UP FROM
SLAVERY: AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY
by Booker
T. Washington
PREFACE
This
volume is the outgrowth of a series of articles, dealing with incidents in my life, which were published
consecutively in the Outlook. While they were appearing in that magazine I
was constantly surprised at the number of requests which came to me from all
parts of the country, asking that the articles be permanently preserved in book form. I am most grateful to the Outlook for permission
to gratify these requests.
I have
tried to tell a simple, straightforward story, with no attempt at embellishment. My regret is that what I have attempted
to do has been done so imperfectly. The greater part of my time and strength is
required for the executive work connected with the Tuskegee Normal and Industrial Institute, and
in securing the money necessary for the
support of the institution. Much of what
I have said has been written on board trains, or at hotels or railroad stations while I have been waiting for
trains, or during the moments that I
could spare from my work while at
CHAPTER I
A SLAVE AMONG SLAVES
I WAS born a slave on a plantation in
My life had its beginning in the midst of the most
miserable, desolate, and discouraging
surroundings. This was so, however,
not because my owners were especially
cruel, for they were not, as compared
with many others. I was born in a
typical log cabin, about fourteen by
sixteen feet square. In this cabin I
lived with my mother and a brother and
sister till after the Civil War, when we were all declared free.
Of my ancestry I know almost nothing. In the slave quarters, and even later, I heard whispered conversations
among the coloured people of the tortures
which the slaves, including, no doubt, my ancestors on my mother's side, suffered in the middle
passage of the slave ship while being
conveyed from
The cabin was not only our living-place, but was also used
as the kitchen for the plantation. My mother was the plantation cook. The
cabin was without glass windows; it had only openings in the side which let in the light, and also the cold,
chilly air of winter. There was a door
to the cabin - that is, something that was called a door - but the uncertain hinges by which it
was hung, and the large cracks in it, to
say nothing of the fact that it was too small, made the room a very uncomfortable one. In addition to these openings there was, in the lower right-hand corner of
the room, the "cat-hole," - a contrivance which almost every mansion
or cabin in
The early years of my life, which were spent in the little
cabin, were not very different from
those of thousands of other slaves.
My mother, of course, had little
time in which to give attention to the
training of her children during the day.
She snatched a few moments for
our care in the early morning before her work began, and at night after the day's work was done. One of my earliest recollections is that of my mother cooking a chicken late at
night, and awakening her children for
the purpose of feeding them. How or
where she got it I do not know. I presume, however, it was procured from our
owner's farm. Some people may call this theft. If such a thing were to happen now, I should condemn it as theft
myself. But taking place at the time it did, and for the reason that it
did, no one could ever make me believe that
my mother was guilty of thieving. She
was simply a victim of the system of
slavery. I cannot remember having slept
in a bed until after our family was
declared free by the Emancipation
Proclamation. Three children -
John, my older brother, Amanda, my
sister, and myself - had a pallet on the dirt floor, or, to be more correct, we slept in and on a bundle of
filthy rags laid upon the dirt floor.
I was asked not long ago to tell something about the sports
and pastimes that I engaged in during my
youth. Until that question was asked it had never occurred to me that there
was no period of my life that was
devoted to play. From the time that I can
remember anything, almost every day of
my life had been occupied in some kind of labour; though I think I would now be a more useful
man if I had had time for sports. During the period that I spent in slavery I
was not large enough to be of much service,
still I was occupied most of the time in
cleaning the yards, carrying water to the men in the fields, or going to the mill to which I used to take the corn,
once a week, to be ground. The mill was about three miles from the
plantation. This work I always dreaded. The heavy bag of corn would be thrown
across the back of the horse, and the
corn divided about evenly on each side;
but in some way, almost without exception, on these trips, the corn would so shift as to become unbalanced and
would fall off the horse, and often I
would fall with it. As I was not strong
enough to reload the corn upon the horse,
I would have to wait, sometimes for many
hours, till a chance passer-by came along who would help me out of
my trouble. The hours while waiting for some one were
usually spent in crying. The time consumed in this way made me late in
reaching the mill, and by the time I got
my corn ground and reached home it would
be far into the night. The road
was a lonely one, and often led through
dense forests. I was always
frightened. The woods were said to be full of soldiers who had deserted from
the army, and I had been told that the
first thing a deserter did to a Negro boy when he found him alone was to cut off his ears. Besides, when I was late in getting home I knew I would always get a
severe scolding or a flogging.
I had no schooling whatever while I was a slave though I
remember on several occasions I went as
far as the schoolhouse door with one of
my young mistresses to carry her books.
The picture of several dozen boys
and girls in a schoolroom engaged in study made a deep impression upon me, and I had the feeling that to get
into a schoolhouse and study in this way
would be about the same as getting into paradise.
So far as I can now recall, the first knowledge that I got
of the fact that we were slaves, and
that freedom of the slaves was being
discussed, was early one morning before day, when I was awakened by
my mother kneeling over her children and
fervently praying that Lincoln and his
armies might be successful, and that one day she and her children might be free. In this connection I have never been able
to understand how the slaves throughout
the South, completely ignorant as were
the masses so far as books or newspapers were concerned, were able to keep themselves so accurately and
completely informed about the great
National questions that were agitating the country. From
the time that Garrison, Lovejoy, and others began to agitate for freedom, the slaves throughout the South kept
in close touch with the progress of the
movement. Though I was a mere child during
the preparation for the Civil War and
during the war itself, I now recall the
many late-at-night whispered discussions that I heard my mother and the other slaves on the plantation
indulge in. These discussions showed that they understood the situation,
and that they kept themselves informed
of events by what was termed the "grape-vine" telegraph.
During the campaign when
I cannot remember a single instance during my childhood or
early boyhood when our entire family sat
down to the table together, and God's
blessing was asked, and the family ate a meal in a civilized manner.
On the plantation in
Of course as the war was prolonged the white people, in
many cases, often found it difficult to
secure food for themselves. I think the slaves felt the deprivation less
than the whites, because the usual diet
for slaves was corn bread and pork, and these could be raised on the plantation; but coffee, tea,
sugar, and other articles which the
whites had been accustomed to use could not be raised on the plantation, and the conditions brought about
by the war frequently made it impossible
to secure these things. The whites were
often in great straits. Parched corn was used for coffee, and a kind
of black molasses was used instead of
sugar. Many times nothing was used to sweeten the so-called tea and coffee.
The first pair of shoes that I recall wearing were wooden
ones. They had rough leather on the
top, but the bottoms, which were about
an inch thick, were of wood. When
I walked they made a fearful noise, and
besides this they were very inconvenient, since there was no yielding to the natural pressure of the
foot. In wearing them one presented and exceedingly awkward
appearance. The most trying ordeal that I was forced to endure as a slave boy,
however, was the wearing of a flax
shirt. In the portion of
One may get the idea, from what I have said, that there was
bitter feeling toward the white people
on the part of my race, because of the fact
that most of the white population was away fighting in a war which would result in keeping the Negro in
slavery if the South was successful. In the case of the slaves on our place this
was not true, and it was not true of any
large portion of the slave population in
the South where the Negro was treated with anything like decency. During the Civil War one of my young masters
was killed, and two were severely
wounded. I recall the feeling of sorrow
which existed among the slaves when they
heard of the death of "Mars' Billy."
It was no sham sorrow, but
real. Some of the slaves had nursed
"Mars' Billy"; others had
played with him when he was a child.
"Mars' Billy" had
begged for mercy in the case of others when the overseer or master
was thrashing them. The sorrow in the slave quarter was only
second to that in the "big
house." When the two young masters
were brought home wounded, the sympathy
of the slaves was shown in many ways.
They were just as anxious to
assist in the nursing as the family relatives of the wounded.
Some of the slaves would even beg for the privilege of sitting up at night to nurse their wounded masters. This tenderness and sympathy on the part of those held in
bondage was a result of their kindly and
generous nature. In order to defend and
protect the women and children who were
left on the plantations when the white
males went to war, the slaves would have laid down their lives. The
slave who was selected to sleep in the "big house" during the
absence of the males was considered to
have the place of honour. Any one attempting to harm "young Mistress"
or "old Mistress" during the night
would have had to cross the dead body of the slave to do so. I do not
know how many have noticed it, but I think that it will be found to
be true that there are few instances,
either in slavery or freedom, in which a
member of my race has been known to betray a specific trust.
As a rule, not only did the members of my race entertain
no feelings of bitterness against the
whites before and during the war, but
there are many instances of Negroes tenderly carrying for their former masters and mistresses who for some
reason have become poor and dependent
since the war. I know of instances where
the former masters of slaves have for
years been supplied with money by their former
slaves to keep them from suffering.
I have known of still other cases
in which the former slaves have assisted in the education of the descendants of their former owners. I know of a case on a large plantation in the South in which a young
white man, the son of the former owner
of the estate, has become so reduced in purse and self-control by reason of
drink that he is a pitiable creature; and yet,
notwithstanding the poverty of the coloured people themselves on
this plantation, they have for years
supplied this young white man with the
necessities of life. One sends
him a little coffee or sugar, another a
little meat, and so on. Nothing that the
coloured people possess is too good for
the son of "old Mars' Tom," who will perhaps never be permitted to suffer while any remain on the
place who knew directly or indirectly of
"old Mars' Tom."
I have said that there are few instances of a member of my
race betraying a specific trust. One of the best illustrations of this which I know of is in the case of an ex-slave
from Virginia whom I met not long ago in
a little town in the state of
From some things that I have said one may get the idea that
some of the slaves did not want
freedom. This is not true. I have never
seen one who did not want to be free, or one who would return to slavery.
I pity from the bottom of my heart any nation or body of
people that is so unfortunate as to get
entangled in the net of slavery. I have long since ceased to cherish any spirit
of bitterness against the Southern white
people on account of the enslavement of my race. No one
section of our country was wholly responsible for its introduction, and, besides, it was recognized
and protected for years by the General
Government. Having once got its
tentacles fastened on to the economic
and social life of the Republic, it was no easy matter for the country to relieve itself of the
institution. Then, when we rid ourselves of prejudice, or racial feeling,
and look facts in the face, we must
acknowledge that, notwithstanding the cruelty and moral wrong of slavery, the ten million Negroes
inhabiting this country, who themselves
or whose ancestors went through the school of American slavery, are in a stronger and more hopeful
condition, materially, intellectually,
morally, and religiously, than is true of an equal number of black people in any other portion
of the globe. This is so to such an extend that Negroes in this
country, who themselves or whose
forefathers went through the school of slavery, are constantly returning to
Ever since I have been old enough to think for myself, I
have entertained the idea that,
notwithstanding the cruel wrongs inflicted
upon us, the black man got nearly as much out of slavery as the
white man did. The hurtful influences of the institution
were not by any means confined to the
Negro. This was fully illustrated by the
life upon our own plantation. The whole machinery of slavery was so constructed as to cause labour, as a rule, to
be looked upon as a badge of
degradation, of inferiority. Hence
labour was something that both races on
the slave plantation sought to escape.
The slave system on our place, in
a large measure, took the spirit of self-reliance and self-help out of the white people. My old master had many boys and girls, but not one, so far as I know, ever
mastered a single trade or special line
of productive industry. The girls were
not taught to cook, sew, or to take care
of the house. All of this was left to
the saves. The slaves, of course, had little personal
interest in the life of the plantation,
and their ignorance prevented them from
learning how to do things in the most improved and thorough manner. As a result of the system, fences were out
of repair, gates were hanging half off
the hinges, doors creaked, window-panes were out, plastering had fallen but was not replaced,
weeds grew in the yard. As a rule,
there was food for whites and blacks, but inside the house, and on the dining-room table, there was
wanting that delicacy and refinement of
touch and finish which can make a home the most
convenient, comfortable, and attractive place in the world. Withal
there was a waste of food and other materials which was sad. When
freedom came, the slaves were almost as well fitted to begin life anew as the master, except in the matter of
book-learning and ownership of
property. The slave owner and his
sons had mastered no special
industry. They unconsciously had
imbibed the feeling that manual labour
was not the proper thing for them. On the
other hand, the slaves, in many cases,
had mastered some handicraft, and none were
ashamed, and few unwilling, to labour.
Finally the war closed, and the day of freedom came. It was a
momentous and eventful day to all upon our plantation. We have been
expecting it. Freedom was in the
air, and had been for months. Deserting
soldiers returning to their homes were to be seen every day. Others who had been discharged, or whose
regiments had been paroled, were
constantly passing near our place. The
"grape-vine telegraph" was
kept busy night and day. The news and
mutterings of great events were swiftly
carried from one plantation to another.
In the fear of "Yankee"
invasions, the silverware and other valuables were taken from the "big house," buried in the
woods, and guarded by trusted slaves.
Woe be to any one who would have attempted to disturb the buried treasure.
The slaves would give the Yankee soldiers food, drink, clothing - anything but that which had been
specifically intrusted [sic] to their
care and honour. As the great day drew
nearer, there was more singing in the
slave quarters than usual. It was
bolder, had more ring, and lasted later
into the night. Most of the verses of
the plantation songs had some reference
to freedom. True, they had sung those same verses before, but they had been
careful to explain that the
"freedom" in these songs referred to the next world, and had no connection with life in this world. Now they gradually threw off the mask, and were not afraid to let it be known
that the "freedom" in their
songs meant freedom of the body in this world.
The night before the eventful
day, word was sent to the slaver quarters to the effect that something unusual was going to take
place at the "big house" the
next morning. There was little,
if any, sleep that night. All as excitement and expectancy. Early the next morning word was sent to all the slaves, old and young, to gather at
the house. In company with my mother, brother, and sister, and a large
number of other slaves, I went to the
master's house. All of our master's
family were either standing or seated on
the veranda of the house, where they
could see what was to take place and hear what was said. There was a
feeling of deep interest, or perhaps sadness, on their faces, but
not bitterness. As I now recall the impression they made upon
me, they did not at the moment seem to
be sad because of the loss of property,
but rather because of parting with those whom they had reared and who were in many ways very close to them. The most distinct thing that I now recall in connection with the scene was
that some man who seemed to be a
stranger (a United States officer, I presume) made a little speech and then read a rather long paper - the
Emancipation Proclamation, I think. After the reading we were told that we
were all free, and could go when and
where we pleased. My mother, who
was standing by my side, leaned over and
kissed her children, while tears of joy
ran down her cheeks. She explained to us
what it all meant, that this was the day
for which she had been so long praying, but
fearing that she would never live to see.
For some minutes there was great rejoicing, and
thanksgiving, and wild scenes of
ecstasy. But there was no feeling of
bitterness. In fact, there was pity among the slaves for our
former owners. The wild rejoicing on the part of the emancipated
coloured people lasted but for a brief
period, for I noticed that by the time they returned to their cabins there was a change in their
feelings. The great responsibility of being free, of having
charge of themselves, of having to think
and plan for themselves and their children, seemed to take possession of them. It was very much like suddenly turning a youth of ten or twelve years out into the
world to provide for himself. In a few hours the great questions with which
the Anglo-Saxon race had been grappling for centuries had been thrown upon
these people to be solved. These were the questions of a home, a
living, the rearing of children,
education, citizenship, and the establishment
and support of churches. Was it
any wonder that within a few hours the
wild rejoicing ceased and a feeling of deep gloom seemed to pervade the slave quarters? To some it seemed that, now that they were in actual possession of it, freedom was
a more serious thing than they had
expected to find it. Some of the slaves
were seventy or eighty years old; their
best days were gone. They had no
strength with which to earn a living in
a strange place and among strange
people, even if they had been sure where to find a new place of
abode. To this class the problem seemed
especially hard. Besides, deep down in their hearts there was a strange and
peculiar attachment to "old
Marster" and "old Missus," and to their children, which
they found it hard to think of breaking
off. With these they had spent in
some cases nearly a half-century, and it
was no light thing to think of
parting. Gradually, one by one,
stealthily at first, the older slaves
began to wander from the slave quarters back to the "big
house" to have a whispered
conversation with their former owners as to the
future.
CHAPTER II
BOYHOOD DAYS
AFTER the coming of freedom there were two points upon which
practically all the people on our place
were agreed, and I found that this was
generally true throughout the South:
that they must change their
names, and that they must leave the old plantation for at least a few days or weeks in order that they might
really feel sure that they were free.
In some way a feeling got among the coloured people that it
was far from proper for them to bear the
surname of their former owners, and a
great many of them took other surnames.
This was one of the first signs
of freedom. When they were slaves, a
coloured person was simply called
"John" or "Susan."
There was seldom occasion for more
than the use of the one name. If
"John" or "Susan" belonged to a white man by the name of "Hatcher,"
sometimes he was called "John
Hatcher," or as often "Hatcher's John." But there was a feeling that "John Hatcher" or "Hatcher's
John" was not the proper title by which
to denote a freeman; and so in many cases "John Hatcher" was
changed to "John S. Lincoln"
or "John S. Sherman," the initial "S" standing for no name, it being simply a part of what
the coloured man proudly called his
"entitles."
As I have stated, most of the coloured people left the
old plantation for a short while at
least, so as to be sure, it seemed, that
they could leave and try their freedom on to see how it felt. After they had remained away for a while,
many of the older slaves, especially,
returned to their old homes and made some kind of contract with their former owners by which they
remained on the estate.
My mother's husband, who was the stepfather of my brother
John and myself, did not belong to the
same owners as did my mother. In
fact, he seldom came to our
plantation. I remember seeing his there
perhaps once a year, that being about
Christmas time. In some way, during
the war, by running away and following
the Federal soldiers, it seems, he found
his way into the new state of West Virginia.
As soon as freedom was declared,
he sent for my mother to come to the Kanawha Valley, in West Virginia. At that time a journey from Virginia over
the mountains to West Virginia was
rather a tedious and in some cases a
painful undertaking. What little
clothing and few household goods we had
were placed in a cart, but the children walked the greater portion of the distance, which was several hundred
miles.
I do not think any of us ever had been very far from
the plantation, and the taking of a long
journey into another state was quite an
event. The parting from our former
owners and the members of our own race
on the plantation was a serious occasion.
From the time of our parting till
their death we kept up a correspondence with the older members of the family, and in later
years we have kept in touch with those
who were the younger members. We were
several weeks making the trip, and most
of the time we slept in the open air and did our cooking over a log fire out-of-doors. One night I recall that we camped near an abandoned log cabin, and my
mother decided to build a fire in that
for cooking, and afterward to make a "pallet" on the floor for our sleeping. Just as the fire had gotten well started
a large black snake fully a yard and a
half long dropped down the chimney and
ran out on the floor. Of course we at
once abandoned that cabin. Finally we reached our destination - a little
town called Malden, which is about five
miles from Charleston, the present capital
of the state.
At that time salt-mining was the great industry in that part
of West Virginia, and the little town of
Malden was right in the midst of the
salt-furnaces. My stepfather had already
secured a job at a salt-furnace, and he had also secured a little cabin for us
to live in. Our new house was no better
than the one we had left on the old
plantation in Virginia. In fact,
in one respect it was worse.
Notwithstanding the poor condition of our plantation cabin, we were
at all times sure of pure air. Our new home was in the midst of a cluster of cabins crowded closely together,
and as there were no sanitary
regulations, the filth about the cabins was often intolerable.
Some of our neighbours were coloured people, and some were the poorest and most ignorant and
degraded white people. It was a motley mixture. Drinking, gambling, quarrels, fights,
and shockingly immoral practices were
frequent. All who lived in the little town were in one way or another
connected with the salt business. Though I was a mere child, my stepfather put
me and my brother at work in one of the
furnaces. Often I began work as
early as four o'clock in the morning.
The first thing I ever learned in the way of book knowledge
was while working in this
salt-furnace. Each salt-packer had his
barrels marked with a certain
number. The number allotted to my
stepfather was "18." At the close of the day's work the boss of
the packers would come around and put "18"
on each of our barrels, and I soon
learned to recognize that figure wherever I saw it, and after a
while got to the point where I could
make that figure, though I knew nothing
about any other figures or letters.
From the time that I can remember having any thoughts
about anything, I recall that I had an
intense longing to learn to read. I determined, when quite a small child, that,
if I accomplished nothing else in life,
I would in some way get enough education to enable me to read common books and newspapers. Soon after we got settled in some manner in our new cabin in West Virginia, I
induced my mother to get hold of a book
for me. How or where she got it I do not
know, but in some way she procured an
old copy of Webster's "blue-back" spelling-book, which contained the
alphabet, followed by such meaningless words
as "ab," "ba," "ca," "da." I began at once to devour this book, and
I think that it was the first one I ever
had in my hands. I had learned from somebody that the way to begin to read
was to learn the alphabet, so I tried in
all the ways I could think of to learn it, - all of course without a teacher, for I could find no
one to teach me. At that time there was not a single member of my
race anywhere near us who could read,
and I was too timid to approach any of the white people.
In some way, within a few weeks, I mastered the greater portion of the alphabet. In all my efforts to learn to read my
mother shared fully my ambition, and
sympathized with me and aided me in
every way that she could. Though
she was totally ignorant, she had high
ambitions for her children, and a large fund of good, hard, common sense, which seemed to enable her to
meet and master every situation. If I have done anything in life worth
attention, I feel sure that I inherited
the disposition from my mother.
In the midst of my struggles and longing for an education, a
young coloured boy who had learned to
read in the state of Ohio came to
Malden. As soon as the coloured
people found out that he could read, a
newspaper was secured, and at the close of nearly every day's work this young man would be surrounded by a group
of men and women who were anxious to
hear him read the news contained in the papers.
How I used to envy this man! He seemed to me to be the one young man in
all the world who ought to be satisfied
with his attainments.
About this time the question of having some kind of a
school opened for the coloured children
in the village began to be discussed by
members of the race. As it would be the
first school for Negro children that had
ever been opened in that part of Virginia, it was, of course, to be a great event, and the
discussion excited the wildest
interest. The most perplexing
question was where to find a teacher.
The young man from Ohio who had learned to read the papers was considered, but his age was against him. In the midst of the discussion about a teacher, another young
coloured man from Ohio, who had been a
soldier, in some way found his way into town.
It was soon learned that he
possessed considerable education, and he was engaged by the coloured people to teach their first
school. As yet no free schools had been started for coloured people
in that section, hence each family
agreed to pay a certain amount per month, with the understanding that the teacher was to
"board 'round" - that is, spend
a day with each family. This was
not bad for the teacher, for each family
tried to provide the very best on the day the teacher was to be its guest.
I recall that I looked forward with an anxious appetite to the "teacher's day" at our little
cabin.
This experience of a whole race beginning to go to school
for the first time, presents one of the
most interesting studies that has ever
occurred in connection with the development of any race. Few people
who were not right in the midst of the scenes can form any exact idea of the intense desire which the people of my
race showed for an education. As I have stated, it was a whole race trying
to go to school. Few were too young, and none too old, to make
the attempt to learn. As fast as any kind of teachers could be secured,
not only were day-schools filled, but
night-schools as well. The great ambition of the older people was to try to
learn to read the Bible before they
died. With this end in view men and
women who were fifty or seventy-five
years old would often be found in the night-school. Some day-schools were formed soon after
freedom, but the principal book studied
in the Sunday-school was the spelling-book.
Day-school, night-school,
Sunday-school, were always crowded, and often many had to be turned away for want of room.
The opening of the school in the Kanawha Valley, however,
brought to me one of the keenest
disappointments that I ever experienced.
I had been working in a
salt-furnace for several months, and my
stepfather had discovered that I had a financial value, and so,
when the school opened, he decided that
he could not spare me from my work.
This decision seemed to cloud my every ambition. The disappointment was made all the more severe by reason of the
fact that my place of work was where I
could see the happy children passing to and from school mornings and afternoons. Despite this disappointment, however, I determined that I would learn something,
anyway. I applied myself with greater earnestness than ever to the
mastering of what was in the
"blue-back" speller.
My mother sympathized with me in my disappointment, and
sought to comfort me in all the ways she
could, and to help me find a way to
learn. After a while I succeeded
in making arrangements with the teacher
to give me some lessons at night, after the day's work was done.
These night lessons were so welcome that I think I learned more at night than the other children did during
the day. My own experiences in the night-school gave me faith
in the night-school idea, with which, in
after years, I had to do both at Hampton and
Tuskegee. But my boyish heart was
still set upon going to the day-school, and I let no opportunity slip to push
my case. Finally I won, and was permitted to go to the school in the
day for a few months, with the
understanding that I was to rise early in the morning and work in the furnace till nine o'clock, and
return immediately after school closed
in the afternoon for at least two more hours of work.
The schoolhouse was some distance from the furnace, and as I
had to work till nine o'clock, and the
school opened at nine, I found myself in
a difficulty. School would always be
begun before I reached it, and sometimes
my class had recited. To get around this
difficulty I yielded to a temptation for
which most people, I suppose, will
condemn me; but since it is a fact, I might as well state it. I have
great faith in the power and influence of facts. It is seldom that anything is permanently gained by holding
back a fact. There was a large clock in a little office in the
furnace. This clock, of course, all the hundred or more workmen depended upon
to regulate their hours of beginning and
ending the day's work. I got the idea
that the way for me to reach school on
time was to move the clock hands from half-past eight up to the nine o'clock
mark. This I found myself doing morning after morning, till the furnace
"boss" discovered that
something was wrong, and locked the clock in a case. I did not mean to inconvenience anybody. I simply meant to reach that schoolhouse
in time.
When, however, I found myself at the school for the first
time, I also found myself confronted
with two other difficulties. In the first place, I found that all the other
children wore hats or caps on their
heads, and I had neither hat nor cap. In
fact, I do not remember that up to the
time of going to school I had ever worn any
kind of covering upon my head, nor do I recall that either I or anybody else had even thought anything about
the need of covering for my head. But, of course, when I saw how all the other
boys were dressed, I began to feel quite
uncomfortable. As usual, I put the case before my mother, and she explained to
me that she had no money with which to
buy a "store hat," which was a rather new institution at that time among the members of my race and
was considered quite the thing for young
and old to own, but that she would find a way to help me out of the difficulty. She accordingly got two pieces of "homespun" (jeans) and sewed them
together, and I was soon the proud
possessor of my first cap.
The lesson that my mother taught me in this has always
remained with me, and I have tried as
best as I could to teach it to others.
I have always felt proud,
whenever I think of the incident, that my
mother had strength of character enough not to be led into the temptation of seeming to be that which she
was not - of trying to impress my
schoolmates and others with the fact that she was able to buy me a "store hat" when she was
not. I have always felt proud that she refused to go into debt for that which
she did not have the money to pay for. Since that time I have owned many kinds of
caps and hats, but never one of which I
have felt so proud as of the cap made of the
two pieces of cloth sewed together by my mother. I have noted the fact, but without satisfaction, I need not
add, that several of the boys who began
their careers with "store hats" and who were my schoolmates and used to join in the sport
that was made of me because I had only a
"homespun" cap, have ended their careers in the penitentiary, while others are not able now
to buy any kind of hat.
My second difficulty was with regard to my name, or rather
a name.
From the time when I could remember anything, I had been called simply "Booker." Before going to school it had never occurred
to me that it was needful or appropriate
to have an additional name. When I heard the schoolroll called, I noticed that
all of the children had at least two
names, and some of them indulged in what seemed to me the extravagance of having three. I was in deep perplexity, because I knew that the teacher would demand of me at
least two names, and I had only
one. By the time the occasion came for
the enrolling of my name, an idea
occurred to me which I thought would make me equal to the situation; and so, when the teacher asked me
what my full name was, I calmly told him
"Booker Washington," as if I had been called by that name all my life; and by that name I have
since been known. Later in my life I found that my mother had given me
the name of "Booker
Taliaferro" soon after I was born, but in some way that part of
my name seemed to disappear and for a
long while was forgotten, but as soon as
I found out about it I revived it, and made my full name "Booker Taliaferro
Washington." I think there are not
many men in our country who have had the
privilege of naming themselves in the way
that I have.
More than once I have tried to picture myself in the
position of a boy or man with an
honoured and distinguished ancestry which I could trace back through a period of hundreds of
years, and who had not only inherited a
name, but fortune and a proud family homestead; and yet I have sometimes had the feeling that if I had
inherited these, and had been a member
of a more popular race, I should have been inclined to yield to the temptation of depending upon my
ancestry and my colour to do that for me
which I should do for myself. Years ago
I resolved that because I had no
ancestry myself I would leave a record of which
my children would be proud, and which might encourage them to still higher effort.
The world should not pass judgment upon the Negro, and
especially the Negro youth, too quickly
or too harshly. The Negro boy has obstacles, discouragements, and temptations
to battle with that are little know to
those not situated as he is. When a
white boy undertakes a task, it is taken
for granted that he will succeed.
On the other hand, people are
usually surprised if the Negro boy does not
fail. In a word, the Negro youth
starts out with the presumption against
him.
The influence of ancestry, however, is important in
helping forward any individual or race, if
too much reliance is not placed upon
it. Those who constantly direct
attention to the Negro youth's moral
weaknesses, and compare his advancement with that of white youths, do not consider the influence of the
memories which cling about the old family
homesteads. I have no idea, as I have
stated elsewhere, who my grandmother
was. I have, or have had, uncles and aunts and cousins, but I have no knowledge as
to where most of them are. My case will illustrate that of hundreds of
thousands of black people in every part
of our country. The very fact that the
white boy is conscious that, if he fails
in life, he will disgrace the whole
family record, extending back through many generations, is of tremendous value in helping him to resist
temptations. The fact that the individual has behind and surrounding him
proud family history and connection
serves as a stimulus to help him to overcome obstacles when striving for success.
The time that I was permitted to attend school during the
day was short, and my attendance was
irregular. It was not long before I
had to stop attending day-school
altogether, and devote all of my time again
to work. I resorted to the night-school
again. In fact, the greater part of the education I secured in my
boyhood was gathered through the
night-school after my day's work was done.
I had difficulty often in
securing a satisfactory teacher.
Sometimes, after I had secured
some one to teach me at night, I would find, much to my disappointment, that the teacher knew but
little more than I did. Often I would
have to walk several miles at night in order to recite my night-school lessons. There was never a time in my youth, no matter how dark and discouraging the days
might be, when one resolve did not
continually remain with me, and that was a determination to secure an education at any cost.
Soon after we moved to West Virginia, my mother adopted into
our family, notwithstanding our poverty,
an orphan boy, to whom afterward we gave
the name of James B. Washington. He has
ever since remained a member of the
family.
After I had worked in the salt-furnace for some time, work
was secured for me in a coal-mine which
was operated mainly for the purpose of
securing fuel for the salt-furnace. Work
in the coal-mine I always dreaded. One reason for this was that any one who
worked in a coal-mine was always
unclean., at least while at work, and it was a
very hard job to get one's skin clean after the day's work was
over. Then it was fully a mile from the
opening of the coal-mine to the face of
the coal, and all, of course, was in the blackest darkness. I do
not believe that one ever experiences anywhere else such darkness
as he does in a coal-mine. The mine was divided into a large number
of different "rooms" or
departments, and, as I never was able to learn
the location of all these "rooms," I many times found myself
lost in the mine. To add to the horror of being lost, sometimes
my light would go out, and then, if I
did not happen to have a match, I would
wander about in the darkness until by chance I found some one to
give me a light. The work was not only hard, but it was dangerous. There
was always the danger of being blown to pieces by a premature explosion of powder, or of being crushed by
falling slate. Accidents from one or the other of these causes were
frequently occurring, and this kept me
in constant fear. Many children of the
tenderest years were compelled then, as
is now true I fear, in most coal-mining
districts, to spend a large part of their lives in these
coal-mines, with little opportunity to
get an education; and, what is worse, I
have often noted that, as a rule, young boys who begin life in a
coal-mine are often physically and mentally dwarfed. They soon lose ambition to do anything else than to continue
as a coal-miner.
In those days, and later as a young man, I used to try to
picture in my imagination the feelings
and ambitions of a white boy with
absolutely no limit placed upon his aspirations and activities. I used
to envy the white boy who had no obstacles placed in the way of his becoming a Congressman, Governor, Bishop,
or President by reason of the accident
of his birth or race. I used to picture
the way that I would act under such
circumstances; how I would begin at the bottom
and keep rising until I reached the highest round of success.
In later years, I confess that I do not envy the white boy
as I once did. I have learned that success is to be measured
not so much by the position that one has
reached in life as by the obstacles which
he has overcome while trying to succeed.
Looked at from this standpoint, I
almost reached the conclusion that often the Negro boy's birth and connection with an unpopular race
is an advantage, so far as real life is
concerned. With few exceptions, the
Negro youth must work harder and must
perform his tasks even better than a white youth in order to secure recognition. But out of the hard and unusual struggle through which he is compelled to
pass, he gets a strength, a confidence,
that one misses whose pathway is comparatively smooth by reason of birth and race.
From any point of view, I had rather be what I am, a member
of the Negro race, than be able to claim
membership with the most favoured of any
other race. I have always been made sad
when I have heard members of any race
claiming rights or privileges, or certain badges of distinction, on the ground simply that they
were members of this or that race,
regardless of their own individual worth or attainments. I have
been made to feel sad for such persons because I am conscious of the fact that mere connection with what is
known as a superior race will not
permanently carry an individual forward unless he has individual worth, and mere connection with
what is regarded as an inferior race
will not finally hold an individual back if he possesses intrinsic, individual merit. Every persecuted individual and race should get much consolation out of the great
human law, which is universal and eternal,
that merit, no matter under what skin found,
is, in the long run, recognized and rewarded. This I have said here, not to call attention to myself as an
individual, but to the race to which I
am proud to belong.
CHAPTER III
THE STRUGGLE FOR AN EDUCATION
ONE day, while at work in the coal-mine, I happened to
overhear two miners talking about a
great school for coloured people somewhere in
Virginia. This was the first time
that I had ever heard anything about any
kind of school or college that was more pretentious than the little coloured school in our town.
In the darkness of the mine I noiselessly crept as close as
I could to the two men who were
talking. I heard one tell the other that not only was the school established for
the members of any race, but the
opportunities that it provided by which poor but worthy students could work out all or a part of the
cost of a board, and at the same time be
taught some trade or industry.
As they went on describing the school, it seemed to me that
it must be the greatest place on earth,
and not even Heaven presented more
attractions for me at that time than did the Hampton Normal and Agricultural Institute in Virginia, about
which these men were talking. I resolved at once to go to that school,
although I had no idea where it was, or
how many miles away, or how I was going to reach it; I remembered only that I was on fire
constantly with one ambition, and that
was to go to Hampton. This thought was
with me day and night.
After hearing of the Hampton Institute, I continued to work
for a few months longer in the
coal-mine. While at work there, I heard
of a vacant position in the household of
General Lewis Ruffner, the owner of the
salt-furnace and coal-mine. Mrs. Viola
Ruffner, the wife of General Ruffner,
was a "Yankee" woman from Vermont.
Mrs. Ruffner had a reputation all
through the vicinity for being very strict with her servants, and especially with the boys who
tried to serve her. Few of them remained with her more than two or three
weeks. They all left with the same excuse: she was too strict. I decided, however, that I would rather try Mrs. Ruffner's house than
remain in the coal-mine, and so my
mother applied to her for the vacant position.
I was hired at a salary of $5 per
month.
I had heard so much about Mrs. Ruffner's severity that I
was almost afraid to see her, and
trembled when I went into her presence.
I had not lived with her many weeks, however, before I began to understand her. I soon began to learn that, first of all, she
wanted everything kept clean about her,
that she wanted things done promptly and
systematically, and that at the bottom of everything she wanted absolute honesty and frankness. Nothing must be sloven or slipshod; every door, every fence, must be kept in
repair.
I cannot now recall how long I lived with Mrs. Ruffner
before going to Hampton, but I think it
must have been a year and a half.
At any rate, I here repeat what i
have said more than once before, that the
lessons that I learned in the home of Mrs. Ruffner were as valuable to me as any education I have ever
gotten anywhere else. Even to this day
I never see bits of paper scattered around a house or in the street that I do not want to pick them
up at once. I never see a filthy yard that I do not want to clean it,
a paling off of a fence that I do not
want to put it on, an unpainted or unwhitewashed house that I do not want to pain or whitewash it,
or a button off one's clothes, or a
grease-spot on them or on a floor, that I do not want to call attention to it.
From fearing Mrs. Ruffner I soon learned to look upon her as
one of my best friends. When she found that she could trust me she
did so implicitly. During the one or two winters that I was with
her she gave me an opportunity to go to
school for an hour in the day during a
portion of the winter months, but most of my studying was done at night, sometimes alone, sometimes under some
one whom I could hire to teach me. Mrs. Ruffner always encouraged and
sympathized with me in all my efforts to
get an education. It was while living
with her that I began to get together my
first library. I secured a dry-goods
box, knocked out one side of it, put
some shelves in it, and began putting into
it every kind of book that I could get my hands upon, and called it my "library."
