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The War was over, the men were coming home. All Harlem was delirious with excitement. Everything conceivable must be done for "the boys," for those boys who having fought a double battle in France, one with Germany and one with white America, had yet marvelously, incredibly, returned safely home. There were all sorts and conditions of black men, Harvard graduates and Alabama farmhands. These last had seen Paris before they had seen New York and they blessed the War which had given them a chance to see the great capital.
There were parties, dances, fêtes, concerts, benefits. Everybody who possessed the least discernible "talent" was called upon; Joanna among them. She surprised even her most intimate friends by her graciousness. Night after night, when the performance was over, she appeared, splendid, glowing, symbolic before those huge dark masses in some uptown hall. The "boys," starved for a sight of their own women with their dark pervading beauty, went mad over her. She was indeed for them "Miss America," making them forget tonight the ingratitude with which their country would meet them tomorrow.