Two-Headed Ladies and Friday Night Card Throws
My great-aunt was one of a handful of two-headed ladies in her small Tennessee town. For those of you unfamiliar with the term, Two-Headed Ladies were the people you consulted when you wanted to know the sex of a baby en utero, whether your man was cheating, and how the Vols were going to do that year. The role of a Two-Headed Lady was part village soothsayer and part source of stupid fun.
While I am not sure mi Tia ever hosted a card party, I do know she was a reader and chart maker for hire. Her house was a fascinating place filled with her loom, her husband's various craft projects, a few rather awe-inspiring artifacts from the old country, and piles of astrology magazines.
Her sister, my grandmother, viewed all of this with a mix of disdain and assimilationist fundy protestant disapproval. She discouraged me from having much to do with my great-aunt. My visits to her house were rare. She might have had some extra gifts of her own and knew I would find everything about her and her space fascinating.*
It was during one of these visits that I noticed an astrology magazine with a cover story about the comparative charts of the actresses who played the title role in Annie. Being a theatre mad teen, I wanted to know all about it. Tia took the magazine away and said my grandmother wouldn't have it. She did relent and tell me "the one with the long face and big, soulful eyes would be the most successful." It's safe to say that Sarah Jessica Parker ended up having the best acting careers of the first gen Broadway Annies. There was no way Tia would read my cards, make a chart, etc. She adored my father and by extension me as well, but she didn't want to risk the righteous wrath of Abuela.
So I missed out. A lot of other people didn't. When someone from that town hears my last name and asks me if I have people there, the next name mentioned is often Tia's. They smile and talk about their mothers, aunts, grandmas, and others who visited her to get some clarity and comfort punctuated by her gentle laugh.
This is where I tell you something else about Tia that you might not believe if you're not familiar with Southern Christianity before we got so homogenous with the rest of the country. Like many of her sisters in seeing, she never missed church. In fact, it's a good bet the people at her church knew how she made her folding money. Before the cultural homogeneity that brought about strips of fast food franchises and big denominations with spirituality to match, it wasn't uncommon to find your Sunday School teacher planted by the moon or signs, spoke with the dead, and could read leaves, grounds, and cards.
Decades later, when I was doing field collection on the subject, I found the two-headed ladies I interviewed would often refer to themselves as Christians and church members in good standing. The white ladies who wouldn't dare contradict Old Farmers Almanac when it came to setting out their tomatoes had their lesson plans for Sunday morning ready by Thursday night. The African American women who were ridden by the Loas on Friday were coiffed, begloved, and wore their hats at a perfect angle; all in preparation for getting happy for The Lord. On Sunday, nothing but The Bible was read and no rootworking happened unless the ox was in the ditch. (Luke 14:5)
It was during this field work on the subject and some later conversations that I had with women in north central Tennessee that I heard about "card parties" or "Friday Night Throws." These guest list might cross generational lines, but were almost never attended by the menfolk. Many of those same attendees often knew each other through work, church, and by dint of being neighbors. While there was some divining going on, this was also a chance to talk about matters that might not be considered appropriate in mixed company. Unplanned pregnancies, financial shortfalls, and plotted escapes from abusive situations happened during these Friday night throws. This was not talked about as it was something ordinary in the rural south and urban areas where vestigial practices lingered. It simply was. No need to make a fuss over it.
With some exceptions, this practice is almost gone, replaced by dogmatic fear and breaks in the continuity of regional ad familial lifeways. Is it gone forever? Only if we don't ask questions. Those windows of opportunity can open at times. An older woman might eye a shelf of oracle decks and wryly observe that their aunt could "read fortunes with a deck of plain old playing cards." My own mother tells stories of kitchen crops planted at the wrong time. According to her, "Those plants grew big and bloomed just as pretty as you please, but they didn't bear one squash!" She also mentioned that her mother warned her father, who didn't listen -that time- but she knew he would from now on, so she never said, "I told you so."
This motherwit belongs to all of us. We should be asking questions while we can and keeping a record of how it happened. This is how we put the pieces together to see clearly who we were and who we are.