Notwithstanding my success at Mrs. Ruffner's I did not give
up the idea of going to the Hampton
Institute. In the fall of 1872 I determined to make an effort to get there,
although, as I have stated, I had no
definite idea of the direction in which Hampton was, or of what it would cost to go there. I do not think that any one thoroughly sympathized with me in my ambition
to go to Hampton unless it was my
mother, and she was troubled with a grave fear that I was starting out on a "wild-goose
chase." At any rate, I got only a
half-hearted consent from her that I might start. The small amount of money that I had earned had been consumed by
my stepfather and the remainder of the
family, with the exception of a very few dollars, and so I had very little with which to buy
clothes and pay my travelling expenses. My brother John helped me all that he could,
but of course that was not a great deal,
for his work was in the coal-mine, where he
did not earn much, and most of what he did earn went in the
direction of paying the household
expenses.
Perhaps the thing that touched and pleased me most in
connection with my starting for Hampton
was the interest that many of the older
coloured people took in the matter.
They had spent the best days of
their lives in slavery, and hardly expected to live to see the time when they would see a member of their race
leave home to attend a
boarding-school. Some of these
older people would give me a nickel,
others a quarter, or a handkerchief.
Finally the great day came, and I started for Hampton. I had only
a small, cheap satchel that contained a few articles of clothing I could get.
My mother at the time was rather weak and broken in health.
I hardly expected to see her again, and thus our parting was all the more sad. She, however, was very brave through it
all. At
that time there were no through trains connecting that part of West Virginia with eastern Virginia. Trains ran only a portion of the way, and the remainder of the distance was
travelled by stage-coaches.
The distance from Malden to Hampton is about five hundred
miles. I had not been away from home
many hours before it began to grow
painfully evident that I did not have enough money to pay my fair
to Hampton. One experience I shall long remember. I had been travelling over the mountains most of the afternoon in
an old-fashion stage-coach, when, late in the evening, the coach stopped for
the night at a common, unpainted house
called a hotel. All the other
passengers except myself were
whites. In my ignorance I supposed that
the little hotel existed for the purpose
of accommodating the passengers who
travelled on the stage-coach. The
difference that the colour of one's skin
would make I had not thought anything about.
After all the other passengers
had been shown rooms and were getting ready for supper, I shyly presented myself before the man at the
desk. It is true I had practically no
money in my pocket with which to pay for bed or food, but I had hoped in some way to beg my way
into the good graces of the landlord,
for at that season in the mountains of Virginia the weather was cold, and I wanted to get indoors for the
night. Without asking as to whether I had any money, the man at the
desk firmly refused to even consider the
matter of providing me with food or lodging.
This was my first experience in
finding out what the colour of my skin
meant. In some way I managed to
keep warm by walking about, and so got
through the night. My whole soul was so
bent upon reaching Hampton that I did
not have time to cherish any bitterness toward the hotel-keeper.
By walking, begging rides both in wagons and in the cars, in
some way, after a number of days, I
reached the city of Richmond, Virginia,
about eighty-two miles from Hampton.
When I reached there, tired,
hungry, and dirty, it was late in the night. I had never been in a large city, and this rather added to my
misery. When I reached Richmond, I was completely out of money. I had not a single acquaintance in the place, and, being unused
to city ways, I did not know where to
go. I applied at several places for
lodging, but they all wanted money, and
that was what I did not have. Knowing
nothing else better to do, I walked the
streets. In doing this I passed by many a food-stands where fried chicken and
half-moon apple pies were piled high and
made to present a most tempting appearance.
At that time it seemed to me that
I would have promised all that I expected to
possess in the future to have gotten hold of one of those chicken
legs or one of those pies. But I could not get either of these, nor anything else to eat.
I must have walked the streets till after midnight. At last I
became so exhausted that I could walk no longer. I was tired, I was hungry, I was everything but
discouraged. Just about the time when
I reached extreme physical exhaustion, I
came upon a portion of a street where the
board sidewalk was considerably elevated.
I waited for a few minutes, till
I was sure that no passers-by could see me, and then crept under the sidewalk and lay for the
night upon the ground, with my satchel
of clothing for a pillow. Nearly all
night I could hear the tramp of feet
over my head. The next morning I found
myself somewhat refreshed, but I was
extremely hungry, because it had been a
long time since I had had sufficient food. As soon as it became light enough for me to see my surroundings I noticed
that I was near a large ship, and that
this ship seemed to be unloading a cargo of pig iron. I went at once to the vessel and asked the
captain to permit me to help unload the
vessel in order to get money for food.
The captain, a white man, who seemed
to be kind-hearted, consented. I worked
long enough to earn money for my
breakfast, and it seems to me, as I
remember it now, to have been about the best breakfast that I have ever eaten.
My work pleased the captain so well that he told me if I desired
I could continue working for a small
amount per day. This I was very glad to do.
I continued working on this vessel for a number of days. After buying food with the small wages I
received there was not much left to add
on the amount I must get to pay my way to Hampton. In
order to economize in every way possible, so as to be sure to reach Hampton in a reasonable time, I continued to
sleep under the same sidewalk that gave
me shelter the first night I was in Richmond.
Many years after that the
coloured citizens of Richmond very kindly
tendered me a reception at which there must have been two thousand people present. This reception was held not far from the spot
where I slept the first night I spent in
the city, and I must confess that my
mind was more upon the sidewalk that first gave me shelter than
upon the recognition, agreeable and
cordial as it was.
When I had saved what I considered enough money with which
to reach Hampton, I thanked the captain
of the vessel for his kindness, and
started again. Without any unusual
occurrence I reached Hampton, with a
surplus of exactly fifty cents with which to begin my education.
To me it had been a long, eventful journey; but the first sight of the large, three-story, brick school
building seemed to have rewarded me for
all that I had undergone in order to reach the place. If the people who gave the money to provide
that building could appreciate the
influence the sight of it had upon me, as well as upon thousands of other youths, they would feel
all the more encouraged to make such
gifts. It seemed to me to be the largest
and most beautiful building I had ever
seen. The sight of it seemed to give me
new life. I felt that a new kind of
existence had now begun - that life would now have a new meaning. I felt that I had reached the promised
land, and I resolved to let no obstacle
prevent me from putting forth the
highest effort to fit myself to accomplish the most good in the world.
As soon as possible after reaching the grounds of the
Hampton Institute, I presented myself
before the head teacher for an
assignment to a class. Having
been so long without proper food, a
bath, and a change of clothing, I did not, of course, make a very favourable impression upon her, and I could
see at once that there were doubts in
her mind about the wisdom of admitting me as a student. I felt that I could hardly blame her if she
got the idea that I was a worthless
loafer or tramp. For some time she did
not refuse to admit me, neither did she
decide in my favour, and I continued to linger
about her, and to impress her in all the ways I could with my worthiness.
In the meantime I saw her admitting other students, and that added greatly to my discomfort, for I
felt, deep down in my heart, that I
could do as well as they, if I could only get a chance to show what was in me.
After some hours had passed, the head teacher said to
me: "The adjoining recitation-room needs
sweeping. Take the broom and sweep it."
It occurred to me at once that here was my chance. Never did i
receive an order with more delight.
I knew that I could sweep, for
Mrs. Ruffner had thoroughly taught me how to do that when I lived
with her.
I swept the recitation-room three times. Then I got a dusting-cloth and dusted it four
times. All the woodwork around the
walls, every bench, table, and desk, I
went over four times with my dusting-cloth.
Besides, every piece of furniture had been moved and every closet and corner in the room had been
thoroughly cleaned. I had the feeling that in a large measure my future
dependent upon the impression I made
upon the teacher in the cleaning of that room.
When I was through, I reported to
the head teacher. She was a
"Yankee" woman who knew just
where to look for dirt. She went into
the room and inspected the floor and
closets; then she took her handkerchief
and rubbed it on the woodwork about the walls, and over the table
and benches. When she was unable to find one bit of dirt
on the floor, or a particle of dust on
any of the furniture, she quietly remarked, "I guess you will do to enter this
institution."
I was one of the happiest souls on Earth. The sweeping of that room was my college examination, and never
did any youth pass an examination for
entrance into Harvard or Yale that gave him more genuine satisfaction. I have passed several examinations since
then, but I have always felt that this
was the best one I ever passed.
I have spoken of my own experience in entering the
Hampton Institute. Perhaps few, if any, had anything like the
same experience that I had, but about
the same period there were hundreds who found
their way to Hampton and other institutions after experiencing something of the same difficulties that I
went through. The young men and women were determined to secure an
education at any cost.
The sweeping of the recitation-room in the manner that I did
it seems to have paved the way for me to
get through Hampton. Miss Mary F. Mackie, the head teacher, offered me a
position as janitor. This, of course, I gladly accepted, because it was
a place where I could work out nearly
all the cost of my board. The work was
hard and taxing but I stuck to it. I had a large number of rooms to care
for, and had to work late into the
night, while at the same time I had to
rise by four o'clock in the morning, in order to build the fires
and have a little time in which to
prepare my lessons. In all my
career at Hampton, and ever since I have
been out in the world, Miss Mary F. Mackie,
the head teacher to whom I have referred, proved one of my strongest and most helpful friends. Her advice and encouragement were always helpful in strengthening to me in the
darkest hour.
I have spoken of the impression that was made upon me by the buildings and general appearance of the
Hampton Institute, but I have not spoken
of that which made the greatest and most lasting impression on me, and that was a great man - the
noblest, rarest human being that it has
ever been my privilege to meet. I refer
to the late General Samuel C. Armstrong.
It has been my fortune to meet personally many of what are
called great characters, both in Europe
and America, but I do not hesitate to
say that I never met any man who, in my estimation, was the equal
of General Armstrong. Fresh from the degrading influences of the
slave plantation and the coal-mines, it
was a rare privilege for me to be
permitted to come into direct contact with such a character as
General Armstrong. I shall always remember that the first time I
went into his presence he made the
impression upon me of being a perfect man:
I was made to feel that there was
something about him that was
superhuman. It was my privilege
to know the General personally from the
time I entered Hampton till he died, and the more I saw of him the greater he grew in my estimation. One might have removed from Hampton all the buildings, class-rooms, teachers, and
industries, and given the men and women
there the opportunity of coming into daily contact with General Armstrong, and that alone would
have been a liberal education. The older I grow, the more I am convinced
that there is no education which one can
get from books and costly apparatus that is
equal to that which can be gotten from contact with great men and women.
Instead of studying books so constantly, how I wish that our schools and colleges might learn to study men
and things!
General Armstrong spent two of the last six months of his
life in my home at Tuskegee. At that time he was paralyzed to the extent
that he had lost control of his body and
voice in a very large degree.
Notwithstanding his affliction, he worked almost constantly night and day for the cause to which he had given his
life. I never saw a man who so completely lost sight of himself. I do not believe he ever had a selfish thought. He was just as happy in trying to assist some other institution in the South as he was when
working for Hampton. Although he fought
the Southern white man in the Civil War, I never heard him utter a bitter word against him
afterward. On the other hand, he was constantly seeking to find ways
by which he could be of service to the
Southern whites.
It would be difficult to describe the hold that he had upon
the students at Hampton, or the faith
they had in him. In fact, he was worshipped by his students. It never occurred to me that General Armstrong could fail in anything that he
undertook. There is almost no request that he could have made that would
not have been complied with. When he was a guest at my home in Alabama,
and was so badly paralyzed that he had
to be wheeled about in an invalid's chair, I
recall that one of the General's former students had occasion to
push his chair up a long, steep hill
that taxed his strength to the utmost.
When the top of the hill was reached, the former pupil, with a glow
of happiness on his face, exclaimed,
"I am so glad that I have been
permitted to do something that was real hard for the General before
he dies!" While I was a student at Hampton, the
dormitories became so crowded that it
was impossible to find room for all who wanted to be admitted.
In order to help remedy the difficulty, the General conceived the plan of putting up tents to be
used as rooms. As soon as it became known that General Armstrong
would be pleased if some of the older
students would live in the tents during the winter, nearly every student in school volunteered to go.
I was one of the volunteers.
The winter that we spent in those
tents was an intensely cold one, and we suffered severely - how
much I am sure General Armstrong never
knew, because we made no complaints. It
was enough for us to know that we were pleasing General Armstrong, and that we were making it possible for an additional
number of students to secure an
education. More than once, during a cold
night, when a stiff gale would be
blowing, our tend was lifted bodily, and we
would find ourselves in the open air.
The General would usually pay a
visit to the tents early in the morning, and his earnest, cheerful, encouraging voice would dispel any feeling of
despondency.
I have spoken of my admiration for General Armstrong, and
yet he was but a type of that Christlike
body of men and women who went into the
Negro schools at the close of the war by the hundreds to assist in lifting up my race. The history of the world fails to show a
higher, purer, and more unselfish class
of men and women than those who found
their way into those Negro schools.
Life at Hampton was a constant revelation to me; was
constantly taking me into a new
world. The matter of having meals at
regular hours, of eating on a
tablecloth, using a napkin, the use of the bath-tub and of the tooth-brush, as
well as the use of sheets upon the bed,
were all new to me.
I sometimes feel that almost the most valuable lesson I got
at the Hampton Institute was in the use
and value of the bath. I learned there for the first time some of its value,
not only in keeping the body healthy,
but in inspiring self-respect and promoting virtue. In all
my travels in the South and elsewhere since leaving Hampton I have always in some way sought my daily bath. To get it sometimes when I have been the guest of my own people in a
single-roomed cabin has not always been
easy to do, except by slipping away to some stream in the woods.
I have always tried to teach my people that some provision for bathing should be a part of every house.
For some time, while a student at Hampton, I possessed but
a single pair of socks, but when I had
worn these till they became soiled, I
would wash them at night and hang them by the fire to dry, so that I might wear them again the next
morning.
The charge for my board at Hampton was ten dollars per
month. I
was expected to pay a part of this in cash and to work out the remainder.
To meet this cash payment, as I have stated, I had just fifty cents when I reached the
institution. Aside from a very few dollars that my brother John was able to send
me once in a while, I had no money with
which to pay my board. I was determined
from the first to make my work as
janitor so valuable that my services would be
indispensable. This I succeeded
in doing to such an extent that I was
soon informed that I would be allowed the full cost of my board in return for my work. The cost of tuition was seventy dollars a
year. This, of course, was wholly
beyond my ability to provide. If I
had been compelled to pay the seventy
dollars for tuition, in addition to
providing for my board, I would have been compelled to leave the Hampton school. General Armstrong, however, very kindly got
Mr. S. Griffitts Morgan, of New Bedford,
Mass., to defray the cost of my tuition
during the whole time that I was at Hampton.
After I finished the course at
Hampton and had entered upon my lifework at Tuskegee, I had the pleasure of visiting Mr. Morgan
several times.
After having been for a while at Hampton, I found myself
in difficulty because I did not have
book and clothing. Usually, however, I got around the trouble about books
by borrowing from those who were more
fortunate than myself. As to clothes,
when I reached Hampton I had practically
nothing. Everything that I possessed was
in a small hand satchel. My anxiety about clothing was increased
because of the fact that General
Armstrong made a personal inspection of the
young men in ranks, to see that their clothes were clean. Shoes had
to be polished, there must be no buttons off the clothing, and no grease-spots.
To wear one suit of clothes continually, while at work and in the schoolroom, and at the same time
keep it clean, was rather a hard problem
for me to solve. In some way I managed
to get on till the teachers learned that
I was in earnest and meant to succeed, and
then some of them were kind enough to see that I was partly
supplied with second-hand clothing that
had been sent in barrels from the
North. These barrels proved a
blessing to hundreds of poor but
deserving students. Without them
I question whether I should ever have
gotten through Hampton.
When I first went to Hampton I do not recall that I had ever
slept in a bed that had two sheets on
it. In those days there were not
many buildings there, and room was very
precious. There were seven other boys in the same room with me; most of them,
however, students who had been there for
some time. The sheets were quite a
puzzle to me. The first night I slept under both of them, and
the second night I slept on top of them;
but by watching the other boys I learned my lesson in this, and have been trying to follow it ever
since and to teach it to others.
I was among the youngest of the students who were in Hampton
at the time. Most of the students were men and women -
some as old as forty years of ago. As I now recall the scene of my first year, I
do not believe that one often has the
opportunity of coming into contact with
three or four hundred men and women who were so tremendously in earnest as these men and women were. Every hour was occupied in study or work.
Nearly all had had enough actual contact with the world to teach them the need of education. Many of the older ones were, of course, too old to master the text-books very
thoroughly, and it was often sad to
watch their struggles; but they made up in earnest much of what they lacked in books. Many of them were as poor as I was, and, besides having to wrestle with their
books, they had to struggle with a
poverty which prevented their having the necessities of life. Many of them had aged parents who were
dependent upon them, and some of them
were men who had wives whose support in some way they had to provide for.
The great and prevailing idea that seemed to take possession
of every one was to prepare himself to
lift up the people at his home. No one
seemed to think of himself. And the
officers and teachers, what a rare set
of human beings they were! They worked
for the students night and day, in
seasons and out of season. They
seemed happy only when they were helping
the students in some manner. Whenever
it is written - and I hope it will be - the part that the Yankee teachers played in the education of
the Negroes immediately after the war
will make one of the most thrilling parts of the history off this country. The time is not far distant when the whole
South will appreciate this service in a
way that it has not yet been able to do.
CHAPTER IV
HELPING OTHERS
AT the end of my first year at Hampton I was confronted with
another difficulty. Most of the students went home to spend their
vacation. I had no money with which to
go home, but I had to go somewhere.
In those days very few students
were permitted to remain at the school
during vacation. It made me feel
very sad and homesick to see the other
students preparing to leave and starting for home. I not only
had no money with which to go home, but I had none with which to go anywhere.
In some way, however, I had gotten hold of an extra,
second-hand coat which I thought was a
pretty valuable coat. This I decided
to sell, in order to get a little money
for travelling expenses. I had a good deal of boyish pride, and I tried to
hide, as far as I could, from the other
students the fact that I had no money and nowhere to go. I
made it known to a few people in the town of Hampton that I had this coat to sell, and, after a good deal of
persuading, one coloured man promised to
come to my room to look the coat over and consider the matter of buying it. This cheered my drooping spirits
considerably. Early the next morning my
prospective customer appeared.
After looking the garment over
carefully, he asked me how much I wanted for
it. I told him I thought it was
worth three dollars. He seemed to agree with me as to price, but remarked in
the most matter-of-fact way: "I tell you what I will do; I will take
the coat, and will pay you five cents,
cash down, and pay you the rest of the money just as soon as I can get it." It is not hard to imagine what my
feelings were at the time.
With this disappointment I gave up all hope of getting out
of the town of Hampton for my vacation
work. I wanted very much to go
where I might secure work that would at
least pay me enough to purchase some
much-needed clothing and other necessities. In a few days practically all the students and teachers had left for
their homes, and this served to depress
my spirits even more.
After trying for several days in and near the town of
Hampton, I finally secured work in a
restaurant at Fortress Monroe. The
wages, however, were very little more
than my board. At night, and
between meals, I found considerable time
for study and reading; and in this
direction I improved myself very much during the summer.
When I left school at the end of my first year, I owed
the institution sixteen dollars that I
had not been able to work out. It was my greatest ambition during the summer to
save money enough with which to pay this
debt. I felt that this was a debt of
honour, and that I could hardly bring
myself to the point of even trying to enter
school again till it was paid. I
economized in every way that I could
think of - did my own washing, and went without necessary garments - but
still I found my summer vacation ending and I did not have the sixteen dollars.
One day, during the last week of my stay in the restaurant,
I found under one of the tables a crisp,
new ten-dollar bill. I could hardly contain myself, I was so happy. As it was not my place of business I felt it to be the proper thing to
show the money to the proprietor. This I did.
He seemed as glad as I was, but he coolly explained to me that, as it was his place of
business, he had a right to keep the
money, and he proceeded to do so. This,
I confess, was another pretty hard blow
to me. I will not say that I became discouraged, for as I now look back over my
life I do not recall that I ever became
discouraged over anything that I set out to accomplish. I have begun everything with the idea that I
could succeed, and I never had much
patience with the multitudes of people who are always ready to explain why one cannot succeed. I determined to face the situation just as it was. At the end of the week I went to the treasurer of the Hampton Institute, General
J.F.B. Marshall, and told him frankly my
condition. To my gratification he told
me that I could reenter the institution,
and that he would trust me to pay the debt
when I could. During the second
year I continued to work as a janitor.
The education that I received at Hampton out of the
text-books was but a small part of what
I learned there. One of the things
that impressed itself upon me deeply,
the second year, was the unselfishness
of the teachers. It was hard for me to
understand how any individuals could
bring themselves to the point where they could
be so happy in working for others.
Before the end of the year, I
think I began learning that those who are happiest are those who do the most for others. This lesson I have tried to carry with me ever since.
I also learned a valuable lesson at Hampton by coming into
contact with the best breeds of live
stock and fowls. No student, I
think, who has had the opportunity of
doing this could go out into the world
and content himself with the poorest grades.
Perhaps the most valuable thing that I got out of my second
year was an understanding of the use and
value of the Bible. Miss Nathalie Lord, one of the teachers, from Portland,
Me., taught me how to use and love the
Bible. Before this I had never cared a
great deal about it, but now I learned
to love to read the Bible, not only for the
spiritual help which it gives, but on account of it as literature. The lessons taught me in this respect took
such a hold upon me that at the present
time, when I am at home, no matter how busy I am, I always make it a rule to read a chapter or a portion
of a chapter in the morning, before
beginning the work of the day.
Whatever ability I may have as a public speaker I owe in a
measure to Miss Lord. When she found out that I had some
inclination in this direction, she gave
me private lessons in the matter of breathing,
emphasis, and articulation.
Simply to be able to talk in public for
the sake of talking has never had the least attraction to me. In
fact, I consider that there is nothing so empty and unsatisfactory
as mere abstract public speaking; but
from my early childhood I have had a
desire to do something to make the world better, and then to be able to speak to the world about that thing.
The debating societies at Hampton were a constant source
of delight to me. These were held on Saturday evening; and
during my whole life at Hampton I do not
recall that I missed a single meeting.
I not only attended the weekly debating society, but was
instrumental in organizing an additional
society. I noticed that between the
time when supper was over and the time
to begin evening study there were about
twenty minutes which the young men usually spent in idle gossip. About twenty of us formed a society for the
purpose of utilizing this time in debate
or in practice in public speaking. Few
persons ever derived more happiness or
benefit from the use of twenty minutes of
time than we did in this way.
At the end of my second year at Hampton, by the help of some
money sent me by my mother and brother
John, supplemented by a small gift from
one of the teachers at Hampton, I was enabled to return to my home in Malden, West Virginia, to spend my
vacation. When I reached home I found that the salt-furnaces were not
running, and that the coal-mine was not
being operated on account of the miners being out on "strike." This was something which, it seemed, usually
occurred whenever the men got two or three
months ahead in their savings. During
the strike, of course, they spent all that they had saved, and would often return to work in debt at the
same wages, or would move to another
mine at considerable expense. In either
case, my observations convinced me that
the miners were worse off at the end of the strike. Before the days of strikes in that section
of the country, I knew miners who had
considerable money in the bank, but as soon as the professional labour agitators got control,
the savings of even the more thrifty
ones began disappearing.
My mother and the other members of my family were, of
course, much rejoiced to see me and to
note the improvement that I had made during
my two years' absence. The
rejoicing on the part of all classes of
the coloured people, and especially the older ones, over my return, was almost pathetic. I had to pay a visit to each family and take a meal with each, and at each place tell the
story of my experiences at Hampton. In addition to this I had to speak before the
church and Sunday-school, and at various
other places. The thing that I was
most in search of, though, work, I could
not find. There was no work on account of the strike. I spent nearly the whole of the first month
of my vacation in an effort to find
something to do by which I could earn
money to pay my way back to Hampton and save a little money to use after reaching there.
Toward the end of the first month, I went to place a
considerable distance from my home, to
try to find employment. I did not
succeed, and it was night before I got
started on my return. When I had
gotten within a mile or so of my home I
was so completely tired out that I could
not walk any farther, and I went into an old, abandoned house to spend the remainder of the night. About three o'clock in the morning my brother John found me asleep in this
house, and broke to me, as gently as he
could, the sad news that our dear mother had died during the night.
This seemed to me the saddest and blankest moment in my
life. For several years my mother had not been in good
health, but I had no idea, when I parted
from her the previous day, that I should never see her alive again. Besides that, I had always had an intense
desire to be with her when she did pass
away. One of the chief ambitions
which spurred me on at Hampton was that
I might be able to get to be in a
position in which I could better make my mother comfortable and
happy. She had so often expressed the
wish that she might be permitted to live
to see her children educated and started out in the world.
In a very short time after the death of my mother our little
home was in confusion. My sister Amanda, although she tried to do
the best she could, was too young to
know anything about keeping house, and my
stepfather was not able to hire a housekeeper. Sometimes we had food cooked for us, and sometimes we did not. I remember that more than once a can of tomatoes and some crackers
constituted a meal. Our clothing went uncared for, and everything
about our home was soon in a tumble-down
condition. It seems to me that this was
the most dismal period of my life.
My good friend, Mrs. Ruffner, to whom I have already
referred, always made me welcome at her
home, and assisted me in many ways
during this trying period. Before
the end of the vacation she gave me some
work, and this, together with work in a coal-mine at some distance from my home, enabled me to earn a
little money.
At one time it looked as if I would have to give up the idea
of returning to Hampton, but my heart
was so set on returning that I
determined not to give up going back without a struggle. I was very
anxious to secure some clothes for the winter, but in this I was disappointed, except for a few garments which
my brother John secured for me. Notwithstanding my need of money and
clothing, I was very happy in the fact
that I had secured enough money to pay my travelling expenses back to Hampton. Once there, I knew that I could make
myself so useful as a janitor that I
could in some way get through the school
year.
Three weeks before the time for the opening of the term
at Hampton, I was pleasantly surprised
to receive a letter from my good friend
Miss Mary F. Mackie, the lady principal, asking me to return to Hampton two weeks before the opening of the
school, in order that I might assist her
in cleaning the buildings and getting things in order for the new school year. This was just the opportunity I wanted. It
gave me a chance to secure a credit in the treasurer's office. I
started for Hampton at once.
During these two weeks I was taught a lesson which I shall
never forget. Miss Mackie was a member of one of the oldest
and most cultured families of the North,
and yet for two weeks she worked by my
side cleaning windows, dusting rooms, putting beds in order, and
what not. She felt that things would not be in
condition for the opening of school
unless every window-pane was perfectly clean, and she took the greatest satisfaction in helping to clean
them herself. The work which I have described she did every year
that I was at Hampton.
It was hard for me at this time to understand how a woman of
her education and social standing could
take such delight in performing such
service, in order to assist in the elevation of an unfortunate race.
Ever since then I have had no patience with any school for my race in the South which did not teach its
students the dignity of labour.
During my last year at Hampton every minute of my time that
was not occupied with my duties as
janitor was devoted to hard study.
I was determined, if possible, to
make such a record in my class as would
cause me to be placed on the "honour roll" of Commencement speakers.
This I was successful in doing.
It was June of 1875 when I
finished the regular course of study at Hampton. The greatest
benefits that I got out of my at the Hampton Institute, perhaps,
may be classified under two heads: -
First was contact with a great man, General S.C. Armstrong,
who, I repeat, was, in my opinion, the
rarest, strongest, and most beautiful
character that it has ever been my privilege to meet.
Second, at Hampton, for the first time, I learned what
education was expected to do for an
individual. Before going there I had a
good deal of the then rather prevalent
idea among our people that to secure an
education meant to have a good, easy time, free from all necessity for manual labour. At Hampton I not only learned that it was not
a disgrace to labour, but learned to
love labour, not alone for its financial
value, but for labour's own sake and for the independence and self-reliance which the ability to do
something which the world wants done
brings. At that institution I got my
first taste of what it meant to live a
life of unselfishness, my first knowledge of the fact that the happiest individuals are those
who do the most to make others useful
and happy.
I was completely out of money when I graduated. In company with our other Hampton students, I secured a place
as a table waiter in a summer hotel in
Connecticut, and managed to borrow enough money with which to get there. I had not been in this hotel long before I
found out that I knew practically
nothing about waiting on a hotel table.
The head waiter, however, supposed that I was an accomplished
waiter. He soon gave me charge of the
table at which their sat four or five
wealthy and rather aristocratic people.
My ignorance of how to wait upon
them was so apparent that they scolded me in such a severe manner that I became frightened and left their
table, leaving them sitting there
without food. As a result of this I was
reduced from the position of waiter to
that of a dish-carrier.
But I determined to learn the business of waiting, and did
so within a few weeks and was restored
to my former position. I have had the satisfaction of being a guest in this
hotel several times since I was a waiter
there.
At the close of the hotel season I returned to my former
home in Malden, and was elected to teach
the coloured school at that place. This
was the beginning of one of the happiest periods of my life. I now
felt that I had the opportunity to help the people of my home town to a higher life. I felt from the first that mere book
education was not all that the young
people of that town needed. I began my
work at eight o'clock in the morning,
and, as a rule, it did not end until ten
o'clock at night. In addition to
the usual routine of teaching, I taught
the pupils to comb their hair, and to keep their hands and faces clean, as well as their clothing. I gave special attention to teaching them the proper use of the
tooth-brush and the bath. In all my teaching I have watched carefully the
influence of the tooth-brush, and I am
convinced that there are few single agencies of civilization that are more far-reaching.
There were so many of the older boys and girls in the town,
as well as men and women, who had to
work in the daytime and still were
craving an opportunity for an education, that I soon opened a
night-school. From the first, this was
crowded every night, being about as
large as the school that I taught in the day. The efforts of some of the men and women, who in many cases were
over fifty years of age, to learn, were
in some cases very pathetic.
My day and night school work was not all that I
undertook. I established a small reading-room and a
debating society. On Sundays I taught two Sunday-schools, one in the town of
Malden in the afternoon, and the other
in the morning at a place three miles distant from Malden.
In addition to this, I gave private lessons to several young men whom I was fitting to send to the Hampton
Institute. Without regard to pay and with little thought of it,
I taught any one who wanted to learn
anything that I could teach him. I was
supremely happy in the opportunity of
being able to assist somebody else. I
did receive, however, a small salary
from the public fund, for my work as a
public-school teacher.
During the time that I was a student at Hampton my older
brother, John, not only assisted me all
that he could, but worked all of the
time in the coal-mines in order to support the family. He willingly
neglected his own education that he might help me. It was my earnest wish to help him to prepare to enter Hampton,
and to save money to assist him in his
expenses there. Both of these objects I
was successful in accomplishing. In three years my brother finished the course at Hampton, and he is now holding the
important position of Superintendent of
Industries at Tuskegee. When he returned
from Hampton, we both combined our
efforts and savings to send our adopted
brother, James, through the Hampton Institute. This we succeeded in doing, and he is now the postmaster at the
Tuskegee Institute. The year 1877, which was my second year of
teaching in Malden, I spent very much as
I did the first.
It was while my home was at Malden that what was known as
the "Ku Klux Klan" was in the
height of its activity. The "Ku
Klux" were bands of men who had
joined themselves together for the purpose of
regulating the conduct of the coloured people, especially with the object of preventing the members of the race
from exercising any influence in
politics. They corresponded somewhat to
the "patrollers" of whom I
used to hear a great deal during the days of slavery, when I was a small boy. The "patrollers" were bands of
white men - usually young men - who were
organized largely for the purpose of regulating
the conduct of the slaves at night in such matters as preventing
the slaves from going from one
plantation to another without passes, and
for preventing them from holding any kind of meetings without permission and without the presence at these
meetings of at least one white man.
Like the "patrollers" the "Ku Klux"
operated almost wholly at night. They were, however, more cruel than the
"patrollers." Their objects, in the main, were to crush out the
political aspirations of the Negroes,
but they did not confine themselves to this, because schoolhouses as well as churches were burned
by them, and many innocent persons were
made to suffer. During this period not a
few coloured people lost their lives.
As a young man, the acts of these lawless bands made a
great impression upon me. I saw one open battle take place at
Malden between some of the coloured and
white people. There must have been not far from a hundred persons engaged on
each side; many on both sides were
seriously injured, among them General Lewis Ruffner, the husband of my friend Mrs. Viola Ruffner. General Ruffner tried to defend the coloured people, and for this he
was knocked down and so seriously
wounded that he never completely recovered.
It seemed to me as I watched this
struggle between members of the two races, that
there was no hope for our people in this country. The "Ku Klux" period was, I think, the darkest part of the
Reconstruction days.
I have referred to this unpleasant part of the history of
the South simply for the purpose of
calling attention to the great change
that has taken place since the days of the "Ku Klux." To-day there
are no such organizations in the South, and the fact that such ever existed is almost forgotten by both
races. There are few places in the South now where public sentiment would
permit such organizations to exist.
CHAPTER V
THE RECONSTRUCTION PERIOD
THE years from 1867 to 1878 I think may be called the period
of Reconstruction. This included the time that I spent as a
student at Hampton and as a teacher in
West Virginia. During the whole of
the Reconstruction period two ideas were
constantly agitating in the minds of the
coloured people, or, at least, in the minds of a large part of the race.
One of these was the craze for Greek and Latin learning, and the other was a desire to hold office.
It could not have been expected that a people who had
spent generations in slavery, and before
that generations in the darkest
heathenism, could at first form any proper conception of what an education meant. In every part of the South, during the Reconstruction period, schools, both day and
night, were filled to overflowing with
people of all ages and conditions, some being as far along in age as sixty and seventy years. The ambition to secure an education was most praiseworthy and
encouraging. The idea, however, was too prevalent that, as soon as one
secured a little education, in some
unexplainable way he would be free from most of the hardships of the world, and, at any rate, could live
without manual labour. There was a further feeling that a knowledge,
however little, of the Greek and Latin
languages would make one a very superior human being, something bordering almost on the
supernatural. I remember that the first coloured man whom I saw who knew
something about foreign languages
impressed me at the time as being a man of all others to be envied.
Naturally, most of our people who received some little
education became teachers or
preachers. While among those two classes
there were many capable, earnest, godly
men and women, still a large proportion
took up teaching or preaching as an easy way to make a living.
Many became teachers who could do little more than write their names.
I remember there came into our neighbourhood one of this class, who was in search of a school to
teach, and the question arose while he
was there as to the shape of the earth and how he could teach the children concerning the subject. He explained his position in the matter by saying that he was prepared to
teach that the earth was either flat or
round, according to the preference of a majority of his patrons.
The ministry was the profession that suffered most - and
still suffers, though there has been
great improvement - on account of not
only ignorant but in many cases immoral men who claimed that they
were "called to preach." In the earlier days of freedom almost
every coloured man who learned to read
would receive "a call to preach"
within a few days after he began reading. At my home in West Virginia the process of being called to the ministry
was a very interesting one. Usually the "call" came when the
individual was sitting in church. Without warning the one called would fall
upon the floor as if struck by a bullet,
,and would be there for hours, speechless and
motionless. Then the news would
spread all through the neighborhood that
this individual had received a "call." If he were inclined to resist the summons, he would fall or be made
to fall a second or third time. In the end he always yielded to the
call. While I wanted an education badly, I confess that in my youth I
had a fear that when I had learned to
read and write very well I would receive one of these "calls"; but, for some reason, my
call never came.
When we add the number of wholly ignorant men who preached
or "exhorted" to that of those
who possessed something of an education,
it can be seen at a glance that the supply of ministers was large. In fact,
some time ago I knew a certain church that had a total membership of about two hundred, and eighteen
of that number were ministers. But, I repeat, in many communities in the
South the character of the ministry is
being improved, and I believe that within
the next two or three decades a very large proportion of the
unworthy ones will have
disappeared. The "calls" to
preach, I am glad to say, are not nearly
so numerous now as they were formerly, and the calls to some industrial occupation are growing more
numerous. The improvement that has taken place in the character of the
teachers is even more marked than in the
case of the ministers.
During the whole of the Reconstruction period our
people throughout the South looked to
the Federal Government for everything,
very much as a child looks to its mother. This was not unnatural. The central government gave them freedom,
and the whole Nation had been enriched
for more than two centuries by the labour of the Negro. Even as a youth, and later in manhood, I had
the feeling that it was cruelly wrong in
the central government, at the beginning of our
freedom, to fail to make some provision for the general education
of our people in addition to what the
states might do, so that the people would
be the better prepared for the duties of citizenship.
