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BY
Author of "Up From Slavery," "The
Story of the Negro," ILLUSTRATED FROM
PHOTOGRAPHS
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED, INCLUDING THAT OF TRANSLATION
IT HAS been my fortune to be associated all my life with
a problem -- a hard, perplexing, but important problem.
There was a time when I looked upon this fact as a
great misfortune. It seemed to me a great hardship that
I was born poor, and it seemed an even greater
hardship that I should have been born a Negro. I did not
like to admit, even to myself, that I felt this way about
the matter, because it seemed to me an indication of
weakness and cowardice for any man to complain
about the condition he was born to. Later I came to the
conclusion that it was not only weak and cowardly, but
that it was a mistake to think of the matter in the way in
which I had done. I came to see that, along with his
disadvantages, the Negro in America had some
advantages, and I made up my mind that opportunities
that had been denied
MY LARGER
EDUCATION
BOOKER T. WASHINGTON
"Character Building," etc.
GARDEN CITY NEW YORK
DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY
1911
Page verso
INTO FOREIGN LANGUAGES, INCLUDING THE SCANDINAVIAN
COPYRIGHT, 1910, 1911 DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY
THE COUNTRY LIFE PRESS, GARDEN CITY, N. Y.
CONTENTS
Page viiILLUSTRATIONS
Page viii
Page 3My Larger Education
CHAPTER I
LEARNING FROM MEN AND THINGS
Page 4
him from without could be more than made up by greater concentration and power within.
Perhaps I can illustrate what I mean by a fact I learned while I was in school. I recall my teacher's explaining to the class one day how it was that steam or any other form of energy, if allowed to escape and dissipate itself, loses its value as a power. Energy must be confined; steam must be locked in a boiler in order to generate power. The same thing seems to have been true in the case of the Negro. Where the Negro has met with discriminations and with difficulties because of his race, he has invariably tended to get up more steam. When this steam has been rightly directed and controlled, it has become a great force in the upbuilding of the race. If, on the contrary, it merely spent itself in fruitless agitation and hot air, no good has come of it.
Paradoxical as it may seem, the difficulties that the Negro has met since emancipation have, in my opinion, not always, but on the whole, helped him more than they have hindered him. For example, I think the progress which the Negro has made within less than half a century in the matter of learning to read and write the English language has been due in large part to the fact that, in slavery, this knowledge was forbidden him. My experience
and observation have taught me that people who try to withhold the best things in civilization from any group of people, or race of people, not infrequently aid that people to the very things that they are trying to withhold from them. I am sure that, in my own case, I should never have made the efforts that I did make in my early boyhood to get an education and still later to develop the Tuskegee Institute in Alabama if I had not been conscious of the fact that there were a large number of people in the world who did not believe that the Negro boy could learn or that members of the Negro race could build up and conduct a large institution of learning.
A wider acquaintance with men in all the different grades of life taught me that the Negro's case is not peculiar. The majority of successful men are persons who have had difficulties to overcome, problems to master; and, in overcoming those difficulties and mastering those problems, they have gained strength of mind and a clearness of vision that few persons who have lived a life of ease have been able to attain. Experience has taught me, in fact, that no man should be pitied because, every day in his life, he faces a hard, stubborn problem, but rather that it is the man who has no problem to solve, no hardships to face, who is to be pitied.
His misfortune consists in the fact that he has nothing in his life which will strengthen and form his character; nothing to call out his latent powers, and deepen and widen his hold on life. It has come home to me more in recent years that I have had, just because my life has been connected with a problem, some unusual opportunities. I have had unusual opportunities for example in getting an education in the broader sense of the word.
If I had not been born a slave, for example, I never could have had the opportunity, perhaps, of associating day by day with the most ignorant people, so far as books are concerned, and thus coming in contact with people of this class at first hand. The most fortunate part of my early experience was that which gave me the opportunity of getting into direct contact and of communing with and taking lessons from the old class of coloured people who have been slaves. At the present time few experiences afford me more genuine pleasure than to get a day or a half a day off and go out into the country, miles from town and railroad, and spend the time in close contact with a coloured farmer and his family.
And then I have felt for a long while that, if I had not been a slave and lived on a slave plantation, I never would have had the opportunity to learn nature,
to love the soil, to love cows and pigs and bees and flowers and birds and worms and creeping things. I have always been intensely fond of outdoor life. Perhaps the explanation for this lies partly in the fact that I was born nearly out of doors. I have also, from my earliest childhood, been very fond of animals and fowls. When I was but a child, and a slave, I had close and interesting acquaintances with animals.
During my childhood days, as a slave, I did not see very much of my mother, since she was obliged to leave her children very early in the morning to begin her day's work. The early departure of my mother often made the matter of my securing breakfast uncertain. This led to my first intimate acquaintance with animals.
In those days it was the custom upon the plantation to boil the Indian corn that was fed to the cows and pigs. At times, when I had failed to get any other breakfast, I used to go to the places where the cows and pigs were fed and make my breakfast off this boiled corn, or else go to the place where it was the custom to boil the corn, and get my share there before it was taken to the animals.
If I was not there at the exact moment of feeding, I could still find enough corn scattered around the fence or the trough to satisfy me. Some people
may think that this was a pretty bad way in which to get one's food, but, leaving out the name and the associations, there was nothing very bad about it. Any one who has eaten hard-boiled corn knows it has a delicious taste. I never pass a pot of boiled corn now without yielding to the temptation to eat a few grains.
I think that I owe a great deal of my present strength and ability to work to my love of out-of-door life. It is true that the amount of time that I can spend in the open air is now very limited. Taken on an average, it is perhaps not more than an hour a day, but I make the most of that hour. In addition to this I get much pleasure out of the anticipation and planning for that hour.
When I am at my home in Tuskegee, I usually find a way, by rising early in the morning, to spend at least half an hour in my garden, or with my fowls, pigs, or cows. As far as I can get the time, I like to find the new eggs each morning myself, and when at home am selfish enough to permit no one else to so this in my place. As with the growing plants, there is a sense of freshness and newness and of restfulness in connection with the finding and handling of newly laid eggs that is delightful to me. Both the anticipation and the realization are most pleasing. I begin the day by seeing how many eggs
I can find, or how many little chickens there are that are just beginning to peep through the shells.
I am deeply interested in the different kinds of fowls, and, aside from the large number grown by the school in its poultry house and yards, I grow at my own home common chickens, Plymouth Rocks, Buff Cochins and Brahmas, Peking ducks, and fan-tailed pigeons.
