Joe Turner’s Come and Gone: Act One: Scene One Summary & Analysis

In this opening scene, conflicting ideas about spirituality quickly emerge, and it becomes clear that Seth sees himself as a pragmatic man who doesn’t feel the need to seek meaning or purpose by way of spirituality. Indeed, he merely “put[s] up with” rituals and superstitions. Bertha, on the other hand, is flexible in her approach to faith. For her, mixing Christianity with folk magic doesn’t diminish either one, but rather doubles her chances of benefitting from either practice. When she says that she doesn’t know if it helps but is confident these measures don’t “hurt,” she casts spirituality in a rather utilitarian manner, portraying it as something that can be used to help a person.

When Wilson writes that Bynum gives the impression that “nothing ever bothers him” because he’s “lost in a world of his own making,” he illustrates how much a strong sense of spirituality can affect the way a person carries himself in the world. Indeed, Bynum’s entire identity is apparently oriented around his strong conviction that he is part of a “grand design,” a belief that ultimately allows him to “swallow any adversity.” As such, spirituality—for Bynum, at least—becomes a way of coping with an otherwise difficult and unpredictable world.

Seth reveals himself in this moment as deeply cynical of the optimism of black migrant workers traveling northward out of the South. To him, the idea of “drop[ping] everything” to explore relatively unknown employment prospects is foolish, especially since white people are also looking for work. This is an important point, since Seth brings up the very real fact that, although slavery has ended, the nation is still a long way from racial equality. Indeed, he suggests that it’s naïve for a black person to think they will be able to find good work just because there are jobs to be filled—what this mindset fails to take into account, Seth shows, is the racism still running throughout the country and dominating the workforce.

Despite Seth’s pessimism regarding employment opportunities in Northern cities, he himself seems to have procured a relatively stable and lucrative financial position, in which he can make deals with a white man. A black craftsman, he has found a way to sell his wares without having to go door-to-door himself; having Selig sell the products is beneficial to Seth, since Selig is white. After all, if Seth were the one going door-to-door, he’d be sure to make fewer sales due racial prejudice. In this way, Wilson shows that Seth has found a creative way to exist in an environment that might otherwise prove unaccommodating to a black man. This is perhaps why Seth is so discouraging of other African Americans traveling north to find jobs: he knows his own success story is rare.

Although it was perhaps an accident, the fact that Selig gave Seth fewer sheets of metal than he’d originally indicated is significant, since it suggests that Selig is perhaps not entirely honest. Of course, it would be in keeping with the racism still plaguing the country if Selig were trying to cheat Seth, despite the fact that he and Seth seem to have a cordial and smooth working relationship. As such, Wilson suggests that even black entrepreneurs who have found stability and good positions have to remain alert and on their guard when it comes to making transactions with white people.

In conjunction with the idea that there is a “secret of life” in the first place, the notion that a person can have a “song” of his “own” suggests a certain profound and fundamental conception of spirituality, one in which life and existence has a specific meaning (or a specific quality, as would be the case with a person’s “song”). When it comes to Bynum not having a song of his “own,” Wilson implies that each person has a defining spiritual element within themselves and that it’s their job to find or recognize it. 

Wilson never straightforwardly explains what it means to have a “song,” but it’s clear in this moment that Bynum conceives of his “song” as his defining element, something that gives purpose to his entire existence. This conception aligns with Wilson’s earlier description of Bynum, in which he says that Bynum exists in a world of his “own making,” one that places him in a “grand design.” This “grand design,” apparently, is to “bind” people, a fact that once again brings the idea of migration to the forefront of the play. Indeed, Bynum seems to have lived a life of transience himself, and he knows that people often wander away from one another, whether because they are driven to it or because they feel the pull of the open road and the possibilities it presents. The fact that he wants to reunite people, though, suggests that this kind of transience, this constant hope to find newer, better lives, is not always for the best.

Bynum’s assertion that Selig has to figure out the secret of life for himself is somewhat comedic, since he originally started telling his story under the pretense of telling his listener that very same secret. Nonetheless, this idea is very much in keeping with Bynum’s notion that each person must find their own “song”—no two songs will be the same, and so the secret of life will inevitably vary from person to person, too. What’s interesting about this notion is that it frames spirituality not as something that gives a person just one way of interpreting the world—as is often the case with standard religions—but something that can enable a person to embrace the ever-shifting, malleable nature of life and existence.