It is easy to find fault, to remark what might have been
done, and perhaps, after all, and under
all the circumstances, those in charge
of the conduct of affairs did the only thing that could be done at
the time. Still, as I look back now over the entire
period of our freedom, I cannot help
feeling that it would have been wiser if some
plan could have been put in operation which would have made the possession of a certain amount of education
or property, or both, a test for the
exercise of the franchise, and a way provided by which this test should be made to apply honestly
and squarely to both the white and black
races.
Though I was but little more than a youth during the period
of Reconstruction, I had the feeling
that mistakes were being made, and that
things could not remain in the condition that they were in then very long.
I felt that the Reconstruction policy, so far as it related to my race, was in a large measure on
a false foundation, was artificial and
forced. In many cases it seemed to me
that the ignorance of my race was being
used as a tool with which to help white
men into office, and that there was an element in the North which wanted to punish the Southern white men by
forcing the Negro into positions over
the heads of the Southern whites. I felt
that the Negro would be the one to
suffer for this in the end. Besides,
the general political agitation drew the
attention of our people away from the
more fundamental matters of perfecting themselves in the industries at their doors and in securing
property.
The temptations to enter political life were so alluring
that I came very near yielding to them
at one time, but I was kept from doing
so by the feeling that I would be helping in a more substantial way
by assisting in the laying of the
foundation of the race through a
generous education of the hand, head, and heart. I saw coloured men who were members of the state legislatures,
and county officers, who, in some cases,
could not read or write, and whose morals were as weak as their education. Not long ago, when passing through the
streets of a certain city in the South,
I heard some brick-masons calling out,
from the top of a two-story brick building on which they were
working, for the "Governor" to
"hurry up and bring up some more bricks." Several times I heard the command,
"Hurry up, Governor!"
"Hurry up,
Governor!" My curiosity was
aroused to such an extent that I made
inquiry as to who the "Governor" was, and soon found that he
was a coloured man who at one time had
held the position of Lieutenant-Governor of his state.
But not all the coloured people who were in office
during Reconstruction were unworthy of
their positions, by any means. Some of them, like the late Senator B.K. Bruce,
Governor Pinchback, and many others,
were strong, upright, useful men.
Neither were all the class
designated as carpetbaggers dishonourable men.
Some of them, like ex-Governor
Bullock, of Georgia, were men of high character and usefulness.
Of course the coloured people, so largely without education,
and wholly without experience in
government, made tremendous mistakes,
just as many people similarly situated would have done. Many of the
Southern whites have a feeling that, if the Negro is permitted to exercise his political rights now to any
degree, the mistakes of the
Reconstruction period will repeat themselves. I do not think this would be true, because the Negro is a much
stronger and wiser man than he was
thirty-five years ago, and he is fast learning the lesson that he cannot afford to act in a manner that will
alienate his Southern white neighbours
from him. More and more I am convinced
that the final solution of the political
end of our race problem will be for each
state that finds it necessary to change the law bearing upon the franchise to make the law apply with absolute
honesty, and without opportunity for
double dealing or evasion, to both races alike.
Any other course my daily
observation in the South convinces me, will be
unjust to the Negro, unjust to the white man, and unfair to the
rest of the state in the Union, and will
be, like slavery, a sin that at some
time we shall have to pay for.
In the fall of 1878, after having taught school in Malden
for two years, and after I had succeeded
in preparing several of the young men
and women, besides my two brothers, to enter the Hampton Institute,
I decided to spend some months in study
at Washington, D.C. I remained there for eight months. I derived a great deal of benefit from
the studies which I pursued, and I came
into contact with some strong men and
women. At the institution I attended
there was no industrial training given
to the students, and I had an opportunity of comparing the influence of an institution with no
industrial training with that of one
like the Hampton Institute, that emphasizes the industries. At
this school I found the students, in most cases, had more money,
were better dressed, wore the latest
style of all manner of clothing, and in
some cases were more brilliant mentally.
At Hampton it was a standing rule
that, while the institution would be responsible for securing some one to pay the tuition for the
students, the men and women themselves
must provide for their own board, books, clothing, and room wholly by work, or partly by work
and partly in cash. At the institution at which I now was, I found that
a large portion of the students by some
means had their personal expenses paid for them. At
Hampton the student was constantly making the effort through the industries to help himself, and that very
effort was of immense value in
character-building. The students at the
other school seemed to be less
self-dependent. They seemed to give more
attention to mere outward
appearances. In a word, they did not
appear to me to be beginning at the
bottom, on a real, solid foundation, to the extent that they were at Hampton. They knew more about Latin and Greek
when they left school, but they seemed
to know less about life and its
conditions as they would meet it at their homes. Having lived for a number of years in the midst of comfortable
surroundings, they were not as much
inclined as the Hampton students to go into the country districts of the South, where there was
little of comfort, to take up work for
our people, and they were more inclined to yield to the temptation to become hotel waiters and
Pullman-car porters as their life-work.
During the time I was a student at Washington the city was
crowded with coloured people, many of
whom had recently come from the South.
A large proportion of these people had been drawn to Washington because they felt that they could lead a life
of ease there. Others had secured minor government positions, and
still another large class was there in
the hope of securing Federal positions.
A number of coloured men - some
of them very strong and brilliant - were in the
House of Representatives at that time, and one, the Hon. B.K. Bruce, was in the Senate. All this tended to make Washington an
attractive place for members of the
coloured race. Then, too, they knew that
at all times they could have the
protection of the law in the District of
Columbia. The public schools in
Washington for coloured people were
better then than they were elsewhere.
I took great interest in studying
the life of our people there closely at that time. I found
that while among them there was a large element of substantial,
worthy citizens, there was also a
superficiality about the life of a large
class that greatly alarmed me. I
saw young coloured men who were not
earning more than four dollars a week spend two dollars or more for
a buggy on Sunday to ride up and down
Pennsylvania Avenue in, [sic] in order
that they might try to convince the world that they were worth thousands.
I saw other young men who received seventy-five or one hundred dollars per month from the
Government, who were in debt at the end
of every month. I saw men who but a few
months previous were members of
Congress, then without employment and in poverty. Among a
large class there seemed to be a dependence upon the Government for every conceivable thing. The members of this class had little ambition to create a position for themselves,
but wanted the Federal officials to
create one for them. How many times I
wished them, and have often wished since,
that by some power of magic I might remove
the great bulk of these people into the county districts and plant them upon the soil, upon the solid and never
deceptive foundation of Mother Nature,
where all nations and races that have ever succeeded have gotten their start, - a start that at
first may be slow and toilsome, but one
that nevertheless is real.
In Washington I saw girls whose mothers were earning their
living by laundrying. These girls were taught by their mothers, in
rather a crude way it is true, the
industry of laundrying. Later, these
girls entered the public schools and
remained there perhaps six or eight
years. When the public school
course was finally finished, they wanted
more costly dresses, more costly hats and shoes. In a word,
while their wants have been increased, their ability to supply
their wants had not been increased in
the same degree. On the other hand, their six or eight years of book education
had weaned them away from the occupation
of their mothers. The result of this was
in too many cases that the girls went to
the bad. I often thought how much
wiser it would have been to give these
girls the same amount of maternal
training - and I favour any kind of training, whether in the languages or mathematics, that gives strength
and culture to the mind - but at the same time to give them the most thorough
training in the latest and best methods
of laundrying and other kindred occupations.
CHAPTER VI
BLACK RACE AND RED RACE
DURING the year that I spent in Washington, and for some
little time before this, there had been
considerable agitation in the state of
West Virginia over the question of moving the capital of the state from Wheeling to some other central
point. As a result of this, the Legislature designated three cities to be
voted upon by the citizens of the state
as the permanent seat of government.
Among these cities was
Charleston, only five miles from Malden, my home. At the close of my school year in Washington I was very
pleasantly surprised to receive, from a
committee of three white people in Charleston, an invitation to canvass the state in the
interests of that city. This invitation I accepted, and spent nearly three
months in speaking in various parts of
the state. Charleston was successful in
winning the prize, and is now the
permanent seat of government.
The reputation that I made as a speaker during this
campaign induced a number of persons to
make an earnest effort to get me to
enter political life, but I refused, still believing that I could find other service which would prove of more
permanent value to my race. Even then I
had a strong feeling that what our people most needed was to get a foundation in education, industry,
and property, and for this I felt that
they could better afford to strive than for political preferment.
As for my individual self, it appeared to me to be reasonably certain that I could succeed in
political life, but I had a feeling that
it would be a rather selfish kind of success - individual success at the cost
of failing to do my duty in assisting in
laying a foundation for the masses.
At this period in the progress of our race a very large
proportion of the young men who went to
school or to college did so with the
expressed determination to prepare themselves to be great lawyers,
or Congressmen, and many of the women
planned to become music teachers; but I
had a reasonably fixed idea, even at that early period in my life, that there was a need for something to
be done to prepare the way for
successful lawyers, Congressmen, and music teachers.
I felt that the conditions were a good deal like those of an
old coloured man, during the days of
slavery, who wanted to learn how to play
on the guitar. In his desire to take
guitar lessons he applied to one of his
young masters to teach him, but the young man, not having much faith in the ability of the slave
to master the guitar at his age, sought
to discourage him by telling him:
"Uncle Jake, I will give you
guitar lessons; but, Jake, I will have to charge you three dollars for the first lesson, two dollars for
the second lesson, and one dollar for
the third lesson. But I will charge you
only twenty-five cents for the last lesson."
Uncle Jake answered:
"All right, boss, I hires you on dem terms. But, boss!
I wants yer to be sure an' give me dat las' lesson first."
Soon after my work in connection with the removal of the
capital was finished, I received an
invitation which gave me great joy and
which at the same time was a very pleasant surprise. This was a
letter from General Armstrong, inviting me to return to Hampton at
the next Commencement to deliver what
was called the "post-graduate
address." This was an honour
which I had not dreamed of receiving.
With much care I prepared the best address that I was capable of. I
chose for my subject "The Force That Wins."
As I returned to Hampton for the purpose of delivering
this address, I went over much of the
same ground - now, however, covered
entirely by railroad - that I had traversed nearly six years
before, when I first sought entrance
into Hampton Institute as a student.
Now I was able to ride the whole
distance in the train. I was
constantly contrasting this with my
first journey to Hampton. I think I may
say, without seeming egotism, that it is
seldom that five years have wrought such
a change in the life and aspirations of an individual.
At Hampton I received a warm welcome from teachers and
students. I found that during my
absence from Hampton the institute each year
had been getting closer to the real needs and conditions of our people; that the industrial reaching, as well
as that of the academic department, had
greatly improved. The plan of the school
was not modelled after that of any other
institution then in existence, but every
improvement was made under the magnificent leadership of General Armstrong solely with the view of meeting and
helping the needs of our people as they
presented themselves at the time. Too
often, it seems to me, in missionary and
educational work among underdeveloped races,
people yield to the temptation of doing that which was done a
hundred years before, or is being done
in other communities a thousand miles
away. The temptation often is to run
each individual through a certain
educational mould, regardless of the condition of the subject or the end to be accomplished. This was not so at Hampton Institute.
The address which I delivered on Commencement Day seems to
have pleased every one, and many kind
and encouraging words were spoken to me
regarding it. Soon after my return to my
home in West Virginia, where I had
planned to continue teaching, I was again surprised to receive a letter from General Armstrong,
asking me to return to Hampton partly as
a teacher and partly to pursue some supplementary studies.
This was in the summer of 1879.
Soon after I began my first
teaching in West Virginia I had picked out four of the brightest
and most promising of my pupils, in
addition to my two brothers, to whom I
have already referred, and had given them special attention, with
the view of having them go to
Hampton. They had gone there, and in
each case the teachers had found them so
well prepared that they entered advanced
classes. This fact, it seems, led to my
being called back to Hampton as a
teacher. One of the young men that I
sent to Hampton in this way is now Dr.
Samuel E. Courtney, a successful physician in
Boston, and a member of the School Board of that city.
About this time the experiment was being tried for the first
time, by General Armstrong, of education
Indians at Hampton. Few people then had any confidence in the ability of the
Indians to receive education and to
profit by it. General Armstrong was
anxious to try the experiment
systematically on a large scale. He
secured from the reservations in the
Western states over one hundred wild and for the most part perfectly ignorant Indians, the
greater proportion of whom were young
men. The special work which the General
desired me to do was be a sort of
"house father" to the Indian young men - that is, I was to live in the building with them and
have the charge of their discipline,
clothing, rooms, and so on. This was a
very tempting offer, but I had become so
much absorbed in my work in West Virginia
that I dreaded to give it up.
However, I tore myself away from it.
I did not know how to refuse to
perform any service that General
Armstrong desired of me.
On going to Hampton, I took up my residence in a building
with about seventy-five Indian
youths. I was the only person in
the building who was not a member of
their race. At first I had a good deal of doubt about my ability to
succeed. I knew that the average Indian felt himself above the white man, and,
of course, he felt himself far above the
Negro, largely on account of the fact of the
Negro having submitted to slavery - a thing which the Indian would never do.
The Indians, in the Indian Territory, owned a large number of slaves during the days of slavery. Aside from this, there was a general feeling that the attempt to education
and civilize the red men at Hampton
would be a failure. All this made me
proceed very cautiously, for I felt
keenly the great responsibility. But I
was determined to succeed. It was not long before I had the
complete confidence of the Indians, and
not only this, but I think I am safe in
saying that I had their love and respect. I found that they were about like any other human beings; that they
responded to kind treatment and resented
ill-treatment. They were continually
planning to do something that would add
to my happiness and comfort. The things that they disliked most, I think, were
to have their long hair cut, to give up
wearing their blankets, and to cease smoking; but no white American ever thinks that any other
race is wholly civilized until he wears
the white man's clothes, eats the white man's food, speaks the white man's language, and
professes the white man's religion.
When the difficulty of learning the English language
was subtracted, I found that in the
matter of learning trades and in mastering
academic studies there was little difference between the coloured and Indian students. It was a constant delight to me to note the interest which the coloured students took
in trying to help the Indians in every
way possible. There were a few of the
coloured students who felt that the
Indians ought not to be admitted to
Hampton, but these were in the minority.
Whenever they were asked to do
so, the Negro students gladly took the Indians as room-mates, in order that they might teach them to speak
English and to acquire civilized habits.
I have often wondered if there was a white institution in
this country whose students would have
welcomed the incoming of more than a
hundred companions of another race in the cordial way that these black students at Hampton welcomed the red
ones. How often I have wanted to say to white students that they lift
themselves up in proportion as they help
to lift others, and the more unfortunate the race, and the lower in the scale of civilization, the more
does one raise one's self by giving the
assistance.
This reminds me of a conversation which I once had with the
Hon. Frederick Douglass. At one time Mr. Douglass was travelling in
the state of Pennsylvania, and was
forced, on account of his colour, to
ride in the baggage-car, in spite of the fact that he had paid the same price for his passage that the other
passengers had paid. When some of the white passengers went into the
baggage-car to console Mr. Douglass, and
one of them said to him: "I am
sorry, Mr. Douglass, that you have been
degraded in this manner," Mr. Douglass straightened himself up on the box upon which he was
sitting, and replied: "They cannot degrade Frederick Douglass. The soul that is within me no man can degrade.
I am not the one that is being degraded on account of this treatment, but those who are inflicting
it upon me."
In one part of the country, where the law demands the
separation of the races on the railroad
trains, I saw at one time a rather
amusing instance which showed how difficult it sometimes is to know where the black begins and the white ends.
There was a man who was well known in his community as a
Negro, but who was so white that even an
expert would have hard work to classify
him as a black man. This man was riding
in the part of the train set aside for
the coloured passengers. When the train
conductor reached him, he showed at once
that he was perplexed. If the man
was a Negro, the conductor did not want
to send him to the white people's coach;
at the same time, if he was a white man, the conductor did not want to insult him by asking him if he was a
Negro. The official looked him over carefully, examining his
hair, eyes, nose, and hands, but still
seemed puzzled. Finally, to solve the
difficulty, he stooped over and peeped
at the man's feet. When I saw the
conductor examining the feet of the man
in question, I said to myself, "That
will settle it;" and so it did, for the trainman promptly decided
that the passenger was a Negro, and let
him remain where he was. I congratulated myself that my race was
fortunate in not losing one of its
members.
My experience has been that the time to test a true
gentleman is to observe him when he is
in contact with individuals of a race that is less fortunate than his own. This is illustrated in no better way than by observing the conduct of the
old-school type of Southern gentleman
when he is in contact with his former salves or their descendants.
An example of what I mean is shown in a story told of
George Washington, who, meeting a
coloured man in the road once, who politely
lifted his hat, lifted his own in return. Some of his white friends who saw the incident criticised Washington
for his action. In reply to their criticism George Washington
said: "Do you suppose that I
am going to permit a poor, ignorant,
coloured man to be more polite than I
am?"
While I was in charge of the Indian boys at Hampton, I had
one or two experiences which illustrate
the curious workings of caste in
America. One of the Indian boys
was taken ill, and it became my duty to
take him to Washington, deliver him over to the Secretary of the Interior, and get a receipt for him, in order
that he might be returned to his Western
reservation. At that time I was
rather ignorant of the ways of the
world. During my journey to Washington, on a steamboat, when the bell rang for
dinner, I was careful to wait and not
enter the dining room until after the greater part of the passengers had finished their meal. Then, with my charge, I went to the dining saloon. The man in charge politely informed me that
the Indian could be served, but that I
could not. I never could understand how he knew just where to draw the
colour line, since the Indian and I were
of about the same complexion. The
steward, however, seemed to be an expert
in this manner. I had been directed by
the authorities at Hampton to stop at a
certain hotel in Washington with my
charge, but when I went to this hotel the clerk stated that he would be glad to receive the Indian into the
house, but said that he could not
accommodate me.
An illustration of something of this same feeling came under
my observation afterward. I happened to find myself in a town in
which so much excitement and indignation
were being expressed that it seemed
likely for a time that there would be a lynching. The occasion of the trouble was that a dark-skinned man had
stopped at the local hotel.
Investigation, however, developed the fact that this individual was
a citizen of Morocco, and that while
travelling in this country he spoke the
English language. As soon as it was
learned that he was not an American
Negro, all the signs of indignation disappeared. The man who
was the innocent cause of the excitement, though, found it prudent after that not to speak English.
At the end of my first year with the Indians there came
another opening for me at Hampton,
which, as I look back over my life now,
seems to have come providentially, to help to prepare me for my
work at Tuskegee later. General Armstrong had found out that there
was quite a number of young coloured men
and women who were intensely in earnest
in wishing to get an education, but who were prevented from entering Hampton Institute because they were
too poor to be able to pay any portion
of the cost of their board, or even to supply
themselves with books. He
conceived the idea of starting a night-school in connection with the Institute,
into which a limited number of the most
promising of these young men and women would be received, on condition that they were to work for ten
hours during the day, and attend school
for two hours at night. They were to be
paid something above the cost of their
board for their work. The greater part
of their earnings was to be reserved in
the school's treasury as a fund to be
drawn on to pay their board when they had become students in the day-school, after they had spent one or two
years in the night-school. In this way
they would obtain a start in their books and a knowledge of some trade or industry, in addition to the
other far-reaching benefits of the
institution.
General Armstrong asked me to take charge of the
night-school, and I did so. At the beginning of this school there were
about twelve strong, earnest men and
women who entered the class. During the
day the greater part of the young men
worked in the school's sawmill, and the
young men worked in the laundry. The
work was not easy in either place, but
in all my teaching I never taught pupils who gave me much genuine satisfaction as these did. They were good students, and mastered their work thoroughly. They were so much in earnest that only the ringing of the retiring-bell would
make them stop studying, and often they
would urge me to continue the lessons after the usual hour for going to bed had come.
These students showed so much earnestness, both in their
hard work during the day, as well as in
their application to their studies at
night, that I gave them the name of "The Plucky Class" - a
name which soon grew popular and spread
throughout the institution. After a student had been in the night-school long
enough to prove what was in him, I gave
him a printed certificate which read something like this: -
"This is to certify that James Smith is a member of The
Plucky Class of the Hampton Institute,
and is in good and regular standing."
The students prized these certificates highly, and they
added greatly to the popularity of the
night-school. Within a few weeks this department had grown to such an extent
that there were about twenty-five
students in attendance. I have followed
the course of many of these twenty-five
men and women ever since then, and they are
now holding important and useful positions in nearly every part of
the South. The night-school at Hampton, which started
with only twelve students, now numbers
between three and four hundred, and is one of
the permanent and most important features of the institution.
CHAPTER VII
EARLY DAYS AT TUSKEGEE
DURING the time that I had charge of the Indians and the
night-school at Hampton, I pursued some
studies myself, under the direction of the
instructors there. One of these
instructors was the Rev. Dr. H.B.
Frissell, the present Principal of the Hampton Institute, General Armstrong's successor.
In May, 1881, near the close of my first year in teaching
the night-school, in a way that I had
not dared expect, the opportunity opened
for me to begin my life-work. One night
in the chapel, after the usual chapel
exercises were over, General Armstrong referred to the fact that he had received a letter from
some gentlemen in Alabama asking him to
recommend some one to take charge of what was to be a normal school for the coloured people in the
little town of Tuskegee in that
state. These gentlemen seemed to take it
for granted that no coloured man
suitable for the position could be secured, and they were expecting the General to recommend a white
man for the place. The next day General Armstrong sent for me to
come to his office, and, much to my
surprise, asked me if I thought I could fill the position in Alabama.
I told him that I would be willing to try. Accordingly,
he wrote to the people who had applied to him for the information, that he did not know of any white man to
suggest, but if they would be willing to
take a coloured man, he had one whom he could recommend. In this letter he gave them my name.
Several days passed before anything more was heard about
the matter. Some time afterward, one Sunday evening
during the chapel exercises, a messenger
came in and handed the general a telegram.
At the end of the exercises he
read the telegram to the school. In substance, these were its words: "Booker T. Washington will suit us. Send him at once."
There was a great deal of joy expressed among the students
and teachers, and I received very hearty
congratulations. I began to get ready at once to go to Tuskegee. I went by way of my old home in West Virginia, where I remained for several days,
after which I proceeded to
Tuskegee. I found Tuskegee to be a town
of about two thousand inhabitants,
nearly one-half of whom were coloured.
It was in what was known as the
Black Belt of the South. In the county
in which Tuskegee is situated the
coloured people outnumbered the whites by
about three to one. In some of
the adjoining and near-by counties the
proportion was not far from six coloured persons to one white.
I have often been asked to define the term "Black
Belt." So far as I can learn, the term was first used to
designated a part of the country which
was distinguished by the colour of the soil.
The part of the country
possessing this thick, dark, and naturally rich soil was, of course, the part of the South where
the slaves were most profitable, and
consequently they were taken there in the largest numbers.
Later, and especially since the war, the term seems to be used wholly in a political sense - that is,
to designate the counties where the
black people outnumber the white.
Before going to Tuskegee I had expected to find there a
building and all the necessary apparatus
ready for me to begin teaching. To
my disappointment, I found nothing of
the kind. I did find, though, that which no costly building and apparatus can
supply, - hundreds of hungry, earnest
souls who wanted to secure knowledge.
Tuskegee seemed an ideal place for the school. It was in the
midst of the great bulk of the Negro population, and was rather secluded, being five miles from the main line
of railroad, with which it was connected
by a short line. During the days of
slavery, and since, the town had been a
centre for the education of the white
people. This was an added
advantage, for the reason that I found the
white people possessing a degree of culture and education that is
not surpassed by many localities. While the coloured people were ignorant, they had not, as a rule, degraded
and weakened their bodies by vices such
as are common to the lower class of people in the large cities.
In general, I found the relations between the two races pleasant.
For example, the largest, and I think at that time the only hardware store in the town was owned and
operated jointly by a coloured man and a
white man. This copartnership continued
until the death of the white partner.
I found that about a year previous to my going to Tuskegee
some of the coloured people who had
heard something of the work of education
being done at Hampton had applied to the state Legislature, through their representatives, for a small
appropriation to be used in starting a
normal school in Tuskegee. This request
the Legislature had complied with to the
extent of granting an annual appropriation of
two thousand dollars. I soon
learned, however, that this money could
be used only for the payment of the salaries of the instructors,
and that there was no provision for
securing land, buildings, or
apparatus. The task before me did
not seem a very encouraging one. It
seemed much like making bricks without straw.
The coloured people were
overjoyed, and were constantly offering their services in any way in which they could be of assistance in
getting the school started.
My first task was to find a place in which to open the
school. After looking the town over
with some care, the most suitable place
that could be secured seemed to be a rather dilapidated shanty near the coloured Methodist church, together with
the church itself as a sort of
assembly-room. Both the church and the
shanty were in about as bad condition as
was possible. I recall that during the
first months of school that I taught in
this building it was in such poor repair
that, whenever it rained, one of the older students would very kindly leave his lessons and hold an umbrella
over me while I heard the recitations of
the others. I remember, also, that on
more than one occasion my landlady held
an umbrella over me while I ate
breakfast.
At the time I went to Alabama the coloured people were
taking considerable interest in
politics, and they were very anxious that I
should become one of them politically, in every respect. They seemed
to have a little distrust of strangers in this regard. I recall that
one man, who seemed to have been designated by the others to look after my political destiny, came to me on
several occasions and said, with a good
deal of earnestness: "We wants you
to be sure to vote jes' like we
votes. We can't read de newspapers very
much, but we knows how to vote, an' we
wants you to vote jes' like we votes."
He added: "We watches de white man, and we keeps
watching de white man till we finds out
which way de white man's gwine to vote; an' when we finds out which way de white man's gwine to
vote, den we votes 'xactly de other
way. Den we knows we's right."
I am glad to add, however, that at the present time the disposition to vote against the white man
merely because he is white is largely
disappearing, and the race is learning to vote from principle, for what the voter considers to be
for the best interests of both races.
I reached Tuskegee, as I have said, early in June,
1881. The first month I spent in finding accommodations
for the school, and in travelling through
Alabama, examining into the actual life of the
people, especially in the court districts, and in getting the
school advertised among the glass of
people that I wanted to have attend it.
The most of my travelling was done over the country roads, with a
mule and a cart or a mule and a buggy
wagon for conveyance. I ate and slept with the people, in their little
cabins. I saw their farms, their schools, their churches. Since, in the case of the most of these visits, there had been no notice given in
advance that a stranger was expected, I
had the advantage of seeing the real,
everyday life of the people.
In the plantation districts I found that, as a rule, the
whole family slept in one room, and that
in addition to the immediate family
there sometimes were relatives, or others not related to the
family, who slept in the same room. On more than one occasion I went outside the house to get ready for bed, or to wait
until the family had gone to bed. They usually contrived some kind of a place
for me to sleep, either on the floor or
in a special part of another's bed.
Rarely was there any place
provided in the cabin where one could bathe even the face and hands, but usually some provision
was made for this outside the house, in
the yard.
The common diet of the people was fat pork and corn
bread. At times I have eaten in cabins where they had
only corn bread and "black-eye
peas" cooked in plain water. The
people seemed to have no other idea than
to live on this fat meat and corn bread, - the meat, and the meal of which the bread was made,
having been bought at a high price at a
store in town, notwithstanding the face that the land all about the cabin homes could easily have been
made to produce nearly every kind of
garden vegetable that is raised anywhere in the country. Their one object seemed to be to plant
nothing but cotton; and in many cases
cotton was planted up to the very door of the cabin.
In these cabin homes I often found sewing-machines which had
been bought, or were being bought, on
instalments [sic], frequently at a cost
of as much as sixty dollars, or showy clocks for which the occupants of the cabins had paid twelve or
fourteen dollars. I remember that on one occasion when I went
into one of these cabins for dinner,
when I sat down to the table for a meal with the four members of the family, I noticed that, while there
were five of us at the table, there was
but one fork for the five of us to use.
Naturally there was an awkward
pause on my part. In the opposite corner
of that same cabin was an organ for
which the people told me they were paying
sixty dollars in monthly instalments [sic]. One fork, and a sixty-dollar organ!
In most cases the sewing-machine was not used, the clocks
were so worthless that they did not keep
correct time - and if they had, in nine
cases out of ten there would have been no one in the family who could have told the time of day - while the
organ, of course, was rarely used for
want of a person who could play upon it.
In the case to which I have referred, where the family sat
down to the table for the meal at which
I was their guest, I could see plainly
that this was an awkward and unusual proceeding, and was done in my honour.
In most cases, when the family got up in the morning, for example, the wife would put a piece of meat
in a frying-pan and put a lump of dough
in a "skillet," as they called it.
These utensils would be placed on
the fire, and in ten or fifteen minutes breakfast would be ready.
Frequently the husband would take his bread and meat in his hand and start for the field, eating as he
walked. The mother would sit down in a corner and eat her breakfast,
perhaps from a plate and perhaps
directly from the "skillet" or frying-pan, while the children would eat their portion of the bread and meat
while running about the yard. At certain seasons of the year, when meat was
scarce, it was rarely that the children
who were not old enough or strong enough to
work in the fields would have the luxury of meat.
The breakfast over, and with practically no attention given
to the house, the whole family would, as
a general thing, proceed to the
cotton-field. Every child that
was large enough to carry a hoe was put
to work, and the baby - for usually there was at least one baby - would be laid
down at the end of the cotton row, so that its mother could give it a certain amount of attention
when she had finished chopping her row. The noon meal and the supper were taken in
much the same way as the breakfast.
All the days of the family would be spent after much this
same routine, except Saturday and
Sunday. On Saturday the whole
family would spent at least half a day,
and often a whole day, in town. The idea in going to town was, I suppose, to do
shopping, but all the shopping that the
whole family had money for could have been attended to in ten minutes by one person. Still, the whole family remained in town for most of the day, spending the
greater part of the time in standing on
the streets, the women, too often, sitting about somewhere smoking or dipping snuff. Sunday was usually spent in going to
some big meeting. With few exceptions, I found that the crops
were mortgaged in the counties where I
went, and that the most of the coloured
farmers were in debt. The state had not
been able to build schoolhouses in the
country districts, and, as a rule, the schools
were taught in churches or in log cabins. More than once, while on my journeys, I found that there was no provision
made in the house used for school
purposes for heating the building during the winter, and consequently a fire had to be built in the
yard, and teacher and pupils passed in
and out of the house as they got cold or warm.
With few exceptions, I found the
teachers in these country schools to be
miserably poor in preparation for their work, and poor in moral character.
The schools were in session from three to five months. There was practically no apparatus in the
schoolhouses, except that occasionally
there was a rough blackboard. I recall
that one day I went into a schoolhouse -
or rather into an abandoned log cabin that
was being used as a schoolhouse - and found five pupils who were studying a lesson from one book. Two of these, on the front seat, were using the book between them; behind
these were two others peeping over the
shoulders of the first two, and behind the four was a fifth little fellow who was peeping over the shoulders
of all four.
What I have said concerning the character of the schoolhouses
and teachers will also apply quite
accurately as a description of the
church buildings and the ministers.
I met some very interesting characters during my
travels. As illustrating the peculiar mental processes of
the country people, I remember that I
asked one coloured man, who was about sixty years old, to tell me something of his history. He said that he had been born in Virginia, and sold into Alabama in 1845. I asked him how many were sold at the same time. He said, "There were five of us; myself
and brother and three mules."
In giving all these descriptions of what I saw during my
mouth of travel in the country around
Tuskegee, I wish my readers to keep in
mind the fact that there were many encouraging exceptions to the conditions which I have described. I have stated in such plain words what I saw, mainly for the reason that later
I want to emphasize the encouraging
changes that have taken place in the community, not wholly by the work of the Tuskegee school, but by
that of other institutions as well.
CHAPTER VIII
TEACHING SCHOOL IN A STABLE AND A HEN-HOUSE
I CONFESS that what I saw during my month of travel and
investigation left me with a very heavy
heart. The work to be done in order to
lift these people up seemed almost
beyond accomplishing. I was only
one person, and it seemed to me that the
little effort which I could put forth
could go such a short distance toward bringing about results. I
wondered if I could accomplish anything, and if it were worth while for me to try.
Of one thing I felt more strongly convinced than ever,
after spending this month in seeing the
actual life of the coloured people, and
that was that, in order to lift them up, something must be done more than merely to imitate New England
education as it then existed. I saw
more clearly than ever the wisdom of the system which General Armstrong had inaugurated at Hampton. To take the children of such people as I had been among for a month, and
each day give them a few hours of mere
book education, I felt would be almost a waste of time.
After consultation with the citizens of Tuskegee, I set July
4, 1881, as the day for the opening of
the school in the little shanty and
church which had been secured for its accommodation. The white
people, as well as the coloured, were greatly interested in the starting of the new school, and the opening
day was looked forward to with much
earnest discussion. There were not a few
white people in the vicinity of Tuskegee
who looked with some disfavour upon the
project. They questioned its
value to the coloured people, and had a
fear that it might result in bringing about trouble between the
races. Some had the feeling that in
proportion as the Negro received
education, in the same proportion would his value decrease as an economic factor in the state. These people feared the result of education would be that the Negroes would
leave the farms, and that it would be
difficult to secure them for domestic service.
The white people who questioned the wisdom of starting this
new school had in their minds pictures
of what was called an educated Negro,
with a high hat, imitation gold eye-glasses, a showy walking-stick, kid gloves,
fancy boots, and what not - in a word, a man who was determined to live by his wits. It was difficult for these people to see how education would produce any other
kind of a coloured man.
In the midst of all the difficulties which I encountered
in getting the little school started,
and since then through a period of
nineteen years, there are two men among all the many friends of the school in Tuskegee upon whom I have depended
constantly for advice and guidance; and
the success of the undertaking is largely due to these men, from whom I have never sought anything
in vain. I mention them simply as types. One is a white man and an ex-slaveholder, Mr.
George W. Campbell; the other is a black
man and an ex-slave, Mr. Lewis
Adams. These were the men who
wrote to General Armstrong for a teacher.
Mr. Campbell is a merchant and banker, and had had
little experience in dealing with
matters pertaining to education. Mr.
Adams was a mechanic, and had learned
the trades of shoemaking, harness-making, and tinsmithing during the days of
slavery. He had never been to school a day in his life, but in some way
he had learned to read and write while a
slave. From the first, these two men saw
clearly what my plan of education was,
sympathized with me, and supported me in
every effort. In the days which were darkest
financially for the school, Mr. Campbell
was never appealed to when he was not willing to extend all the aid in his power. I do not know two men, one an ex-slaveholder,
one an ex-slave, whose advice and judgment I would feel more like following in everything which
concerns the life and development of the
school at Tuskegee than those of these two men.
I have always felt that Mr. Adams, in a large degree,
derived his unusual power of mind from
the training given his hands in the process
of mastering well three trades during the days of slavery. If one
goes to-day into any Southern town, and asks for the leading and
most reliable coloured man in the
community, I believe that in five cases
out of ten he will be directed to a Negro who learned a trade
during the days of slavery.
On the morning that the school opened, thirty students
reported for admission. I was the only teacher. The students were about equally divided between the sexes. Most of them lived in Macon County, the county in which Tuskegee is
situated, and of which it is the
county-seat. A great many more students
wanted to enter the school, but it had
been decided to receive only those who were above fifteen years of age, and who had previously
received some education. The greater part of the thirty were
public-school teachers, and some of them
were nearly forty years of age. With the
teachers came some of their former
pupils, and when they were examined it was amusing to note that in several cases the pupil entered
a higher class than did his former
teacher. It was also interesting to note
how many big books some of them had
studied, and how many high-sounding subjects
some of them claimed to have mastered.
The bigger the book and the
longer the name of the subject, the prouder they felt of their accomplishment. Some had studied Latin, and one or two
Greek. This they thought entitled them to special
distinction.
In fact, one of the saddest things I saw during the month
of travel which I have described was a
young man, who had attended some high
school, sitting down in a one-room cabin, with grease on his clothing, filth all around him, and weeks in
the yard and garden, engaged in studying
a French grammar.
The students who came first seemed to be fond of memorizing
long and complicated "rules"
in grammar and mathematics, but had little
thought or knowledge of applying these rules to their everyday
affairs of their life. One subject which they liked to talk about,
and tell me that they had mastered, in
arithmetic, was "banking and discount," but I soon found out that neither they nor
almost any one in the neighbourhood in
which they had lived had ever had a bank account. In
registering the names of the students, I found that almost every
one of them had one or more middle
initials. When I asked what the
"J" stood for, in the name of
John J. Jones, it was explained to me that
this was a part of his "entitles." Most of the students wanted to get an education because they thought it would
enable them to earn more money as
school-teachers.
Notwithstanding what I have said about them in these
respects, I have never seen a more
earnest and willing company of young men and
women than these students were.