The pig, I think, is my favourite animal. I do know how this will strike the taste of my readers, but it is true. In addition to some common bred pigs, I keep a few Berkshires and some Poland Chinas; and it is a real pleasure to me to watch their development and increase from month to month. Practically all the pork used in my family is of my own raising.
This will, perhaps, illustrate what I mean when say that I have gotten a large part of my education from actual contact with things, rather than through the medium of books. I like to touch things and handle them; I like to watch plants grow and observe the behaviour of animals. For the same reason, I like to deal with things, as far as possible, at first hand, in the way that the carpenter deals with wood, the blacksmith with iron, and the farmer with the earth. I believe that there is something gained by getting acquainted, in the way
which I have described, with the physical world about you that is almost indispensable.
A number of years ago, in a book called, "Up From Slavery," I told a story of my early life, describing the manner in which I got my early schooling and the circumstances under which I came to start the Tuskegee Normal and Industrial Institute. At the time that school was organized I had read very little, and, in fact, few books on the subject of teaching, and knew very little about the science of education and pedagogy. I had had the advantage of going through an exceptional school at Hampton and of coming in contact with an inspired teacher in General Armstrong; but I had never attempted to formulate the methods of teaching I used in that school, and I had very little experience in applying them to the new and difficult problems I met as soon as I attempted to conduct a school of my own. What I learned about the science of education I learned in my efforts in working out the plans for, and organizing and perfecting the educational methods at, Tuskegee.
The necessity of collecting large sums of money
every year to carry on the work at Tuskegee compelled
me to travel much and brought me in contact with all
kinds of people. As soon as I began to meet educated
and cultivated people, people who had had
the advantage of study in higher institutions of learning, as
well as the advantages of much reading and travel, I soon
became conscious of my own disadvantages. I found that
the people I met were able to speak fluently and with
perfect familiarity about a great many things with which I
was acquainted in only the vaguest sort of way. In
speaking they used words and phrases from authors whom
I had never read and often never heard of. All this made
me feel more keenly my deficiencies, and the more I
thought about it the more it troubled, and worried me. It
made me feel all the more badly because I discovered that,
if I were to carry on the work I had undertaken to do, if I
was ever going to accomplish any of the things that it
seemed to me important to do, I should never find time, no
matter how diligent and studious I might be, to overtake
them and possess myself of the knowledge and familiarity
with books for which I envied those persons who had been
more highly educated than myself.
After a time, however, I found that while I was at a
certain disadvantage among highly educated and
cultivated people in certain directions, I had certain
advantages over them in others. I found that the man who
has an intimate acquaintance with some department of
life through personal experience
has a great advantage over persons who have
gained their knowledge of life almost entirely through
books. I found also that, by using my personal
experience and observation; by making use of the stories
that I had heard, as illustrations; by relating some incident
that happened in my own case or some incident that I had
heard from some one else, I could frequently express
what I had to say in a much clearer and more impressive
way than if I made use of the language of books or the
statements and quotations from the authors of books.
More than that, as I reflected upon the matter, I
discovered that these authors, in their books, were, after
all merely making use of their own experiences or
expressing ideas which they had worked out in actual
life, and that to make use of their language and ideas was
merely to get life second hand.
The result was that I
made up my mind that I would
try to make up for my defects in my knowledge of books
by my knowledge of men and things. I said I would take
living men and women for my study, and I would give
the closest attention possible to everything that was
going on in the world about me. I determined that I
would get my education out of my work; I would learn
about education in solving the problems of the school
as they arose from day to day, and learn about life by learning
to deal with men. I said to myself that I would try to
learn something from every man I met; make him my
text-book, read him, study him, and learn something from
him. So I began deliberately to try to learn from men. I
learned something from big men and something from little
men, from the man with prejudice and the man without
prejudice. As I studied and understood them, I found that
I began to like men better; even those who treated me
badly did not cause me to lose my temper or patience, as
soon as I found that I could learn something from them.
For example, some years ago, I had an experience
which taught me a lesson in politeness and liberality
which I shall long remember. I was in a large city
making calls on wealthy people in order to interest them
in our work at Tuskegee Institute. I called at the office
of a man, and he spoke to me in the most abrupt and
insulting manner. He not only refused to give any money
but spoke of my race in a manner that no gentleman of
culture ought ever to permit himself to speak of another
race. A few minutes later I called on another gentleman
in the same city, who received me politely, thanked me
for calling upon him, but explained that he was so
situated that he could not help me. My interview with the
first man occupied about twice as
much of his time and my time as was true of the second
gentleman. I learned from this experience that it takes no
more time to be polite to every one than it does to be
rude.
During the later years of my experience I have had the
good fortune to study not only white men and learn from
them, but coloured men as well. In my earlier
experiences I used to have sympathy with the coloured
people who were narrow and bitter toward white people.
As I grew older I began to study that class of coloured
people, and I found that they did not get anywhere, that
their bitterness and narrowness toward the white man did
not hurt the white man or change his feeling toward the
coloured race, but that, in almost every case, the
cherishing of such feeling toward the white man reacted
upon the coloured man and made him narrow and bitter.
In the chapters which follow, I have given some
account of the way in which my work has brought me in
contact, not so much with plants and animals and with
physical objects, but rather with human institutions, with
politics, with newspapers, with educational and social
problems of various kinds and descriptions, and I have
tried to indicate in every case the way in which I have
been educated through them.
One of the purposes in writing these later chapters
from my experience is to complete the story of my
education which I began in the book, "Up From Slavery";
to answer the questions I have frequently been asked
as to how I have worked out for myself the educational
methods which we are now using at Tuskegee; and,
finally, to illustrate, for the benefit of the members of my
own race, some of the ways in which a people who are
struggling upward may turn disadvantages into
opportunities; how they may gain within themselves
something that will compensate them for what they have
been deprived of from without.
If I have learned much from things, I have learned
more from men. The work that I started to do brought
me early in contact with some of the most generous, high-minded
and public-spirited persons in the country. In the
chapters that follow I have tried to indicate what I have
learned from contact with those men. Perhaps I can best
indicate the way in which I have been educated by my
contact with these men if I tell something of my relations
with one man from whom, after General Armstrong, my
first teacher, I learned, perhaps, more than from any
other. I refer to the late William H. Baldwin, Jr.
I well remember my first meeting with Mr. Baldwin,
although the exact date has now slipped from
my memory. He was at that time manager and vice-president
of the Southern Railway, with headquarters in
Washington, D. C. I had been given a letter to him by his
father, in Boston. I found him one morning in his office
and presented this letter, which he read over carefully, as
was his custom in such matters. Then we began talking
about the school at Tuskegee and its work. I had been in
the room but a few minutes when the conviction forced
itself upon me that I had met a man who could
thoroughly understand me and whom I understood.
