American Tall Tales: The Myth of John Henry

I’m going to introduce this article by saying this is the beginning of a thought process. The intentions of this piece is not to provide a well-researched thesis but to provide insight into the process of building a formulated thought. I tend to think and talk to people in a stream on conscious fashion until I find the point. I’ve found that I think as If I’m walking a tight rope with the ability to walk on air like a cartoon at will and If I reign myself in I’ll see the ground and lose all train of thought. It’s like talking to a child at times, curiosity duct tapes the adult in the brain telling me to be quiet. I’m intrigued by how others formulate their opinions so I will share my unadulterated meandering of a musing on the subject of the American folk tale Hero John Henry.

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The storyteller in me might be exaggerating a bit, but the game of telephone is the most important game I’ve ever played. I’m interested in why a story resonates after such a long time. How Greek stories can still find resonance with an audience now. It’s fascinating that the Illiad can be read in high school classrooms and spark interest. Telephone reminds me of the passing down of storytelling. The hallmark game meant to teach grade school kids a lesson about rumors. The rules were simple, someone would say a phrase with the intention of it returning unscathed back to the speaker. Children, being smaller versions of people would find all sorts of ways to muddle the words whether it be intentional or by accident. When I think of telephone I think of oral storytelling and the great American myth.  Oral storytelling is a proud tradition that is entrenched in the marrow of our all too human bones. Storytelling transcends a specific homogenous culture, we find ourselves able to share experience through the tale of another. My mind is currently on people, specifically stories driven by the hero. 

Some people and events have a way of taking on a life of their own, I’m no different as I tend to exaggerate the heroics of another John: John Elway, from time to time. The Drive lives on in the lore of many native Coloradoans.

 People become stories and the cessation of their time on Earth does not bring an end to their story, perhaps they cease to be the writer and become the words themselves. Words that we, the living, keep alive. Memory is often like telephone. Time is the class clown, mixing up the words with the intention of cracking a smile.  People become something else in memory. Time through the craft of memory allows the dead new life. They become folk heroes, we grab onto ideals we believe they held.

I love the American folk tale. Johnny Appleseed, Paul Bunyan, the Wild West. I’m thinking about John Henry currently. The American folktale that we're all familiar with. The tale says that John Henry competed against a locomotive and was victorious, albeit dying in his victory. I’m going to assume if you’re reading this that you are familiar with the story. I won’t waste words retelling it. The irony of writing about John Henry on a personal computer in a house with heating is not lost on me. I love machines and hate them at the same time. I asked myself why I’m thinking of it and I feel like my fears of becoming obsolete are at the root of it. I grew up watching the Terminator and The Matrix. I can’t help being a little bit afraid of being replaced by a robot cashier that can do my job. Part of me wonders about a robot lawyer team defending a robot for attacking another robot and I’m on the sidelines watching. I fear not doing anything. I like screwing up and learning.

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 The American folkloric hero John Henry is one that I’ve found myself drawn to my entire life. The earliest memory of being involved with school play involved me wielding a hammer made from construction paper and swinging away at similarly constructed steel spikes into a carpet railroad.  Whre I’m at mentally is that I’m all at once wanting to disconnect and connect at the same time. I love being around people. Absolutely love it. But at times it feels best to crawl away. To get away from constant movement. I feel like John Henry at times. In competition against a machine to prove that I can win. The machine doesn’t falter, it does not get tired, but it cannot replace me. Of course It can replace the work I do but I feel like there may always be a sense of an uncanny valley. There is something too sleek in efficiency to ever be human. The lesson I get now is different than what I first received as a kid. I don’t look at the story as a tale of machismo about mighty hammer wielding hero. The defeat of our heroes reminds me of my own obsolescence. At one point I will cease to provide a service to a community. I will cease to be a working part. Something or someone will replace me. I know I am not special. While I may be a protagonist in my story, I like the role of an ensemble member, loner, background charcter, narrator, and observer. Before I get too Shakespearean, I’ll get back to John Henry and wrap it up. The quirks people have. The character of a person. John Henry is synonymous with his hammer. The hammer was a part of him. Finding out what role you have in a community feels like being presented with the gift of a tool. The hammer if you will. Hammering away is an expression I’ve heard time and time again. The world is full of nails. I have to wield the hammer and swing away.

 The experience of getting to know someone over time. It’s like building a railroad, it takes building a railroad tie over time. People have their own hammers. I’m often reminded of the lives of people around me that exist in objects, in art, in small conversations. The value I find in John Henry is the worth of those around me. There are people in my life that fascinate me, captivate me, and exist in my mind through memories and imagination. I think of conversations I’ve had and didn’t have, tip toeing between illusion and fact. My mind plays telephone with me daily, every second I find myself creating folk tales of people.  I just don’t want to get the phrase wrong.