They were all willing to learn the
right thing as soon as it was shown them what was right. I was
determined to start them off on a solid and thorough foundation, so far as their books were concerned. I soon learned that most of them had the merest smattering of the
high-sounding things that they had
studied. While they could locate
the Desert of Sahara or the capital of
China on an artificial globe, I found out that the girls could not locate the proper places for the knives and
forks on an actual dinner-table, or the places on which the bread and meat
should be set.
I had to summon a good deal of courage to take a student who
had been studying cube root and
"banking and discount," and explain to him that the wisest thing for him to do first was
thoroughly master the multiplication
table.
The number of pupils increased each week, until by the end
of the first month there were nearly
fifty. Many of them, however, said that, as they could remain only for two or
three months, they wanted to enter a
high class and get a diploma the first year if possible.
At the end of the first six weeks a new and rare face
entered the school as a co-teacher. This was Miss Olivia A. Davidson, who
later became my wife. Miss Davidson was born in Ohio, and received
her preparatory education in the public
schools of that state. When little more than a girl, she heard of the
need of teachers in the South. She went to the state of Mississippi and
began teaching there. Later she taught
in the city of Memphis. While teaching
in Mississippi, one of her pupils became
ill with smallpox. Every one in the community was so frightened that no one
would nurse the boy. Miss Davidson closed her school and remained by
the bedside of the boy night and day until
he recovered. While she was at her Ohio
home on her vacation, the worst epidemic
of yellow fever broke out in Memphis,
Tenn., that perhaps has ever occurred in the South. When she heard of this, she at once telegraphed the Mayor of
Memphis, offering her services as a
yellow-fever nurse, although she had never had the disease.
Miss Davidon's experience in the South showed her that the
people needed something more than mere
book-learning. She heard of the Hampton system of education, and decided that
this was what she wanted in order to
prepare herself for better work in the South.
The attention of Mrs. Mary
Hemenway, of Boston, was attracted to her rare
ability. Through Mrs. Hemenway's
kindness and generosity, Miss Davidson,
after graduating at Hampton, received an opportunity to complete a two years' course of training at
the Massachusetts State Normal School at
Framingham.
Before she went to Framingham, some one suggested to Miss
Davidson that, since she was so very
light in colour, she might find it more
comfortable not to be known as a coloured women in this school in Massachusetts. She at once replied that under no
circumstances and for no considerations
would she consent to deceive any one in regard
to her racial identity.
Soon after her graduation from the Framingham institution,
Miss Davidson came to Tuskegee, bringing
into the school many valuable and fresh
ideas as to the best methods of teaching, as well as a rare moral character and a life of unselfishness
that I think has seldom been
equalled. No single individual did more
toward laying the foundations of the
Tuskegee Institute so as to insure the successful work that has been done there than Olivia A.
Davidson.
Miss Davidson and I began consulting as to the future of
the school from the first. The students were making progress in
learning books and in development their
minds; but it became apparent at once
that, if we were to make any permanent impression upon those who
had come to us for training we must do
something besides teach them mere
books. The students had come from
homes where they had had no
opportunities for lessons which would teach them how to care for
their bodies. With few exceptions, the homes in Tuskegee in
which the students boarded were but
little improvement upon those from which
they had come. We wanted to teach
the students how to bathe; how to care
for their teeth and clothing. We wanted
to teach them what to eat, and how to
eat it properly, and how to care for their rooms. Aside from this, we wanted to give them such
a practical knowledge of some one
industry, together with the spirit of industry, thrift, and economy, that they would be sure of knowing
how to make a living after they had left
us. We wanted to teach them to study
actual things instead of mere books
alone.
We found that the most of our students came from the
country districts, where agriculture in
some form or other was the main
dependence of the people. We
learned that about eighty-five per cent
of the coloured people in the Gulf states depended upon agriculture for their living. Since this was true, we wanted to be careful
not to education our students out of
sympathy with agricultural life, so that
they would be attracted from the country to the cities, and yield
to the temptation of trying to live by
their wits. We wanted to give them such an education as would fit a large
proportion of them to be teachers, and
at the same time cause them to return to the plantation districts and show the people there how to
put new energy and new ideas into
farming, as well as into the intellectual and moral and religious life of the people.
All these ideas and needs crowded themselves upon us with
a seriousness that seemed well-night
overwhelming. What were we to do? We had only the little old shanty and the
abandoned church which the good coloured
people of the town of Tuskegee had kindly loaned us for the accommodation of the classes. The number of students was increasing daily. The more we saw of them, and the more we
travelled through the country districts,
the more we saw that our efforts were
reaching, to only a partial degree, the actual needs of the people whom we wanted to lift up through the medium
of the students whom we should education
and send out as leaders.
The more we talked with the students, who were then coming
to us from several parts of the state,
the more we found that the chief
ambition among a large proportion of them was to get an education
so that they would not have to work any
longer with their hands.
This is illustrated by a story told of a coloured man in
Alabama, who, one hot day in July, while
he was at work in a cotton-field,
suddenly stopped, and, looking toward the skies, said: "O Lawd, de cottom am so grassy, de work am so hard, and
the sun am so hot dat I b'lieve dis
darky am called to preach!"
About three months after the opening of the school, and at
the time when we were in the greatest
anxiety about our work, there came into
market for sale an old and abandoned plantation which was situated about a mile from the town of
Tuskegee. The mansion house - or
"big house," as it would have been called - which had been occupied by the owners during slavery, had
been burned. After making a careful examination of the place, it seemed
to be just the location that we wanted
in order to make our work effective and permanent.
But how were we to get it?
The price asked for it was very little - only five hundred dollars - but
we had no money, and we were strangers
in the town and had no credit. The owner
of the land agreed to let us occupy the
place if we could make a payment of two hundred
and fifty dollars down, with the understanding that the remaining
two hundred and fifty dollars must be paid
within a year. Although five hundred dollars was cheap for the land, it
was a large sum when one did not have
any part of it.
In the midst of the difficulty I summoned a great deal of
courage and wrote to my friend General J.F.B.
Marshall, the Treasurer of the Hampton
Institute, putting the situation before him and beseeching him to lend me the two hundred and fifty dollars
on my own personal responsibility. Within a few days a reply came to the effect
that he had no authority to lend me the
money belonging to the Hampton
Institute, but that he would gladly lend me the amount needed from
his own personal funds.
I confess that the securing of this money in this way was a
great surprise to me, as well as a
source of gratification. Up to that
time I never had had in my possession so
much money as one hundred dollars at a
time, and the loan which I had asked General Marshall for seemed a tremendously large sum to me. The fact of my being responsible for the repaying of such a large amount of money
weighed very heavily upon me.
I lost no time in getting ready to move the school on to the
new farm. At the time we occupied the place there were
[sic] standing upon it a cabin, formerly
used as a dining room, an old kitchen, a
stable, and an old hen-house.
Within a few weeks we had all of these
structures in use. The stable was
repaired and used as a recitation-room, and very presently the hen-house was
utilized for the same purpose.
I recall that one morning, when I told an old coloured man
who lived near, and who sometimes helped
me, that our school had grown so large
that it would be necessary for us to use the hen-house for school purposes, and that I wanted him to
help me give it a thorough cleaning out
the next day, he replied, in the most earnest manner: "What you mean, boss? You sholy ain't gwine clean out de hen-house
in de day-time?"
Nearly all the work of getting the new location ready for
school purposes was done by the students
after school was over in the
afternoon. As soon as we got the
cabins in condition to be used, I
determined to clear up some land so that we could plant a crop. When I
explained my plan to the young men, I noticed that they did not seem to take to it very kindly. It was hard for them to see the
connection between clearing land and an
education. Besides, many of them
had been school-teachers, and they
questioned whether or not clearing land
would be in keeping with their dignity.
In order to relieve them from any
embarrassment, each afternoon after school I took my axe and led the way to the woods. When they saw that I was not afraid or
ashamed to work, they began to assist
with more enthusiasm. We kept at
the work each afternoon, until we had
cleared about twenty acres and had
planted a crop.
In the meantime Miss Davidson was devising plans to repay
the loan. Her first effort was made by holding
festivals, or "suppers." She
made a personal canvass among the white and coloured families in the town of Tuskegee, and got them to agree
to give something, like a cake, a
chicken, bread, or pies, that could be sold at the festival. Of course the coloured people were glad to
give anything that they could spare, but
I want to add that Miss Davidson did not apply to a single white family, so far as I now
remember, that failed to donate
something; and in many ways the white families showed their interested in the school.
Several of these festivals were held, and quite a little sum
of money was raised. A canvass was also made among the people of
both races for direct gifts of money,
and most of those applied to gave small
sums. It was often pathetic to note the
gifts of the older coloured people, most
of whom had spent their best days in slavery.
Sometimes they would give five cents, sometimes twenty-five cents. Sometimes the contribution was a quilt, or a
quantity of sugarcane. I recall one old coloured women who was about
seventy years of age, who came to see me
when we were raising money to pay for the farm.
She hobbled into the room where I
was, leaning on a cane. She was clad
in rags; but they were clean. She said:
"Mr. Washin'ton, God knows I
spent de bes' days of my life in slavery. God knows I's ignorant an' poor; but," she added, "I knows
what you an' Miss Davidson is tryin' to
do. I knows you is tryin' to make better
men an' better women for de coloured race. I ain't got no money, but I wants you to take
dese six eggs, what I's been savin' up,
an' I wants you to put dese six eggs
into the eddication of dese boys an' gals."
Since the work at Tuskegee started, it has been my privilege
to receive many gifts for the benefit of
the institution, but never any, I think,
that touched me so deeply as this one.
CHAPTER IX
ANXIOUS DAYS AND SLEEPLESS NIGHTS
THE coming of Christmas, that first year of our residence in
Alabama, gave us an opportunity to get a
farther insight into the real life of
the people. The first thing that
reminded us that Christmas had arrived
was the "foreday" visits of scores of children rapping at our doors, asking for "Chris'mus gifts! Chris'mus gifts!" Between the
hours of two o'clock and five o'clock in the morning I presume that
we must have had a half-hundred such
calls. This custom prevails throughout this portion of the South to-day.
During the days of slavery it was a custom quite
generally observed throughout all the
Southern states to give the coloured
people a week of holiday at Christmas, or to allow the holiday to continue as long as the "yule log"
lasted. The male members of the race, and often the female members, were
expected to get drunk. We found that for a whole week the coloured
people in and around Tuskegee dropped
work the day before Christmas, and that it was difficult for any one to perform any service from the time
they stopped work until after the New
Year. Persons who at other times did not
use strong drink thought it quite the
proper thing to indulge in it rather freely
during the Christmas week. There
was a widespread hilarity, and a free
use of guns, pistols, and gunpowder generally.
The sacredness of the season
seemed to have been almost wholly lost sight of.
During this first Christmas vacation I went some distance
from the town to visit the people on one
of the large plantations. In their poverty and ignorance it was pathetic to see
their attempts to get joy out of the
season that in most parts of the country is so sacred and so dear to the heart. In one cabin I notice that all that the
five children had to remind them of the
coming of Christ was a single bunch of
firecrackers, which they had divided among them. In another cabin, where there were at least a half-dozen
persons, they had only ten cents' worth
of ginger-cakes, which had been bought in the store the day before.
In another family they had only a few pieces of sugarcane.
In still another cabin I found nothing but a new jug of cheap, mean whiskey, which the husband and
wife were making free use of,
notwithstanding the fact that the husband was one of the local ministers.
In a few instances I found that the people had gotten hold of some bright-coloured cards that had been
designed for advertising purposes, and
were making the most of these. In other
homes some member of the family had
bought a new pistol. In the majority
of cases there was nothing to be seen in
the cabin to remind one of the coming of
the Saviour, except that the people had ceased work in the fields and were lounging about their
homes. At night, during Christmas week, they usually had what they
called a "frolic," in some
cabin on the plantation. That
meant a kind of rough dance, where there
was likely to be a good deal of whiskey used, and where there might be some shooting or cutting with razors.
While I was making this Christmas visit I met an old
coloured man who was one of the numerous
local preachers, who tried to convince me,
from the experience Adam had in the Garden of Eden, that God had cursed all labour, and that, therefore, it
was a sin for any man to work. For that reason this man sought to do as
little work as possible. He seemed at that time to be supremely happy,
because he was living, as he expressed
it, through one week that was free from
sin.
In the school we made a special effort to teach our students
the meaning of Christmas, and to give
them lessons in its proper
observance. In this we have been
successful to a degree that makes me
feel safe in saying that the season now has a new meaning, not only through all that immediate region, but, in a
measure, wherever our graduates have
gone.
At the present time one of the most satisfactory features of
the Christmas and Thanksgiving season at
Tuskegee is the unselfish and beautiful
way in which our graduates and students spend their time in administering to the comfort and happiness of
others, especially the unfortunate. Not long ago some of our young men spent a
holiday in rebuilding a cabin for a
helpless coloured women who was about seventy-five
years old. At another time I remember
that I made it known in chapel, one
night, that a very poor student was suffering
from cold, because he needed a coat.
The next morning two coats were
sent to my office for him.
I have referred to the disposition on the part of the white
people in the town of Tuskegee and
vicinity to help the school. From
the first, I resolved to make the school
a real part of the community in which it
was located. I was determined that no
one should have the feeling that it was
a foreign institution, dropped down in the midst of the people, for which they had no
responsibility and in which they had no
interest. I noticed that the very fact
that they had been asking to contribute
toward the purchase of the land made them begin
to feel as if it was going to be their school, to a large degree. I
noted that just in proportion as we made the white people feel that the institution was a part of the life of the
community, and that, while we wanted to
make friends in Boston, for example, we also wanted to make white friends in Tuskegee, and that
we wanted to make the school of real
service to all the people, their attitude toward the school became favourable.
Perhaps I might add right here, what I hope to demonstrate
later, that, so far as I know, the
Tuskegee school at the present time has no
warmer and more enthusiastic friends anywhere than it has among the white citizens of Tuskegee and throughout the
state of Alabama and the entire
South. From the first, I have advised
our people in the South to make friends
in every straightforward, manly way with their next-door neighbour, whether he
be a black man or a white man. I have also advised them, where no principle is at stake,
to consult the interests of their local
communities, and to advise with their friends in regard to their voting.
For several months the work of securing the money with which
to pay for the farm went on without
ceasing. At the end of three months enough was secured to repay the loan of two
hundred and fifty dollars to General
Marshall, and within two months more we had secured the entire five hundred dollars and had received
a deed of the one hundred acres of
land. This gave us a great deal of
satisfaction. It was not only a source of satisfaction to secure a
permanent location for the school, but
it was equally satisfactory to know that the greater part of the money with which it was paid for had
been gotten from the white and coloured
people in the town of Tuskegee. The most
of this money was obtained by holding
festivals and concerts, and from small
individual donations.
Our next effort was in the direction of increasing the
cultivation of the land, so as to secure
some return from it, and at the same time
give the students training in agriculture. All the industries at Tuskegee have been started in natural and
logical order, growing out of the needs
of a community settlement. We began with
farming, because we wanted something to
eat.
Many of the students, also, were able to remain in school
but a few weeks at a time, because they
had so little money with which to pay
their board. Thus another object which
made it desirable to get an industrial
system started was in order to make in available as a means of helping the students to earn money
enough so that they might be able to
remain in school during the nine months' session of the school year.
The first animal that the school came into possession of was
an old blind horse given us by one of
the white citizens of Tuskegee. Perhaps
I may add here that at the present time the school owns over two hundred horses, colts, mules, cows,
calves, and oxen, and about seven
hundred hogs and pigs, as well as a large number of sheep and goats.
The school was constantly growing in numbers, so much so
that, after we had got the farm paid
for, the cultivation of the land begun,
and the old cabins which we had found on the place somewhat
repaired, we turned our attention toward
providing a large, substantial building. After having given a good deal of thought to
the subject, we finally had the plans
drawn for a building that was estimated to
cost about six thousand dollars.
This seemed to us a tremendous sum,
but we knew that the school must go backward or forward, and that
our work would mean little unless we
could get hold of the students in their
home life.
One incident which occurred about this time gave me a great
deal of satisfaction as well as
surprise. When it became known in the
town that we were discussing the plans
for a new, large building, a Southern
white man who was operating a sawmill not far from Tuskegee came to me and said that he would gladly put
all the lumber necessary to erect the
building on the grounds, with no other guarantee for payment than my word that it would be paid
for when we secured some money. I told the man frankly that at the time we
did not have in our hands one dollar of
the money needed. Notwithstanding this,
he insisted on being allowed to put the
lumber on the grounds. After we had secured some portion of the money we
permitted him to do this.
Miss Davidson again began the work of securing in various
ways small contributions for the new
building from the white and coloured
people in and near Tuskegee. I
think I never saw a community of people
so happy over anything as were the coloured people over the prospect of this new building. One day, when we were holding a meeting to secure funds for its erection, an
old, ante-bellum coloured man came a
distance of twelve miles and brought in his ox-card a large hog.
When the meeting was in progress, he rose in the midst of the company and said that he had no money which
he could give, but he had raised two
fine hogs, and that he had brought one of them as a contribution toward the expenses of the
building. He closed his announcement by saying: "Any nigger that's got any love for his
race, or any respect for himself, will
bring a hog to the next meeting."
Quite a number of men in the community also volunteered to give several days' work, each, toward the erection
of the building.
After we had secured all the help that we could in Tuskegee,
Miss Davidson decided to go North for
the purpose of securing additional
funds. For weeks she visited
individuals and spoke in churches and
before Sunday schools and other organizations. She found this work quite trying, and often embarrassing. The school was not known, but she was not long in winning her way into the
confidence of the best people in the
North.
The first gift from any Northern person was received from a
New York lady whom Miss Davidson met on
the boat that was bringing her
North. They fell into a
conversation, and the Northern lady became so
much interested in the effort being made at Tuskegee that before
they parted Miss Davidson was handed a
check for fifty dollars. For some time before our marriage, and also after it,
Miss Davidson kept up the work of
securing money in the North and in the South by interesting people by personal visits and through
correspondence. At the same time she kept in close touch with the work at
Tuskegee, as lady principal and classroom
teacher. In addition to this, she
worked among the older people in and
near Tuskegee, and taught a Sunday school
class in the town. She was never very
strong, but never seemed happy unless
she was giving all of her strength to the cause which she loved.
Often, at night, after spending the day in going from door to door trying to interest persons in the work
at Tuskegee, she would e so exhausted
that she could not undress herself. A
lady upon whom she called, in Boston,
afterward told me that at one time when Miss
Davidson called her to see and send up her card the lady was
detained a little before she could see
Miss Davidson, and when she entered the
parlour she found Miss Davidson so exhausted that she had fallen asleep.
While putting up our first building, which was named Porter
Hall, after Mr. A.H. Porter, of
Brooklyn, N.Y., who gave a generous sum
toward its erection, the need for money became acute. I had given one of our creditors a promise that upon a
certain day he should be paid four
hundred dollars. On the morning of that
day we did not have a dollar. The mail arrived at the school at ten
o'clock, and in this mail there was a
check sent by Miss Davidson for exactly four hundred dollars.
I could relate many instances of almost the same character. This four hundred dollars was given by two
ladies in Boston. Two years later, when the work at Tuskegee had
grown considerably, and when we were in
the midst of a season when we were so much in need of money that the future looked doubtful and
gloomy, the same two Boston ladies sent
us six thousand dollars. Words cannot
describe our surprise, or the
encouragement that the gift brought to us.
Perhaps I might add here that for
fourteen years these same friends have sent us
six thousand dollars a year.
As soon as the plans were drawn for the new building, the
students began digging out the earth
where the foundations were to be laid,
working after the regular classes were over. They had not fully outgrown the idea that it was hardly the
proper thing for them to use their
hands, since they had come there, as one of them expressed it, "to be education, and not to
work." Gradually, though, I noted
with satisfaction that a sentiment in
favour of work was gaining ground.
After a few weeks of hard work the foundations were ready, and a
day was appointed for the laying of the
corner-stone.
When it is considered that the laying of this corner-stone
took place in the heart of the South, in
the "Black Belt," in the centre of
that part of our country that was most devoted to slavery; that at that time slavery had been abolished only
about sixteen years; that only sixteen
years before no Negro could be taught from books without the teacher receiving the condemnation of the
law or of public sentiment - when all
this is considered, the scene that was witnessed on that spring day at Tuskegee was a
remarkable one. I believe there are few places in the world where it could
have taken place.
The principal address was delivered by the Hon. Waddy
Thompson, the Superintendent of
Education for the county. About the
corner-stone were gathered the teachers, the students, their parents and friends, the county officials - who were
white - and all the leading white men in
that vicinity, together with many of the black men and women whom the same white people but a few
years before had held a title to as
property. The members of both races were
anxious to exercise the privilege of
placing under the corner-stone some momento.
Before the building was completed we passed through some
very trying seasons. More than once our hearts were made to bleed,
as it were, because bills were falling
due that we did not have the money to
meet. Perhaps no one who has not
gone through the experience, month after
month, of trying to erect buildings and provide equipment for a school when no one knew where the money was
to come from, can properly appreciate
the difficulties under which we laboured.
During the first years at
Tuskegee I recall that night after night I would roll and toss on my bed, without sleep, because of the
anxiety and uncertainty which we were in
regarding money. I knew that, in a large
degree, we were trying an experiment -
that of testing whether or not it was
possible for Negroes to build up and control the affairs of a large education institution. I knew that if we failed it would injure
the whole race. I knew that the presumption was against
us. I knew that in the case of white people beginning such an
enterprise it would be taken for granted
that they were going to succeed, but in our case I felt that people would be surprised if we
succeeded. All this made a burden which pressed down on us, sometimes,
it seemed, at the rate of a thousand
pounds to the square inch.
In all our difficulties and anxieties, however, I never went
to a white or a black person in the town
of Tuskegee for any assistance that was
in their power to render, without being helped according to their means.
More than a dozen times, when bills figuring up into the hundreds of dollars were falling due, I
applied to the white men of Tuskegee for
small loans, often borrowing small amounts from as many as a half-dozen persons, to meet our
obligations. One thing I was determined to do from the first, and that was
to keep the credit of the school high;
and this, I think I can say without boasting, we have done all through these years.
I shall always remember a bit of advice given me by Mr.
George W. Campbell, the white man to
whom I have referred to as the one who
induced General Armstrong to send me to Tuskegee. Soon after I
entered upon the work Mr. Campbell said to me, in his fatherly way: "Washington, always remember that
credit is capital."
At one time when we were in the greatest distress for money
that we ever experienced, I placed the
situation frankly before General
Armstrong. Without hesitation he
gave me his personal check for all the
money which he had saved for his own use.
This was not the only time that
General Armstrong helped Tuskegee in this way.
I do not think I have ever made
this fact public before.
During the summer of 1882, at the end of the first year's
work of the school, I was married to
Miss Fannie N. Smith, of Malden, W. Va.
We began keeping house in Tuskegee early in the fall. This made a
home for our teachers, who now had been increase to four in number. My wife was also a graduate of the Hampton
Institute. After earnest and constant work in the interests of the
school, together with her housekeeping
duties, my wife passed away in May, 1884.
One child, Portia M. Washington,
was born during our marriage.
From the first, my wife most earnestly devoted her thoughts
and time to the work of the school, and
was completely one with me in every
interest and ambition. She passed away,
however, before she had an opportunity
of seeing what the school was designed to be.
CHAPTER X
A HARDER TASK THAN MAKING BRICKS WITHOUT STRAW
FROM the very beginning, at Tuskegee, I was determined to
have the students do not only the
agricultural and domestic work, but to have
them erect their own buildings.
My plan was to have them, while
performing this service, taught the latest and best methods of
labour, so that the school would not
only get the benefit of their efforts,
but the students themselves would be taught to see not only utility
in labour, but beauty and dignity; would
be taught, in fact, how to lift labour
up from mere drudgery and toil, and would learn to love work for its own sake. My plan was not to teach them to work in the
old way, but to show them how to make
the forces of nature - air, water,
steam, electricity, horse-power - assist them in their labour.
At first many advised against the experiment of having
the buildings erected by the labour of
the students, but I was determined to
stick to it. I told those who doubted
the wisdom of the plan that I knew that
our first buildings would not be so comfortable or so complete in their finish as buildings erected
by the experienced hands of outside
workmen, but that in the teaching of civilization, self-help, and self-reliance,
the erection of buildings by the students
themselves would more than compensate for any lack of comfort or
fine finish.
I further told those who doubted the wisdom of this plan,
that the majority of our students came
to us in poverty, from the cabins of the
cotton, sugar, and rice plantations of the South, and that while I knew it would please the students very much
to place them at once in finely
constructed buildings, I felt that it would be following out a more natural process of development to teach
them how to construct their own
buildings. Mistakes I knew would be
made, but these mistakes would teach us
valuable lessons for the future.
During the now nineteen years' existence of the Tuskegee
school, the plan of having the buildings
erected by student labour has been
adhered to. In this time forty
buildings, counting small and large,
have been built, and all except four are almost wholly the product
of student labour. As an additional result, hundreds of men are
now scattered throughout the South who
received their knowledge of mechanics
while being taught how to erect these buildings. Skill and
knowledge are now handed down from one set of students to another
in this way, until at the present time a
building of any description or size can
be constructed wholly by our instructors and students, from the drawing of the plans to the putting in of
the electric fixtures, without going off
the grounds for a single workman.
Not a few times, when a new student has been led into
the temptation of marring the looks of
some building by leadpencil marks or by
the cuts of a jack-knife, I have heard an old student remind him:
"Don't do that. That is our
building. I helped put it up."
In the early days of the school I think my most trying
experience was in the matter of
brickmaking. As soon as we got the farm
work reasonably well started, we
directed our next efforts toward the
industry of making bricks. We
needed these for use in connection with
the erection of our own buildings; but there was also another
reason for establishing this
industry. There was no brickyard in the
town, and in addition to our own needs
there was a demand for bricks in the
general market.
I had always sympathized with the "Children of
Israel," in their task of
"making bricks without straw," but ours was the task of making bricks with no money and no experience.
In the first place, the work was hard and dirty, and it
was difficult to get the students to
help. When it came to brickmaking, their distaste for manual labour in
connection with book education became
especially manifest. It was not a
pleasant task for one to stand in the
mud-pit for hours, with the mud up to his knees. More than one man became disgusted and left the
school.
We tried several locations before we opened up a pit
that furnished brick clay. I had always supposed that brickmaking was
very simple, but I soon found out by
bitter experience that it required special
skill and knowledge, particularly in the burning of the bricks.
After a good deal of effort we moulded about twenty-five thousand bricks, and put them into a kiln to
be burned. This kiln turned out to be a failure, because it was
not properly constructed or properly
burned. We began at once, however, on a
second kiln. This, four some reason, also proved a failure. The failure of this kiln made it still more difficult to get the
students to take part in the work. Several of the teachers, however, who had
been trained in the industries at
Hampton, volunteered their services, and in some way we succeeded in getting a third kiln ready for
burning. The burning of a kiln required about a week. Toward the latter part of the week, when it seemed as if we were going to have a good
many thousand bricks in a few hours, in
the middle of the night the kiln fell.
For the third time we had failed.
The failure of this last kiln left me without a single
dollar with which to make another
experiment. Most of the teachers advised
the abandoning of the effort to make
bricks. In the midst of my troubles AI thought of a watch which had come into my
possession years before. I took the
watch to the city of Montgomery, which was not far distant, and placed it in a pawn-shop. I secured cash upon it to the amount of fifteen dollars, with which to renew the
brickmaking experiment. I returned to Tuskegee, and, with the help of
the fifteen dollars, rallied our rather
demoralized and discouraged forces and began a
fourth attempt to make bricks.
This time, I am glad to say, we were
successful. Before I got hold of
any money, the time-limit on my watch
had expired, and I have never seen it since; but I have never regretted the loss of it.
Brickmaking has now become such an important industry at
the school that last season our students
manufactured twelve hundred thousand of
first-class bricks, of a quality stable to be sold in any market.
Aside from this, scores of young men have mastered the brickmaking trade - both the making of bricks
by hand and by machinery - and are now
engaged in this industry in many parts of the
South.
The making of these bricks taught me an important lesson in
regard to the relations of the two races
in the South. Many white people who had had no contact with the school, and
perhaps no sympathy with it, came to us
to buy bricks because they found out that ours were good bricks.
They discovered that we were supplying a real want in the community.
The making of these bricks caused many of the white residents of the neighbourhood to begin to
feel that the education of the Negro was
not making him worthless, but that in educating our students we were adding something to the
wealth and comfort of the community. As the people of the neighbourhood came to us
to buy bricks, we got acquainted with
them; they traded with us and we with
them. Our business interests
became intermingled. We had
something which they wanted; they had
something which we wanted. This, in
a large measure, helped to lay the
foundation for the pleasant relations
that have continued to exist between us and the white people in that section, and which now extend throughout the
South.
Wherever one of our brickmakers has gone in the South, we
find that he has something to contribute
to the well-being of the community into
which he has gone; something that has made the community feel that, in a degree, it is indebted to him, and
perhaps, to a certain extent, dependent
upon him. In this way pleasant relations
between the races have been simulated.
My experience is that there is something in human nature
which always makes an individual
recognize and reward merit, no matter under
what colour of skin merit is found.
I have found, too, that it is the
visible, the tangible, that goes a long ways in softening
prejudices. The actual sight of a
first-class house that a Negro has built is ten
times more potent than pages of discussion about a house that he
ought to build, or perhaps could build.
The same principle of industrial education has been carried
out in the building of our own wagons,
carts, and buggies, from the first. We
now own and use on our farm and about the school dozens of these vehicles, and every one of them has been
built by the hands of the students. Aside from this, we help supply the local
market with these vehicles. The supplying of them to the people in the
community has had the same effect as the
supplying of bricks, and the man who learns
at Tuskegee to build and repair wagons and carts is regarded as a benefactor by both races in the community
where he goes. The people with whom he lives and works are going to
think twice before they part with such a
man.
The individual who can do something that the world wants
done will, in the end, make his way
regardless of race. One man may go into a community prepared to supply the
people there with an analysis of Greek
sentences. The community may not at the
time be prepared for, or feel the need
of, Greek analysis, but it may feel its need of
bricks and houses and wagons. If
the man can supply the need for those,
then, it will lead eventually to a demand for the first product, and with the demand will come the
ability to appreciate it and to profit by
it.
About the time that we succeeded in burning our first kiln
of bricks we began facing in an
emphasized form the objection of the
students to being taught to work.
By this time it had gotten to be
pretty well advertised throughout the state that every student who came to Tuskegee, no matter what his
financial ability might be, must learn
some industry. Quite a number of letters
came from parents protesting against
their children engaging in labour while they were in the school. Other parents came to the school to protest
in person. Most of the new students
brought a written or a verbal request from
their parents to the effect that they wanted their children taught nothing but books. The more books, the larger they were, and
the longer the titles printed upon them,
the better pleased the students and
their parents seemed to be.
I gave little heed to these protests, except that I lost
no opportunity to go into as many parts
of the state as I could, for the purpose
of speaking to the parents, and showing them the value of industrial education. Besides, I talked to the students constantly
on the subject. Notwithstanding the unpopularity of
industrial work, the school continued to
increase in numbers to such an extent that by the middle of the second year there was an
attendance of about one hundred and
fifty, representing almost all parts of the state of Alabama, and including a few from other states.
In the summer of 1882 Miss Davidson and I both went North
and engaged in the work of raising funds
for the completion of our new
building. On my way North I
stopped in New York to try to get a
letter of recommendation from an officer of a missionary
organization who had become somewhat
acquainted with me a few years previous.
This man not only refused to give
me the letter, but advised me most
earnestly to go back home at once, and not make any attempt to get money, for he was quite sure that I would
never get more than enough to pay my
travelling expenses. I thanked him for
his advice, and proceeded on my journey.
The first place I went to in the North, was Northampton,
Mass., where I spent nearly a half-day
in looking for a coloured family with
whom I could board, never dreaming that any hotel would admit me. I was
greatly surprised when I found that I would have no trouble in being accommodated at a hotel.
We were successful in getting money enough so that on
Thanksgiving Day of that year we held
our first service in the chapel of Porter
Hall, although the building was not completed.
In looking about for some one to preach the Thanksgiving
sermon, I found one of the rarest men
that it has ever been my privilege to
know. This was the Rev. Robert C.
Bedford, a white man from Wisconsin, who
was then pastor of a little coloured Congregational church in Montgomery, Ala. Before going to Montgomery to look for some one to preach this sermon I had never
heard of Mr. Bedford. He had never heard of me. He gladly consented to come to Tuskegee and hold the Thanksgiving service. It was the first service of the kind that the coloured people there had ever
observed, and what a deep interest they
manifested in it! The sight of the new
building made it a day of Thanksgiving
for them never to be forgotten.
Mr. Bedford consented to become one of the trustees of the
school, and in that capacity, and as a
worker for it, he has been connected
with it for eighteen years.
During this time he has borne the school
upon his heart night and day, and is never so happy as when he is performing some service, no matter how
humble, for it. He completely obliterates himself in everything, and looks
only for permission to serve where
service is most disagreeable, and where others would not be attracted.
In all my relations with him he has seemed to me to approach as nearly to the spirit of the
Master as almost any man I ever met.
A little later there came into the service of the school
another man, quite young at the time,
and fresh from Hampton, without whose
service the school never could have become what it is. This was Mr.
Warren Logan, who now for seventeen years has been the treasurer of the Institute, and the acting principal
during my absence. He has always shown a degree of unselfishness and an
amount of business tact, coupled with a
clear judgment, that has kept the school in good condition no matter how long I have been
absent from it. During all the financial stress through which the school
has passed, his patience and faith in
our ultimate success have not left him.
As soon as our first building was near enough to completion
so that we could occupy a portion of it
- which was near the middle of the
second year of the school - we opened a boarding department. Students had begun coming from quite a
distance, and in such increasing numbers
that we felt more and more that we were merely
skimming over the surface, in that we were not getting hold of the students in their home life.
We had nothing but the students and their appetites with
which to begin a boarding
department. No provision had been made
in the new building for a kitchen and
dining room; but we discovered that by
digging out a large amount of earth from under the building we
could make a partially lighted basement room
that could be used for a kitchen and
dining room. Again I called on the
students to volunteer for work, this
time to assist in digging out the basement.
This they did, and in a few weeks
we had a place to cook and eat in, although it
was very rough and uncomfortable.
Any one seeing the place now would
never believe that it was once used for a dining room.
The most serious problem, though, was to get the
boarding department started off in
running order, with nothing to do with in
the way of furniture, and with no money with which to buy anything. The merchants in the town would let us have
what food we wanted on credit. In fact, in those earlier years I was
constantly embarrassed because people
seemed to have more faith in me than I had in myself. It was pretty hard to cook, however, with
stoves, and awkward to eat without
dishes. At first the cooking was done
out-of-doors, in the old-fashioned,
primitive style, in pots and skillets placed over a fire.
Some of the carpenters' benches that had been used in the construction of the building were utilized
for tables. As for dishes, there were too few to make it worth while to
spend time in describing them.
No one connected with the boarding department seemed to have
any idea that meals must be served at
certain fixed and regular hours, and
this was a source of great worry.
Everything was so out of joint and
so inconvenient that I feel safe in saying that for the first two weeks something was wrong at every meal. Either the meat was not done or had been burnt, or the salt had been left
out of the bread, or the tea had been
forgotten.
Early one morning I was standing near the dining-room
door listening to the complaints of the
students. The complaints that morning were especially emphatic and
numerous, because the whole breakfast
had been a failure. One of the girls who
had failed to get any breakfast came out
and went to the well to draw some water to
drink and take the place of the breakfast which she had not been able to get.
When she reached the well, she found that the rope was broken and that she could get no water. She turned from the well and said, in the most discouraged tone, not knowing
that I was where I could hear her,
"We can't even get water to drink at this school." I think
no one remark ever came so near discouraging me as that one.
At another time, when Mr. Bedford - whom I have already
spoken of as one of our trustees, and a
devoted friend of the institution - was
visiting the school, he was given a bedroom immediately over the dining room.
Early in the morning he was awakened by a rather animated discussion between two boys in the
dining room below. The discussion was over the question as to whose
turn it was to use the coffee-cup that
morning. One boy won the case by proving
that for three mornings he had not had
an opportunity to use the cup at all.
But gradually, with patience and hard work, we brought order
out of chaos, just as will be true of
any problem if we stick to it with patience
and wisdom and earnest effort.