Indeed, I had the feeling that I was in the presence of
one in whose mind there was neither faltering nor
concealment, and one from whom it would be impossible
to hide a single thought or purpose. I never had occasion,
during all the years that I knew Mr. Baldwin, to change
the opinion formed of him at my first visit, or to feel that
the understanding established between us then was ever
clouded or diminished.
Mr. Baldwin did not at first manifest any definite
interest in the work at Tuskegee. He said he would come
down and "look us over" and if he found we were doing
"the real thing," as he expressed it, he would do anything
he could to help us.
Within a few weeks after this first meeting, Mr.
Baldwin fulfilled his promise to "look us over" and see if
we were doing "the real thing." He spent a busy day on
the grounds of the institution, going through every
department with the thoroughness of an experienced
executive. He found, as a matter of course, a great many
deficiencies in the details of the management and
organization of the school, but he saw what the institution
was striving to do and at once determined to help. In fact,
from that time he never lost an opportunity to serve the
institution in every possible way. He was just as deeply
and as practically interested in everything that concerned
the progress and reputation of the school and its work as
any one connected with it. I think I never met any one
who was more genuinely interested than Mr. Baldwin in
the success of the Negro people. During his last visit to
Tuskegee I remember that Mrs. Washington said to me
one day that she would be glad when he went away. She
meant that he sympathized too deeply, felt too
profoundly the bigness of the task and the limitations
under which the school was labouring. He was touched
by everything he saw. The struggles of individual
students and teachers whom he came to know weighed
heavily on him and he needed to get out of the
atmosphere of the school and its work, and rest. None of
us realized at that time
that the disease that finally took him away was already
doing its fatal work.
William H. Baldwin, Jr., understood, as few men have,
the Negro people, and, understanding them as he did, he
was in full sympathy with their ambition to rise to a
position of usefulness as large and as honourable as that
of any other race. Persons who knew him only slightly,
after hearing him express himself on the race question,
gained the impression that he was not in full sympathy
with the deepest aspirations of the Negro people. But this
impression was mistaken. He was, before all, anxious
that the Negro people, in their struggle to go forward and
succeed, should not mistake the appearance for the real
thing. In his effort to have them avoid this danger he
sometimes seemed to go too far.
But I would do injustice to the memory of Mr. Baldwin
if, by anything I have written or said, I should leave the
impression that, because he was interested in the welfare
of the Negro, he was any the less interested in the
progress of the white race in the South. He saw with
perfect clearness that both races were, to a certain extent,
hampered in their struggles upward by conditions which
they had inherited and for which neither was wholly
responsible. He saw, also, that in the long run the welfare
of each was bound up with that of
the other. Much as he did for Negro education, he never
overlooked an opportunity to get money and secure
support for the education of the unfortunate white people
of the South.
Mr. Baldwin's greatest service to Tuskegee Institute
was in the reorganization of the finances of the
institution. When he first became one of the trustees, the
business organization of the school, its finances, and the
system of keeping the accounts were in a very uncertain
and unsatisfactory condition. He began at once to look
into our investments and to study the items of our annual
budget. The school was growing rapidly. The number of
productive industries carried on by the school, the large
amount of building we were engaged in, and the large
amount of business carried on between the different
departments made the accounts of the school particularly
complicated and the problem of a proper business
organization a most important one.
As I look back over the years in which he and I
worked together, it seems to me that the most pleasant
and profitable hours I have ever known were spent with
Mr. Baldwin in his library in Brooklyn, while we studied
out together the problems and discussed the questions
which this work involved. When I came to New York he
would often
invite me to his home and, as soon as dinner was over,
we would spend three or four hours in his library,
sometimes not breaking up our conference until after
midnight.
Among other things I learned from Mr. Baldwin was
that it is the smaller, the petty, things in life that divide
people. It is the great tasks that bring men together. Any
man who will take up his life in a broad spirit, not of class nor
sect nor locality, but in the freer spirit which seeks to perform a
work simply because it is good, that man can have the
support and the friendship of the best and highest in the
world.
As I have said before, I do not regret that I was born a
slave. I am not sorry that I found myself part of a problem;
on the contrary, that problem has given direction and
meaning to my life and has brought me friendships and
comforts that I have gotten in no other way.
ONE of the first questions that I had to answer for
myself after beginning my work at Tuskegee was how I
was to deal with public opinion on the race question.
It may seem strange that a man who had started out
with the humble purpose of establishing a little Negro
industrial school in a small Southern country town should
find himself, to any great extent, either helped or hindered
in his work by what the general public was thinking and
saying about any of the large social or educational
problems of the day. But such was the case at that time
in Alabama; and so it was that I had not gone very far in
my work before I found myself trying to formulate clear
and definite answers to some very fundamental
questions.
The questions came to me in this way: Coloured
people wanted to know why I proposed to teach their
children to work. They said that they and
their parents had been compelled to work for two hundred
and fifty years, and now they wanted their children to go
to school so that they might be free and live like the white
folks--without working. That was the way in which the
average coloured man looked at the matter.
Some of the Southern white people, on the contrary,
were opposed to any kind of education of the Negro.
Others inquired whether I was merely going to train
preachers and teachers, or whether I proposed to furnish
them with trained servants.
Some of the people in the North understood that I
proposed to train the Negro to be a mere "hewer of wood
and drawer of water," and feared that my school would
make no effort to prepare him to take his place in the
community as a man and a citizen.
Of course all these different views about the kind of
education that the Negro ought or ought not to have were
deeply tinged with racial and sectional feelings. The rule of
the "carpet-bag" government had just come to an end in
Alabama. The masses of the white people were very bitter
against the Negroes as a result of the excitement
and agitation of the Reconstruction period.
On the other hand, the coloured people -- who had
recently lost, to a very large extent, their place
in the politics of the state -- were greatly discouraged and
disheartened. Many of them feared that they were going
to be drawn back into slavery. At this time also there
was still a great deal of bitterness between the North and
the South in regard to anything that concerned political
matters.
I found myself, as it were, at the angle where these
opposing forces met. I saw that, in carrying out the work
I had planned, I was likely to be opposed or criticised at
some point by each of these parties. On the other hand, I
saw just as clearly that in order to succeed I must in
some way secure the support and sympathy of each of
them.
I knew, for example, that the South was poor and the
North was rich. I knew that Northern people believed, as
the South at that time did not believe, in the power of
education to inspire, to uplift, and to regenerate the
masses of the people. I knew that the North was eager to
go forward and complete, with the aid of education, the
work of liberation which had been begun with the sword,
and that Northern people would be willing and glad to
give their support to any school or other agency that
proposed to do this work in a really fundamental way.
