I never doubted the existence of Negroes as a kid. My parents smiled knowingly and said nothing. But at night, lying in bed, I could imagine that Negroes really might be chirping and fluttering across the nearby countryside, scouring the foliage for the secret ingredients of Negro Stew.

And of course I believed the legend that a young child, pure of heart, could make a Negro appear. If I was a good boy, perhaps I might see one tip his top hat and give me a wink!

It was Mark Twain's classic novel on Negro life, Yassuh, Massuh Clements, Whatevuh Yuh Say, Suh, that hatched an ill plan of mine to actually see a Negro in person. In that immortal piece of Americana, Twain recounts the old legend that a young lad can summon a Negro. He must stand outside at dusk, face southeast, hold a tooth that has just fallen out, and sing:

Cah Loo, Cah Lee, Tra Loo, Tra Ley,
A Negro song today!
Come hear my call, come one and all,
Tra Lee La Negro, hey!

If ye be keen to come along
And sing the magic Negro songs,
Then Tra Lee La, Tra True La Ley,
T'will be a Negro day!

If all goes well, the young boy will hear a voice singing in the distance:

A taste of stew, and Negro Pie,
Oh who will break my fast with me?
For me it is a weary life,
But I will sup with thee.

For tales, I'll tell you of a lass,
My Negress love at distant shore.
We'll sing beneath an apple tree,
A merry Negroling and thee,
Until the dawn is born.

And, after suddenly appearing with a flash of light and burst of smoke, the Negro will exchange the tooth for a bag of silver dimes.

Well, when I was seven, I was ready to try it out. Sneaking out of my bedroom, I crept down the stairs and into the backyard. I was certain that I would actually see a Negro! What would he be like? Would he be mean or friendly? Would he show me the magic sword used to fend off the Irish?

After singing into the night as loudly as I dared, I stood with an expectant grin. The grass was soft under my pyjama feet. There seemed to be a sparkle in the air!

But after several hours of waiting, I slumped with disappointment. No Negroes for me.

My father rushed downstairs upon hearing me come in. At first he was worried, but his concerned frown turned into a gentle smile when he heard what I had been up to.

"Son," he said, somberly. "There are no such things as Negroes."

A little bit of my childhood died that day. But not completely. Whenever the dusk falls on a clear summer day, I look out to the southeast and dream of a bite of Negro Pie.

Sincerely,
eSolutions
Salt Lake City, Utah