As I look back now over that part of our struggle, I am glad
to see that we had it. I am glad that we endured all those
discomforts and inconveniences. I am glad that our students had to dig out
the place for their kitchen and dining
room. I am glad that our first boarding-place was in the dismal,
ill-lighted, and damp basement. Had we started in a fine, attractive, convenient
room, I fear we would have "lost
our heads" and become "stuck up." It means a great deal, I think, to start off on a foundation which one
has made for one's self.
When our old students return to Tuskegee now, as they often
do, and go into our large, beautiful,
well-ventilated, and well-lighted dining
room, and see tempting, well-cooked food - largely grown by the students themselves - and see tables,
neat tablecloths and napkins, and vases
of flowers upon the tables, and hear singing birds, and note that each meal is served exactly
upon the minute, with no disorder, and
with almost no complaint coming from the hundreds that now fill our dining room, they, too, often
say to me that they are glad that we
started as we did, and built ourselves up year by year, by a slow and natural process of growth.
CHAPTER XI
MAKING THEIR BEDS BEFORE THEY COULD LIE ON THEM
A LITTLE later in the history of the school we had a visit
from General J.F.B. Marshall, the
Treasurer of the Hampton Institute, who
had had faith enough to lend us the first two hundred and fifty dollars with which to make a payment down on
the farm. He remained with us a week, and made a careful inspection
of everything. He seemed well pleased with our progress, and
wrote back interesting and encouraging
reports to Hampton. A little later Miss
Mary F. Mackie, the teacher who had
given me the "sweeping" examination when I entered Hampton, came to see us, and still later
General Armstrong himself came.
At the time of the visits of these Hampton friends the
number of teachers at Tuskegee had increase
considerably, and the most of the new
teachers were graduates of the Hampton Institute. We gave our
Hampton friends, especially General Armstrong, a cordial welcome. They were all surprised and pleased at the
rapid progress that the school had made
within so short a time. The coloured
people from miles around came to the
school to get a look at General Armstrong,
about whom they had heard so much.
The General was not only welcomed
by the members of my own race, but by the Southern white people as well.
This first visit which General Armstrong made to Tuskegee
gave me an opportunity to get an insight
into his character such as I had not
before had. I refer to his
interest in the Southern white people.
Before this I had had the thought that General Armstrong, having fought the Southern white man, rather
cherished a feeling of bitterness toward
the white South, and was interested in helping only the coloured man there. But this visit convinced me that I did
not know the greatness and the
generosity of the man. I soon learned,
by his visits to the Southern white
people, and from his conversations with
them, that he was as anxious about the prosperity and the happiness of the white race as the
black. He cherished no bitterness against the South, and was happy when an
opportunity offered for manifesting his
sympathy. In all my acquaintance with
General Armstrong I never heard him
speak, in public or in private, a single
bitter word against the white man in the South. From his example in this respect I learned the lesson that great
men cultivate love, and that only little
men cherish a spirit of hatred. I
learned that assistance given to the
weak makes the one who gives it strong; and
that oppression of the unfortunate makes one weak.
It is now long ago that I learned this lesson from
General Armstrong, and resolved that I
would permit no man, no matter what his
colour might be, to narrow and degrade my soul by making me hate
him. With God's help, I believe that I
have completely rid myself of any ill
feeling toward the Southern white man for any wrong that he may have inflicted upon my race. I am made to feel just as happy now when I am rendering service to Southern white men
as when the service is rendered to a
member of my own race. I pity from the
bottom of my heart any individual who is
so unfortunate as to get into the habit of
holding race prejudice.
The more I consider the subject, the more strongly I am
convinced that the most harmful effect
of the practice to which the people in
certain sections of the South have felt themselves compelled to resort, in order to get rid of the force of
the Negroes' ballot, is not wholly in
the wrong done to the Negro, but in the permanent injury to the morals of the white man. The wrong to the Negro is temporary, but to the morals of the white man the injury
is permanent. I have noted time and time again that when an
individual perjures himself in order to
break the force of the black man's ballot, he soon learns to practise dishonesty in other relations of
life, not only where the Negro is
concerned, but equally so where a white man is concerned. The white man who begins by cheating a Negro
usually ends by cheating a white
man. The white man who begins to break
the law by lynching a Negro soon yields
to the temptation to lynch a white man.
All this, it seems to me, makes
it important that the whole Nation lend a hand
in trying to lift the burden of ignorance from the South.
Another thing that is becoming more apparent each year in
the development of education in the
South is the influence of General
Armstrong's idea of education; and this not upon the blacks alone, but upon the whites also. At the present time there is almost no
Southern state that is not putting forth
efforts in the direction of securing
industrial education for its white boys and girls, and in most
cases it is easy to trace the history of
these efforts back to General Armstrong.
Soon after the opening of our humble boarding department
students began coming to us in still
larger numbers. For weeks we not only
had to contend with the difficulty of
providing board, with no money, but also
with that of providing sleeping accommodations.
For this purpose we rented a
number of cabins near the school. These
cabins were in a dilapidated condition,
and during the winter months the students who
occupied them necessarily suffered from the cold. We charge the
students eight dollars a month - all they were able to pay - for their board.
This included, besides board, room, fuel, and washing. We also gave the students credit on their
board bills for all the work which they
did for the school which was of any value to the institution.
The cost of tuition, which was fifty dollars a year for each student, we had to secure then, as now,
wherever we could.
This small charge in cash gave us no capital with which to
start a boarding department. The weather during the second winter of our
work was very cold. We were not able to provide enough
bed-clothes to keep the students
warm. In fact, for some time we were not
able to provide, except in a few cases,
bedsteads and mattresses of any kind.
During the coldest nights I was so troubled about the discomfort of the students that I could not sleep
myself. I recall that on several occasions I went in the middle of the night
to the shanties occupied by the young
men, for the purpose of confronting them.
Often I found some of them
sitting huddled around a fire, with the one blanket which we had been able to provide wrapped around
them, trying in this way to keep
warm. During the whole night some of
them did not attempt to lie down. One morning, when the night previous had been
unusually cold, I asked those of the
students in the chapel who thought that they had been frostbitten during the night to raise
their hands. Three hands went up.
Notwithstanding these experiences, there was almost no complaining on the part of the students. They knew that we were doing the best that we could for them. They were happy in the privilege of being permitted to enjoy any kind of
opportunity that would enable them to
improve their condition. They were
constantly asking what they might do to
lighten the burdens of the teachers.
I have heard it stated more than once, both in the North and
in the South, that coloured people would
not obey and respect each other when one
member of the race is placed in a position of authority over others.
In regard to this general belief and these statements, I can say that during the nineteen years of my
experience at Tuskegee I never, either
by word or act, have been treated with disrespect by any student or officer connected with the
institution. On the other hand, I am constantly embarrassed by the many acts
of thoughtful kindness. The students do
not seem to want to see me carry a large book or a satchel or any kind of a burden through the
grounds. In such cases more than one always offers to relieve
me. I almost never go out of my office when the rain is falling that some
student does not come to my side with an
umbrella and ask to be allowed to hold it over me.
While writing upon this subject, it is a pleasure for me to
add that in all my contact with the
white people of the South I have never
received a single personal insult.
The white people in and near
Tuskegee, to an especial [sic] degree, seem to count it as a
privilege to show me all the respect
within their power, and often go out of
their way to do this.
Not very long ago I was making a journey between Dallas
(Texas) and Houston. In some way it became known in advance that I
was on the train. At nearly every station at which the train
stopped, numbers of white people,
including in most cases of the officials of the town, came aboard and introduced themselves and
thanked me heartily for the work that I
was trying to do for the South.
On another occasion, when I was making a trip from
Augusta, Georgia, to Atlanta, being
rather tired from much travel, I road in a Pullman sleeper. When I went into the car, I found there two
ladies from Boston whom I knew
well. These good ladies were
perfectly ignorant, it seems, of the
customs of the South, and in the goodness
of their hearts insisted that I take a seat with them in their section.
After some hesitation I consented.
I had been there but a few
minutes when one of them, without my knowledge, ordered supper to be served for the three of us. This embarrassed me still further. The car was full of Southern white men, most
of whom had their eyes on our
party. When I found that supper had been
ordered, I tried to contrive some excuse
that would permit me to leave the section, but
the ladies insisted that I must eat with them. I finally settled back in my seat with a sigh, and said to myself,
"I am in for it now, sure."
To add further to the embarrassment of the situation, soon
after the supper was placed on the table
one of the ladies remembered that she had
in her satchel a special kind of tea which she wished served, and as she said she felt quite sure the
porter did not know how to brew it
properly, she insisted upon getting up and preparing and serving it herself. At last the meal was over; and it seemed
the longest one that I had ever
eaten. When we were through, I decided
to get myself out of the embarrassing
situation and go to the smoking-room, where most of the men were by that time,
to see how the land lay. In the meantime, however, it had become known
in some way throughout the car who I
was. When I went into the smoking-room I
was never more surprised in my life than
when each man, nearly every one of them
a citizen of Georgia, came up and introduced himself to me and thanked me earnestly for the work that I was
trying to do for the whole South. This was not flattery, because each one of
these individuals knew that he had
nothing to gain by trying to flatter me.
From the first I have sought to impress the students with
the idea that Tuskegee is not my
institution, or that of the officers, but that
it is their institution, and that they have as much interest in it
as any of the trustees or instructors. I have further sought to have them feel that I am at the institution as their
friend and adviser, and not as their
overseer. It has been my aim to have
them speak with directness and frankness
about anything that concerns the life of the
school. Two or three times a year
I ask the students to write me a letter
criticising or making complaints or suggestions about anything connected with the institution. When this is not done, I have them meet me in the chapel for a heart-to-heart
talk about the conduct of the
school. There are no meetings with our
students that I enjoy more than these,
and none are more helpful to me in planning for the future.
These meetings, it seems to me, enable me to get at the very heart of all that concerns the school. Few things help an individual more than to place responsibility upon him,
and to let him know that you trust
him. When I have read of labour troubles
between employers and employees, I have
often thought that many strikes and similar
disturbances might be avoided if the employers would cultivate the habit of getting nearer to their employees,
of consulting and advising with them,
and letting them feel that the interests of the two are the same.
Every individual responds to confidence, and this is not more true of any race than of the Negroes. Let them once understand that you are unselfishly interested in them, and
you can lead them to any extent.
It was my aim from the first at Tuskegee to not only have
the buildings erected by the students
themselves, but to have them make their
own furniture as far as was possible. I
now marvel at the patience of the
students while sleeping upon the floor while waiting for some kind of a bedstead to be constructed,
or at their sleeping without any kind of
a mattress while waiting for something that looked like a mattress to be made.
In the early days we had very few students who had been used
to handling carpenters' tools, and the
bedsteads made by the students then were
very rough and very weak. Not
unfrequently [sic] when I went into the
students' rooms in the morning I would find at least two bedsteads lying about on the floor. The problem of providing mattresses was a difficult one to solve. We finally mastered this, however, by getting some cheap cloth and
sewing pieces of this together as to
make large bags. These bags we filled
with the pine straw - or, as it is
sometimes called, pine needles - which we
secured from the forests near by.
I am glad to say that the industry
of mattress-making has grown steadily since then, and has been improved to such an extent that at the
present time it is an important branch
of the work which is taught systematically to a number of our girls, and that the mattresses that now come
out of the mattress-shop at Tuskegee are
about as good as those bought in the average store. For some time after the opening of the
boarding department we had no chairs in
the students' bedrooms or in the dining rooms.
Instead of chairs we used stools
which the students constructed by nailing
together three pieces of rough board.
As a rule, the furniture in the
students' rooms during the early days of the school consisted of a bed, some stools, and sometimes a rough table
made by the students. The plan of
having the students make the furniture is still followed, but the number of pieces in a room has been
increased, and the workmanship has so
improved that little fault can be found with the articles now.
One thing that I have always insisted upon at Tuskegee is that everywhere there should be absolute
cleanliness. Over and over again the students were reminded in
those first years - and are reminded now
- that people would excuse us for our poverty, for our lack of comforts and conveniences, but that
they would not excuse us for dirt.
Another thing that has been insisted upon at the school is
the use of the tooth-brush. "The gospel of the tooth-brush," as
General Armstrong used to call it, is
part of our creed at Tuskegee. No student is permitted to retain who does not
keep and use a tooth-brush. Several
times, in recent years, students have come to us who brought with them almost no other article
except a tooth-brush. They had heard from the lips of other students
about our insisting upon the use of
this, and so, to make a good impression, they brought at least a tooth-brush with them. I remember that one morning, not long ago,
I went with the lady principal on her
usual morning tour of inspection of the
girls' rooms. We found one room that
contained three girls who had recently
arrived at the school. When I asked them
if they had tooth-brushes, one of the
girls replied, pointing to a brush:
"Yes, sir. That is our brush. We bought it together, yesterday." It did
not take them long to learn a different lesson.
It has been interesting to note the effect that the use of
the tooth-brush has had in bringing
about a higher degree of civilization
among the students. With few
exceptions, I have noticed that, if we
can get a student to the point where, when the first or second
tooth-brush disappears, he of his own motion buys another, I have not been disappointed in the future of that
individual. Absolute cleanliness of the body has been insisted upon from the
first. The students have been taught to bathe as regularly as to take
their meals. This lesson we began teaching before we had anything in
the shape of a bath-house. Most of the
students came from plantation districts, and often we had to teach them how to sleep at night; that is,
whether between the two sheets - after
we got to the point where we could provide them two sheets - or under both of them. Naturally I found it difficult to teach them to sleep between two sheets when we
were able to supply but one. The importance of the use of the night-gown
received the same attention.
For a long time one of the most difficult tasks was to teach
the students that all the buttons were
to be kept on their clothes, and that
there must be no torn places or grease-spots. This lesson, I am pleased to be able to say, has been so
thoroughly learned and so faithfully
handed down from year to year by one set of students to another that often at the present time, when
the students march out of the chapel in
the evening and their dress is inspected, as it is every night, not one button is found to be missing.
CHAPTER XII
RAISING MONEY
WHEN we opened our boarding department, we provided rooms in
the attic of Porter Hall, our first
building, for a number of girls. But
the number of students, of both sexes,
continued to increase. We could find rooms outside the school grounds for
many of the young men, but the girls we
did not care to expose in this way. Very
soon the problem of providing more rooms
for the girls, as well as a larger
boarding department for all the students, grew serious. As a result,
we finally decided to undertake the construction of a still larger building - a building that would contain
rooms for the girls and boarding
accommodations for all.
After having had a preliminary sketch of the needed building
made, we found that it would cost about
ten thousand dollars. We had no money whatever with which to begin; still we
decided to give the needed building a
name. We knew we could name it, even
though we were in doubt about our
ability to secure the means for its construction. We decided to call the proposed building
Alabama Hall, in honour of the state in
which we were labouring. Again Miss
Davidson began making efforts to enlist
the interest and help of the coloured and
white people in and near Tuskegee.
They responded willingly, in
proportion to their means. The
students, as in the case of our first
building, Porter Hall, began digging out the dirt in order to allow the laying of the foundations.
When we seemed at the end of our resources, so far as securing money was concerned, something occurred which
showed the greatness of General
Armstrong - something which proved how far he was above the ordinary individual. When we were in the midst of great anxiety as
to where and how we were to get funds
for the new building, I received a
telegram from General Armstrong asking me if I could spend a month travelling with him through the North, and
asking me, if I could do so, to come to
Hampton at once. Of course I accepted
General Armstrong's invitation, and went
to Hampton immediately. On arriving there I found that the General had decided to
take a quartette [sic] of singers
through the North, and hold meetings for a month in important cities, at which meetings he and I
were to speak. Imagine my surprise when the General told me,
further, that these meetings were to be
held, not in the interests of Hampton, but in the interests of Tuskegee, and that the Hampton Institute
was to be responsible for all the
expenses.
Although he never told me so in so many words, I found
that General Armstrong took this method
of introducing me to the people of the
North, as well as for the sake of securing some immediate funds to be used in the erection of Alabama Hall. A weak and narrow man would have reasoned that all the money which came
to Tuskegee in this way would be just so
much taken from the Hampton Institute; but none of these selfish or short-sighted feelings ever
entered the breast of General
Armstrong. He was too big to be little,
too good to be mean. He knew that the
people in the North who gave money gave it for the purpose of helping the whole cause of Negro
civilization, and not merely for the
advancement of any one school. The
General knew, too, that the way to
strengthen Hampton was to make it a centre of
unselfish power in the working out of the whole Southern problem.
In regard to the addresses which I was to make in the North,
I recall just one piece of advice which
the General gave me. He said: "Give them an idea for every word." I think it would be hard to improve upon this advice; and it might be
made to apply to all public speaking. From that time to the present I have always
tried to keep his advice in mind.
Meetings were held in New York, Brooklyn, Boston, Philadelphia, and other large cities, and at all of these
meetings General Armstrong pleased,
together with myself, for help, not for Hampton, but for Tuskegee.
At these meetings an especial [sic] effort was made to secure help for the building of Alabama Hall,
as well as to introduce the school to
the attention of the general public. In
both these respects the meetings proved
successful.
After that kindly introduction I began going North alone to
secure funds. During the last fifteen years I have been compelled
to spend a large proportion of my time
away from the school, in an effort to
secure money to provide for the growing needs of the institution. In my
efforts to get funds I have had some experiences that may be of interest to my readers. Time and time again I have been asked,
by people who are trying to secure money
for philanthropic purposes, what rule or
rules I followed to secure the interest and help of people who were able to contribute money to worthy
objects. As far as the science of what is called begging can be
reduced to rules, I would say that I
have had but two rules. First, always to
do my whole duty regarding making our
work known to individuals and organizations; and, second, not to worry about the results. This second rule has been the hardest for me to live up to. When bills are on the eve of falling due, with not a dollar in hand with which to
meet them, it is pretty difficult to
learn not to worry, although I think I am learning more and more each year that all worry simply
consumes, and to no purpose, just so
much physical and mental strength that might otherwise be given to effective work. After considerable experience in coming
into contact with wealthy and noted men,
I have observed that those who have accomplished
the greatest results are those who "keep under the body"; are those who never grow excited
or lose self-control, but are always
calm, self-possessed, patient, and polite.
I think that President William
McKinley is the best example of a man of this class that I have ever seen.
In order to be successful in any kind of undertaking, I
think the main thing is for one to grow
to the point where he completely forgets
himself; that is, to lose himself in a great cause. In proportion as one loses himself in the way, in the same
degree does he get the highest happiness
out of his work.
My experience in getting money for Tuskegee has taught me to
have no patience with those people who
are always condemning the rich because
they are rich, and because they do not give more to objects of charity.
In the first place, those who are guilty of such sweeping criticisms do not know how many people would
be made poor, and how much suffering
would result, if wealthy people were to part all at once with any large proportion of their
wealth in a way to disorganize and
cripple great business enterprises. Then
very few persons have any idea of the
large number of applications for help that rich people are constantly being flooded with. I know wealthy people who receive as much as twenty calls a day for help. More than once when I have gone into the offices of rich men, I have
found half a dozen persons waiting to
see them, and all come for the same purpose, that of securing money. And all these calls in person, to say nothing
of the applications received through the
mails. Very few people have any idea of the amount of money given away by
persons who never permit their names to
be known. I have often heard persons
condemned for not giving away money,
who, to my own knowledge, were giving away
thousands of dollars every year so quietly that the world knew
nothing about it.
As an example of this, there are two ladies in New York,
whose names rarely appear in print, but
who, in a quiet way, have given us the
means with which to erect three large and important buildings during the last eight years. Besides the gift of these buildings, they have made other generous donations to
the school. And they not only help Tuskegee, but they are constantly
seeking opportunities to help other
worthy causes.
Although it has been my privilege to be the medium through
which a good many hundred thousand
dollars have been received for the work at
Tuskegee, I have always avoided what the world calls "begging." I
often tell people that I have never "begged" any money, and
that I am not a "beggar." My experience and observation have convinced
me that persistent asking outright for
money from the rich does not, as a rule,
secure help. I have usually proceeded on
the principle that persons who possess
sense enough to earn money have sense enough to
know how to give it away, and that the mere making known of the facts regarding Tuskegee, and especially the facts
regarding the work of the graduates, has
been more effective than outright begging.
I think that the presentation of
facts, on a high, dignified plane, is all the
begging that most rich people care for.
While the work of going from door to door and from office
to office is hard, disagreeable, and
costly in bodily strength, yet it has
some compensations. Such work gives one
a rare opportunity to study human
nature. It also has its compensations in
giving one an opportunity to meet some
of the best people in the world - to be more
correct, I think I should say the best people in the world. When
one takes a broad survey of the country, he will find that the most useful and influential people in it are those
who take the deepest interest in
institutions that exist for the purpose of making the world better.
At one time, when I was in Boston, I called at the door of
a rather wealthy lady, and was admitted
to the vestibule and sent up my
card. While I was waiting for an
answer, her husband came in, and asked
me in the most abrupt manner what I wanted.
When I tried to explain the
object of my call, he became still more ungentlemanly in his words and manner, and finally grew so
excited that I left the house without
waiting for a reply from the lady. A few
blocks from that house I called to see a
gentleman who received me in the most
cordial manner. He wrote me his
check for a generous sum, and then,
before I had had an opportunity to thank him, said: "I am so grateful to you, Mr. Washington, for giving me the
opportunity to help a good cause. It is a privilege to have a share in it. We in Boston are constantly indebted to you for doing our
work." My experience in securing money convinces me that the first
type of man is growing more rare all the
time, and that the latter type is increasing; that is, that, more and more, rich people are coming
to regard men and women who apply to
them for help for worthy objects, not as beggars, but as agents for doing their work.
In the city of Boston I have rarely called upon an
individual for funds that I have not
been thanked for calling, usually before I could get an opportunity to thank the donor for the
money. In that city the donors seem to feel, in a large degree, that
an honour is being conferred upon them
in their being permitted to give.
Nowhere else have I met with, in
so large a measure, this fine and Christlike
spirit as in the city of Boston, although there are many notable instances of it outside that city. I repeat my belief that the world is growing in the direction of giving. I repeat that the main rule by which I have been guided in collecting money
is to do my full duty in regard to giving
people who have money an opportunity for help.
In the early years of the Tuskegee school I walked the
streets or travelled country roads in
the North for days and days without
receiving a dollar. Often as it
happened, when during the week I had
been disappointed in not getting a cent from the very individuals
from whom I most expected help, and when
I was almost broken down and
discouraged, that generous help has come from some one who I had
had little idea would give at all.
I recall that on one occasion I obtained information that
led me to believe that a gentleman who
lived about two miles out in the country
from Stamford, Conn., might become interest in our efforts at Tuskegee if our conditions and needs were
presented to him. On an unusually cold and stormy day I walked the
two miles to see him. After some
difficulty I succeeded in securing an interview with him. He listened with some degree of interest to
what I had to say, but did not give me
anything. I could not help having the
feeling that, in a measure, the three
hours that I had spent in seeing him had been
thrown away. Still, I had
followed my usual rule of doing my duty.
If I had not seen him, I should have felt unhappy over neglect of duty.
Two years after this visit a letter came to Tuskegee from
this man, which read like this: "Enclosed I send you a New York draft
for ten thousand dollars, to be used in
furtherance of your work. I had placed this sum in my will for your school,
but deem it wiser to give it to you
while I live. I recall with pleasure
your visit to me two years ago."
I can hardly imagine any occurrence which could have given
me more genuine satisfaction than the
receipt of this draft. It was by
far the largest single donation which up
to that time the school had ever
received. It came at a time when
an unusually long period had passed
since we had received any money.
We were in great distress because of
lack of funds, and the nervous strain was tremendous. It is difficult for me to think of any situation that is more
trying on the nerves than that of
conducting a large institution, with heavy obligations to meet, without knowing where the money is to
come from to meet these obligations from
month to month.
In our case I felt a double responsibility, and this made
the anxiety all the more intense. If the institution had been officered by white persons, and had failed, it would
have injured the cause of Negro
education; but I knew that the failure of our institution, officered by Negroes, would not only mean the
loss of a school, but would cause
people, in a large degree, to lose faith in the ability of the entire race. The receipt of this draft for ten thousand
dollars, under all these circumstances,
partially lifted a burden that had been
pressing down upon me for days.
From the beginning of our work to the present I have always
had the feeling, and lose no opportunity
to impress our teachers with the same
idea, that the school will always be supported in proportion as the inside of the institution is kept clean
and pure and wholesome.
The first time I ever saw the late Collis P. Huntington, the
great railroad man, he gave me two
dollars for our school. The last time
I saw him, which was a few months before
he died, he gave me fifty thousand
dollars toward our endowment fund.
Between these two gifts there
were others of generous proportions which came every year from both Mr. and Mrs. Huntington.
Some people may say that it was Tuskegee's good luck that
brought to us this gift of fifty
thousand dollars. No, it was not
luck. It was hard work.
Nothing ever comes to me, that is worth having, except as the result of hard work. When Mr. Huntington gave me the first
two dollars, I did not blame him for not
giving me more, but made up my mind that
I was going to convince him by tangible results that we were worthy of larger gifts. For a dozen years I made a strong effort
to convince Mr. Huntington of the value
of our work. I noted that just in proportion as the usefulness of the school
grew, his donations increased. Never did I meet an individual who took a
more kindly and sympathetic interest in
our school than did Mr. Huntington. He
not only gave money to us, but took time
in which to advise me, as a father would
a son, about the general conduct of the school.
More than once I have found myself in some pretty tight
places while collecting money in the
North. The following incident I
have never related but once before, for
the reason that I feared that people
would not believe it. One morning I
found myself in Providence, Rhode
Island, without a cent of money with which to buy breakfast.
In crossing the street to see a lady from whom I hoped to get some money, I found a bright new
twenty-five-cent piece in the middle of
the street track. I not only had this twenty-five cents for my breakfast, but within a few minutes I had
a donation from the lady on whom I had
started to call.
At one of our Commencements I was bold enough to invite the
Rev. E. Winchester Donald, D.D., rector
of Trinity Church, Boston, to preach the
Commencement sermon. As we then had no
room large enough to accommodate all who
would be present, the place of meeting was
under a large improvised arbour, built partly of brush and partly
of rough boards. Soon after Dr. Donald had begun speaking, the
rain came down in torrents, and he had
to stop, while someone held an umbrella
over him.
The boldness of what I had done never dawned upon me until I
saw the picture made by the rector of
Trinity Church standing before that
large audience under an old umbrella, waiting for the rain to cease
so that he could go on with his address.
It was not very long before the rain ceased and Dr.
Donald finished his sermon; and an
excellent sermon it was, too, in spite of
the weather. After he had gone to
his room, and had gotten the wet threads
of his clothes dry, Dr. Donald ventured the remark that a large chapel at Tuskegee would not be out of
place. The next day a letter came from two ladies who were then
travelling in Italy, saying that they had
decided to give us the money for such a chapel as we needed.
A short time ago we received twenty thousand dollars from
Mr. Andrew Carnegie, to be used for the
purpose of erecting a new library
building. Our first library and
reading-room were in a corner of a
shanty, and the whole thing occupied a space about five by twelve feet.
It required ten years of work before I was able to secure Mr. Carnegie's interest and help. The first time I saw him, ten years ago, he seemed to take but little interest in
our school, but I was determined to show
him that we were worthy of his help.
After ten years of hard work I
wrote him a letter reading as follows:
December 15, 1900.
Mr. Andrew Carnegie, 5 W. Fifty-first St., New York.
Dear Sir:
Complying with the request which you made of me when I saw
you at your residence a few days ago, I now submit in writing an appeal for a
library building for our institution.
We have 1100 students, 86 officers and instructors, together
with their families, and about 200 coloured people living near the school, all
of whom would make use of the library building.
We have over 12,000 books, periodicals, etc., gifts from our
friends, but we have no suitable place for them, and we have no suitable
reading-room.
Our graduates go to work in every section of the South, and
whatever knowledge might be obtained in the library would serve to assist in
the elevation of the whole Negro race.
Such a building as we need could be erected for about
$20,000. All of the work for the building, such as brickmaking, brick-masonry,
carpentry, blacksmithing, etc., would be done by the students. The money which you would give would not only
supply the building, but the erection of the building would give a large number
of students an opportunity to learn the building trades, and the students would
use the money paid to them to keep themselves in school. I do not believe that a similar amount
of money often could be made go so far
in uplifting a whole race.
If you wish further information, I shall be glad to furnish
it.
Yours truly,
Booker T. Washington, Principal.
The next mail brought back the following reply: "I will be very glad to pay the bills for the library
building as they are incurred, to the extent
of twenty thousand dollars, and I am glad of this opportunity to show the interest I have in
your noble work."
I have found that strict business methods go a long way
in securing the interest of rich
people. It has been my constant aim
at Tuskegee to carry out, in our
financial and other operations, such
business methods as would be approved of by any New York banking house.
I have spoken of several large gifts to the school; but by
far the greater proportion of the money
that has built up the institution has
come in the form of small donations from persons of moderate means. It is upon these small gifts, which carry
with them the interest of hundreds of
donors, that any philanthropic work must depend largely for its support. In my efforts to get money I have often
been surprised at the patience and deep
interest of the ministers, who are
besieged on every hand and at all hours of the day for help. If no
other consideration had convinced me of the value of the Christian life, the Christlike work which the Church of
all denominations in America has done
during the last thirty-five years for the elevation of the black man would have made me a
Christian. In a large degree it has been the pennies, the nickels, and the
dimes which have come from the
Sunday-schools, the Christian Endeavour societies, and the missionary societies, as well as from the
church proper, that have helped to
elevate the Negro at so rapid a rate.
This speaking of small gifts reminds me to say that very
few Tuskegee graduates fail to send us
an annual contribution. These contributions range from twenty-five cents up
to ten dollars.
Soon after beginning our third year's work we were surprised
to receive money from three special
sources, and up to the present time we
have continued to receive help from them.
First, the State Legislature of
Alabama increased its annual appropriation from two thousand dollars to three thousand dollars; I
might add that still later it increased
this sum to four thousand five hundred dollars a year.
The effort to secure this increase was led by the Hon. M.F. Foster, the member of the Legislature from
Tuskegee. Second, we received one thousand dollars from the John
F. Slater Fund. Our work seemed to please the trustees of this fund,
as they soon began increasing their
annual grant. This has been added to
from time to time until at present we
receive eleven thousand dollars annually from
the Fund. The other help to which
I have referred came in the shape of an
allowance from the Peabody Fund. This
was at first five hundred dollars, but
it has since been increased to fifteen hundred dollars.
The effort to secure help from the Slater and Peabody
Funds brought me into contact with two
rare men - men who have had much to do
in shaping the policy for the education of the Negro. I refer to
the Hon. J.L.M. Curry, of Washington, who is the general agent for these two funds, and Mr. Morris K. Jessup, of
New York. Dr. Curry is a native of the South, an ex-Confederate
soldier, yet I do not believe there is
any man in the country who is more deeply interest in the highest welfare of the Negro than Dr. Curry,
or one who is more free from race
prejudice. He enjoys the unique
distinction of possessing to an equal
degree of confidence of the black man and the Southern white man.
I shall never forget the first time I met him. It was in
Richmond, Va., where he was then living.
I had heard much about him. When
I first went into his presence, trembling because of my youth and inexperience, he took me by the hand so
cordially, and spoke such encouraging
words, and gave me such helpful advice regarding the proper course to pursue, that I came to know
him then, as I have known him ever
since, as a high example of one who is constantly and unselfishly at work for the betterment of
humanity.
Mr. Morris K. Jessup, the treasurer of the Slater Fund, I
refer to because I know of no man of
wealth and large and complication business
responsibilities who gives not only money but his time and thought
to the subject of the proper method of
elevating the Negro to the extent that
is true of Mr. Jessup. It is very
largely through this effort and
influence that during the last few years the subject of industrial education has assumed the importance that it
has, and been placed on its present
footing.
CHAPTER XIII
TWO THOUSAND MILES FOR A FIVE-MINUTE SPEECH
SOON after the opening of our boarding department, quite a
number of students who evidently were
worthy, but who were so poor that they did
not have any money to pay even the small charges at the school,
began applying for admission. This class was composed of both men and women.
It was a great trial to refuse admission to these applicants, and in 1884 we established a night-school to
accommodate a few of them.
The night-school was organized on a plan similar to the one
which I had helped to establish at
Hampton. At first it was composed
of about a dozen students. They were admitted to the night-school
only when they had no money with which
to pay any part of their board in the
regular day-school. It was further
required that they must work for ten
hours during the day at some trade or industry, and study academic branches for two hours during the
evening. This was the requirement for the first one or two years of
their stay. They were to be paid something above the cost of their
board, with the understanding that all
of their earnings, except a very small part,
were to be reserved in the school's treasury, to be used for paying their board in the regular day-school after
they had entered that department. The night-school, started in this manner, has
grown until there are at present four
hundred and fifty-seven students enrolled in
it alone.
There could hardly be a more severe test of a student's
worth than this branch of the
Institute's worth. It is largely because
it furnishes such a good opportunity to
test the backbone of a student that I
place such high value upon our night-school.
Any one who is willing to work
ten hours a day at the brick-yard, or in the laundry, through one or two years, in order that he or
she may have the privilege of studying
academic branches for two hours in the evening,
has enough bottom to warrant being further educated.
After the student has left the night-school he enters the
day-school, where he takes academic branches four days in a week, and works at his trade two days. Besides this he usually works at his trade during the three summer months. As a rule, after a student has succeeded in going through the night-school
test, he finds a way to finish the
regular course in industrial and academic training. No
student, no matter how much money he may be able to command, is permitted to go through school without doing
manual labour. In fact, the industrial work is now as popular as the
academic branches. Some of the most successful men and women who have
graduated from the institution obtained
their start in the night-school.
While a great deal of stress is laid upon the industrial
side of the work at Tuskegee, we do not
neglect or overlook in any degree the
religious and spiritual side. The
school is strictly undenominational
[sic], but it is thoroughly Christian, and the spiritual training
or the students is not neglected. Our preaching service, prayer-meetings,
Sunday-school, Christian Endeavour Society, Young Men's Christian Association, and various missionary
organizations, testify to this.
In 1885, Miss Olivia Davidson, to whom I have already
referred as being largely responsible
for the success of the school during its
early history, and I were married.
During our married life she
continued to divide her time and strength between our home and the work for the school. She not only continued to work in the school
at Tuskegee, but also kept up her habit
of going North to secure funds. In 1889
she died, after four years of happy married life and eight years of hard and happy work for the
school. She literally wore herself out in her never ceasing efforts in
behalf of the work that she so dearly
loved. During our married life there
were born to us two bright, beautiful
boys, Booker Taliaferro and Ernest Davidson.
The older of these, Booker, has already mastered the brick-maker's trade at Tuskegee.
I have often been asked how I began the practice of
public speaking. In answer I would say that I never planned to
give any large part of my life to
speaking in public. I have always had
more of an ambition to do things than
merely to talk about doing them. It
seems that when I went North with General Armstrong to speak at the series of public meetings to which I have
referred, the President of the National
Educational Association, the Hon. Thomas W. Bicknell, was present at one of those meetings and heard me
speak. A few days afterward he sent me an invitation to deliver
an address at the next meeting of the
Educational Association. This meeting
was to be held in Madison, Wis. I accepted the invitation. This was, in a sense, the beginning of my public-speaking career.
On the evening that I spoke before the Association there
must have been not far from four
thousand persons present. Without my
knowing it, there were a large number of
people present from Alabama, and some
from the town of Tuskegee. These
white people afterward frankly told me
that they went to this meeting expecting to hear the South roundly abused, but were pleasantly surprised to find
that there was no word of abuse in my
address. On the contrary, the South was
given credit for all the praiseworthy
things that it had done. A white lady
who was teacher [sic] in a college in
Tuskegee wrote back to the local paper
that she was gratified, as well as surprised, to note the credit which I gave the white people of Tuskegee for
their help in getting the school
started. This address at Madison was the
first that I had delivered that in any
large measure dealt with the general problem of
the races. Those who heard it
seemed to be pleased with what I said
and with the general position that I took.
When I first came to Tuskegee, I determined that I would
make it my home, that I would take as
much pride in the right actions of the
people of the town as any white man could do, and that I would, at
the same time, deplore the wrong-doing
of the people as much as any white
man. I determined never to say
anything in a public address in the
North that I would not be willing to say in the South. I early
learned that it is a hard matter to convert an individual by
abusing him, and that this is more often
accomplished by giving credit for all
the praiseworthy actions performed than by calling attention alone to all the evil done.