*Then again, it might have simply been that special perceptiveness adults can have about the children in their lives. My dad used to tell me I would "grow up to cry over the Indians." (Not a compliment.) Thanks for the anthropology degree, Dad!
May 31, 2023
While I am not sure mi Tia ever hosted a card party, I do know she was a reader and chart maker for hire. Her house was a fascinating place filled with her loom, her husband's various craft projects, a few rather awe-inspiring artifacts from the old country, and piles of astrology magazines.
Her sister, my grandmother, viewed all of this with a mix of disdain and assimilationist fundy protestant disapproval. She discouraged me from having much to do with my great-aunt. My visits to her house were rare. She might have had some extra gifts of her own and knew I would find everything about her and her space fascinating.*
It was during one of these visits that I noticed an astrology magazine with a cover story about the comparative charts of the actresses who played the title role in Annie. Being a theatre mad teen, I wanted to know all about it. Tia took the magazine away and said my grandmother wouldn't have it. She did relent and tell me "the one with the long face and big, soulful eyes would be the most successful." It's safe to say that Sarah Jessica Parker ended up having the best acting careers of the first gen Broadway Annies. There was no way Tia would read my cards, make a chart, etc. She adored my father and by extension me as well, but she didn't want to risk the righteous wrath of Abuela.
So I missed out. A lot of other people didn't. When someone from that town hears my last name and asks me if I have people there, the next name mentioned is often Tia's. They smile and talk about their mothers, aunts, grandmas, and others who visited her to get some clarity and comfort punctuated by her gentle laugh.
This is where I tell you something else about Tia that you might not believe if you're not familiar with Southern Christianity before we got so homogenous with the rest of the country. Like many of her sisters in seeing, she never missed church. In fact, it's a good bet the people at her church knew how she made her folding money. Before the cultural homogeneity that brought about strips of fast food franchises and big denominations with spirituality to match, it wasn't uncommon to find your Sunday School teacher planted by the moon or signs, spoke with the dead, and could read leaves, grounds, and cards.
Decades later, when I was doing field collection on the subject, I found the two-headed ladies I interviewed would often refer to themselves as Christians and church members in good standing. The white ladies who wouldn't dare contradict Old Farmers Almanac when it came to setting out their tomatoes had their lesson plans for Sunday morning ready by Thursday night. The African American women who were ridden by the Loas on Friday were coiffed, begloved, and wore their hats at a perfect angle; all in preparation for getting happy for The Lord. On Sunday, nothing but The Bible was read and no rootworking happened unless the ox was in the ditch. (Luke 14:5)
It was during this field work on the subject and some later conversations that I had with women in north central Tennessee that I heard about "card parties" or "Friday Night Throws." These guest list might cross generational lines, but were almost never attended by the menfolk. Many of those same attendees often knew each other through work, church, and by dint of being neighbors. While there was some divining going on, this was also a chance to talk about matters that might not be considered appropriate in mixed company. Unplanned pregnancies, financial shortfalls, and plotted escapes from abusive situations happened during these Friday night throws. This was not talked about as it was something ordinary in the rural south and urban areas where vestigial practices lingered. It simply was. No need to make a fuss over it.
With some exceptions, this practice is almost gone, replaced by dogmatic fear and breaks in the continuity of regional ad familial lifeways. Is it gone forever? Only if we don't ask questions. Those windows of opportunity can open at times. An older woman might eye a shelf of oracle decks and wryly observe that their aunt could "read fortunes with a deck of plain old playing cards." My own mother tells stories of kitchen crops planted at the wrong time. According to her, "Those plants grew big and bloomed just as pretty as you please, but they didn't bear one squash!" She also mentioned that her mother warned her father, who didn't listen -that time- but she knew he would from now on, so she never said, "I told you so."
This motherwit belongs to all of us. We should be asking questions while we can and keeping a record of how it happened. This is how we put the pieces together to see clearly who we were and who we are.
*Then again, it might have simply been that special perceptiveness adults can have about the children in their lives. My dad used to tell me I would "grow up to cry over the Indians." (Not a compliment.) Thanks for the anthropology degree, Dad!
May 31, 2023