Roger writes…
In the early hours of 9 February 1963, a drunk tobacco farmer, William Zantzinger, was at a dance at the Emerson Hotel, Baltimore. He was carrying a toy cane. When he felt that the barmaid, Hattie Carroll, was taking too long over preparing his drink, he hit her with the cane. She died of a brain haemorrhage eight hours later.
Time magazine reported what happened afterwards as follows:
In June, after Zantzinger’s phalanx of five topflight attorneys won a change of venue to a court in Hagerstown, a three-judge panel reduced the murder charge to manslaughter. Following a three-day trial, Zantzinger was found guilty. For the assault on the hotel employees: a fine of $125. For the death of Hattie Carroll: six months in jail and a fine of $500. The judges considerately deferred the start of the jail sentence until September 15, to give Zantzinger time to harvest his tobacco crop.
For his The Times They Are A-Changin’ album Bob Dylan wrote one of his most moving and eloquent ballads about the event, ‘The Lonesome Death of Hattie Carroll’:
William Zanzinger killed poor Hattie Carroll
With a cane that he twirled around his diamond ring finger
At a Baltimore hotel society gath’rin’
And the cops were called in and his weapon took from him
As they rode him in custody down to the station
And booked William Zanzinger for first-degree murder
But you who philosophize disgrace and criticize all fears
Take the rag away from your face
Now ain’t the time for your tears.
William Zanzinger who at twenty-four years
Owns a tobacco farm of six hundred acres
With rich wealthy parents who provide and protect him
And high office relations in the politics of Maryland
Reacted to his deed with a shrug of his shoulders
And swear words and sneering and his tongue it was snarling
In a matter of minutes on bail was out walking
But you who philosophize disgrace and criticize all fears
Take the rag away from your face
Now ain’t the time for your tears.
Hattie Carroll was a maid in the kitchen
She was fifty-one years old and gave birth to ten children
Who carried the dishes and took out the garbage
And never sat once at the head of the table
And didn’t even talk to the people at the table
Who just cleaned up all the food from the table
And emptied the ashtrays on a whole other level
Got killed by a blow, lay slain by a cane
That sailed through the air and came down through the room
Doomed and determined to destroy all the gentle
And she never done nothing to William Zanzinger
And you who philosophize disgrace and criticize all fears
Take the rag away from your face
Now ain’t the time for your tears.
In the courtroom of honor, the judge pounded his gavel
To show that all’s equal and that the courts are on the level
And that the strings in the books ain’t pulled and persuaded
And that even the nobles get properly handled
Once that the cops have chased after and caught ’em
And that ladder of law has no top and no bottom
Stared at the person who killed for no reason
Who just happened to be feelin’ that way witout warnin’
And he spoke through his cloak, most deep and distinguished
And handed out strongly, for penalty and repentance
William Zanzinger with a six-month sentence
Oh, but you who philosophize disgrace and criticize all fearsv
Bury the rag deep in your face
For now’s the time for your tears.
I mention all this because recently I went to hear the second in a series of four lectures on Dylan by Christopher Ricks, whom I’ve got to know a little over the last few months. The lecture focused entirely on the song, which Ricks — who confessed that he is ‘besotted’ with Dylan — described as ‘perfect’. He brought out many things I wouldn’t otherwise have noticed: how the endings of each line, except for ‘cane’, are all feminine, which contributes to the haunting lyrical quality of the ballad; how Dylan never mentions that Hattie is black; how he mis-spells Zantzinger’s name (perhaps as a mark of contempt?); how the idea of Zantzinger’s being on bail out walking brings home his callousness and lack of concern so much more effectively than that of his walking out on bail; and much else. There was some inconclusive discussion about who Dylan has in mind as ‘those who philosophize disgrace’ (don’t look at me), and the reference to ashtrays. Catherine sorted out the latter for me later — this is clearly a contrast with the source of Zantzinger’s wealth. Hattie is at the other end of the food chain. Ricks believes Dylan to be a poet of genius, and during his discussion comparisons were drawn at various points with Wordsworth and Blake. I’m inclined to agree with Longinus that it’s too early to tell. Will Dylan’s songs, and words, survive the centuries?
When Ricks describes the song as perfect, he’s referring to the original recording of it. He thinks it is unrepeatable, in the sense that it cannot be improved. He played us some later bootleg recordings, which I have to say strongly supported his claim. The later versions, with their sing-a-long choruses, detracted from the gentle and highly personal nature of the original, in which Hattie’s individuality is not overridden in the interests of a general ‘protest song’.
A rather nice touch when we left — each of us was allowed to choose a bootleg CD to take home. I chose ‘Ricks’ Picks vol. 5′, recorded in Hartford, Connecticut on 24 November 1975. It does contain one of of the sub-standard performances of ‘Hattie Carroll’, but much else, including ‘Simple Twist of Fate’. Thanks, Christopher. I’ll be back for lectures 3 and 4.
BrookLines 