While pursuing this policy I have not failed, at the proper
time and in the proper manner, to call
attention, in no uncertain terms, to the
wrongs which any part of the South has been guilty of. I have
found that there is a large element in the South that is quick to respond to straightforward, honest criticism
of any wrong policy. As a rule, the place to criticise the South,
when criticism is necessary, is in the
South - not in Boston. A Boston man who
came to Alabama to criticise Boston
would not effect so much good, I think, as one who had his word of criticism to say in Boston.
In this address at Madison I took the ground that the policy
to be pursued with references to the
races was, by every honourable means, to
bring them together and to encourage the cultivation of friendly relations, instead of doing that which would
embitter. I further contended that, in relation to his vote, the
Negro should more and more consider the
interests of the community in which he lived, rather than seek alone to please some one who lived
a thousand miles away from him and from
his interests.
In this address I said that the whole future of the Negro
rested largely upon the question as to
whether or not he should make himself,
through his skill, intelligence, and character, of such undeniable value to the community in which he lived that
the community could not dispense with
his presence. I said that any individual
who learned to do something better than
anybody else - learned to do a common thing
in an uncommon manner - had solved his problem, regardless of the colour of his skin, and that in proportion as
the Negro learned to produce what other
people wanted and must have, in the same proportion would he be respected.
I spoke of an instance where one of our graduates had
produced two hundred and sixty-six
bushels of sweet potatoes from an acre of
ground, in a community where the average production had been only forty-nine bushels to the acre. He had been able to do this by reason of his knowledge of the chemistry of the soil
and by his knowledge of improved methods
of agriculture. The white farmers in
the neighbourhood respected him, and
came to him for ideas regarding the
raising of sweet potatoes. These
white farmers honoured and respected him
because he, by his skill and knowledge, had added something to the wealth and the comfort of the community in
which he lived. I explained that my theory of education for the
Negro would not, for example, confine
him for all time to farm life - to the production of the best and the most sweet potatoes - but
that, if he succeeded in this line of
industry, he could lay the foundations upon which his children and grand-children could grow to
higher and more important things in
life.
Such, in brief, were some of the views I advocated in this
first address dealing with the broad
question of the relations of the two
races, and since that time I have not found any reason for changing
my views on any important point.
In my early life I used to cherish a feeling of ill will
toward any one who spoke in bitter terms
against the Negro, or who advocated
measures that tended to oppress the black man or take from him opportunities for growth in the most complete
manner. Now, whenever I hear any one advocating measures that are
meant to curtail the development of
another, I pity the individual who would do this. I know
that the one who makes this mistake does so because of his own lack of opportunity for the highest kind of
growth. I pity him because I know that he is trying to stop the
progress of the world, and because I
know that in time the development and the ceaseless advance of humanity will make him ashamed of
his weak and narrow position. One might as well try to stop the progress of
a mighty railroad train by throwing his
body across the track, as to try to stop
the growth of the world in the direction of giving mankind more intelligence, more culture, more skill, more
liberty, and in the direction of
extending more sympathy and more brotherly kindness.
The address which I delivered at Madison, before the
National Educational Association, gave
me a rather wide introduction in the
North, and soon after that opportunities began offering themselves for me to address audiences there.
I was anxious, however, that the way might also be opened
for me to speak directly to a
representative Southern white audience.
A partial opportunity of this
kind, one that seemed to me might serve as
an entering wedge, presented itself in 1893, when the international meeting of Christian Workers was held at
Atlanta, Ga. When this invitation came to me, I had engagements in
Boston that seemed to make it impossible
for me to speak in Atlanta. Still, after
looking over my list of dates and places
carefully, I found that I could take a
train from Boston that would get me into Atlanta about thirty
minutes before my address was to be
delivered, and that I could remain in that
city before taking another train for Boston. My invitation to speak in Atlanta stipulated that I was to confine
my address to five minutes. The question, then, was whether or not I
could put enough into a five-minute
address to make it worth while for me to make such a trip.
I knew that the audience would be largely composed of the
most influential class of white men and
women, and that it would be a rare
opportunity for me to let them know what we were trying to do at Tuskegee, as well as to speak to them about
the relations of the races. So I decided to make the trip. I spoke for five minutes to an audience of two thousand people, composed
mostly of Southern and Northern
whites. What I said seemed to be
received with favour and
enthusiasm. The Atlanta papers of
the next day commented in friendly terms
on my address, and a good deal was said about it in different parts of the country. I felt that I had in some degree
accomplished my object - that of getting
a hearing from the dominant class of the
South.
The demands made upon me for public addresses continued
to increase, coming in about equal
numbers from my own people and from
Northern whites. I gave as much
time to these addresses as I could spare
from the immediate work at Tuskegee.
Most of the addresses in the
North were made for the direct purpose of getting funds with which to support the school. Those delivered before the coloured people
had for their main object the impressing
upon them the importance of industrial
and technical education in addition to academic and religious training.
I now come to that one of the incidents in my life which
seems to have excited the greatest
amount of interest, and which perhaps went
further than anything else in giving me a reputation that in a
sense might be called National. I refer to the address which I delivered at the opening of the Atlanta Cotton states and
International Exposition, at Atlanta,
Ga., September 18, 1895.
So much has been said and written about this incident, and
so many questions have been asked me
concerning the address, that perhaps I
may be excused for taking up the matter with some detail. The five-minute address in Atlanta, which I
came from Boston to deliver, was
possibly the prime cause for an opportunity being given me to make
the second address there. In the spring of 1895 I received a
telegram from prominent citizens in
Atlanta asking me to accompany a committee
from that city to Washington for the purpose of appearing before a committee of Congress in the interest of
securing Government help for the
Exposition. The committee was composed
of about twenty-five of the most
prominent and most influential white men of Georgia. All the
members of this committee were white men except Bishop Grant,
Bishop Gaines, and myself. The Mayor and several other city and
state officials spoke before the
committee. They were followed by the
two coloured bishops. My name was the last on the list of speakers. I had
never before appeared before such a committee, nor had I ever delivered any address in the capital of the
Nation. I had many misgivings as to what I ought to say, and as
to the impression that my address would
make. While I cannot recall in detail
what I said, I remember that I tried to
impress upon the committee, with all the
earnestness and plainness of any language that I could command,
that if Congress wanted to do something
which would assist in ridding the South
of the race question and making friends between the two races, it should, in every proper way, encourage the
material and intellectual growth of both
races. I said that the Atlanta
Exposition would present an opportunity
for both races to show what advance they
had made since freedom, and would at the same time afford encouragement to them to make still greater
progress.
I tried to emphasize the fact that while the Negro should
not be deprived by unfair means of the
franchise, political agitation alone
would not save him, and that back [sic] of the ballot he must have property, industry, skill, economy,
intelligence, and character, and that no
race without these elements could permanently succeed. I said
that in granting the appropriation Congress could do something that would prove to be of real and lasting value
to both races, and that it was the first
great opportunity of the kind that had been presented since the close of the Civil War.
I spoke for fifteen or twenty minutes, and was surprised at
the close of my address to receive the
hearty congratulations of the Georgia
committee and of the members of Congress who were present. The Committee was unanimous in making a
favourable report, and in a few days the
bill passed Congress. With the passing
of this bill the success of the Atlanta
Exposition was assured.
Soon after this trip to Washington the directors of the
Exposition decided that it would be a
fitting recognition of the coloured race to
erect a large and attractive building which should be devoted
wholly to showing the progress of the
Negro since freedom. It was further decided to have the building designed and
erected wholly by Negro mechanics. This plan was carried out. In design, beauty, and general finish the Negro Building was equal to the
others on the grounds.
After it was decided to have a separate Negro exhibit,
the question arose as to who should take
care of it. The officials of the Exposition were anxious that I should assume
this responsibility, but I declined to
do so, on the plea that the work at Tuskegee at that time demanded my time and strength. Largely at my suggestion, Mr. I. Garland Penn, of Lynchburg, Va., was selected
to be at the head of the Negro
department. I gave him all the aid that
I could. The Negro exhibit, as a whole, was large and
creditable. The two exhibits in this department which attracted the greatest
amount of attention were those from the
Hampton Institute and the Tuskegee Institute.
The people who seemed to be the
most surprised, as well as pleased, at
what they saw in the Negro Building were the Southern white people.
As the day for the opening of the Exposition drew near, the
Board of Directors began preparing the
programme for the opening exercises. In
the discussion from day to day of the various features of this programme, the question came up as to the
advisability of putting a member of the
Negro race on for one of the opening addresses, since the Negroes had been asked to take such a
prominent part in the Exposition. It was argued, further, that such recognition
would mark the good feeling prevailing
between the two races. Of course
there were those who were opposed to any
such recognition of the rights of the
Negro, but the Board of Directors, composed of men who represented the best and most progressive element in the
South, had their way, and voted to
invite a black man to speak on the opening day.
The next thing was to decide upon
the person who was thus to represent the
Negro race. After the question
had been canvassed for several days, the
directors voted unanimously to ask me to deliver one of the opening-day addresses, and in a few days
after that I received the official
invitation.
The receiving of this invitation brought to me a sense
of responsibility that it would be hard
for any one not placed in my position to
appreciate. What were my feelings when
this invitation came to me? I remembered that I had been a slave; that my
early years had been spent in the lowest
depths of poverty and ignorance, and that
I had had little opportunity to prepare me for such a
responsibility as this. It was only a few years before that time that
any white man in the audience might have
claimed me as his slave; and it was easily
possible that some of my former owners might be present to hear me speak.
I knew, too, that this was the first time in the entire
history of the Negro that a member of my
race had been asked to speak from the
same platform with white Southern men and women on any important National occasion. I was asked now to speak to an audience
composed of the wealth and culture of
the white South, the representatives of
my former masters. I knew, too,
that while the greater part of my
audience would be composed of Southern people, yet there would be present a large number of Northern whites, as
well as a great many men and women of my
own race.
I was determined to say nothing that I did not feel from
the bottom of my heart to be true and
right. When the invitation came to me, there was not one word of intimation as
to what I should say or as to what I
should omit. In this I felt that the
Board of Directors had paid a tribute to
me. They knew that by one sentence I
could have blasted, in a large degree,
the success of the Exposition. I was
also painfully conscious of the fact
that, while I must be true to my own
race in my utterances, I had it in my power to make such an
ill-timed address as would result in
preventing any similar invitation being
extended to a black man again for years to come. I was equally
determined to be true to the North, as well as to the best element
of the white South, in what I had to
say.
The papers, North and South, had taken up the discussion of
my coming speech, and as the time for it
drew near this discussion became more
and more widespread. Not a few of the
Southern white papers were unfriendly to
the idea of my speaking. From my own
race I received many suggestions as to
what I ought to say. I prepared myself
as best I could for the address, but as
the eighteenth of September drew nearer,
the heavier my heart became, and the more I feared that my effort would prove a failure and a
disappointment.
The invitation had come at a time when I was very busy with
my school work, as it was the beginning
of our school year. After preparing my address, I went through it, as I
usually do with those utterances which I
consider particularly important, with Mrs.
Washington, and she approved of what I intended to say. On the
sixteenth of September, the day before I was to start for Atlanta,
so many of the Tuskegee teachers
expressed a desire to hear my address
that I consented to read it to them in a body. When I had done so, and had heard their criticisms and comments,
I felt somewhat relieved, since they
seemed to think well of what I had to say.
On the morning of September 17, together with Mrs.
Washington and my three children, I
started for Atlanta. I felt a good deal
as I suppose a man feels when he is on
his way to the gallows. In passing through the town of Tuskegee I met a white
farmer who lived some distance out in
the country. In a jesting manner this
man said: "Washington, you have
spoken before the Northern white people, the
Negroes in the South, and to us country white people in the South; but Atlanta, to-morrow, you will have before you
the Northern whites, the Southern
whites, and the Negroes all together. I
am afraid that you have got yourself in
a tight place." This farmer
diagnosed the situation correctly, but
his frank words did not add anything to my
comfort.
In the course of the journey from Tuskegee to Atlanta
both coloured and white people came to
the train to point me out, and discussed
with perfect freedom, in my hearings, what was going to take place the next day. We were met by a committee in Atlanta. Almost
the first thing that I heard when I got off the train in that city
was an expression something like this,
from an old coloured man near by:
"Dat's de man of my race what's gwine to make a speech at de Exposition to-morrow. I'se sho' gwine to hear him."
Atlanta was literally packed, at the time, with people from
all parts of the country, and with
representatives of foreign governments,
as well as with military and civic organizations. The afternoon
papers had forecasts of the next day's proceedings in flaring headlines.
All this tended to add to my burden.
I did not sleep much that
night. The next morning, before day, I
went carefully over what I planned to
say. I also kneeled down and asked God's
blessing upon my effort. Right here, perhaps, I ought to add that I
make it a rule never to go before an
audience, on any occasion, without asking the
blessing of God upon what I want to say.
I always make it a rule to make especial [sic] preparation
for each separate address. No two audiences are exactly alike. It is my
aim to reach and talk to the heart of each individual audience,
taking it into my confidence very much
as I would a person. When I am speaking to an audience, I care little for
how what I am saying is going to sound
in the newspapers, or to another audience, or to an individual. At the time, the audience before me absorbs
all my sympathy, thought, and energy.
Early in the morning a committee called to escort me to my
place in the procession which was to
march to the Exposition grounds. In this procession were prominent coloured
citizens in carriages, as well as
several Negro military organizations. I
noted that the Exposition officials
seemed to go out of their way to see that all of the coloured people in the procession were
properly placed and properly
treated. The procession was about
three hours in reaching the Exposition
grounds, and during all of this time the sun was shining down upon us disagreeably hot [sic]. When we reached the grounds, the heat, together with my nervous anxiety, made
me feel as if I were about ready to
collapse, and to feel that my address was not going to be a success.
When I entered the audience-room, I found it packed with humanity from bottom to top, and there
were thousands outside who could not get
in.
The room was very large, and well suited to public
speaking. When I entered the room, there were vigorous
cheers from the coloured portion of the
audience, and faint cheers from some of the white people.
I had been told, while I had been in Atlanta, that while many white people were going to be present to hear
me speak, simply out of curiosity, and
that others who would be present would be in full sympathy with me, there was a still larger
element of the audience which would
consist of those who were going to be present for the purpose of hearing me make a fool of myself,
or, at least, of hearing me say some
foolish thing so that they could say to the officials who had invited me to speak, "I told you
so!"
One of the trustees of the Tuskegee Institute, as well as
my personal friend, Mr. William H.
Baldwin, Jr. was at the time General
Manager of the Southern Railroad, and happened to be in Atlanta on that day.
He was so nervous about the kind of reception that I would have, and the effect that my speech would
produce, that he could not persuade
himself to go into the building, but walked back and forth in the grounds outside until the opening
exercises were over.
CHAPTER XIV
THE ATLANTA EXPOSITION ADDRESS
THE Atlanta Exposition, at which I had been asked to make an
address as a representative of the Negro
race, as stated in the last chapter, was
opened with a short address from Governor Bullock. After other
interesting exercises, including an invocation from Bishop Nelson,
of Georgia, a dedicatory ode by Albert
Howell, Jr., and addresses by the
President of the Exposition and Mrs. Joseph Thompson, the President
of the Woman's Board, Governor Bullock
introduce me with the words, "We
have with us to-day a representative of Negro enterprise and Negro civilization."
When I arose to speak, there was considerable cheering,
especially from the coloured
people. As I remember it now, the thing
that was uppermost in my mind was the
desire to say something that would cement
the friendship of the races and bring about hearty cooperation
between them. So far as my outward surroundings were
concerned, the only thing that I recall
distinctly now is that when I got up, I saw
thousands of eyes looking intently into my face. The following is the address which I delivered: -
Mr. President and Gentlemen of the Board of Directors and
Citizens.
One-third of the population of the South is of the Negro
race. No
enterprise seeking the material, civil, or moral welfare of this section can disregard this element of our population
and reach the highest success. I but convey to you, Mr. President and
Directors, the sentiment of the masses
of my race when I say that in no way have
the value and manhood of the American Negro been more fittingly and generously recognized than by the managers of
this magnificent Exposition at every
stage of its progress. It is a
recognition that will do more to cement
the friendship of the two races than any
occurrence since the dawn of our freedom.
Not only this, but the opportunity here afforded will awaken
among us a new era of industrial
progress. Ignorant and inexperienced,
it is not strange that in the first years
of our new life we began at the top
instead of at the bottom; that a seat in Congress or the state legislature was more sought than real estate
or industrial skill; that the political
convention or stump speaking had more attractions than starting a dairy farm or truck garden.
A ship lost at sea for many days suddenly sighted a
friendly vessel. From the mast of the unfortunate vessel was
seen a signal, "Water, water; we
die of thirst!" The answer from the
friendly vessel at once came back,
"Cast down your bucket where you are." A second
time the signal, "Water, water; send us water!" ran up from
the distressed vessel, and was answered,
"Cast down your bucket where you
are." And a third and fourth
signal for water was answered, "Cast
down your bucket where you are."
The captain of the distressed
vessel, at last heading the injunction, cast down his bucket, and
it came up full of fresh, sparkling
water from the mouth of the Amazon
River. To those of my race who
depend on bettering their condition in a
foreign land or who underestimate the importance of cultivating friendly relations with the Southern white
man, who is their next-door neighbour, I
would say: "Cast down your bucket
where you are" - cast it down in
making friends in every manly way of the people of all races by whom we are surrounded.
Cast it down in agriculture, mechanics, in commerce, in
domestic service, and in the
professions. And in this connection it
is well to bear in mind that whatever
other sins the South may be called to bear,
when it comes to business, pure and simple, it is in the South that the Negro is given a man's chance in the
commercial world, and in nothing is this
Exposition more eloquent than in emphasizing this chance.
Our greatest danger is that in the great leap from slavery to freedom we may overlook the fact that the
masses of us are to live by the
productions of our hands, and fail to keep in mind that we shall prosper in proportion as we learn to dignify
and glorify common labour and put brains
and skill into the common occupations of life; shall prosper in proportion as we learn to draw the
line between the superficial and the
substantial, the ornamental gewgaws [sic] of life and the useful. No race can prosper till it learns that there
is as much dignity in tilling a field as
in writing a poem. It is at the bottom of life we must begin, and not at the
top. Nor should we permit our grievances to overshadow our
opportunities.
To those of the white race who look to the incoming of those
of foreign birth and strange tongue and
habits of the prosperity of the South,
were I permitted I would repeat what I say to my own race: "Cast down your bucket where you
are." Cast it down among the
eight millions of Negroes whose habits
you know, whose fidelity and love you
have tested in days when to have proved treacherous meant the ruin
of your firesides. Cast down your bucket among these people who
have, without strikes and labour wars,
tilled your fields, cleared your
forests, builded [sic] your railroads and cities, and brought forth treasures from the bowels of the earth, and
helped make possible this magnificent
representation of the progress of the South.
Casting down your bucket among my
people, helping and encouraging them as you are
doing on these grounds, and to education of head, hand, and heart,
you will find that they will buy your
surplus land, make blossom the waste
places in your fields, and run your factories. While doing this, you can be sure in the future, as in the past,
that you and your families will be
surrounded by the most patient, faithful, law-abiding, and unresentful people that the world has
seen. As we have proved our loyalty to you in the past, nursing your
children, watching by the sick-bed of
your mothers and fathers, and often following them with tear-dimmed eyes to their graves, so in the
future, in our humble way, we shall
stand by you with a devotion that no foreigner can approach, ready to lay down our lives, if need be, in
defence of yours, interlacing our
industrial, commercial, civil, and religious life with yours in a way that shall make the interests
of both races one. In all things that are purely social we can be
as separate as the fingers, yet one as
the hand in all things essential to mutual
progress.
There is no defence or security for any of us except in
the highest intelligence and development
of all. If anywhere there are efforts tending to curtail the fullest growth
of the Negro, let these efforts be
turned into stimulating, encouraging, and making him the most useful and intelligent citizen. Effort or means so invested will pay a thousand per cent interest. These efforts will be twice blessed -
"blessing him that gives and him that takes."
There is no escape through law of man or God from the
inevitable: -
The laws of
changeless justice bind
Oppressor with
oppressed;
And close as sin
and suffering joined
We march to
fate abreast.
Nearly sixteen millions of hands will aid you in pulling the
load upward, or they will pull against
you the load downward. We shall constitute one-third and more of the
ignorance and crime of the South, or
one-third its intelligence and progress; we shall contribute one-third to the
business and industrial prosperity of the South, or we shall prove a veritable body of death,
stagnating, depressing, retarding every
effort to advance the body politic.
Gentlemen of the Exposition, as we present to you our
humble effort at an exhibition of our
progress, you must not expect overmuch.
Starting thirty years ago with ownership here and there in a few quilts and pumpkins and chickens (gathered
from miscellaneous sources), remember
the path that has led from these to the inventions and production of agricultural implements,
buggies, steam-engines, newspapers, books,
statuary, carving, paintings, the management of
drug-stores and banks, has not been trodden without contact with thorns and thistles. While we take pride in what we exhibit as
a result of our independent efforts, we
do not for a moment forget that our part
in this exhibition would fall far short of your expectations but for the constant help that has come to
our education life, not only from the
Southern states, but especially from Northern
philanthropists, who have made their gifts a constant stream of blessing and encouragement.
The wisest among my race understand that the agitation
of questions of social equality is the
extremest folly, and that progress in
the enjoyment of all the privileges that will come to us must be the result of severe and constant struggle
rather than of artificial forcing. No race that has anything to contribute to
the markets of the world is long in any
degree ostracized [sic]. It is important
and right that all privileges of the law
be ours, but it is vastly more important
that we be prepared for the exercises of these privileges. The opportunity to earn a dollar in a
factory just now is worth infinitely
more than the opportunity to spend a dollar in an opera-house.
In conclusion, may I repeat that nothing in thirty years has
given us more hope and encouragement,
and drawn us so near to you of the white
race, as this opportunity offered by the Exposition; and here bending, as it were, over the altar that
represents the results of the struggles
of your race and mine, both starting practically empty-handed three decades
ago, I pledge that in your effort to work out the great and intricate problem which God has
laid at the doors of the South, you
shall have at all times the patient, sympathetic help of my race; only let this be constantly in mind,
that, while from representations in
these buildings of the product of field, of forest, of mine, of factory, letters, and art, much
good will come, yet far above and beyond
material benefits will be that higher good, that, let us pray God, will come, in a blotting out of
sectional differences and racial
animosities and suspicions, in a determination to administer absolute justice, in a willing obedience
among all classes to the mandates of
law. This, this, [sic] coupled with our
material prosperity, will bring into our
beloved South a new heaven and a new
earth.
The first thing that I remember, after I had finished
speaking, was that Governor Bullock
rushed across the platform and took me by
the hand, and that others did the same.
I received so many and such
hearty congratulations that I found it difficult to get out of the building.
I did not appreciate to any degree, however, the impression which my address seemed to have made, until
the next morning, when I went into the
business part of the city. As soon as I
was recognized, I was surprised to find
myself pointed out and surrounded by a crowd
of men who wished to shake hands with me. This was kept up on every street on to which I went, to an extent which
embarrassed me so much that I went back
to my boarding-place. The next morning I
returned to Tuskegee. At the station in Atlanta, and at almost all
of the stations at which the train
stopped between that city and Tuskegee, I
found a crowd of people anxious to shake hands with me.
The papers in all parts of the United States published the
address in full, and for months
afterward there were complimentary editorial
references to it. Mr. Clark
Howell, the editor of the Atlanta Constitution,
telegraphed to a New York paper, among other words, the following, "I do not exaggerate when
I say that Professor Booker T.
Washington's address yesterday was one of the most notable speeches, both as to character and as to the
warmth of its reception, ever delivered
to a Southern audience. The address was
a revelation. The whole speech is a
platform upon which blacks and whites can stand
with full justice to each other."
The Boston Transcript said editorially: "The speech of Booker T. Washington at the Atlanta Exposition, this
week, seems to have dwarfed all the
other proceedings and the Exposition itself.
The sensation that it has caused
in the press has never been equalled."
I very soon began receiving all kinds of propositions from
lecture bureaus, and editors of
magazines and papers, to take the lecture
platform, and to write articles.
One lecture bureau offered me fifty
thousand dollars, or two hundred dollars a night and expenses, if I would place my services at its disposal for a
given period. To all these communications I replied that my
life-work was at Tuskegee; and that
whenever I spoke it must be in the interests of Tuskegee school and my race, and that I would enter into no
arrangements that seemed to place a mere
commercial value upon my services.
Some days after its delivery I sent a copy of my address to
the President of the United States, the
Hon. Grover Cleveland. I received from him the following autograph reply: -
Gray Gables, Buzzard's Bay, Mass.,
October 6, 1895.
Booker T. Washington, Esq.:
My Dear Sir:
I thank you for sending me a copy of your address delivered
at the Atlanta Exposition.
I thank you with much enthusiasm for making the
address. I have read it with intense
interest, and I think the Exposition would be fully justified if it did not do
more than furnish the opportunity for its delivery. Your words cannot fail to delight and
encourage all who wish well for your race; and if our coloured fellow-citizens
do not from your utterances gather new hope and form new determinations to gain
every valuable advantage offered them by their citizenship, it will be strange
indeed.
Yours very truly,
Grover Cleveland.
Later I met Mr. Cleveland, for the first time, when, as
President, he visited the Atlanta
Exposition. At the request of myself
and others he consented to spend an hour
in the Negro Building, for the purpose
of inspecting the Negro exhibit and of giving the coloured people in attendance an opportunity to shake
hands with him. As soon as I met Mr. Cleveland I became impressed
with his simplicity, greatness, and
rugged honesty. I have met him many
times since then, both at public
functions and at his private residence in Princeton, and the more I see of him the more I admire
him. When he visited the Negro Building in Atlanta he seemed to give
himself up wholly, for that hour, to the
coloured people. He seemed to be as
careful to shake hands with some old
coloured "auntie" clad partially in rags, and to take as much pleasure in doing so, as
if he were greeting some millionnaire
[sic]. Many of the coloured people took
advantage of the occasion to get him to
write his name in a book or on a slip of paper. He was as careful and patient in doing this
as if he were putting his signature to
some great state document.
Mr. Cleveland has not only shown his friendship for me in
many personal ways, but has always
consented to do anything I have asked of
him for our school. This he has
done, whether it was to make a personal
donation or to use his influence in securing the donations of others.
Judging from my personal acquaintance with Mr. Cleveland, I do not believe that he is conscious of
possessing any colour prejudice. He is too great for that. In my contact with people I find that, as a rule, it is only the little,
narrow people who live for themselves,
who never read good books, who do not travel, who never open up their souls in a way to permit
them to come into contact with other
souls - with the great outside world. No
man whose vision is bounded by colour
can come into contact with what is highest and
best in the world. In meeting
men, in many places, I have found that
the happiest people are those who do the most for others; the most miserable are those who do the least. I have also found that few things, if any, are capable of making one so
blind and narrow as race prejudice. I often say to our students, in the course of
my talks to them on Sunday evenings in
the chapel, that the longer I live and the
more experience I have of the world, the more I am convinced that, after all, the one thing that is most worth
living for - and dying for, if need be -
is the opportunity of making some one else more
happy and more useful.
The coloured people and the coloured newspapers at first
seemed to be greatly pleased with the
character of my Atlanta address, as well
as with its reception. But after
the first burst of enthusiasm began to
die away, and the coloured people began reading the speech in cold type, some of them seemed to feel that they
had been hypnotized. They seemed to feel that I had been too liberal in
my remarks toward the Southern whites,
and that I had not spoken out strongly enough for what they termed the "rights" of my
race. For a while there was a reaction, so far as a certain element of my
own race was concerned, but later these
reactionary ones seemed to have been won over to my way of believing and acting.
While speaking of changes in public sentiment, I recall that
about ten years after the school at
Tuskegee was established, I had an
experience that I shall never forget.
Dr. Lyman Abbott, then the pastor
of Plymouth Church, and also editor of the Outlook (then the Christian Union), asked me to write a letter
for his paper giving my opinion of the
exact condition, mental and moral, of the coloured ministers in the South, as based upon my
observations. I wrote the letter, giving the exact facts as I conceived
them to be. The picture painted was a rather black one - or, since I
am black, shall I say
"white"? It could not
be otherwise with a race but a few years out of
slavery, a race which had not had time or opportunity to produce a competent ministry.
What I said soon reached every Negro minister in the country,
I think, and the letters of condemnation
which I received from them were not
few. I think that for a year after the
publication of this article every
association and every conference or religious body of any kind, of my race, that met, did not fail
before adjourning to pass a resolution
condemning me, or calling upon me to retract or modify what I had said. Many of these organizations went so far in
their resolutions as to advise parents
to cease sending their children to
Tuskegee. One association even
appointed a "missionary" whose duty it was to warn the people against sending their
children to Tuskegee. This missionary
had a son in the school, and I noticed that, whatever the "missionary" might have said or
done with regard to others, he was
careful not to take his son away form the institution. Many of the
coloured papers, especially those that were the organs of religious bodies, joined in the general chorus of
condemnation or demands for retraction.
During the whole time of the excitement, and through all
the criticism, I did not utter a word of
explanation of retraction. I knew that I was right, and that time and the
sober second thought of the people would
vindicate me. It was not long before the
bishops and other church leaders began
to make careful investigation of the
conditions of the ministry, and they found out that I was right. In
fact, the oldest and most influential bishop in one branch of the Methodist Church said that my words were far
too mild. Very soon public sentiment began making itself felt, in
demanding a purifying of the ministry. While this is not yet complete by any means,
I think I may say, without egotism, and
I have been told by many of our most
influential ministers, that my words had much to do with starting a demand for the placing of a higher type of
men in the pulpit. I have had the satisfaction of having many who once
condemned me thank me heartily for my
frank words.
The change of the attitude of the Negro ministry, so far
as regards myself, is so complete that
at the present time I have no warmer
friends among any class than I have among the clergymen. The
improvement in the character and life of the Negro ministers is one
of the most gratifying evidences of the
progress of the race. My experience with them, as well as other events
in my life, convince me that the thing
to do, when one feels sure that he has said or done the right thing, and is condemned, is to stand
still and keep quiet. If he is right, time will show it.
In the midst of the discussion which was going on concerning
my Atlanta speech, I received the letter
which I give below, from Dr. Gilman, the
President of Johns Hopkins University, who had been made chairman of the judges of award in connection
with the Atlanta Exposition: -
Johns Hopkins University, Baltimore,
President's Office, September 30, 1895.
Dear. Mr. Washington:
Would it be agreeable to you to be one of the Judges of Award in the
Department of Education at Atlanta? If
so, I shall be glad to place your name upon the list. A line by telegraph will be welcomed.
Yours very truly,
D.C. Gilman
I think I was even more surprised to receive this invitation
than I had been to receive the
invitation to speak at the opening of the
Exposition. It was to be a part
of my duty, as one of the jurors, to
pass not only upon the exhibits of the coloured schools, but also
upon those of the white schools. I accepted the position, and spent a month in Atlanta in performance of the duties
which it entailed. The board of jurors was a large one, containing
in all of sixty members. It was about
equally divided between Southern white people and Northern white people. Among them were college presidents,
leading scientists and men of letters,
and specialists in many subjects.
When the group of jurors to which
I was assigned met for organization, Mr.
Thomas Nelson Page, who was one of the number, moved that I be made secretary of that division, and the motion
was unanimously adopted. Nearly half of
our division were Southern people. In
performing my duties in the inspection
of the exhibits of white schools I was in
every case treated with respect, and at the close of our labours I parted from my associates with regret.
I am often asked to express myself more freely than I do
upon the political condition and the
political future of my race. These recollections of my experience in Atlanta
give me the opportunity to do so
briefly. My own belief is, although I
have never before said so in so many
words, that the time will come when the Negro in the South will be accorded all the political rights
which his ability, character, and
material possessions entitle him to. I
think, though, that the opportunity to freely
exercise such political rights will not
come in any large degree through outside or artificial forcing, but will be accorded to the Negro by the Southern
white people themselves, and that they
will protect him in the exercise of those rights. Just
as soon as the South gets over the old feeling that it is being
forced by "foreigners," or
"aliens," to do something which it does not want to do, I believe that the change in the
direction that I have indicated is going
to begin. In fact, there are indications
that it is already beginning in a slight
degree.
Let me illustrate my meaning. Suppose that some months before the opening of the Atlanta Exposition there had
been a general demand from the press and
public platform outside the South that a Negro be given a place on the opening programme, and that a
Negro be placed upon the board of jurors
of award. Would any such recognition of
the race have taken place? I do not think so. The Atlanta officials went as far as they did because they felt it to be a
pleasure, as well as a duty, to reward
what they considered merit in the Negro race.
Say what we will, there is
something in human nature which we cannot blot out, which makes one man, in the end, recognize
and reward merit in another, regardless
of colour or race.
I believe it is the duty of the Negro - as the greater part
of the race is already doing - to deport
himself modestly in regard to political
claims, depending upon the slow but sure influences that proceed from the possession of property,
intelligence, and high character for the
full recognition of his political rights.
I think that the according of the
full exercise of political rights is going
to be a matter of natural, slow growth, not an over-night,
gourd-vine affair. I do not believe that the Negro should cease
voting, for a man cannot learn the
exercise of self-government by ceasing to vote,
any more than a boy can learn to swim by keeping out of the water,
but I do believe that in his voting he
should more and more be influenced by
those of intelligence and character who are his next-door neighbours.
I know coloured men who, through the encouragement, help,
and advice of Southern white people,
have accumulated thousands of dollars'
worth of property, but who, at the same time, would never think of going to those same persons for
advice concerning the casting of their
ballots. This, it seems to me, is unwise
and unreasonable, and should cease. In saying this I do not mean that the Negro
should truckle, or not vote from
principle, for the instant he ceases to vote
from principle he loses the confidence and respect of the Southern white man even.
I do not believe that any state should make a law that
permits an ignorant and poverty-stricken
white man to vote, and prevents a black
man in the same condition from voting.
Such a law is not only unjust,
but it will react, as all unjust laws do, in time; for the effect
of such a law is to encourage the Negro
to secure education and property, and at
the same time it encourages the white man to remain in ignorance and poverty. I believe that in time, through the
operation of intelligence and friendly
race relations, all cheating at the
ballot-box in the South will cease.
It will become apparent that the
white man who begins by cheating a Negro out of his ballot soon
learns to cheat a white man out of his,
and that the man who does this ends his
career of dishonesty by the theft of property or by some equally serious crime. In my opinion, the time will come when the
South will encourage all of its citizens
to vote. It will see that it pays better, from every standpoint, to have healthy,
vigorous life than to have that
political stagnation which always results when one-half of the population has no share and no interest
in the Government.
As a rule, I believe in universal, free suffrage, but I
believe that in the South we are
confronted with peculiar conditions that
justify the protection of the ballot in many of the states, for a while at least, either by an education test,
a property test, or by both combined;
but whatever tests are required, they should be made to apply with equal and exact justice to both races.
CHAPTER XV
THE SECRET OF SUCCESS IN PUBLIC SPEAKING
AS to how my address at Atlanta was received by the audience
in the Exposition building, I think I
prefer to let Mr. James Creelman, the
noted war correspondent, tell.
Mr. Creelman was present, and
telegraphed the following account to the New York World: -
Atlanta, September 18.
While President Cleveland was waiting at Gray Gables to-day,
to send the electric spark that started the machinery of the Atlanta
Exposition, a Negro Moses stood before a great audience of white people and
delivered an oration that marks a new epoch in the history of the South; and a
body of Negro troops marched in a procession with the citizen soldiery of
Georgia and Louisiana. The whole city is
thrilling tonight with a realization of the extraordinary significance of these
two unprecedented events.
Nothing has happened since Henry Grady's immortal speech
before the New England society in New York that indicates so profoundly the
spirit of the New South, except, perhaps, the opening of the Exposition itself.
When Professor Booker T. Washington, Principal of an
industrial school for coloured people in Tuskegee, Ala. stood on the platform
of the Auditorium, with the sun shining over the heads of his auditors into his
eyes, and with his whole face lit up with the fire of prophecy, Clark Howell,
the successor of Henry Grady, said to me, "That man's speech is the
beginning of a moral revolution in America."
It is the first time that a Negro has made a speech in the
South on any important occasion before an audience composed of white men and
women. It electrified the audience, and
the response was as if it had come from the throat of a whirlwind.
Mrs. Thompson had hardly taken her seat when all eyes were
turned on a tall tawny Negro sitting in the front row of the platform. It was Professor Booker T. Washington,
President of the Tuskegee (Alabama) Normal and Industrial Institute, who must
rank from this time forth as the foremost man of his race in America. Gilmore's Band played the "Star-Spangled
Banner," and the audience cheered.
