Wearing Dunbar’s Mask

A fictional account of an interview with Paul Dunbar, writer.

Wearing Dunbar’s Mask

By Joseph Parish

Life can positively be an experience involving many diverse facades. These facets extend into all shapes, sizes and manner of situations. One such enigma captured my attention on a particular evening during the month of February. I had just concluded an evening of writing at my desk, and prepared myself for a pleasurable night of satisfying sleep. It was not long after I ascended into bed until I was blissfully drifting within time and space, popping in and out of my dream state. Vaguely, I could perceive a far distant figure and for some odd and perplexing reason I was aware of who that distant fellow was. Lo and behold, before my very eyes materialize Saint Peter, in his white robe with a beautiful band of light emitting from his head.

The apparition addressed me by name, as if he had also been knowledgeable of my identity, and I nervously took his cue and followed suit with a personal greeting to him. Without wasting any further valuable time, he declared, “So you want to be a writer, do you?” For which I merely nodded my head in agreement. “I am at liberty to grant you one opportunity to interview a famous writer.” He explained. “That writer is Mr. Paul Laurence Dunbar.”

I contemplated briefly for a few moments endeavoring to match the name with a work of literature. Suddenly, as if by a strike of sudden lightning, I recalled several of Mr. Dunbar’s epic, poetic works. To those kind readers who may only be on a cursory basis with Paul Dunbar, he is an American poet and novelist who pursued his writing vocation during the late 19th centuries. Dunbar’s parents were slaves prior to the Civil War, of which he wrote often as a young child. After publishing his first poem at the age of 16, Mr. Dunbar established beyond a doubt, the credibility of his skills involving the manipulation of the printed word. The poem, “Our Martyred Soldiers” appeared in the local Dayton newspaper and was demonstrated to be a triumphant elegy.

Again, Saint Peter beckoned to speak with me. “Prior to beginning your personal interview with Mr. Dunbar, I would like to provide you with some background material to fill in the gaps during his final days.” With that being said, bulbous clouds formed and gradually parted in the middle, reminding me of Moses and his account at the Red Sea. Saint Peter with a slight wave of his hands exposed an image of a black man sitting at his desk diligently writing as the appearance of a young woman took shape near to him.

“Paul Dunbar, I declare. Are you still up at this ungodly hour writing your poems?” Asked a rather sleepy dark-skinned lady.

Paul looked up from his desk and faced his wife replying with a loving smile, “Now my dear Alice, it isn’t actually that late, and I really feel I should get this work completed and to my publisher. After all, money buys food and pays the rent you know.”

Glancing towards his wife’s face, Paul was abstractedly seeking an approving response to his reply, however, all he acquired for his efforts was an agreeing smile. Alice was a teacher and a poet as well. Perhaps that was the crucial key which made their marriage a bond sealed in heaven. Spinning back once again to watch Alice, Paul promptly made one of his continual compliments to her.

“You are in fact one of the sweetest, smartest little girls I ever saw," and then without haste he returned to his writing. Alice could only depart the room with a tear flowing from her eye as she knew that Paul had recently been diagnosed with tuberculosis which was generally fatal.

I was taken back by the events which I witnessed occurring before my eyes and begin reminiscing about an old college reading assignment entitled “We Wear the Mask” written by Paul Laurence Dunbar. My heart sped up, for here, I bordered on the verge of interviewing the very same man who authored that famous poem. By now, for some miraculous reason which I suspect Saint Peter was behind, the clouds had completely faded from view and it was morning of the following day. I surprisingly stood at Mr. Dunbar’s front door tolerantly awaiting someone to answer my knock. The door slowly opened and I was cordially ushered into the parlor. Before me stood a gentleman extending his hand to me in a gesture of friendship. Naturally, I shook his hand robustly and we proceeded to convene with our scheduled interview.

“What was your specific meaning intended in the poem, we all wear masks,” I blurted out to Mr. Dunbar with an unnatural urgency to get the interrogate moving along smoothly.

“That is easy,” he rushed his reply back, “We all wear masks of some sort to hide our true feelings, whether we are revealing racial disparities or endorsing a specific lifestyle. In my case, I try to be objective, and within my frame of experience provide my reader with a measure of inspiration, yet revealing my own pain and suffering from which I too bury myself within a mask.

My response to his comment was, “Do you refute from the taking of sides in your testimonials scripts?” However, Mr. Dunbar paused vaguely as he readily pointed out that he reports the issues relating to both the black and the white sides equally. With respect, he alleged that he may possess his own opinion, but wisely keeps them hidden within him all the while maintaining a relatively cool and understated attitude.

I developed an impression from both Mr. Dunbar and from the interpretation of his lines within the poem that he had no intention what-so-ever of arguing his points to people, but rather his attitude are merely to educate the masses. In his poem, Dunbar explained how men often avoid the truth by endorsing masks which people wear to hide their true identities. This poem clearly shows the authors cry of suffering, displaying his personal regrets while penetrating the reality of the black man's plight at the time.

I noticed that in observation of the racial climate which existed in the late 19th century, Dunbar felt obligated to adapt to the lifestyles of the plantation, thus masking his honest opinions and feelings. Even the poet’s writing showed a marked dominance of masking its link to the black race. Not once do we find reference to any racial implications; however, we do find without a direct mention, a serious poem based upon black subjects. He secretly exposes the hypocrisy and the deception as it relates to the life of a black man. A typical example of this would be in the lines which read:

“We wear the mask that grins and lies”

“It hides our cheeks and shades our eyes"

After a brief discussion of these lines with the writer, I discovered that Dunbar was very cunning in his attempts to show that it is the mask grinning and not a black man. According to Dunbar, the “We” collectively implies the black race, hidden within the words of the poem, while one discovers that the word "lies" likely references the mask as lying to the Black man who may be wearing it about how content they may actually be. While, “It hides the cheeks and shades the eyes,” may insinuate the concealment of their tears as the person outwardly smiles. Symbolically, "Cheeks" often references how we are actually feeling, keeping in mind the act of blushing by men and women. The "eyes" it has been said are frequently viewed as windows to one’s soul. If both of these traits are hidden, we then know that we are failing to show our true feelings and thus hiding them.

Although not at the level of a black man, I admitted to Mr. Dunbar that I too can relate to this same sort of response as I try to instill a sense of accountability in my family and friends. Far too many times people view the process of being responsible as something which others should contend with. It is as if they too are wearing a mask and hiding their true dutifully nature. In his poem, Dunbar mentions the word “guile” which by definition is indicative of deceitful behavior, indicating that the debt owed to mankind was not real. It is easy to visualize people being what they actually are not, since it takes place each and every day in our modern society. I encounter this often when I attempt to speak with certain members of my immediate family. Unfortunately, I find fake mind sets which lay claim to abilities, skills and knowledge that is unproven, untested and often times unsafe. In one word I can suggest how Mr. Dunbar feels and that word is frustration.

Finally, my interview at drawn to a close and Saint Peter was actively motioning for me to abandon the gentleman’s side. Knowing that my sabbatical had concluded, I thanked Mr. Dunbar for his gracious guidance and once again in a position to shake the hand of a true professional. Before long, I was once again in the confines of my bed. No longer did I hear the words of Mr. Dunbar or witness the motions from Saint Peter, but I contended to hear the sound of the unfriendly alarm clock telling me it was time to get up and write this tale.

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