Iowa dance 1852

In 1852 an Hungarian couple was traveling in the United States. The wife, Theresa, records in her diary March 19th that a friend of theirs named Ujhazy living in Iowa gave them a description of life there. This description is in their book, White, Red, Black: Sketches of American Society in the United States, during the visit of their guests, by Frances and Theresa Pulszky.

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In winter the squatters have leisure, and wish to dance. A ball is to be got up; nor is amusement the sole thing considered. The squire who projects to give gratification, hopes at the same time to fill his pocket, and opens negotiations with some neighbour, by saying: ” I reckon we should fix a ball for the whole neighbourhood.” The day is appointed; the entrance-fee for a gentleman is one dollar, and he has the right to introduce a lady. The preparations now begin. All the neighbours who had not attended the meeting are visited, and invited to the ball; they are expected to lend knives, forks, spoons, cups, tumblers, to the common feast. The log-house, where the great event is to take place, is scrubbed; the floor is smoothed with the axe, wood is piled up in the yard. If the squire cannot provide sufficient venison, sugar, and tea, his neighbours must do it, and deduct the price from the entrance-fee. On the eve of the great day several of the neighbouring ladies are enrolled for the kitchen: wheaten and Indian-corn bread is baked; squash (pumpkin) and mince-pies are prepared; fowls are boiled, pork and venison roasted, and the jugs are filled with whiskey. Already, at ten o’clock in the morning, the gentlemen begin to arrive; they are inclined to enjoy as much as possible, and take out every farthing of their money. After the whiskey-jug has been handed round, one of them takes up the fiddle, and the others practise a little the orthodox steps of the dances handed down from father to son: a long row of carts approaches, crowded with ladies, who sit on chairs placed in the carts. The procession is headed by the spokesman of the company, appointed to his office by the squire. The gentlemen arrive on horseback; bullock-carts are in the rear, intermixed with strange riders—man, wife, and children on one and the same horse. In the yard they alight: “How do you do?” and “Where the deuce have you been staying so long?” is asked on every side. The ladies, wrapped in their red, blue, or white blankets, enter the house and throng round the chimney, and restore themselves from the chill by a hot beverage composed of warm whiskey and honey, whilst the gentlemen remain in the yard around the big fire, smoking, chewing, and freezing. When the ladies have put their dresses right, and arranged all their many-coloured ribbons and fineries, bought by the pioneers in the markets of Iowa and Indiana, the squire presents himself at the door and shouts out, “Ladies, dinner is ready; boys, take your partners!” The gentlemen press in, and proceed, each with his fair partner, to the other room, where the tables are laid; but as there is never sufficient space, the gentlemen have again to retreat, and a guard watches the door that the ladies may take their dinner quietly. After them it is the turn of the gentlemen; and when they have done, the spokesman begins to collect the charge for the entertainment, and the extra for the fiddle. He exerts all his eloquence to rouse the generosity of the guests, and to get more than the fee agreed for. He speaks about the unparalleled trouble and expenses of the undertaker, and how splendid has been the dinner; he addresses the wealthier settlers by name, and says: ” Fellow, you can pay double.” But the backwoodsmen are tough; they protest that they cannot afford more than the others, and they find fault with the dinner. At last the money is collected, the fiddling begins; the great coat and the muskrat cap are thrown aside, and in their ball costumes of antiquated cut—but all with very dashing shirt-collars,—they present themselves again to the ladies. It is a strange exhibition of all the different fashions of all the last twenty years; a tailor of long standing would at once find out in what year those gentlemen have left the civilization of cities for the backwoods. The room is small, therefore only eight pairs are allowed to dance at once; they jump, they stamp, and jerk, until they are out of breath; the gentlemen chew, but whilst they dance they do not spit. But at once the fiddler puts down the bow, and declares that he will not play any longer without additional pay; he is tired, he cannot do more. The spokesman, who has to keep up order, steps forth and appeals to the generosity of the company, and endeavours on the other side to lower the pretensions of the musician until a new bargain is concluded. The whiskey is again tasted; at midnight, supper is served, though the squire protests that he is out of provision; the dance continues till morning, and after breakfast the party returns as it came.

Iowa dance 1871

– from A Son of the Middle Border, by Hamlin Garland, 1917

Hamlin Garland was an American writer who documented the fiddlers in his extended family. They lived in Wisconsin until he was 8 years old then moved to northern Iowa. Here is an excerpt from his autobiography. He describes a dance scene which happened in 1871:

Old Daddy Fairbanks

Once at a dance in neighbor Button’s house, mother took the “dare” of the fiddler and with shy smile played The Fisher’s Hornpipe or some other simple melody and was mightily cheered at the close of it, a brief performance which she refused to repeat. Afterward she and my’ father danced and this seemed a very wonderful performance, for to us they were “old”—far past such frolicking, although he was but forty and she thirty-one!

At this dance I heard, for the first time, the local professional fiddler, old Daddy Fairbanks, as quaint a character as ever entered fiction, for he was not only butcher and horse doctor but a renowned musician as well. Tall, gaunt and sandy, with enormous nose and sparse projecting teeth, he was to me the most enthralling figure at this dance and his queer “Calls” and his “York State” accent filled us all with delight. “Ally man left,” “Chassay by your pardners,” “Dozy-do” were some of the phrases he used as he played Honest John and Haste to the Wedding. At times he sang his calls in high nasal chant, “Firstlady lead to the right, deedle, deedle dum-dum—gent foller after—dally-deedle-do-do—. three hands round”—and everybody laughed with frank enjoyment of his words and action.

It was a joy to watch him “start the set.” With fiddle under his chin he took his seat in a big chair on the kitchen table in order to command the floor. “Farm on, farm on!” he called disgustedly. “Lively now!” and then, when all the couples were in position, with one mighty No. 14 boot uplifted, with bow laid to strings he snarled, “Already—Gelang!” and with a thundering crash his foot came down, “Honors Tew your pardners— right and left Four!” And the dance was on!

I suspect his fiddlin’ was not even “nuddliny’ but he beat time fairly well and kept the dancers somewhere near to rhythm, and so when his ragged old cap went round he often got a handful of quarters for his toil. He always ate two suppers, one at the beginning of the party and another at the end. He had a high respect for the skill of my Uncle David and was grateful to him and other better musicians for their noninterference with his professional engagements.

© 2013 Mi