“Come along, Mimi, we can’t stand here all night—dinner’s ready at home,” urged Mrs. Rogers. Mimi could have stood there for hours. The colourful scenes fascinated her, made her want to stay there and watch the comedies, the tragedies, the shifting panorama of life as it flowed, now swiftly, now slowly, by. Down Lenox Avenue they walked. Harlem, which first had been Dutch “Haarlem,” then Irish, afterwards Jewish and German, was in the flood-tide of transition to a Negro city within a city. From the doorway of a former private dwelling in a side street near bustling Lenox Avenue came a resonant flooding swell of music. High above the rest sounded a heavy baritone, chopping off of the words like little sausages, setting the beat like a metronome for the other singers.
“What a friend we have in Jesus, All our sins and griefs to bear.”
Verse after verse poured forth, mingling with the clatter and roar of the crowds outside. Mimi and her aunt paused unwittingly outside. The song had ceased. The baritone voice of the preacher was lifted in prayer, his words punctuated by fervent “Amens!” and “Hallelujahs!” and “Praise Gods!”
“We are vile, sinful creatures, O Lord, strayed from the path You tol’ us to follow. (Ain’t it the Gospel!) Reach down from Thy heaven with a sword of flaming fire and wipe from the face of the earth these hellholes of vice that’re sending the souls of our boys and girls to damnation! (Yes, Lord, reach down!—Amen!) Wipe out, Jesus, the dance halls and theatres, the gamblers and the drunkards, the wolves in sheep’s clothes who’re workin’ ’gainst Thy cause. … Purify us, Lord! Save us! Save us! …”
The preacher’s voice swayed and rumbled, excoriating the sinners, pleading for redemption of their souls, damning to everlasting hellfire those who were unrepentant. The unseen voice was talking to a God who was no mystery to him, a very real and ever present and potent Deity. Down the street his words followed them as they went home. …