The tune changed to "Dixie" and the audience roared with
shrill "hi-yis." Again the
music changed, this time to "Yankee Doodle," and the clamour
lessened.
All this time the eyes of the thousands present looked
straight at the Negro orator. A strange
thing was to happen. A black man was to
speak for his people, with none to interrupt him. As Professor Washington strode to the edge of
the stage, the low, descending sun shot fiery rays through the windows into his
face. A great shout greeted him. He turned his head to avoid the blinding
light, and moved about the platform for relief.
Then he turned his wonderful countenance to the sun without a blink of
the eyelids, and began to talk.
There was a remarkable figure; tall, bony, straight as a
Sioux chief, high forehead, straight nose, heavy jaws, and strong, determined
mouth, with big white teeth, piercing eyes, and a commanding manner. The sinews stood out on his bronzed neck, and
his muscular right arm swung high in the air, with a lead-pencil grasped in the
clinched brown fist. His big feet were
planted squarely, with the heels together and the toes turned out. His voice range out clear and true, and he
paused impressively as he made each point.
Within ten minutes the multitude was in an uproar of enthusiasm -
handkerchiefs were waved, canes were flourished, hats were tossed in the
air. The fairest women of Georgia stood up and cheered. It was as if the orator had bewitched them.
And when he held his dusky hand high above his head, with the
fingers stretched wide apart, and said to the white people of the South on
behalf of his race, "In all things that are purely social we can be as
separate as the fingers, yet one as the hand in all things essential to mutual
progress," the great wave of sound dashed itself against the walls, and
the whole audience was on its feet in a delirium of applause, and I thought at
that moment of the night when Henry
Grady stood among the curling wreaths of
tobacco-smoke in Delmonico's banquet-hall and said, "I am a
Cavalier among Roundheads."
I have heard the great orators of many countries, but not
even Gladstone himself could have pleased a cause with most consummate power
than did this angular Negro, standing in a nimbus of sunshine, surrounded by
the men who once fought to keep his race in bondage. The roar might swell ever so high, but the
expression of his earnest face never changed.
A ragged, ebony giant, squatted on the floor in one of the
aisles, watched the orator with burning eyes and tremulous face until the
supreme burst of applause came, and then the tears ran down his face. Most of the Negroes in the audience were
crying, perhaps without knowing just why.
At the close of the speech Governor Bullock rushed across the
stage and seized the orator's hand.
Another shout greeted this demonstration, and for a few minutes the two
men stood facing each other, hand in hand.
So far as I could spare the time from the immediate work
at Tuskegee, after my Atlanta address, I
accepted some of the invitations to
speak in public which came to me, especially those that would take me into territory where I thought it would
pay to plead the cause of my race, but I
always did this with the understanding that I was to be free to talk about my life-work and the needs
of my people. I also had it understood that I was not to speak in
the capacity of a professional lecturer,
or for mere commercial gain.
In my efforts on the public platform I never have been able
to understand why people come to hear me
speak. This question I never can rid myself of. Time and time again, as I have stood in the
street in front of a building and have
seen men and women passing in large
numbers into the audience room where I was to speak, I have felt ashamed that I should be the cause of people
- as it seemed to me - wasting a valuable hour of their time. Some years ago I was to deliver an address before a literary society
in Madison, Wis. An hour before the time set for me to speak, a fierce
snow-storm began, and continued for
several hours. I made up my mind that
there would be no audience, and that I
should not have to speak, but, as a matter of
duty, I went to the church, and found it packed with people. The
surprise gave me a shock that I did not recover from during the
whole evening.
People often ask me if I feel nervous before speaking, or
else they suggest that, since I speak
often, they suppose that I get used to
it. In answer to this question I have to
say that I always suffer intensely from
nervousness before speaking. More than
once, just before I was to make an
important address, this nervous strain has
been so great that I have resolved never again to speak in public. I not
only feel nervous before speaking, but after I have finished I usually feel a sense of regret, because it
seems to me as if I had left out of my
address the main thing and the best thing that I had meant to say.
There is a great compensation, though, for this
preliminary nervous suffering, that
comes to me after I have been speaking for
about ten minutes, and have come to feel that I have really
mastered my audience, and that we have
gotten into full and complete sympathy
with each other. It seems to me
that there is rarely such a combination
of mental and physical delight in any effort as that which comes to a public speaker when he feels that
he has a great audience completely
within his control. There is a thread of
sympathy and oneness that connects a
public speaker with his audience, that is just
as strong as though it was something tangible and visible. If in an
audience of a thousand people there is one person who is not in sympathy with my views, or is inclined to be
doubtful, cold, or critical, I can pick
him out. When I have found him I usually
go straight at him, and it is a great
satisfaction to watch the process of his
thawing out. I find that the most
effective medicine for such individuals
is administered at first in the form of a story, although I never tell an anecdote simply for the sake
of telling one. That kind of thing, I think, is empty and hollow,
and an audience soon finds it out.
I believe that one always does himself and his audience
an injustice when he speaks merely for
the sake of speaking. I do not believe that one should speak unless, deep
down in his heart, he feels convinced
that he has a message to deliver. When
one feels, from the bottom of his feet
to the top of his head, that he has something to say that is going to help some individual or
some cause, then let him say it; and in
delivering his message I do not believe that many of the artificial rules of elocution can, under
such circumstances, help him very
much. Although there are certain things,
such as pauses, breathing, and pitch of
voice, that are very important, none of these
can take the place of soul in an address. When I have an address to deliver, I like to forget all about the rules
for the proper use of the English
language, and all about rhetoric and that sort of thing, and I like to make the audience forget all
about these things, too.
Nothing tends to throw me off my balance so quickly, when I
am speaking, as to have some one leave
the room. To prevent this, I make up my mind, as a rule, that I will try to
make my address so interesting, will try
to state so many interesting facts one after
another, that no one can leave.
The average audience, I have come to
believe, wants facts rather than generalities or sermonizing. Most
people, I think, are able to draw proper conclusions if they are
given the facts in an interesting form
on which to base them.
As to the kind of audience that I like best to talk to, I
would put at the top of the list an
organization of strong, wide-awake,
business men, such, for example, as is found in Boston, New York, Chicago, and Buffalo. I have found no other audience so quick to
see a point, and so responsive. Within the last few years I have had the privilege of speaking before most of the
leading organizations of this kind in
the large cities of the United States.
The best time to get hold of an
organization of business men is after a good dinner, although I think that one of the worst
instruments of torture that was ever
invented is the custom which makes it necessary for a speaker to sit through a fourteen-course dinner, every
minute of the time feeling sure that his
speech is going to prove a dismal failure and
disappointment.
I rarely take part in one of these long dinners that I do
not wish that I could put myself back in
the little cabin where I was a slave
boy, and again go through the experience there - one that I shall never forget - of getting molasses to eat
once a week from the "big
house." Our usual diet on
the plantation was corn bread and pork, but
on Sunday morning my mother was permitted to bring down a little molasses from the "big house" for
her three children, and when it was
received how I did wish that every day was Sunday! I would get my tin plate and hold it up for the sweet morsel,
but I would always shut my eyes while
the molasses was being poured out into the plate, with the hope that when I opened them I would be
surprised to see how much I had
got. When I opened my eyes I would tip
the plate in one direction and another,
so as to make the molasses spread all over it, in the full belief that there would be more of it
and that it would last longer if spread
out in this way. So strong are my
childish impressions of those Sunday
morning feasts that it would be pretty hard
for any one to convince me that there is not more molasses on a plate when it is spread all over the plate
than when it occupies a little corner -
if there is a corner in a plate. At any
rate, I have never believed in
"cornering" syrup. My share of
the syrup was usually about two
tablespoonfuls, and those two spoonfuls of molasses were much more enjoyable to me than is a
fourteen-course dinner after which I am
to speak.
Next to a company of business men, I prefer to speak to
an audience of Southern people, of
either race, together or taken
separately. Their enthusiasm and
responsiveness are a constant delight. The "amens" and "dat's de
truf" that come spontaneously from
the coloured individuals are calculated to spur any speaker on to his best efforts.
I think that next in order of preference I would place a college audience. It has been my privilege to deliver addresses
at many of our leading colleges
including Harvard, Yale, Williams,
Amherst, Fisk University, the University of Pennsylvania,
Wellesley, the University of Michigan,
Trinity College in North Carolina, and
many others.
It has been a matter of deep interest to me to note the
number of people who have come to shake
hands with me after an address, who say
that this is the first time they have ever called a Negro
"Mister."
When speaking directly in the interests of the Tuskegee
Institute, I usually arrange, some time
in advance, a series of meetings in
important centres. This takes me
before churches, Sunday-schools, Christian Endeavour Societies, and men's and
women's clubs. When doing this I sometimes speak before as many
as four organizations in a single day.
Three years ago, at the suggestion of Mr. Morris K. Jessup,
of New York, and Dr. J.L.M. Curry, the
general agent of the fund, the trustees
of the John F. Slater Fund voted a sum of money to be used in paying the expenses of Mrs. Washington and
myself while holding a series of
meetings among the coloured people in the large centres of Negro population, especially in the large
cities of the ex-slaveholding states.
Each year during the last three years we have devoted some weeks to this work. The plan that we have followed has been for me to speak in the morning to the
ministers, teachers, and professional
men. In the afternoon Mrs. Washington
would speak to the women alone, and in
the evening I spoke to a large mass-meeting.
In almost every case the meetings
have been attended not only by the
coloured people in large numbers, but by the white people. In
Chattanooga, Tenn., for example, there was present at the
mass-meeting an audience of not less
than three thousand persons, and I was
informed that eight hundred of these were white. I have done no work that I really enjoyed more than this, or that
I think has accomplished more good.
These meetings have given Mrs. Washington and myself an opportunity to get first-hand, accurate
information as to the real condition of
the race, by seeing the people in their homes, their churches, their Sunday-schools, and their
places of work, as well as in the
prisons and dens of crime. These
meetings also gave us an opportunity to
see the relations that exist between the races.
I never feel so hopeful about the
race as I do after being engaged in a series
of these meetings. I know that on such
occasions there is much that comes to
the surface that is superficial and deceptive, but I have had experience enough not to be deceived
by mere signs and fleeting
enthusiasms. I have taken pains to go to
the bottom of things and get facts, in a
cold, business-like manner.
I have seen the statement made lately, by one who claims to
know what he is talking about, that,
taking the whole Negro race into
account, ninety per cent of the Negro women are not virtuous. There
never was a baser falsehood uttered concerning a race, or a
statement made that was less capable of
being proved by actual facts.
No one can come into contact with the race for twenty years,
as I have done in the heart of the South,
without being convinced that the race is
constantly making slow but sure progress materially, educationally, and morally. One might take up the life of the worst element in New York City, for example, and
prove almost anything he wanted to prove
concerning the white man, but all will agree that this is not a fair test.
Early in the year 1897 I received a letter inviting me to
deliver an address at the dedication of
the Robert Gould Shaw monument in
Boston. I accepted the
invitation. It is not necessary for me,
I am sure, to explain who Robert Gould
Shaw was, and what he did. The monument to his memory stands near the head of
the Boston Common, facing the State
House. It is counted to be the most
perfect piece of art of the kind to be found
in the country.
The exercises connected with the dedication were held in
Music Hall, in Boston, and the great
hall was packed from top to bottom with
one of the most distinguished audiences that ever assembled in the city.
Among those present were more persons representing the famous old anti-slavery element that it is likely
will ever be brought together in the
country again. The late Hon. Roger
Wolcott, then Governor of Massachusetts,
was the presiding officer, and on the
platform with him were many other officials and hundreds of distinguished men. A report of the meeting which appeared in
the Boston Transcript will describe it
better than any words of mine could do:
-
The core and kernel of yesterday's great noon meeting, in
honour of the Brotherhood of Man, in Music Hall, was the superb address of the
Negro President of Tuskegee.
"Booker T. Washington received his Harvard A.M. last June, the
first of his race," said Governor Wolcott, "to receive an honorary
degree from the oldest university in the land, and this for the wise leadership
of his people." When Mr. Washington
rose in the flag-filled, enthusiasm-warmed, patriotic, and glowing atmosphere
of Music Hall, people felt keenly that here was the civic justification of the
old abolition spirit of Massachusetts; in his person the proof of her ancient
and indomitable faith; in his strong through and rich oratory, the crown and
glory of the old war days of suffering and strife. The scene was full of historic beauty and
deep significance. "Cold"
Boston was alive with the fire that is always hot in her heart for
righteousness and truth. Rows and rows
of people who are seldom seen at any public function, whole families of those
who are certain to be out of town on a holiday, crowded the place to
overflowing. The city was at her
birthright fete in the persons of hundreds of her best citizens, men and women
whose names and lives stand for the virtues that make for honourable civic
pride.
Battle-music had filled the air. Ovation after ovation, applause warm and
prolonged, had greeted the officers and friends of Colonel Shaw, the sculptor,
St. Gaudens, the memorial Committee, the Governor and his staff, and the Negro
soldiers of the Fifty-fourth Massachusetts
as they came upon the platform or entered the hall. Colonel Henry Lee, of Governor Andrew's old
staff, had made a noble, simple presentation speech for the committee, paying
tribute to Mr. John M. Forbes, in whose stead he served. Governor Wolcott had made his short,
memorable speech, saying, "Fort Wagner marked an epoch in the history of a
race, and called it into manhood."
Mayor Quincy had received the monument for the city of Boston. The story of Colonel Shaw and his black
regiment had been told in gallant words, and then, after the singing of
Mine eyes have
seen the glory
Of the coming of
the Lord,
Booker Washington arose.
It was, of course, just the moment for him. The multitude, shaken out of its usual
symphony-concert calm, quivered with an excitement that was not
suppressed. A dozen times it had sprung
to its feet to cheer and wave and hurrah, as one person. When this man of culture and voice and power,
as well as a dark skin, began, and uttered the names of Stearns and of Andrew, feeling began to
mount. You could see tears glisten in
the eyes of soldiers and civilians. When
the orator turned to the coloured soldiers on the platform, to the
colour-bearer of Fort Wagner, who smilingly bore still the flag he had never
lowered even when wounded, and said, "To you, to the scarred and scattered
remnants of the Fifty-fourth, who, with empty sleeve and wanting leg, have
honoured this occasion with your presence, to you, your commander is not
dead. Though Boston erected no monument
and history recorded no story, in you and in the loyal race which you
represent, Robert Gould Shaw would have a monument which time could not wear
away," then came the climax of the
emotion of the day and the hour. It was
Roger Wolcott, as well as the Governor of Massachusetts, the individual
representative of the people's sympathy as well as the chief magistrate, who
had sprung first to his feet and cried, "Three cheers to Booker T.
Washington!"
Among those on the platform was Sergeant William H. Carney,
of New Bedford, Mass., the brave
coloured officer who was the colour-bearer
at Fort Wagner and held the American flag. In spite of the fact that a large part of his regiment was killed, he
escape, and exclaimed, after the battle
was over, "The old flag never touched the ground."
This flag Sergeant Carney held in his hands as he sat on
the platform, and when I turned to
address the survivors of the coloured
regiment who were present, and referred to Sergeant Carney, he
rose, as if by instinct, and raised the
flag. It has been my privilege to witness a good many satisfactory and rather
sensational demonstrations in connection
with some of my public addresses, but in dramatic effect I have never seen or experienced anything
which equalled this. For a number of minutes the audience seemed to
entirely lose control of itself.
In the general rejoicing throughout the country which
followed the close of the
Spanish-American war, peace celebrations were arranged in several of the large cities. I was asked by President William R. Harper, of the University of Chicago, who was
chairman of the committee of invitations
for the celebration to be held in the city of
Chicago, to deliver one of the addresses at the celebration there. I
accepted the invitation, and delivered two addresses there during
the Jubilee week. The first of these, and the principal one,
was given in the Auditorium, on the
evening of Sunday, October 16. This was
the largest audience that I have ever
addressed, in any part of the country;
and besides speaking in the main Auditorium, I also addressed, that same evening, two overflow
audiences in other parts of the city.
It was said that there were sixteen thousand persons in
the Auditorium, and it seemed to me as
if there were as many more on the outside
trying to get in. It was impossible for
any one to get near the entrance without
the aid of a policeman. President
William McKinley attended this meeting,
as did also the members of his Cabinet,
many foreign ministers, and a large number of army and navy officers, many of whom had distinguished
themselves in the war which had just
closed. The speakers, besides myself, on
Sunday evening, were Rabbi Emil G.
Hirsch, Father Thomas P. Hodnett, and Dr. John H. Barrows.
The Chicago Times-Herald, in describing the meeting, said of
my address: -
He pictured the Negro choosing slavery rather than
extinction; recalled Crispus Attucks
shedding his blood at the beginning of
the American Revolution, that white Americans might be free, while black Americans remained in slavery;
rehearsed the conduct of the Negroes
with Jackson at New Orleans; drew a vivid and pathetic picture of the Southern slaves protecting and
supporting the families of their masters
while the latter were fighting to
perpetuate black slavery; recounted the bravery of coloured troops at Port Hudson and Forts Wagner and Pillow,
and praised the heroism of the black
regiments that stormed El Caney and Santiago
to give freedom to the enslaved people of Cuba, forgetting, for the time being, the unjust discrimination
that law and custom make against them in
their own country.
In all of these things, the speaker declared, his race
had chosen the better part. And then he made his eloquent appeal to the consciences of the white Americans: "When you have gotten the full story or the heroic conduct of the Negro
in the Spanish-American war, have heard it from the lips of Northern soldier
and Southern soldier, from
ex-abolitionist and ex-masters, then decide
within yourselves whether a race that is thus willing to die for its country should not be given the highest
opportunity to live for its
country."
The part of the speech which seems to arouse the wildest and
most sensational enthusiasm was that in which
I thanked the President for his
recognition of the Negro in his appointments during the Spanish-American
war. The President was sitting in a box
at the right of the stage. When I addressed him I turned toward the box,
and as I finished the sentence thanking
him for his generosity, the whole
audience rose and cheered again and again, waving handkerchiefs and hats and canes, until the President arose in
the box and bowed his
acknowledgements. At that the
enthusiasm broke out again, and the demonstration
was almost indescribable.
One portion of my address at Chicago seemed to have
been misunderstood by the Southern
press, and some of the Southern papers
took occasion to criticise me rather strongly. These criticisms continued for several weeks, until I finally
received a letter from the editor of the
Age-Herald, published in Birmingham, Ala., asking me if I would say just what I meant by this
part of the address. I replied to him in a letter which seemed to
satisfy my critics. In this letter I said that I had made it a rule
never to say before a Northern audience
anything that I would not say before an audience in the South.
I said that I did not think it was necessary for me to go into extended explanations; if my seventeen
years of work in the heart of the South
had not been explanation enough, I did not see how words could explain. I said that I made the same plea that I had
made in my address at Atlanta, for the
blotting out of race prejudice in
"commercial and civil relations." I said that what is termed social recognition was a question which I never
discussed, and then I quoted from my
Atlanta address what I had said there in regard to that subject.
In meeting crowds of people at public gatherings, there is
one type of individual that I
dread. I mean the crank. I have become so accustomed to these people now that I can
pick them out at a distance when I see
them elbowing their way up to me. The
average crank has a long beard, poorly
cared for, a lean, narrow face, and wears a black coat.
The front of his vest and coat are slick with grease, and his trousers bag at the knees.
In Chicago, after I had spoken at a meeting, I met one of
these fellows. They usually have some process for curing all
of the ills of the world at once. This Chicago specimen had a patent process
by which he said Indian corn could be
kept through a period of three or four
years, and he felt sure that if the Negro race in the South would, as a whole, adopt his process, it
would settle the whole race
question. It mattered nothing
that I tried to convince him that our
present problem was to teach the Negroes how to produce enough corn
to last them through one year. Another Chicago crank had a scheme by which he wanted me to join him in an effort
to close up all the National banks in
the country. If that was done, he felt
sure it would put the Negro on his feet.
The number of people who stand ready to consume one's time,
to no purpose, is almost countless. At one time I spoke before a large audience in Boston in the evening. The next morning I was awakened by having a card brought to my room, and with it
a message that some one was anxious to
see me. Thinking that it must be
something very important, I dressed
hastily and went down. When I reached
the hotel office I found a blank and
innocent-looking individual waiting for me,
who coolly remarked: "I
heard you talk at a meeting last night.
I rather liked your talk, and so
I came in this morning to hear you talk
some more."
I am often asked how it is possible for me to superintend
the work at Tuskegee and at the same
time be so much away from the school.
In partial answer to this I would
say that I think I have learned, in some
degree at least, to disregard the old maxim which says, "Do not get others to do that which you can do
yourself." My motto, on the other hand, is, "Do not do that which
others can do as well."
One of the most encouraging signs in connection with the
Tuskegee school is found in the fact
that the organization is so thorough that
the daily work of the school is not dependent upon the presence of
any one individual. The whole executive force, including
instructors and clerks, now numbers
eighty-six. This force is so organized
and subdivided that the machinery of the
school goes on day by day like
clockwork. Most of our teachers
have been connected with the
institutions for a number of years, and are as much interested in
it as I am. In my absence, Mr. Warren Logan, the
treasurer, who has been at the school
seventeen years, is the executive. He is
efficiently supported by Mrs.
Washington, and by my faithful secretary, Mr. Emmett J. Scott, who handles the bulk of my
correspondence and keeps me in daily
touch with the life of the school, and who also keeps me informed of whatever takes place in the South
that concerns the race. I owe more to
his tact, wisdom, and hard work than I can describe.
The main executive work of the school, whether I am at
Tuskegee or not, centres in what we call
the executive council. This council meets twice a week, and is composed of the
nine persons who are at the head of the
nine departments of the school. For
example: Mrs. B.K. Bruce, the Lady Principal, the widow of the
late ex-senator Bruce, is a member of
the council, and represents in it all that pertains to the life of the girls at the school. In addition to the executive council there is a financial committee of six, that
meets every week and decides upon the
expenditures for the week. Once a month,
and sometimes oftener, there is a
general meeting of all the instructors.
Aside from these there are innumerable smaller meetings, such as
that of the instructors in the Phelps
Hall Bible Training School, or of the
instructors in the agricultural department.
In order that I may keep in constant touch with the life of
the institution, I have a system of
reports so arranged that a record of the
school's work reaches me every day of the year, no matter in what part of the country I am. I know by these reports even what
students are excused from school, and
why they are excused - whether for
reasons of ill health or otherwise.
Through the medium of these
reports I know each day what the income of the school in money is;
I know how many gallons of milk and how
many pounds of butter come from the
diary; what the bill of fare for the teachers and students is; whether a certain kind of meat was boiled or
baked, and whether certain vegetables
served in the dining room were bought from a store or procured from our own farm. Human nature I find to be very much the same the world over, and it is sometimes
not hard to yield to the temptation to
go to a barrel of rice that has come from the store - rather than to take the
time and trouble to go to the field and dig
and wash one's own sweet potatoes, which might be prepared in a
manner to take the place of the rice.
I am often asked how, in the midst of so much work, a large
part of which is for the public, I can
find time for any rest or recreation,
and what kind of recreation or sports I am fond of. This
is rather a difficult question to answer. I have a strong feeling that every individual owes it to himself, and
to the cause which he is serving, to
keep a vigorous, healthy body, with the nerves steady and strong, prepared for great efforts and
prepared for disappointments and trying
positions. As far as I can, I make it a
rule to plan for each day's work - not
merely to go through with the same routine of
daily duties, but to get rid of the routine work as early in the
day as possible, and then to enter upon
some new or advance [sic] work. I make it a rule to clear my desk every day,
before leaving my office, of all
correspondence and memoranda, so that on the morrow I can begin a new day of work. I make it a rule never to let my work drive
me, but to so master it, and keep it in
such complete control, and to keep so
far ahead of it, that I will be the master instead of the servant. There is a physical and mental and spiritual
enjoyment that comes from a
consciousness of being the absolute master of one's work, in all its details, that is very satisfactory and
inspiring. My experience teachers me that, if one learns to follow
this plan, he gets a freshness of body
and vigour of mind out of work that goes a long way toward keeping him strong and healthy. I believe that when one can grow to the point where he loves his work,
this gives him a kind of strength that
is most valuable.
When I begin my work in the morning, I expect to have a
successful and pleasant day of it, but
at the same time I prepare myself for
unpleasant and unexpected hard places.
I prepared myself to hear that
one of our school buildings is on fire, or has burned, or that some disagreeable accident has occurred, or that
some one has abused me in a public
address or printed article, for something that I have done or omitted to do, or for something that he had
heard that I had said - probably something that I had never thought of saying.
In nineteen years of continuous work I have taken but
one vacation. That was two years ago, when some of my
friends put the money into my hands and
forced Mrs. Washington and myself to spend
three months in Europe. I have
said that I believe it is the duty of
every one to keep his body in good condition. I try to look after the little ills, with the idea that if I take
care of the little ills the big ones
will not come. When I find myself unable
to sleep well, I know that something is
wrong. If I find any part of my system
the least weak, and not performing its
duty, I consult a good physician. The
ability to sleep well, at any time and in any place, I find of great advantage. I have so trained myself that I can lie down
for a nap of fifteen or twenty minutes,
and get up refreshed in body and mind.
I have said that I make it a rule to finish up each day's
work before leaving it. There is, perhaps, one exception to
this. When I have an unusually difficult question to
decide - one that appeals strongly to
the emotions - I find it a safe rule to sleep over it for a night, or to wait until I have had an
opportunity to talk it over with my wife
and friends.
As to my reading; the most time I get for solid reading is
when I am on the cars. Newspapers are to me a constant source of
delight and recreation. The only trouble is that I read too many of
them. Fiction I care little for. Frequently I have to almost force myself to read a novel that is on every one's lips. The kind of reading that I have the greatest fondness for is
biography. I like to be sure that I am reading about a real man or a real
thing. I think I do not go too far when I say that I have read nearly
every book and magazine article that has
been written about Abraham Lincoln. In
literature he is my patron saint.
Out of the twelve months in a year I suppose that, on an
average, I spend six months away from
Tuskegee. While my being absent from
the school so much unquestionably has its
disadvantages, yet there are at the same
time some compensations. The change of
work brings a certain kind of rest. I enjoy a ride of a long distance on the
cars, when I am permitted to ride where
I can be comfortable. I get rest on the cars, except when the inevitable individual
who seems to be on every train
approaches me with the now familiar phrase:
"Isn't this Booker Washington? I want to introduce myself to you." Absence from the school enables me to lose sight of the
unimportant details of the work, and
study it in a broader and more comprehensive manner than I could do on the grounds. This absence also brings me into contact with the best work being done in educational
lines, and into contact with the best
educators in the land.
But, after all this is said, the time when I get the most
solid rest and recreation is when I can
be at Tuskegee, and, after our evening
meal is over, can sit down, as is our custom, with my wife and Portia and Baker and Davidson, my three
children, and read a story, or each take
turns in telling a story. TO me there is
nothing on earth equal to that, although
what is nearly equal to it is to go with them
for an hour or more, as we like to do on Sunday afternoons, into
the woods, where we can live for a while
near the heart of nature, where no one
can disturb or vex us, surrounded by pure air, the trees, the shrubbery, the flowers, and the sweet
fragrance that springs from a hundred
plants, enjoying the chirp of the crickets and the songs of the birds.
This is solid rest.
My garden, also, what little time I can be at Tuskegee, is
another source of rest and
enjoyment. Somehow I like, as often as
possible, to touch nature, not something
that is artificial or an imitation, but
the real thing. When I can leave
my office in time so that I can spend
thirty or forty minutes in spading the ground, in planting seeds, in digging about the plants, I feel
that I am coming into contact with
something that is giving me strength for the many duties and hard places that await me out in the big
world. I pity the man or woman who has never learned to enjoy nature
and to get strength and inspiration out
of it.
Aside from the large number of fowls and animals kept by
the school, I keep individually a number
of pigs and fowls of the best grades,
and in raising these I take a great deal of pleasure. I think
the pig is my favourite animal.
Few things are more satisfactory to
me than a high-grade Berkshire or Poland China pig.
Games I care little for.
I have never seen a game of football.
In cards I do not know one card from another. A game of old-fashioned marbles with my two boys, once in a while, is
all I care for in this direction. I suppose I would care for games now if I had
had any time in my youth to give to
them, but that was not possible.
CHAPTER XVI
EUROPE
IN 1893 I was married to Miss Margaret James Murray, a
native of Mississippi, and a graduate of
Fisk University, in Nashville, Tenn.,
who had come to Tuskegee as a teacher several years before, and at
the time we were married was filling the
position of Lady Principal. Not only is Mrs. Washington completely one with
me in the work directly connected with
the school, relieving me of many burdens and
perplexities, but aside from her work on the school grounds, she carries on a mothers' meeting in the town of
Tuskegee, and a plantation work among
the women, children, and men who live in a
settlement connected with a large plantation about eight miles from Tuskegee.
Both the mothers' meeting and the plantation work are carried on, not only with a view to helping
those who are directly reached, but also
for the purpose of furnishing object-lessons in
these two kinds of work that may be followed by our students when
they go out into the world for their own
life-work.
Aside from these two enterprises, Mrs. Washington is also
largely responsible for a woman's club
at the school which brings together,
twice a month, the women who live on the school grounds and those
who live near, for the discussion of
some important topic. She is also the President of what is known as the
Federation of Southern Coloured Women's
Clubs, and is Chairman of the Executive Committee of the National Federation of Coloured Women's
Clubs.
Portia, the oldest of my three children, has learned
dressmaking. She has unusual ability in
instrumental music. Aside from her
studies at Tuskegee, she has already
begun to teach there.
Booker Taliaferro is my next oldest child. Young as he is, he has already nearly mastered the brick-mason's
trade. He began working at this trade when he was quite small, dividing
his time between this and class work;
and he has developed great skill in the trade and a fondness for it. He says that he is going to be an architect
and brickmason. One of the most satisfactory letters that I
have ever received from any one came to
me from Booker last summer. When I
left home for the summer, I told him
that he must work at his trade half of
each day, and that the other half of the day he could spend as he pleased.
When I had been away from home two weeks, I received the following letter from him:
Tuskegee, Alabama.
My dear Papa: Before
you left home you told me to work at my
traded half of each day. I like my
work so much that I want to work at my
trade all day. Besides, I want to earn
all the money I can, so that when I go
to another school I shall have money to pay
my expenses.
Your son,
Booker.
My youngest child, Earnest Davidson Washington, says that he
is going to be a physician. In addition to going to school, where he studies books and has manual training, he
regularly spends a portion of his time
in the office of our resident physician, and has already learned to do many of the studies which
pertain to a doctor's office.
The thing in my life which brings me the keenest regret is
that my work in connection with public
affairs keeps me for so much of the time
away from my family, where, of all places in the world, I delight to be.
I always envy the individual whose life-work is so laid that he can spend his evenings at home. I have sometimes thought that people who have this rare privilege do not
appreciate it as they should. It is such a rest and relief to get away from
crowds of people, and handshaking, and
travelling, to get home, even if it be
for but a very brief while.
Another thing at Tuskegee out of which I get a great deal
of pleasure and satisfaction is in the
meeting with our students, and teachers,
and their families, in the chapel for devotional exercises every evening at half-past eight, the last
thing before retiring for the
night. It is an inspiring sight when one
stands on the platform there and sees
before him eleven or twelve hundred earnest young men and women; and one cannot but feel that it is
a privilege to help to guide them to a
higher and more useful life.
In the spring of 1899 there came to me what I might describe
as almost the greatest surprise of my
life. Some good ladies in Boston arranged a public meeting in the interests of
Tuskegee, to be held in the Hollis
Street Theatre. This meeting was
attended by large numbers of the best
people of Boston, of both races. Bishop
Lawrence presided. In addition to an address made by myself, Mr.
Paul Lawrence Dunbar read from his
poems, and Dr. W.E.B. Du Bois read an original
sketch.
Some of those who attended this meeting noticed that I
seemed unusually tired, and some little
time after the close of the meeting, one
of the ladies who had been interested in it asked me in a casual way if I had ever been to Europe. I replied that I never had. She
asked me if I had ever thought of going, and I told her no; that it was something entirely beyond me. This conversation soon passed out of my mind, but a few days afterward I was
informed that some friends in Boston,
including Mr. Francis J. Garrison, had raised a sum of money sufficient to pay all the expenses of
Mrs. Washington and myself during a
three or four months' trip to Europe. It
was added with emphasis that we must
go. A year previous to this Mr. Garrison
had attempted to get me to promise to go
to Europe for a summer's rest, with the
understanding that he would be responsible for raising the money among his friends for the expenses of
the trip. At that time such a journey seemed so entirely foreign to
anything that I should ever be able to
undertake that I did confess I did not give the matter very serious attention; but later Mr.
Garrison joined his efforts to those of
the ladies whom I have mentioned, and when their plans were made known to me Mr. Garrison not only had
the route mapped out, but had, I
believe, selected the steamer upon which we were to sail.
The whole thing was so sudden and so unexpected that I
was completely taken off my feet. I had been at work steadily for eighteen years in connection with Tuskegee,
and I had never thought of anything else
but ending my life in that way. Each day
the school seemed to depend upon me more
largely for its daily expenses, and I
told these Boston friends that, while I thanked them sincerely for their thoughtfulness and generosity, I could
not go to Europe, for the reason that
the school could not live financially while I was absent. They then informed me that Mr. Henry L.
Higginson, and some other good friends
who I know do not want their names made public, were then raising a sum of money which would be
sufficient to keep the school in
operation while I was away. At
this point I was compelled to
surrender. Every avenue of escape
had been closed.
Deep down in my heart the whole thing seemed more like a
dream than like reality, and for a long
time it was difficult for me to make
myself believe that I was actually going to Europe. I had been born and largely reared in the lowest depths of
slavery, ignorance, and poverty. In my childhood I had suffered for want of a
place to sleep, for lack of food,
clothing, and shelter. I had not had the
privilege of sitting down to a
dining-table until I was quite well grown.
Luxuries had always seemed to me to be something meant for white people, not for my race. I had always regarded Europe, and
London, and Paris, much as I regarded
heaven. And now could it be that I
was actually going to Europe? Such thoughts as these were constantly
with me.
Two other thoughts troubled me a good deal. I feared that people who heard that Mrs. Washington and I were
going to Europe might not know all the
circumstances, and might get the idea that we had become, as some might say, "stuck up," and
were trying to "show off."
I recalled that from my youth I
had heard it said that too often, when
people of my race reached any degree of success, they were inclined
to unduly exalt themselves; to try and
ape the wealthy, and in so doing to lose
their heads. The fear that people might
think this of us haunted me a good
deal. Then, too, I could not see how my
conscience would permit me to spare the
time from my work and be happy. It seemed mean and selfish in me to be taking a
vacation while others were at work, and
while there was so much that needed to be done. From the time I could remember, I had always
been at work, and I did not see how I
could spend three or four months in doing nothing. The
fact was that I did not know how to take a vacation.
Mrs. Washington had much the same difficulty in getting
away, but she was anxious to go because
she thought that I needed the rest.
There were many important National questions bearing upon the life
of the race which were being agitated at
that time, and this made it all the
harder for us to decide to go. We
finally gave our Boston friends our
promise that we would go, and then they insisted that the date of our departure be set as soon as
possible. So we decided upon May
10. My good friend Mr. Garrison kindly
took charge of all the details necessary
for the success of the trip, and he, as well as other friends, gave us a great number of letters of
introduction to people in France and
England, and made other arrangements for our comfort and convenience abroad. Good-bys were said at Tuskegee, and we were
in New York May 9, ready to sail the
next day. Our daughter Portia, who was then studying in South Framingham, Mass.,
came to New York to see us off. Mr. Scott, my secretary, came with me to New
York, in order that I might clear up the
last bit of business before I left.
Other friends also came to New
York to see us off. Just before we went
on board the steamer another pleasant
surprise came to us in the form of a
letter from two generous ladies, stating that they had decided to give us the money with which to erect a new
building to be used in properly housing
all our industries for girls at Tuskegee.
We were to sail on the Friesland, of the Red Star Line, and
a beautiful vessel she was. We went on board just before noon, the
hour of sailing. I had never before been on board a large
ocean steamer, and the feeling which
took possession of me when I found myself there
is rather hard to describe. It
was a feeling, I think, of awe mingled
with delight. We were agreeably
surprised to find that the captain, as
well as several of the other officers, not only knew who we were, but was [sic] expecting us and gave us a
pleasant greeting. There were several passengers whom we knew,
including Senator Sewell, of New Jersey,
and Edward Marshall, the newspaper correspondent. I had just
a little fear that we would not be treated civilly by some of the passengers.