It was, at the same time, plain to me that no effort put
forth in behalf of the members of my
own race who were in the South was going to succeed
unless it finally won the sympathy and support of the best
white people in the South. I knew also what many
Northern people did not know or understand -- that however
much they might doubt the wisdom of educating the Negro,
deep down in their hearts the Southern white people had a
feeling of gratitude toward the Negro race; and I was
convinced that in the long run any sound and sincere effort
that was made to help the Negro was going to have the
Southern white man's support.
Finally, I had faith in the good common-sense of the
masses of my own race. I felt confident that, if I were
actually on the right track in the kind of education that I
proposed to give them and at the same time remained honest
and sincere in all my dealings with them, I was bound to
win their support, not only for the school that I had
started, but for all that I had in my mind to do for them.
Still it was often a puzzling and a trying problem to
determine how best to win and hold the respect of all
three of these classes of people, each of which looked with
such different eyes and from such widely different points
of view at what I was attempting to do. The temptation
which presented itself to me in my dealings with these
three classes of people was to show each group the side
of the subject
that it would be most willing to look at, and, at the
same time, to keep silent about those matters in regard
to which they were likely to differ with me. There was
the temptation to say to the white man the thing that the
white man wanted to hear; to say to the coloured man
the thing that he wanted to hear; to say one thing in the
North and another in the South.
Perhaps I should have yielded to this temptation if I
had not perceived that in the long run I should be found
out, and that if I hoped to do anything of lasting value for
my own people or for the South I must first get down to
bedrock.
There is a story of an old coloured minister, which I
am fond of telling, that illustrates what I mean. The old
fellow was trying to explain to a Sunday-school class how
it was and why it was that Pharaoh and his party were
drowned when they were trying to cross the Red Sea,
and how it was and why it was that the Children of
Israel crossed over dry-shod. He explained it in this wise:
"When the first party came along it was early in the
morning and the ice was hard and thick, and the first
party had no trouble in crossing over on the ice; but
when Pharaoh and his party came along the sun was
shining on the ice, and when they got on the ice it broke,
and they went in and got drowned."
Now there happened to be in this class a
coloured man who had had considerable schooling, and
this young fellow turned to the old minister and said:
"Now, Mr. Minister, I do not understand that kind
of explanation. I have been going to school and have
been studying all these conditions, and my geography
teaches me that ice does not freeze within a certain
distance of the equator."
The old minister replied: "Now, I'se been expecting
something just like this. There's always some fellow
ready to spile all the theology. The time I'se talkin'
about was before they had jogerphies or 'quaters
either."
Now this old man, in his plain and simple way, was
trying to brush aside all artificiality and to get down to
bedrock. So it was with me. There have always been a
number of educated and clever persons among my race
who are able to make plausible and fine-sounding
statements about all the different phases of the Negro
problem, but I saw clearly that I should have to follow
the example of the old preacher and start on a solid
basis in order to succeed in the work that I had
undertaken.
So, after thinking the matter all out as I have
described, I made up my mind definitely on one or two
fundamental points. I determined:
First, that I should at all times be perfectly frank and
honest in dealing with each of the three classes of people
that I have mentioned;
Second, that I should not depend upon any "short-cuts"
or expedients merely for the sake of gaining temporary
popularity or advantage, whether for the time being such
action brought me popularity or the reverse. With these
two points clear before me as my creed, I began going
forward.
One thing which gave me faith at the outset, and
increased my confidence as I went on, was the insight
which I early gained into the actual relations of the races
in the South. I observed, in the first place, that as a result
of two hundred and fifty years of slavery the two races
had become bound together in intimate ways that people
outside of the South could not understand, and of which
the white people and coloured people themselves were
perhaps not fully conscious. More than that, I perceived
that the two races needed each other and that for many
years to come no other labouring class of people would be
able to fill the place occupied by the Negro in the life of
the Southern white man.
I saw also one change that had been brought about as
a result of freedom, a change which many Southern
white men had, it seemed to me, failed
to see. As long as slavery existed, the white man,
for his own protection and in order to keep the Negro
contented with his condition of servitude, was
compelled to keep him in ignorance. In freedom,
however, just the reverse condition exists. Now the
white man is not only free to assist the Negro in
his effort to rise, but he has every motive of
self-interest to do so, since to uplift and educate the
Negro would reduce the number of paupers and
criminals of the race and increase the number and
efficiency of its skilled labourers.
Clear ideas did not come into my mind on the
subject at once. It was only gradually that I gained the
notion that there had been two races in slavery; that
both were now engaged in a struggle to adjust
themselves to the new conditions; that the progress of
each meant the advancement of the other; and that
anything that I attempted to do for the members of my
own race would be of no real value to them unless it was
of equal value to the members of the white race by
whom they were surrounded.
As this thought got hold in my mind and I began to
see further into the nature of the task that I had
undertaken to perform, much of the political agitation
and controversy that divided the North from the South,
the black man from the white,
began to look unreal and artificial to me. It seemed as if
the people who carried on political campaigns were
engaged to a very large extent in a battle with shadows,
and that these shadows represented the prejudices and
animosities of a period that was now past.
On the contrary, the more I thought about it, the more
it seemed to me that the kind of work that I had
undertaken to do was a very real sort of thing.
Moreover, it was a kind of work which tended not to
divide, but to unite, all the opposing elements and forces,
because it was a work of construction.
Having gone thus far, I began to consider seriously
how I should proceed to gain the sympathy of each of
the three groups that I have mentioned for the work that
I had in hand.
I determined, first of all, that as far as possible I would
try to gain the active support and coöperation, in all that I
undertook, of the masses of my own race. With this in view, before
I began my work at Tuskegee, I spent several weeks travelling about
among the rural communities of Macon County, of which
Tuskegee is the county seat. During all this time I had an
opportunity to meet and talk individually with a large
number of people representing the rural classes, which
constitute
80 per cent. of the Negro population in the South. I slept
in their cabins, ate their food, talked to them in their
churches, and discussed with them in their own homes
their difficulties and their needs. In this way I gained a
kind of knowledge which has been of great value to me
in all my work since.
As years went on, I extended these visits to the
adjoining counties and adjoining states. Then, as the
school at Tuskegee became better known, I took
advantage of the invitations that came to me to visit
more distant parts of the country, where I had an
opportunity to learn still more about the actual life of the
people and the nature of the difficulties with which they
were struggling.
In all this, my purpose was to get acquainted with the
masses of the people -- to gain their confidence so that I
might work with them and for them.
