HANG MAN DROP
"A science man going to do the hang man drop." That was the news that spread by word of mouth in the early ’40s to all those who lived in Nelson Street, George Street, Piccadilly Street, Calvary Hill, Upper Duke Street and environs. My brother Victor and I were playing "Tarzan" at the time swinging on a big vine at the top of a small precipice at the back of our house in Jackson Place when we heard about it from a man who shouted out as he bolted down the hill. There was no need to find out the exact location of that momentous event because inside the Dry River at the bridge between Nelson Street and Piccadilly Street was the "entertainment centre." Often on Saturdays and Sundays, families would lean on the walls of the Dry River and take in the action of a cricket or football match between teams from Turn Back Alley and Siparia Hill or Schuller Street and Siparia Hill. Roadside vendors would sell delicacies such as toolums, halay, sugar cakes, pone and fudge. Across the road, in the passageways were bake and accra shops in profusion. Another attraction was the Hell Yard Steelband on the opposite side of Piccadilly Street. That entrance was on Duke Street but you had a perfect view of the band from across the river. The applause was thunderous when they played the only song on steel at that time — "Mary had a little lamb." When Victor and I heard the news, "Cheetah" — the chimpanzee cut the liana and "Tarzan" tumbled to the ground. That was not part of the game plan and it resulted in a fight between the beast and the man who lost the battle. I was "Tarzan." To see the "hang man drop," we had to get permission from our mother who did not hesitate to say, "No! You can’t go!" We told her how all the boys had left already and we were the only ones not going and we begged and begged until she relented," Alright, go but don’t stay long and don’t go in Hell Yard. And change your home clothes." We thought of going through the big manhole which would take us straight to the Dry River but with shoes and clean clothes, we decided against it. We ran as fast as we could all through Mango Rose, under the big plum trees, between the barrack houses to Rodriguez shop at Duke Street and dashed across Piccadilly Street to the bridge. The crowds were wild with applause. The death-defying "hang man drop" was completed. The "star" was rubbing the back of his neck and people were clapping and cheering him. Persons who saw the feat said, the rope was tied to one of the pillars of the bridge and he eased himself down slowly with the noose round his neck but both hands above his head holding on to the rope. Then he removed both hands from the rope and spread them out sideways for a second or two. He then grabbed the rope above his head with both hands again and his friends pulled him up to the ledge. Years later, I found out his name was Mitto Sampson who wrote his autobiography and named it Raped Child. He also contributed quite a number of historical articles to the Caribbean Quarterly magazine. The story is told of a man who was on a suicide mission up in a tree with the rope round his neck but just as he was about to jump down, he saw a vagrant watching and waiting below. He shouted, "Move from there, I want to kill myself." The vagrant shouted back, "You taking too long. I am waiting for your shoes, your belt and your clothes. Do it fast."
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"HANG MAN DROP"