Jeremy’s story is a straightforward and blatant example of the ways in which young African Americans are still feeling the effects of the racism that has been ingrained in American culture. Nonetheless, Seth retains his strict mentality, showing Jeremy no sympathy at all, thereby further victimizing the young man in order to supposedly retain an air of respectability about his house—essentially expecting Jeremy to work around white racism, rather than holding whites accountable for the racism itself.

Wilson’s description of Herald once again calls upon the idea of a person’s internal “song,” though now he adds a new element, considering the ways in which this “song” interacts with the external world. Indeed, he says that Loomis is unable to “harmonize the forces that swirl around him,” indicating that the world is for some reason unwilling to accept the man’s identity (his “song”). Because of this, Loomis has to go out of his way to “recreate the world” around him so that it can accommodate him. This idea is at once sociological and existential—related to both the racist society Herald must find his way in and his most innate conception of himself as a human being existing in the world.

When Herald says he and Zonia have been traveling in any direction the road takes them, Wilson once again demonstrates just how much transience has worked its way into the lives of young African Americans in the decades following slavery. Loomis, though, isn’t looking for employment like the migrants Seth references in his earlier diatribe about travel and opportunity. Indeed, he’s searching for his wife, a more tangible reason to travel, though it’s rather strange to follow “whicheverway the road” goes as a way of tracking somebody down. On another note, Jeremy’s hesitancy to leave the house because of his negative experience with the police the previous night illustrates the very tangible ways racism can impact a person’s life.

Seth again proves himself a judgmental person, someone quick to jump to conclusions about others. This mentality is perhaps the result of his relative success as a black man trying to make a stable living in a racist society; having established himself as a reliable businessman, he’s obsessed with making sure his house is seen as respectable (assuming a white audience). As such, he’s prone to making snap judgments about other people, especially if they seem even slightly out of step with what he believes is normal. What’s more, Herald Loomis represents the kind of black man Seth resents: a migrant wandering aimlessly out of the South.

When Bynum says that Jack might not be “supposed to come back,” he implies by way of negation that certain things in life are “supposed” to happen. This is a deterministic way of thinking, a belief in a “grand design” that ultimately superimposes a greater sense of meaning and order on life. This is also in keeping with Bynum’s idea that each person has a “song” they must find within themselves, something that will add significance to life and give a person a sense of purpose. For Mattie to make Jack Carper come back, then, would mean singing the wrong “song,” ultimately further estranging her from what she’s “supposed” to do.

Bynum elaborates on his assertion that Jack isn’t “supposed to come back” to Mattie. Indeed, he indicates that Jack has become part of somebody else’s “grand design,” having been “bound up” to a different woman. This, he says, is unsalvageable, but he still gives Mattie a piece of cloth for good luck. When he does so, the audience might naturally wonder if he truly believes this cloth will bring her luck, or if he gives it to her because he wants to offer her a way of feeling in control of her life. After all, hope is a powerful thing, something that can impose order on otherwise defeatist and chaotic situations. By giving Mattie something to invest her faith in, then, Bynum allows her to gain a sense of agency over her own life.

Considering that Herald Loomis is also looking for his wife, it seems in this scene that the vast majority of characters in Joe Turner’s Come and Gone have been influenced by transience. Indeed, both Mattie and Jeremy have been left behind because their lovers decided to pick up and leave. This, it seems, inspires only more restlessness, as Jeremy indicates when he tells Mattie that his first impulse after his lover ran away was to run away himself. “That’s the only thing I could think of to do,” he says, suggesting that migration as a way of escaping unfavorable circumstances is cyclical, a method of responding to adversity that is almost contagious throughout the community.

Reuben’s inability to set Eugene’s pigeons free aligns with the play’s interest in how people keep one another restricted. First, all the characters except Selig are inhibited by the racism surrounding them in their newly post-slavery nation. Second, even Bynum’s interest in “binding” people together suggests a certain restrictive quality, since to “bind” is to tie or fasten somebody or something to something else. As such, Reuben’s refusal to free Eugene’s pigeons is yet another example of how the characters conceive of true freedom, clearly seeing it as something that requires a herculean emotional effort, one that allows a person to overcome the sense of hesitation keeping them from embracing liberty and independence.

When Reuben tells Zonia that her father is “scary” and that he has “mean-looking eyes,” the audience once again sees how Loomis must constantly contend with other people’s judgments. Indeed, even a small boy jumps to conclusions about Herald’s identity, assuming that he’s “mean” just because he looks weary. In the same way that Seth immediately decides Herald is shifty, Reuben judges him before allowing him to demonstrate who he really is. In turn, this aligns with the idea that Loomis has trouble “harmoniz[ing]” his internal song with the external world, which apparently keeps him from making a place for himself.