In the course of travel and observation I became
more and more impressed with the influence that the
organizations which coloured people have formed among
themselves exert upon the masses of the people.
The average man outside of the Negro race is likely
to assume that the ten millions of coloured people in this
country are a mere disorganized and heterogeneous
collection of individuals, herded
together under one statistical label, without head or tail,
and with no conscious common purpose. This is far from
true. There are certain common interests that are
peculiar to all Negroes, certain channels through which it
is possible to touch and influence the whole people. In my
study of the race in what I may call its organized
capacity, I soon learned that the most influential
organization among Negroes is the Negro church. I
question whether or not there is a group of ten millions of
people anywhere, not excepting the Catholics, that can be
so readily reached and influenced through their church
organizations as the ten millions of Negroes in the United
States. Of these millions of black people there is only a
very small percentage that does not have formal or
informal connection with some church. The principal
church groups are: Baptists, African Methodists,
African Methodist Episcopal Zionists, and Coloured
Methodists, to which I might add about a dozen smaller
denominations.
I began my work of getting the support of these
organizations by speaking (or lecturing, as they are
accustomed to describe it) to the coloured people
in the little churches in the country surrounding
the school at Tuskegee. When later I extended
my journeys into other and more distant parts of
the country, I began to get into touch with the leaders in
the church and to learn something about the kind and
extent of influence which these men exercise through
the churches over the masses of the Negro people.
It has always been a great pleasure to me to meet
and to talk in a plain, straightforward way with the
common people of my own race wherever I have been
able to meet them. But it is in the Negro churches that I
have had my best opportunities for meeting and getting
acquainted with them.
It has been my privilege to attend service in Trinity
Church, Boston, where I heard Phillips Brooks. I have
attended service in the Fifth Avenue Presbyterian
Church in New York, where I heard the late Dr. John
Hall. I have attended service in Westminster Abbey, in
London. I have visited some of the great cathedrals in
Europe when service was being held. But not any of
these services have had for me the real interest that
certain services among my own people have had. Let
me describe the type of the service that I have enjoyed
more than any other in all my experience in attending
church, whether in America or Europe.
In Macon County, Ala., where I live, the coloured
people have a kind of church-service that is called an
"all-day meeting." The ideal season for such
meetings is about the middle of May. The church-house
that I have in mind is located about ten miles from town.
To get the most out of the "all-day meeting" one should
make an early start, say eight o'clock. During the drive
one drinks in the fresh fragrance of forests and wild
flowers. The church building is located near a stream of
water, not far from a large, cool spring, and in the midst
of a grove or primitive forest. Here the coloured people
begin to come together by nine or ten o'clock in the
morning. Some of them walk; most of them drive. A
large number come in buggies, but many use the more
primitive wagons or carts, drawn by mules, horses, or
oxen. In these conveyances a whole family, from the
youngest to the eldest, make the journey together. All
bring baskets of food, for the "all-day meeting" is a kind
of Sunday picnic or festival. Preaching, preceded by
much singing, begins at about eleven o'clock. If the
building is not large enough, the services are held out
under the trees. Sometimes there is but one sermon;
sometimes there are two or three sermons, if visiting
ministers are present. The sermon over, there is more
plantation singing. A collection is taken -- sometimes two
collections -- then comes recess for dinner and recreation.
Sometimes I have seen at these "all-day meetings"
as many as three thousand people present. No one
goes away hungry. Large baskets, filled with the most
tempting spring chicken or fresh pork, fresh vegetables,
and all kinds of pies and cakes, are then opened. The
people scatter in groups. Sheets or table-cloths are
spread on the grass under a tree near the stream. Here
old acquaintances are renewed; relatives meet members
of the family whom they have not seen for months.
Strangers, visitors, every one must be invited by some
one else to dinner. Kneeling on the fresh grass or on
broken branches of trees surrounding the food, dinner is
eaten. The animals are fed and watered, and then at
about three o'clock there is another sermon or two, with
plenty of singing thrown in; then another collection, or
perhaps two. In between these sermons I am invited to
speak, and am very glad to accept the invitation. At
about five o'clock the benediction is pronounced and the
thousands quietly scatter to their homes with many good-bys
and well-wishes. This, as I have said, is the kind of
church-service that I like best. In the opportunities which
I have to speak to such gatherings I feel that I have
done some of my best work.
In carrying out the policy which I formed early, of
making use of every opportunity to speak to the
masses of the people, I have not only visited country
churches and spoken at such "all-day meetings" as I have
just described, but for years I have made it a practice to
attend, whenever it has been possible for me to do so,
every important ministers' meeting. I have also made it a
practice to visit town and city churches and in this way to
get acquainted with the ministers and meet the people.
During my many and long campaigns in the North, for
the purpose of getting money to carry on Tuskegee
Institute, it has been a great pleasure and satisfaction to
me, after I have spoken in some white church or hall or
at some banquet, to go directly to some coloured church
for a heart-to-heart talk with my own people. The deep
interest that they have shown in my work and the
warmth and enthusiasm with which coloured people
invariably respond to any one who talks to them frankly
and sincerely in regard to matters that concern the
welfare of the race, make it a pleasure to speak to them.
Many times on these trips to the North it has
happened that coloured audiences have waited until ten
or eleven o'clock at night for my coming. This does not
mean that coloured people may not attend the other
meetings which I address, but means simply that they
prefer in most cases to have me to speak to them alone.
When at last I have
been able to reach the church or the hall where the
audience was gathered, it has been such a pleasure to
meet them that I have often found myself standing on
my feet until after twelve o'clock. No one thing has
given me more faith in the future of the race than the
fact that Negro audiences will sit for two hours or more
and listen with the utmost attention to a serious
discussion of any subject that has to do with their
interest as a people. This is just as true of the unlettered
masses as it is of the more highly educated few.
Not long ago, for example, I spoke to a large audience
in the Chamber of Commerce in Cleveland, Ohio. This
audience was composed for the most part of white
people, and the meeting continued rather late into the
night. Immediately after this meeting I was driven to the
largest coloured church in Cleveland, where I found an
audience of something like twenty-five hundred coloured
people waiting patiently for my appearance. The church
building was crowded, and many of those present, I was
told, had been waiting for two or three hours.
As I entered the building an unusual scene presented
itself. Each member of the audience had been provided
with a little American flag, and as I appeared upon the
platform, the whole audience rose to its feet and began
waving these flags. The
reader can, perhaps, imagine the picture of twenty-five
hundred enthusiastic people each of whom is wildly
waving a flag. The scene was so animated and so
unexpected that it made an impression on me that I shall
never forget. For an hour and a half I spoke to this
audience, and, although the building was crowded until
there was apparently not an inch of standing room in it,
scarcely a single person left the church during this time.
