SITTING ON THE GATEPOST:
THE STORY OF
ZORA NEALE HURSTON
BY
JEFF BIGGERS
Smashwords Edition
Copyright
2011
William Gladden Foundation
ISBN #1-56456-303-0
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TABLE OF CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE:
The Awards Ceremony
CHAPTER TWO:
Eatonville
CHAPTER THREE:
Falling Off The Gatepost
CHAPTER FOUR:
On The Road
CHAPTER FIVE:
Back To School
CHAPTER SIX:
The Harlem Renaissance
CHAPTER SEVEN:
Writer, Storyteller, Anthropologist
VOCABULARY
REVIEW QUESTIONS
CHAPTER ONE:
THE AWARDS CEREMONY
It was a warm evening in Manhattan. Hundreds of people had already gone into the restaurant in one of the richest neighborhoods of New York City. Men were dressed in black jackets and ties. Women wore beautiful dresses and floppy hats. The dinner audience included some of the most famous writers and musicians in America.
Unlike other evenings and public meetings in the high-class restaurant, this crowd was different. Breaking down the racial barriers of the day, people talked and laughed at the tables, as white and black artists and citizens mixed freely. It was 1925, and this was a special dinner.
Sponsored by Opportunity, a magazine for African-American literature and culture, the dinner was part of the First Annual Opportunity Awards Ceremony, recognizing the winners of a writing contest. Out of over 700 entries, 15 prizes would be awarded.
An older man walked to the podium in the front of the room. The people in the crowd got quiet. Holding a piece of paper before him, the older man cleared his throat and then looked back into the audience.
There was a certain look about the group. They were sure, sophisticated and filled with energy. Looking around, the older man could spot some of the key figures in a new literary movement. Based in the black community of Harlem, led by African-American writers, poets and musicians, a new chapter of American literature was being written in that very moment. There was so much excitement and activity in the community. Some people called this period the “Harlem Renaissance.”
Rustling the paper, the older man caught everyone’s attention. His eyes singled out a young African-American woman sitting in the corner. A big smile stretched across her face. She was not just a regular dinner guest. She was a young writer. Her name was Zora Neale Hurston. She had won four of the 15 prizes, including second place for a play, and second place for her short story, “Spunky.”
Looking at all the famous people in the room, Zora could not believe the dinner was really happening. It was like a dream to her. Only days before, she had arrived in New York with less than $2.00 in her pocket. She was still amazed by the skyscrapers and the energy and action on the city streets, and she knew her future still would be hard.
“And the winner is Zora Neale Hurston,” she suddenly heard, as the older man called out her name.