me lose.

I'm just a lonesome mama
Singin' lonesome mama blues."

"As I was saying," resumed my friend, "your country is stifled in morality. The platitude has assassinated the instincts of man. I have been here a month, observing people and things, and my major impression is that life and all of its glorious colors has been legislated out of your nation."

And the cabaret singer sang:

"I've got the wonder where he went
and when he's coming back again blues.

But I'm a gal that's gonna be darn hard
for that sweet man to lose.

I sit and hug his pretty picture every day
and try to figure out why it was
he wouldn't stay.

And every night upon my pillow
like a weepin' willow,
I try to cry the weary blues away.

But I'm gonna stop my cryin' and
I'll keep right on a tryin'
til I find my lovin' man.

And if he's got another missus,
who is stealin' all his kisses
say, you'll surely see a jam.

Cause when he went away
he said that he'd be true.

But he forgot to say to who.

That's why I've got the
wonder where he went and
when he's comin' back again blues."

"Take this jazz music," said my friend when the anthem had ebbed, "I remember fifteen years ago when I was here before. The dollar had not undermined the emotions of people then as it has now. They still felt the importance of the moon, of love, of romance. But this jazz is merely an expression of the nervous emptiness of your people."

And the cabaret singer sang:

"I've got the blues
but I'm just too mean to cry.

All through the day
I just worry and I sigh.

Oh, poor little me.
how I long to see
some sweet papa
bouncing on my knee.

Oh, what's the use,
they all go and pass me by.

If any longer I must pine,
I'll swallow down
a quarter's worth of iodine.

Cause I've got the blues
But I'm just too mean to cry."

When we had left the cabaret and my friend had departed for his hotel I walked in a dark Wabash avenue-- remembering songs. Here were too many stores, too many buildings. Here things were too crowded. There were too many signs and noises here in the day time.

And I recalled my friend's criticism. There were too many laws, too many taboos Puritanism had choked the strength of the nation. Reformers had sapped its vitality. An epicene absurd automation was the typical American. Prohibitions. Taboos, moralities, platitudes, and dollar chasing. Business uber alles, business always. Brick, steel, window glass, filing cabinets, wage strikers these were America. But I remembered songs.

St. Louis woman,
wid her di'mond rings.
pulls my man round
by her apron strings.

If it weren?t for her powder
and her store-bought hair,
the man I love
would not have gone nowhere.

And other songs "Send Back My Honey Man," "The Girl That's Lovin' My Man Is Lovin' Him Strong," and "When You?re Lovin' My Man You're Treatin' Me Wrong."

And other songs--- "Down in my heart there's a pain that never lets me rest. Why did I stray from the one I love the best. I get so homesick now and then. I'll soon be rolling home again, because I'm always alone. I'm just a Carolina rollin' stone."

And then another song, a marvelous song "I've got the high-- brown-- blues. About that thing called love I can't enthuse. From now on I re--fuse to let my heart grow fond or respond to the jelly rollin' of a midnight blond. Folks, the best of us weaken now and then-- But if I fall again-- I'll be a lady killin' darktown villain--til I lose those aggravatin,' sassinatin', woman hatin' high-- brown-- blues."

***

I remembered songs. And in the night the American scene underwent a curious change. The whining, shouting Slavic folk tunes, the chants from the Congo, the rollicking street ditties from Paris, Prague, Vienna; Chinese, Malay, African, European, Asiatic--all of them lay in the anthems of our cabarets. Illiterate, monotonous jingles which stuttered out the loves and despairs, the gawky mirths and naive excitements of a conglomerate folk.

"Love me, love me," said the songs, "my man has gone away. I'm dying with grief, he's done thrown me down. I've got those dog gone dangerous blues."

And I thought of my friend sharpening his pencils in his hotel room. For my friend is an itinerant European critic writing impressions of the different places he visits. If I had Mr. Sandburg's guitar I would have sought out his hostelry and sung under his window.

"Frankie and Johnny were lovers.
Oh my God, how they did love.
Swore they'd be true to each other,
true as the stars above.

He was her man--
but he done her wrong."


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