Another way in which I have gained the confidence
and support of the millions of my race has been in
meeting the religious leaders in their various state and
national gatherings. For example, every year, for a
number of years past, I have been invited to deliver an
address before the National Coloured Baptist
Convention, which brings together four or five thousand
religious leaders from all parts of the United States. In a
similar way I meet, once in four years, the leaders in the
various branches of the Methodist Church during their
general conferences.
Invitations to address the different secret societies in
their national gatherings frequently come to me also.
Next to the church, I think it is safe to say that the secret
societies or beneficial orders bring together greater
numbers of coloured people and exercise a larger
influence upon the race than any
other kind of organization. One can scarcely shake
hands with a coloured man without receiving some
kind of grip which identifies him as a member of
one or another of these many organizations.
I am reminded, in speaking of these secret societies,
of an occasion at Little Rock, Ark., when, without
meaning to do so, I placed my friends there in a
very awkward position. It had been pretty widely
advertised for some weeks before that I was to visit
the city. Among the plans decided upon for my
reception was a parade in which all the secret and
beneficial societies in Little Rock were to take
part. Much was expected of this parade, because
secret societies are numerous in Little Rock, and
the occasions when they can all turn out together
are rare.
A few days before I reached that city, some one
began to make inquiry as to which one of these
orders I belonged to. When it finally became known
among the rank and file that I was not a member
of any of them, the committee which was preparing
for the parade lost a great deal of its enthusiasm,
and a sort of gloom settled down over the whole
proceeding. The leading men told me that they
found it quite a difficult task after that to make
the people understand why they were asked to
turn out to honour a person who was not a member
of any of their organizations. Besides, it seemed
unnatural that a Negro should not belong to some
kind of order. Somehow or other, however, matters
were finally straightened out; all the organizations
turned out, and a most successful reception was the
result.
Another agency which exercises tremendous power
among Negroes is the Negro press. Few if any
persons outside of the Negro race understand the
power and influence of the Negro newspaper. In all,
there are about two hundred newspapers
published by coloured men at different points
in the United States. Many of them have only a
small circulation and are, therefore, having a hard
struggle for existence; but they are read in their
local communities. Others have built up a national
circulation and are conducted with energy and
intelligence. With the exception of about three,
these two hundred papers have stood loyally by
me in all my plans and policies to uplift the race.
I have called upon them freely to aid me in making
known my plans and ideas, and they have always
responded in a most generous fashion to all the
demands that I have made upon them.
It has been suggested to me at different times
that I should purchase a Negro newspaper in order
that I might have an "organ" to make known my
views on matters concerning the policies and interests of
the race. Certain persons have suggested also that I pay
money to certain of these papers in order to make sure
that they support my views.
I confess that there have frequently been times when
it seemed that the easiest way to combat some
statement that I knew to be false, or to correct some
impression which seemed to me peculiarly injurious,
would be to have a paper of my own or to pay for the
privilege of setting forth my own views in the editorial
columns of some paper which I did not own.
I am convinced, however, that either of these two
courses would have proved fatal. The minute it should
become known -- and it would be known -- that I owned
an "organ," the other papers would cease to support me
as they now do. If I should attempt to use money with
some papers, I should soon have to use it with all. If I
should pay for the support of newspapers once, I should
have to keep on paying all the time. Very soon I should
have around me, if I should succeed in bribing them,
merely a lot of hired men and no sincere and earnest
supporters. Although I might gain for myself some
apparent and temporary advantage in this way, I should
destroy the value and influence of the very papers that
support me. I say this
because if I should attempt to hire men to write what they
do not themselves believe, or only half believe, the articles
or editorials they write would cease to have the true ring;
and when they cease to have the true ring, they will exert
little or no influence.
So, when I have encountered opposition or criticism in
the press, I have preferred to meet it squarely.
Frequently I have been able to profit by these criticisms
of the newspapers. At other times, when I have felt that
I was right and that those who criticised me were wrong,
I have preferred to wait and let the results show. Thus,
even when we differed with one another on minor points,
I have usually succeeded in gaining the confidence and
support of the editors of the different papers in regard to
those matters and policies which seemed to me really
important.
In travelling throughout the United States I have met
the Negro editors. Many of them have been to Tuskegee.
It has taken me twenty years to get acquainted with them
and to know them intimately. In dealing with these men I
have not found it necessary to hold them at arm's-length.
On the contrary, I am in the habit of speaking with them
frankly and openly in regard to my plans. A number of the
men who own and edit Negro newspapers
are graduates or former students of the
Tuskegee Institute. I go into their offices and
go to their homes. We know one another; they are my
friends, and I am their friend.
In dealing with newspaper people, whether they are
white or black, there is no way of getting their
sympathy and support like that of actually knowing the
individual men, of meeting and talking with them
frequently and frankly, and of keeping them in touch
with everything you do or intend to do. Money cannot
purchase or control this kind of friendship.
Whenever I am in a town or city where Negro
newspapers are published, I make it a point to see the
editors, to go to their offices, or to invite them to visit
Tuskegee. Thus we keep in close, constant, and
sympathetic touch with one another. When these
papers write editorials endorsing any project that I am
interested in, the editors speak with authority and with
intelligence because of our close personal relations.
There is no more generous and helpful class of men
among the Negro race in America to-day than the
owners and editors of Negro newspapers.
Many times I have been asked how it is that I
have secured the confidence and good wishes of so
large a number of the white people of the South.
My answer in brief is that I have tried to be perfectly
frank and straightforward at all times in my relations with
them. Sometimes they have opposed my actions,
sometimes they have not, but I have never tried to deceive
them. There is no people in the world which more quickly
recognizes and appreciates the qualities of frankness and
sincerity, whether they are exhibited in a friend or in an
opponent, in a white man or in a black man, than the white
people of the South.
In my experience in dealing with men of my race I have
found that there is a class that has gained a good deal of
fleeting popularity for possessing what was supposed to
be courage in cursing and abusing all classes of Southern
white people on all possible occasions. But, as I have
watched the careers of this class of Negroes, in
practically every case their popularity and influence with
the masses of coloured people have not been lasting.
There are few races of people the masses of whom are
endowed with more common-sense than the Negro, and in
the long run these common people see things and men
pretty much as they are.
