Around the turn of the century, the wealthy folk here in America began having what they called “Poverty Parties.” They mostly provided entertainment for the snooty rich where they could poke fun of the poor and say that it was all in good fun. I seriously doubt the poor saw it that way.
One such party was at the home of D.W. Tripp in Athens, Pennsylvania. Guests were instructed to wear flour sack clothing, no jewelry, and speak in dialect.
Here’s a portion of Mr. Tripp’s invitation and it’s very difficult to read: “Every womin what kums must ware a Poverty dress and apern, er something ekelly erpropriate, an leave her poodle dog to hum.”
Fines were assessed for dressing too richly, such as having cigars in a man’s pocket, slicking his hair down, walking with a cane, etc. The party was a fundraiser and the money went toward building a new church. Not one cent to help the poor people they ridiculed.
The food consisted of corn meal mush served with an abundance of cream and sugar, brown and white bread sandwiches, apple and pumpkin pie, donuts and cookies. The table was bare of a cloth or napkins and the guests ate from tin plates and drank coffee from tin cups.
Such parties established even a greater divide between the classes. They parties came at a time of great inequality. Immigrants were suffering as well as black Americans. I’m sure they had a totally different view of these parties.
One snooty woman wrote an article in the 1905 copy of Bright Ideas for Entertaining that stressed that the tinware was always borrowed for the party. She wanted to make sure no one thought the entitled would actually “own” any.
Yet, later on into the 1920s, one brave woman wrote that Poverty Parties should be used to shine a light on the less fortunate instead of making fun of them and that the guests should do some real service to help the poor. Southern fraternities and sororities carried over this form of entertainment well into the 1950s. When they tired of that, they added unemployment parties where they stood in a bread line to get coffee and donuts.
Give me a break!
My parents were very poor with little to their name. They married in 1934, my dad in coveralls and mom in a borrowed dress. A government migrant camp was their home. They crisscrossed these United States following the crops. They saw little to laugh about in their situation. And when I came along, fourth in the lineup of five kids, our family lived in a tent that a kind farmer let them stretch on his land and pick cotton for him. So poverty parties? No thank you. Each day was a reminder of how little they had.
I had never heard of these Poverty Parties until I ran across an article about them. Have you? What do you think about this? Leave a comment to enter a drawing for a $10.00 Amazon gift card.
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She was sunshine. He was clouds. Until a sprig of mistletoe changed everything.