This fear was based upon what I had heard other people of my race, who had crossed the ocean, say about
unpleasant experiences in crossing the
ocean in American vessels. But in our
case, from the captain down to the most
humble servant, we were treated with the
greatest kindness. Nor was this
kindness confined to those who were
connected with the steamer; it was shown by all the passengers
also. There were not a few Southern men
and women on board, and they were as
cordial as those from other parts of the country.
As soon as the last good-bys were said, and the steamer had
cut loose from the wharf, the load of
care, anxiety, and responsibility which
I had carried for eighteen years began to lift itself from my shoulders at the rate, it seemed to me, of a
pound a minute. It was the first time in all those years that I had
felt, even in a measure, free from care;
and my feeling of relief it is hard to describe on paper.
Added to this was the delightful anticipation of being in Europe soon.
It all seemed more like a dream than like a reality.
Mr. Garrison had thoughtfully arranged to have us have one
of the most comfortable rooms on the
ship. The second or third day out I began to sleep, and I think that I slept at
the rate of fifteen hours a day during
the remainder of the ten days' passage.
Then it was that I began to
understand how tired I really was. These
long sleeps I kept up for a month after
we landed on the other side. It was such
an unusual feeling to wake up in the
morning and realize that I had no
engagements; did not have to take a train at a certain hour; did
not have an appointment to meet some
one, or to make an address, at a certain
hour. How different all this was from
the experiences that I have been through
when travelling, when I have sometimes slept in
three different beds in a single night!
When Sunday came, the captain invited me to conduct the
religious services, but, not being a
minister, I declined. The
passengers, however, began making
requests that I deliver an address to them in
the dining-saloon some time during the voyage, and this I consented
to do.
Senator Sewell presided at this meeting.
After ten days of delightful
weather, during which I was not seasick for a day, we landed at the interesting old city of
Antwerp, in Belgium.
The next day after we landed happened to be one of
those numberless holidays which the
people of those countries are in the
habit of observing. It was a
bright, beautiful day. Our room in the hotel faced the main public square, and the
sights there - the people coming in from
the country with all kinds of beautiful flowers to sell, the women coming in with their dogs
drawing large, brightly polished cans
filled with milk, the people streaming into the
cathedral - filled me with a sense of newness that I had never
before experienced.
After spending some time in Antwerp, we were invited to go
with a part of a half-dozen persons on a
trip through Holland. This party included Edward Marshall and some American
artists who had come over on the same
steamer with us. We accepted the
invitation, and enjoyed the trip
greatly. I think it was all the more
interesting and instructive because we
went for most of the way on one of the slow,
old-fashioned canal-boats. This
gave us an opportunity of seeing and
studying the real life of the people in the country districts. We
went in this way as far as Rotterdam, and later went to The Hague, where the Peace Conference was then in
session, and where we were kindly
received by the American representatives.
The thing that impressed itself most on me in Holland was
the thoroughness of the agriculture and
the excellence of the Holstein
cattle. I never knew, before
visiting Holland, how much it was
possible for people to get out of a small plot of ground. It seemed
to me that absolutely no land was wasted. It was worth a trip to Holland, too, just to get a sight of three or
four hundred fine Holstein cows grazing
in one of those intensely green fields.
From Holland we went to Belgium, and made a hasty trip
through that country, stopping at
Brussels, where we visited the battlefield
of Waterloo. From Belgium we went
direct to Paris, where we found that Mr.
Theodore Stanton, the son of Mrs. Elizabeth Cady Stanton, had kindly provided accommodations for us. We had barely got settled in Paris before an invitation came to me from
the University Club of Paris to be its
guest at a banquet which was soon to be given.
The other guests were
ex-President Benjamin Harrison and Archbishop
Ireland, who were in Paris at the time.
The American Ambassador, General
Horace Porter, presided at the banquet.
My address on this occasion
seemed to give satisfaction to those who heard it. General
Harrison kindly devoted a large portion of his remarks at dinner to myself and to the influence of the work at
Tuskegee on the American race
question. After my address at this
banquet other invitations came to me,
but I declined the most of them, knowing that if I accepted them all, the object of my visit
would be defeated. I did, however, consent to deliver an address in the
American chapel the following Sunday
morning, and at this meeting General Harrison,
General Porter, and other distinguished Americans were present.
Later we received a formal call from the American
Ambassador, and were invited to attend a
reception at his residence. At this reception we met many Americans, among them
Justices Fuller and Harlan, of the United
States Supreme Court. During our entire
stay of a month in Paris, both the
American Ambassador and his wife, as well
as several other Americans, were very kind to us.
While in Paris we saw a good deal of the now famous American
Negro painter, Mr. Henry O. Tanner, whom
we had formerly known in America. It
was very satisfactory to find how well known Mr. Tanner was in the field of art, and to note the high standing
which all classes accorded to him. When we told some Americans that we were
going to the Luxembourg Palace to see a
painting by an American Negro, it was hard
to convince them that a Negro had been thus honoured. I do not
believe that they were really convinced of the fact until they saw
the picture for themselves. My acquaintance with Mr. Tanner
reenforced [sic] in my mind the truth
which I am constantly trying to impress
upon our students at Tuskegee - and on our people throughout the country, as far as I can reach them with my
voice - that any man, regardless of
colour, will be recognized and rewarded just in
proportion as he learns to do something well - learns to do it
better than some one else - however
humble the thing may be. As I have said, I believe that my race will succeed in
proportion as it learns to do a common
thing in an uncommon manner; learns to do a thing so thoroughly that no one can improve upon what
it has done; learns to make its services
of indispensable value. This was the
spirit that inspired me in my first
effort at Hampton, when I was given the
opportunity to sweep and dust that schoolroom. In a degree I felt that my whole future life depended upon the
thoroughness with which I cleaned that
room, and I was determined to do it so well that no one could find any fault with the job. Few people ever stopped, I found, when looking at his pictures, to inquire
whether Mr. Tanner was a Negro painter,
a French painter, or a German painter.
They simply knew that he was able
to produce something which the world wanted - a
great painting - and the matter of his colour did not enter into their minds.
When a Negro girl learns to cook, to wash dishes, to sew, or write a book, or a Negro boy learns
to groom horses, or to grow sweet
potatoes, or to produce butter, or to build a house, or to be able to practise medicine, as well or
better than some one else, they will be
rewarded regardless of race or colour.
In the long run, the world is
going to have the best, and any difference in race, religion, or previous history will not long
keep the world from what it wants.
I think that the whole future of my race hinges on the
question as to whether or not it can
make itself of such indispensible value that
the people in the town and the state where we reside will feel that our presence is necessary to the happiness
and well-being of the community. No man who continues to add something to the
material, intellectual, and moral well-being
of the place in which he lives is long
left without proper reward. This is a
great human law which cannot be
permanently nullified.
The love of pleasure and excitement which seems in a large
measure to possess the French people
impressed itself upon me. I think
they are more noted in this respect than
is true of the people of my own
race. In point of morality and
moral earnestness I do not believe that
the French are ahead of my own race in America.
Severe competition and the great
stress of life have led them to learn to do
things more thoroughly and to exercise greater economy; but time, I think, will bring my race to the same
point. In the matter of truth and high honour I do not believe that the
average Frenchman is ahead of the
American Negro; while so far as mercy and kindness to dumb animals go, I believe that my race is far
ahead. In fact, when I left France, I had more faith in the future of the
black man in America than I had ever
possessed.
From Paris we went to London, and reached there early in
July, just about the height of the
London social season. Parliament was
in session, and there was a great deal
of gaiety. Mr. Garrison and other friends had provided us with a large number
of letters of introduction, and they had
also sent letters to other persons in
different parts of the United Kingdom, apprising these people of our coming.
Very soon after reaching London we were flooded with invitations to attend all manner of social
functions, and a great many invitations
came to me asking that I deliver public addresses. The
most of these invitations I declined, for the reason that I wanted
to rest.
Neither were we able to accept more than a small proportion of the other invitations. The Rev. Dr. Brooke Herford and Mrs.
Herford, whom I had known in Boston,
consulted with the American Ambassador,
the Hon. Joseph Choate, and arranged for me to speak at a public meeting to be held in Essex Hall. Mr. Choate kindly consented to preside.
The meeting was largely attended.
There were many distinguished
persons present, among them several members of
Parliament, including Mr. James Bryce, who spoke at the meeting. What
the American Ambassador said in introducing me, as well as a
synopsis of what I said, was widely
published in England and in the American
papers at the time. Dr. and Mrs.
Herford gave Mrs. Washington and myself
a reception, at which we had the privilege of meeting some of the best people in England. Throughout our stay in London Ambassador Choate was most kind and attentive to
us. At the Ambassador's reception I met, for the first time, Mark
Twain.
We were the guests several times of Mrs. T. Fisher Unwin,
the daughter of the English statesman,
Richard Cobden. It seemed as if both Mr. and Mrs. Unwin could not do enough
for our comfort and happiness. Later, for nearly a week, we were the guests
of the daughter of John Bright, now Mrs.
Clark, of Street, England. Both Mr. and Mrs. Clark, with their daughter, visited
us at Tuskegee the next year. In Birmingham, England, we were the guests
for several days of Mr. Joseph Sturge,
whose father was a great abolitionist and friend of Whittier and Garrison. It was a great privilege to meet
throughout England those who had known
and honoured the late William Lloyd
Garrison, the Hon. Frederick Douglass, and other abolitionists. The
English abolitionists with whom we came in contact never seemed to tire of talking about these two
Americans. Before going to England
I had had no proper conception of the
deep interest displayed by the
abolitionists of England in the cause of freedom, nor did I realize the amount of substantial help given by them.
In Bristol, England, both Mrs. Washington and I spoke at
the Women's Liberal Club. I was also the principal speaker at the Commencement exercises of the Royal College
for the Blind. These exercises were held in the Crystal Palace,
and the presiding officer was the late
Duke of Westminster, who was said to be, I believe, the richest man in England, if not in the world. The Duke, as well as his wife and their daughter, seemed to be pleased
with what I said, and thanked me
heartily. Through the kindness of Lady
Aberdeen, my wife and I were enabled to
go with a party of those who were attending the
International Congress of Women, then in session in London, to see Queen Victoria, at Windsor Castle, where,
afterward, we were all the guests of her
Majesty at tea. In our party was Miss
Susan B. Anthony, and I was deeply
impressed with the fact that one did not often get an opportunity to see, during the same hour, two
women so remarkable in different ways as
Susan B. Anthony and Queen Victoria.
In the House of Commons, which we visited several times, we
met Sir Henry M. Stanley. I talked with him about Africa and its
relation to the American Negro, and
after my interview with him I became more convinced than ever that there was no hope of
the American Negro's improving his
condition by emigrating to Africa.
On various occasions Mrs. Washington and I were the guests
of Englishmen in their country homes,
where, I think, one sees the Englishman
at his best. In one thing, at least, I
feel sure that the English are ahead of
Americans, and that is, that they have learned
how to get more out of life. The
home life of the English seems to me to
be about as perfect as anything can be.
Everything moves like
clockwork. I was impressed, too,
with the deference that the servants
show to their "masters" and "mistresses," - terms
which I suppose would not be tolerated
in America. The English servant expects,
as a rule, to be nothing but a servant,
and so he perfects himself in the art to
a degree that no class of servants in America has yet reached. In our country the servant expects to
become, in a few years, a
"master" himself. Which
system is preferable? I will not venture
an answer.
Another thing that impressed itself upon me throughout
England was the high regard that all
classes have for law and order, and the ease
and thoroughness with which everything is done. The Englishmen, I found, took plenty of time for eating, as for
everything else. I am not sure if, in the long run, they do not
accomplish as much or more than rushing,
nervous Americans do.
My visit to England gave me a higher regard for the nobility
than I had had. I had no idea that they were so generally
loved and respected by the classes, nor
that I any correct conception of how
much time and money they spent in works of philanthropy, and how
much real heart they put into this
work. My impression had been that
they merely spent money freely and had a
"good time."
It was hard for me to get accustomed to speaking to
English audiences. The average Englishman is so serious, and is
so tremendously in earnest about
everything, that when I told a story
that would have made an American audience roar with laughter, the Englishmen simply looked me straight in the
face without even cracking a smile.
When the Englishman takes you into his heart and friendship,
he binds you there as with cords of
steel, and I do not believe that there
are many other friendships that are so lasting or so satisfactory.
Perhaps I can illustrate this point in no better way than by relating the following incident. Mrs. Washington and I were invited to attend a reception given by the
Duke and Duchess of Sutherland, at
Stafford House - said to be the finest house in
London; I may add that I believe the Duchess of Sutherland is said to be the most beautiful woman in England. There must have been at least three hundred persons at this reception. Twice during the evening the Duchess sought us out for a conversation, and
she asked me to write her when we got
home, and tell her more about the work at Tuskegee. This I did.
When Christmas came we were surprised and delighted to receive her photograph with her autograph on
it. The correspondence has continued, and we now feel that in the
Duchess of Sutherland we have one of our
warmest friends.
After three months in Europe we sailed from Southampton in
the steamship St. Louis. On this steamer there was a fine library
that had been presented to the ship by
the citizens of St. Louis, Mo. In this library I found a life of Frederick
Douglass, which I began reading. I became especially interested in Mr.
Douglass's description of the way he was
treated on shipboard during his first or second
visit to England. In this
description he told how he was not
permitted to enter the cabin, but had to confine himself to the
deck of the ship. A few minutes after I had finished reading
this description I was waited on by a
committee of ladies and gentlemen with
the request that I deliver an address at a concert which was to begin the following evening. And yet there are people who are bold enough to say that race feeling in America is
not growing less intense! At this concert the Hon. Benjamin B. Odell,
Jr., the present governor of New York,
presided. I was never given a more
cordial hearing anywhere. A large proportion of the passengers with
Southern people. After the concert some of the passengers
proposed that a subscription be raised
to help the work at Tuskegee, and the money to
support several scholarships was the result.
While we were in Paris I was very pleasantly surprised to
receive the following invitation from
the citizens of West Virginia and of the
city near which I had spent my boyhood days: -
Charleston, W. Va., May 16, 1899.
Professor Booker T. Washington, Paris, France:
Dear Sir:
Many of the best citizens of West Virginia have united in liberal expressions of admiration
and praise of your worth and work, and
desire that on your return from Europe you
should favour them with your presence and with the inspiration of your words.
We must sincerely indorse [sic] this move, and on behalf of the citizens of Charleston extend
to your our most cordial invitation to
have you come to us, that we may honour you
who have done so much by your life and work to honour us.
We are,
Very truly yours,
The Common Council of the City of Charleston,
By W. Herman Smith,
Mayor.
This invitation from the City Council of Charleston was
accompanied by the following: -
Professor Booker T. Washington, Paris, France:
Dear Sir:
We, the citizens of Charleston and West Virginia, desire to express our pride in you and the
splendid career that you have thus far
accomplished, and ask that we be permitted to
show our pride and interest in a substantial way.
Your recent visit to your old home in our midst awoke
within us the keenest regret that we
were not permitted to hear you and
render some substantial aid to your work, before you left for Europe.
In view of the foregoing, we earnestly invite you to share
the hospitality of our city upon your
return from Europe, and give us the
opportunity to hear you and put ourselves in touch with your work in a way that will be most gratifying to
yourself, and that we may receive the
inspiration of your words and presence.
An early reply to this invitation, with an indication of the
time you may reach our city, will
greatly oblige,
Yours very respectfully,
The Charleston Daily Gazette, The Daily Mail-Tribune; G.W.
Atkinson, Governor; E.L. Boggs, Secretary to Governor; Wm.
M.O.
Dawson, Secretary of State; L.M. La Follette, Auditor; J.R.
Trotter, Superintendent of Schools; E.W. Wilson,
ex-Governor; W.A.
MacCorkle, ex-Governor; John Q. Dickinson, President Kanawha
Valley Bank; L. Prichard, President Charleston National
Bank; Geo.
S. Couch, President Kanawha National Bank; Ed. Reid, Cashier
Kanawha National Bank; Geo. S. Laidley, Superintended City
Schools; L.E. McWhorter, President Board of Education; Chas.
K.
Payne, wholesale merchant; and many others.
This invitation, coming as it did from the City Council, the
state officers, and all the substantial
citizens of both races of the community
where I had spent my boyhood, and from which I had gone a few years before, unknown, in poverty and ignorance,
in quest of an education, not only
surprised me, but almost unmanned me. I
could not understand what I had done to
deserve it all.
I accepted the invitation, and at the appointed day was met
at the railway station at Charleston by
a committee headed by ex-Governor W.A.
MacCorkle, and composed of men of both races.
The public reception was held in
the Opera-House at Charleston. The
Governor of the state, the Hon. George
W. Atkinson, presided, and an address of
welcome was made by ex-Governor MacCorkle. A prominent part in the reception was taken by the coloured citizens. The Opera-House was filled with citizens of both races, and among
the white people were many for whom I
had worked when I was a boy. The next
day Governor and Mrs. Atkinson gave me a
public reception at the State House, which
was attended by all classes.
Not long after this the coloured people in Atlanta, Georgia,
gave me a reception at which the
Governor of the state presided, and a
similar reception was given me in New Orleans, which was presided
over by the Mayor of the city. Invitations came from many other places which I was not able to accept.
CHAPTER XVII
LAST WORDS
BEFORE going to Europe some events came into my life which
were great surprises to me. In fact, my whole life has largely been one
of surprises. I believe that any man's life will be filled
with constant, unexpected encouragements
of this kind if he makes up his mind to
do his level best each day of his life - that is, tries to make each day reach as nearly as possible the
high-water mark of pure, unselfish, useful
living. I pity the man, black or white,
who has never experienced the joy and
satisfaction that come to one by reason
of an effort to assist in making some one else more useful and more happy.
Six months before he died, and nearly a year after he had
been stricken with paralysis, General
Armstrong expressed a wish to visit
Tuskegee again before he passed away.
Notwithstanding the fact that he
had lost the use of his limbs to such an extent that he was practically helpless, his wish was gratified,
and he was brought to Tuskegee. The owners of the Tuskegee Railroad, white
men living in the town, offered to run a
special train, without cost, out of the
main station - Chehaw, five miles away - to meet him. He arrived on
the school grounds about nine o'clock in the evening. Some one had
suggested that we give the General a "pine-knot torchlight
reception." This plan was carried
out, and the moment that his carriage entered
the school grounds he began passing between two lines of lighted
and waving "fat pine" wood
knots held by over a thousand students and
teachers. The whole thing was so
novel and surprising that the General
was completely overcome with happiness.
He remained a guest in my home
for nearly two months, and, although almost wholly without the use of voice or limb, he spent nearly
every hour in devising ways and means to
help the South. Time and time again he
said to me, during this visit, that it
was not only the duty of the country to
assist in elevating the Negro of the South, but the poor white man
as well.
At the end of his visit I resolved anew to devote myself more earnestly than ever to the cause which was so
near his heart. I said that if a man in his condition was willing to
think, work, and act, I should not be
wanting in furthering in every possible way the wish of his heart.
The death of General Armstrong, a few weeks later, gave me
the privilege of getting acquainted with
one of the finest, most unselfish, and
most attractive men that I have ever come in contact with.
I refer to the Rev. Dr. Hollis B. Frissell, now the Principal of the Hampton Institute, and General
Armstrong's successor. Under the clear, strong, and almost perfect
leadership of Dr. Frissell, Hampton has
had a career of prosperity and usefulness that is all that the General could have wished for. It seems to be the constant effort of Dr. Frissell to hide his own great
personality behind that of General
Armstrong - to make himself of "no reputation" for the sake of the cause.
More than once I have been asked what was the greatest
surprise that ever came to me. I have little hesitation in answering
that question. It was the following letter, which came to me
one Sunday morning when I was sitting on
the veranda of my home at Tuskegee,
surrounded by my wife and three children: -
Harvard University, Cambridge, May 28, 1896.
President Booker T. Washington,
My Dear Sir: Harvard
University desired to confer on you at
the approaching Commencement an honorary degree; but it is our custom to confer degrees only on gentlemen
who are present. Our Commencement occurs this year on June 24, and
your presence would be desirable from
about noon till about five o'clock in the
afternoon. Would it be possible
for you to be in Cambridge on that day?
Believe me, with great regard,
Very truly yours,
Charles W. Eliot.
This was a recognition that had never in the slightest
manner entered into my mind, and it was
hard for me to realize that I was to be honoured
by a degree from the oldest and most renowned university in America.
As I sat upon my veranda, with this letter in my hand, tears came into my eyes. My whole former life - my life as a
slave on the plantation, my work in the
coal-mine, the times when I was without
food and clothing, when I made my bed under a sidewalk, my struggles for an education, the trying days I
had had at Tuskegee, days when I did not
know where to turn for a dollar to continue the
work there, the ostracism and sometimes oppression of my race, -
all this passed before me and nearly
overcame me.
I had never sought or cared for what the world calls
fame. I have always looked upon fame as something to be
used in accomplishing good. I have
often said to my friends that if I can use whatever prominence may have come to me as an instrument with
which to do good, I am content to have
it. I care for it only as a means to be
used for doing good, just as wealth may
be used. The more I come into
contact with wealthy people, the more I
believe that they are growing in the
direction of looking upon their money simply as an instrument which God has placed in their hand for doing good
with. I never go to the office of Mr. John D. Rockefeller, who more
than once has been generous to Tuskegee,
without being reminded of this. The
close, careful, and minute investigation
that he always makes in order to be sure
that every dollar that he gives will do the most good - an investigation that is just as searching as if
he were investing money in a business
enterprise - convinces me that the growth in this direction is most encouraging.
At
When my name was called, I rose, and President Eliot, in
beautiful and strong English, conferred
upon me the degree of Master of Arts.
After these exercises were over, those who had received honorary degrees were invited to lunch with the
President. After the lunch we were formed in line again, and were escorted
by the Marshal of the day, who that year
happened to be Bishop William Lawrence, through the grounds, where, at different points, those
who had been honoured were called by
name and received the Harvard yell. This
march ended at Memorial Hall, where the
alumni dinner was served. To see over
a thousand strong men, representing all
that is best in State, Church, business,
and education, with the glow and enthusiasm of college loyalty and college pride, - which has, I
think, a peculiar Harvard flavour, - is
a sight that does not easily fade from memory.
Among the speakers after dinner were President Eliot,
Governor Roger Wolcott, General Miles,
Dr. Minot J. Savage, the Hon. Henry
Cabot Lodge, and myself. When I
was called upon, I said, among other
things: -
It would in some measure relieve my embarrassment if I
could, even in a slight degree, feel
myself worthy of the great honour which
you do me to-day. Why you have called me
from the Black Belt of the South, from
among my humble people, to share in the
honours of this occasion, is not for me to explain; and yet it may not be inappropriate for me to suggest that
it seems to me that one of the most
vital questions that touch our American life is
how to bring the strong, wealthy, and learned into helpful touch with the poorest, most ignorant, and
humblest, and at the same time make one
appreciate the vitalizing, strengthening influence of the other.
How shall we make the mansion on yon
* * *
* * *
*
If my life in the past has meant anything in the lifting up
of my people and the bringing about of better relations between your race and mine, I assure you from this day it
will mean doubly more. In the economy of God there is but one
standard by which an individual can
succeed - there is but one for a race.
This country demands that every
race shall measure itself by the
American standard. By it a race
must rise or fall, succeed or fail, and
in the last analysis mere sentiment counts for little. During
the next half-century and more, my race must continue passing through the severe American
crucible. We are to be tested in our patience, our forbearance, our
perseverance, our power to endure wrong,
to withstand temptations, to economize, to
acquire and use skill; in our ability to compete, to succeed in commerce, to disregard the superficial for
the real, the appearance for the
substance, to be great and yet small, learned
and yet simple, high and yet the servant of all.
As this was the first time that a
When the name of Booker T. Washington was called, and he
arose to acknowledge and accept, there
was such an outburst of applause as
greeted no other name except that of the popular soldier patriot, General Miles. The applause was not studied and stiff, sympathetic and condoling; it was enthusiasm
and admiration. Every part of the
audience from pit to gallery joined in, and a
glow covered the cheeks of those around me, proving sincere appreciation of the rising struggle of an
ex-slave and the work he has
accomplished for his race. A
In conferring the honorary degree of Master of Arts upon
the Principal of Tuskegee Institute,
It has been mentioned that Mr. Washington is the first of
his race to receive an honorary degree
from a
Another
It is Harvard which, first among
The correspondent of the New York Times wrote: -
All the speeches were enthusiastically received, but
the coloured man carried off the
oratorical honours, and the applause
which broke out when he had finished was vociferous and long-continued.
Soon after I began work at
In November, 1897, I made the first move in this direction,
and that was in securing a visit from a
member of President McKinley's Cabinet,
the Hon. James Wilson, Secretary of Agriculture. He came to
deliver an address at the formal opening of the
In the fall of 1898 I heard that President McKinley was
likely to visit
How any man can see so many people of all kinds, with all
kinds of errands, and do so much hard
work, and still keep himself calm,
patient, and fresh for each visitor in the way that President
McKinley does, I cannot understand. When I saw the President he kindly
thanked me for the work which we were
doing at
By the middle of the following month the President had
definitely decided to attend the Peace
Jubilee at
Just previous to my going to
While I was with the President, a white citizen of
When it became known that the President was going to visit
our school, the white citizens of the
town of
The morning of December 16th brought to the little city
of
The citizens of
In his address in our large, new chapel, which the students
had recently completed, the President
said, among other things: -
To meet you under such pleasant auspices and to have
the opportunity of a personal observation
of your work is indeed most
gratifying. The Tuskegee Normal
and Industrial Institute is ideal in its
conception, and has already a large and growing reputation in the country, and is not unknown
abroad. I congratulate all who are associated in this undertaking for the
good work which it is doing in the
education of its students to lead lives of honour and usefulness, thus exalting the race for which
it was established.
Nowhere, I think, could a more delightful location have
been chosen for this unique educational
experiment, which has attracted the
attention and won the support even of conservative philanthropists in all sections of the
country.
To speak of
The Hon. John D. Long, the Secretary of the Navy, said in
part: -
I cannot make a speech to-day. My heart is too full - full of hope,
admiration, and pride for my countrymen of both sections and both colours. I am filled with gratitude and admiration
for your work, and from this time
forward I shall have absolute confidence
in your progress and in the solution of the problem in which you are engaged.
The problem, I say, has been solved. A picture has been presented to-day which should be put upon
canvas with the pictures of Washington
and Lincoln, and transmitted to future time and
generations - a picture which the press of the country should spread broadcast over the land, a most
dramatic picture, and that picture is
this: The President of the United States
standing on this platform; on one side
the Governor of Alabama, on the other,
completing the trinity, a representative of a race only a few years ago in bondage, the coloured President
of the Tuskegee Normal and Industrial
Institute.
God bless the President under whose majesty such a scene
as that is presented to the American
people. God bless the state of
Postmaster General Smith closed the address which he made
with these words: -
We have witnessed many spectacles within the last few
days. We have seen the magnificent
grandeur and the magnificent
achievements of one of the great metropolitan cities of the South. We have seen heroes of the war pass by in
procession. We have seen floral parades. But I am sure my colleagues will agree
with me in saying that we have witnessed
no spectacle more impressive and more
encouraging, more inspiring for our future, than that which we have witnessed here this morning.
Some days after the President returned to
Dear Sir:
By this mail I take pleasure in sending you engrossed copies of the souvenir of the visit
of the President to your
institution. These sheets bear the
autographs of the President and the
members of the Cabinet who accompanied him on
the trip. Let me take this
opportunity of congratulating you most
heartily and sincerely upon the great success of the exercises provided for and entertainment furnished us
under your auspices during our visit to
With best wishes for the continued advance of your most
useful and patriotic undertaking, kind
personal regards, and the compliments of
the season, believe me, always,
Very sincerely yours,
John Addison Porter,
Secretary to the President.
To President Booker T. Washington,
Twenty years have now passed since I made the first humble
effort at Tuskegee, in a broken-down
shanty and an old hen-house, without
owning a dollar's worth of property, and with but one teacher and thirty students. At the present time the institution owns
twenty-three hundred acres of land, one thousand of which are under cultivation each year, entirely by student
labour. There are now upon the grounds, counting large and small,
sixty-six buildings; and all except four
of these have been almost wholly erected by the labour of our students.
While the students are at work upon the land and in erecting buildings, they are taught, by
competent instructors, the latest
methods of agriculture and the trades connected with building.
There are in constant operation at the school, in connection
with thorough academic and religious
training, thirty industrial
departments. All of these teach
industries at which our men and women
can find immediate employment as soon as they leave the
institution. The only difficulty now is
that the demand for our graduates from both white and black people in the South is so
great that we cannot supply more than
one-half the persons for whom applications come to us. Neither have we the buildings nor the money
for current expenses to enable us to
admit to the school more than one-half the young men and women who apply to us for admission.
In our industrial teaching we keep three things in
mind: first, that the student shall be so educated that he
shall be enabled to meet conditions as
they exist now, in the part of the South where he lives - in a word, to be able to do the thing
which the world wants done; second, that
every student who graduates from the school shall have enough skill, coupled with intelligence
and moral character, to enable him to
make a living for himself and others; third, to send every graduate out feeling and knowing that
labour is dignified and beautiful - to
make each one love labour instead of trying to escape it. In
addition to the agricultural training which we give to young men, and the training given to our girls in
all the usual domestic employments, we
now train a number of girls in agriculture each year. These girls are taught gardening,
fruit-growing, dairying, bee-culture, and poultry-raising.
While the institution is in no sense denominational, we have
a department known as the Phelps Hall
Bible Training School, in which a number
of students are prepared for the ministry and other forms of Christian work, especially work in the
country districts. What is equally important, each one of the students
works . . . each day at some industry,
in order to get skill and the love of work, so that when he goes out from the institution he is
prepared to set the people with whom he
goes to labour a proper example in the matter of industry.
The value of our property is now over $700,000. If we add to this our endowment fund, which at present is
$1,000,000, the value of the total
property is now $1,700,000. Aside from
the need for more buildings and for
money for current expenses, the endowment fund
should be increased to at least $3,000,000. The annual current expenses are now about $150,000. The greater part of this I collect each year by going from door to door and from
house to house. All of our property is free from mortgage, and is
deeded to an undenominational [sic]
board of trustees who have the control of the
institution.
From thirty students the number has grown to fourteen
hundred, coming from twenty-seven states
and territories, from Africa, Cuba,
Porto Rico [sic], Jamaica, and other foreign countries. In our
departments there are one hundred and ten officers and instructors; and if we add the families of our
instructors, we have a constant
population upon our grounds of not far from seventeen hundred people.
I have often been asked how we keep so large a body of
people together, and at the same time
keep them out of mischief. There
are two answers: that the men and women who come to us for an
education are in earnest; and that
everybody is kept busy. The
following outline of our daily work will
testify to this: -
5 a.m., rising bell; 5.50 a.m., warning breakfast bell;
6 a.m., breakfast bell; 6.20 a.m.,
breakfast over; 6.20 to 6.50 a.m., rooms
are cleaned; 6.50, work bell; 7.30, morning study hours; 8.20, morning school bell; 8.25,
inspection of young men's toilet in
ranks; 8.40, devotional exercises in chapel; 8.55, "five minutes with the daily news;" 9 a.m., class
work begins; 12, class work closes;
12.15 p.m., dinner; 1 p.m., work bell; 1.30 p.m., class work begins; 3.30 p.m., class work
ends; 5.30 p.m., bell to "knock
off" work; 6 p.m., supper; 7.10 p.m., evening prayers; 7.30 p.m., evening study hours; 8.45 p.m., evening
study hour closes; 9.20 p.m., warning
retiring bell; 9.30 p.m., retiring bell.
We try to keep constantly in mind the fact that the worth of
the school is to be judged by its graduates.
Counting those who have finished
the full course, together with those who have taken enough training to enable them to do reasonably good
work, we can safely say that at least
six thousand men and women from Tuskegee are now at work in different parts of the South; men and
women who, by their own example or by
direct efforts, are showing the masses of our race now to improve their material, educational, and
moral and religious life. What is
equally important, they are exhibiting a degree of common sense and self-control which is causing
better relations to exist between the
races, and is causing the Southern white man to learn to believe in the value of educating the men and
women of my race. Aside from this, there is the influence that is
constantly being exerted through the
mothers' meeting and the plantation work conducted by Mrs. Washington.
Wherever our graduates go, the changes which soon begin to
appear in the buying of land, improving
homes, saving money, in education, and
in high moral characters are remarkable.
Whole communities are fast being
revolutionized through the instrumentality of these men and women.
Ten years ago I organized at Tuskegee the first Negro
Conference. This is an annual gathering
which now brings to the school eight or
nine hundred representative men and women of the race, who come to spend a day in finding out what the actual
industrial, mental, and moral conditions
of the people are, and in forming plans for
improvement. Out from this
central Negro Conference at Tuskegee have
grown numerous state an local conferences which are doing the same kind of work.
As a result of the influence of these gatherings, one delegate reported at the last annual meeting
that ten families in his community had
bought and paid for homes. On the day
following the annual Negro Conference,
there is the "Workers' Conference."
This is composed of officers and
teachers who are engaged in educational work
in the larger institutions in the South.
The Negro Conference furnishes a
rare opportunity for these workers to study the real condition of the rank and file of the people.
In the summer of 1900, with the assistance of such
prominent coloured men as Mr. T. Thomas
Fortune, who has always upheld my hands
in every effort, I organized the National Negro Business League, which held its first meeting in Boston, and brought
together for the first time a large
number of the coloured men who are engaged in various lines of trade or business in different parts
of the United states [sic]. Thirty states were represented at our first
meeting. Out of this national meeting grew state and local
business leagues.
In addition to looking after the executive side of the work
at Tuskegee, and raising the greater
part of the money for the support of the
school, I cannot seem to escape the duty of answering at least a part of the calls which come to me unsought to
address Southern white audiences and
audiences of my own race, as well as frequent gatherings in the North.
As to how much of my time is spent in this way, the following clipping from a Buffalo (N.Y.)
paper will tell. This has reference to an occasion when I spoke before
the National Educational Association in
that city.
Booker T. Washington, the foremost educator among the
coloured people of the world, was a very
busy man from the time he arrived in the
city the other night from the West and registered at the Iroquois.
He had hardly removed the stains of travel when it was time to partake of support. Then he held a public levee in the parlours of the Iroquois until eight
o'clock. During that time he was greeted by over two hundred eminent
teachers and educators from all parts of
the United States. Shortly after eight
o'clock he was driven in a carriage to
Music Hall, and in one hour and a half
he made two ringing addresses, to as many as five thousand people, on Negro education. Then Mr. Washington was taken in charge by a delegation of coloured citizens,
headed by the Rev. Mr. Watkins, and
hustled off to a small informal reception,
arranged in honour of the visitor by the people of his race.
Nor can I, in addition to making these addresses, escape the
duty of calling the attention of the
South and of the country in general,
through the medium of the press, to matters that pertain to the interests of both races. This, for example, I have done in regard
to the evil habit of lynching. When the Louisiana State Constitutional Convention was in session, I wrote an open
letter to that body pleading for justice
for the race. In all such efforts I
have received warm and hearty support
from the Southern newspapers, as well as
from those in all other parts of the country.
Despite superficial and temporary signs which might lead one
to entertain a contrary opinion, there
was never a time when I felt more
hopeful for the race than I do at the present. The great human law that in the end recognizes and rewards merit
is everlasting and universal. The outside world does not know, neither can
it appreciate, the struggle that is
constantly going on in the hearts of
both the Southern white people and their former slaves to free themselves from racial prejudice; and while
both races are thus struggling they
should have the sympathy, the support, and the
forbearance of the rest of the world.
As I write the closing words of this autobiography I find
myself - not by design - in the city of Richmond, Virginia: the city which only a few decades ago was the capital of the
Southern Confederacy, and where, about
twenty-five years ago, because of my poverty I slept night after night under a sidewalk.
This time I am in Richmond as the guest of the coloured
people of the city; and came at their
request to deliver an address last night
to both races in the Academy of Music, the largest and finest audience room in the city. This was the first time that the coloured
people had ever been permitted to use
this hall. The day before I came,
the City Council passed a vote to attend
the meeting in a body to hear me speak. The state Legislature, including the House of
Delegates and the Senate, also passed a
unaminous vote to attend in a body. In
the presence of hundreds of coloured
people, many distinguished white
citizens, the City Council, the state Legislature, and state officials, I delivered my message, which was
one of hope and cheer; and from the
bottom of my heart I thanked both races for this welcome back to the state that gave me birth.