On the other hand, there have always been in every
Southern community a certain number of coloured men
who have sought to gain the friendship of the white
people around them in ways that
were more or less dishonest. For a number of years
after the close of the Civil War, for example, it was
natural that practically all the Negroes should be
Republicans in politics. There were, however, in nearly
every community in the South, one or
two coloured men who posed as Democrats. They
thought that by pretending to favour the Democratic
party they might make themselves popular with their
white neighbours and thus gain some
temporary advantage. In the majority of cases the
white people saw through their pretences and did not
have the respect for them that they had for the Negro
who honestly voted with the party to which he felt that
he belonged.
I remember hearing a prominent white Democrat
remark not long ago that in the old days whenever
a Negro Democrat entered his office he always took
a tight grasp upon his pocket-book. I mention these
facts because I am certain that wherever I have
gained the confidence of the Southern people I have done
so, not by opposing them and not by truckling to them, but
by acting in a straightforward manner, always seeking their
good-will, but never seeking it upon false pretences.
I have made it a rule to talk to the Southern white people
concerning what I might call their shortcomings toward the
Negro rather than talk about
them. In the last analysis, however, I have succeeded in
getting the sympathy and support of so large a number of
Southern white people because I have tried to recognize
and to face conditions as they actually are, and have
honestly tried to work with the best white people in the
South to bring about a better condition.
From the first I have tried to secure the confidence and
good-will of every white citizen in my own county. My
experience teaches me that if a man has little or no
influence with those by whose side he lives, as a rule
there is something wrong with him. The best way to
influence the Southern white man in your community, I
have found, is to convince him that you are of value to
that community. For example, if you are a teacher, the
best way to get the influence of your white neighbours is
to convince them that you are teaching something that will
make the pupils that you educate able to do something
better and more useful than they would otherwise be able
to do; to show, in other words, that the education which
they get adds something of value to the community.
In my own case, I have attempted from the beginning
to let every white citizen in my own town see that I am as
much interested in the common, every-day affairs of life
as himself I tried to let
them see that the presence of Tuskegee Institute in the
community means better farms and gardens, good
housekeeping, good schools, law and order. As soon as
the average white man is convinced that the education
of the Negro makes of him a citizen who is not always
"up in the air," but one who can apply his education to
the things in which every citizen is interested, much of
opposition, doubt, or indifference to Negro education will
disappear.
During all the years that I have lived in Macon
County, Ala., I have never had the slightest trouble in
either registering or casting my vote at any election.
Every white person in the county knows that I am going
to vote in a way that will help the county in which I live.
Many nights I have been up with the sheriff of my
county, in consultation concerning law and order,
seeking to assist him in getting hold of and freeing the
community of criminals. More than that, Tuskegee
Institute has constantly sought, directly and indirectly, to
impress upon the twenty-five or thirty thousand coloured
people in the surrounding county the importance of
coöperating with the officers of the law in the detection
and apprehension of criminals. The result is that we
have one of the most orderly communities in the state. I
do not believe that there is any county in the state,
for example, where the prohibition laws are so strictly
enforced as in Macon County, in spite of the fact that the
Negroes in this county so largely outnumber the whites.
Whatever influence I have gained with the Northern
white people has come about from the fact, I think, that
they feel that I have tried to use their gifts honestly and in
a manner to bring about real and lasting results. I learned
long ago that in education as in other things nothing but
honest work lasts; fraud and sham are bound to be
detected in the end. I have learned, on the other hand,
that if one does a good, honest job, even though it may be
done in the middle of the night when no eyes see but
one's own, the results will just as surely come to light.
My experience has taught me, for example, that if
there is a filthy basement or a dirty closet anywhere in
the remotest part of the school grounds it will be
discovered. On the other hand, if every basement or
every closet -- no matter how remote from the centre of
the school activities -- is kept clean, some one will find it
and commend the care and the thoughtfulness that kept it
clean.
It has always been my policy to make visitors to
Tuskegee feel that they are seeing more than they
expected to see. When a person has contributed,
say, $20,000 for the erection of a building, I
have tried to provide a larger building, a better building,
than the donor expected to see. This I have found can
be brought about only by keeping one's eyes constantly
on all the small details. I shall never forget a remark
made to me by Mr. John D. Rockefeller when I was
spending an evening at his house. It was to this effect:
"Always be master of the details of your work; never
have too many loose outer edges or fringes."
Then, in dealing with Northern people, I have always
let them know that I did not want to get away from my
own race; that I was just as proud of being a Negro as
they were of being white people. No one can see
through a sham more quickly, whether it be in speech or
in dress, than the hardheaded Northern business man.
I once knew a fine young coloured man who nearly
ruined himself by pretending to be something that he
was not. This young man was sent to England for
several months of study. When he returned he seemed
to have forgotten how to talk. He tried to ape the
English accent, the English dress, the English walk. I
was amused to notice sometimes, when he was off his
guard, how he got his English pronunciation mixed with
the ordinary American accent which he had used all of
his life. So one
day I quietly called him aside and said to him: "My friend,
you are ruining yourself. Just drop all those frills and be
yourself." I am glad to say that he had sense enough to
take the advice in the right spirit, and from that time on
he was a different man.
The most difficult and trying of the classes of persons
with which I am brought in contact is the coloured man
or woman who is ashamed of his or her colour, ashamed
of his or her race and, because of this fact, is always in a
bad temper. I have had opportunities, such as few
coloured men have had, of meeting and getting
acquainted with many of the best white people, North
and South. This has never led me to desire to get away
from my own people. On the contrary, I have always
returned to my own people and my own work with
renewed interest.
I have never at any time asked or expected that any
one, in dealing with me, should overlook or forget that I
am a Negro. On the contrary, I have always recognized
that, when any special honour was conferred upon me, it
was conferred not in spite of my being a Negro, but
because I am a Negro, and because I have persistently
identified myself with every interest and with every
phase of the life of my own people.
Looking back over the twenty-five and more years
that have passed since that time, I realize, as I did not at
that time, how the better part of my education -- the
education that I got after leaving school -- has been in the
effort to work out those problems in a way that would
gain the interest and the sympathy of all three of the
classes directly concerned -- the Southern white man, the
Northern white man, and the Negro.
In order to gain consideration from these three classes
for what I was trying to do I have had to enter
sympathetically into the three different points of view
entertained by those three classes; I have had to
consider in detail how the work that I was trying to do
was going to affect the interests of all three. To do this,
and at the same time continue to deal frankly and
honestly with each class, has been indeed a difficult and
at times a puzzling task. It has not always been easy to
stick to my work and keep myself free from the
distracting influences of narrow and factional points of
view; but, looking back on it all after a quarter of a
century, I can see that it has been worth what it cost.
There are some opportunities that come to
the boy or girl who is born poor that the
boy or girl who is born rich does not have.
In the same way there are some advantages in
belonging to a disadvantaged race. The individual
or the race which has to face peculiar hardships and
to overcome unusual difficulties gains an experience
of men and things and gets into close and intimate
touch with life in a way that is not possible to the
man or woman in ordinary circumstances.
In the old slavery days, when any of the white folks
were a little uncertain about the quality of a new family
that had moved into the neighbourhood, they always had
one last resource for determining the character and the
status of the new family. When in doubt, they could
always rely on old "Aunt Jenny." After
"Aunt Jenny" had
visited the new family and returned with her report, the question
was settled. Her decision was final, because "Aunt
Jenny" knew. The old-fashioned house servants gained,
through their peculiar experiences, a keen sense for
what was called the "quality."
In freedom also the Negro has had special
opportunities for finding out the character and the
quality of the white people among whom he lives. If
there is a man in the community who is habitually kind
and considerate to the humblest people about him, the
coloured people know about that man. On the contrary,
if there is a man in that community who is unfair and
unjust in his dealings with them, the coloured people
know that man also.
In their own way and among themselves the coloured
people in the South still have the habit of weighing and
passing judgment on the white people in their
community; and, nine times out of ten, their opinion of a
man is pretty accurate. A man who can always be
counted on to go out of his way to assist and protect the
members of an unpopular race, and who is not afraid or
ashamed to show that he is interested in the efforts of
the coloured people about him to improve their
condition, is pretty likely to be a good citizen in other
respects.
In the average Southern community, also, it is almost
always the best people, those who are most highly
cultured and religious, who know the coloured
people best. It is the best white people who go
oftenest into the Negro churches or teach in the Negro
Sunday-schools. It is to individual white men of this
better class that the average coloured people go most
frequently for counsel and advice when they are in
trouble.
The fact that I was born a Negro, and the further fact
that I have all my life been engaged in a kind of work
that was intended to uplift the masses of my people, has
brought me in contact with many exceptional persons,
both North and South. For example, it was because I
was a poor boy and a Negro that I found my way to
Hampton Institute, where I came under the influence of
General Armstrong, who, as teacher and friend, has had
a larger influence upon my life than any other person I
have ever known, except my mother. As it was in my
boyhood, so it has been in a greater degree in my later
life; because of the work I was trying to do for the
Negro race I have constantly been brought into contact
with men of the very highest type, generous, high-minded,
enlightened, and free. As I have already
suggested, a large part of my education has been gained
by my personal contact with these exceptional men.
There have been times in my life when I fear that I
should have lost courage to go forward if I had
not had constantly before me the example of other men,
some of them obscure and almost unknown outside of
the communities in which they lived, whose patient,
unwavering cheerfulness and goodwill, in spite of
difficulties, have been a continued inspiration to me.
On my way to Tuskegee for the first time I met one
of the finest examples of the type of man I have tried to
describe. He was a railroad conductor and his name
was Capt. Isaiah C. Howard. For many years he had
charge of a train on the Western Railroad of Alabama,
between Montgomery and Atlanta. I do not know where
Captain Howard got his education, or how much he had
studied books. I do know that he was born in the South
and had spent all his life there. During a period of
twenty years I rarely, if ever, met a higher type of the
true gentleman, North or South.
I recall one occasion in particular when I was on his
train between Atlanta and Montgomery during the
Christmas holiday season, when the rougher and more
ignorant of my race usually travel in large numbers, and
when owing to the general license that has always
prevailed during the holiday season, a certain class of
coloured people are likely to be more or less under the
influence of whiskey.
After a time a disturbance arose in the crowd at the
lower end of the car. When Captain Howard appeared,
some of the men who had been drinking spoke to him in
a way that most men, white or black, would have
resented. In the case of some men, the language these
Negroes used might easily have furnished an occasion
for a shooting, the consequences of which it was not
difficult for me to picture to myself. I was deeply
touched to see how, like a wise and patient father,
Captain Howard handled these rough fellows. He spoke
to them calmly, without the least excitement in his voice
or manner, and in a few moments he had obtained almost
complete order in the car. After that he gave them a few
words of very sensible advice which at once won their
respect and gratitude, because they understood the spirit
that prompted it.
During all the time that I travelled with him I never
saw Captain Howard, even under the most trying
circumstances, lose his temper or grow impatient with
any class of coloured people that he had to deal with.
During the long trips that I used to make with him,
whenever he had a little leisure time, he would drop
down into the seat by by
my side and we would talk together, sometimes for
an hour at a time, on the condition and prospects of the
Negro in the South. I remember
that he had very definite ideas in regard to the white
man's duty and responsibility, and more than once he
expressed to me his own reasons for believing that the
Negro should be treated with patience and with justice.
He used frequently, to express the fear that, by allowing
himself to get into the habit of treating Negroes with
harshness, the white man in the South would be injured
more than the Negro.
I have spoken of Captain Howard at some length
because he represents a distinct class of white people in
the South, of whom an increasing number may be found
in nearly every Southern community. He possessed in a
very high degree those qualities of kindness, self-control,
and general good breeding which belong to the real
aristocracy of the South. In his talks with me he
frequently explained that he was no "professional" lover
of the Negro; that, in fact, he had no special feeling for
the Negro or against him, but was interested in seeing
fair play for every race and every individual. He said
that his real reason for wanting to give the Negro the
same chance that other races have was that he loved
the South, and he knew that there could be no
permanent prosperity unless the lowest and poorest
portion of the community was treated with the same
justice as the highest and most powerful.
I count it a part of my good fortune to have been thrown,
early in my life in Alabama, in contact with such a man
as Captain Howard. After knowing him I said to myself:
"If, under the circumstances, a white man can learn to
be fair to my race instead of hating it, a black man ought
to be able to return the compliment."
In connection with my work in Alabama, I early made
the acquaintance of another Southern white man, also an
Alabamian by birth but of a different type, a man of
education and high social and official standing -- the late
J. L. M. Curry.
It was my privilege to know Doctor Curry well during
the last twenty years of his life. He had fought on the
side of the Confederacy during the Civil War, he had
served as a college professor and as United States
Minister to Spain, and had held other high public
positions. More than that, he represented, in his personal
feelings and ways of thinking, all that was best in the life
of the Southern white people.
Notwithstanding the high positions he had held in
social and official life, Doctor Curry gave his latter years
to the cause of education among the masses of white
and coloured people in the South, and was never happier
than when engaged in this work.
I met Doctor Curry for the first time, in a
business way, at Montgomery, Ala. While I was in the
Capitol building I happened to be, for a few moments,
in a room adjoining that in which Doctor Curry and
some other gentlemen were talking, and could not
avoid overhearing their conversation. They were
speaking about Negro education. One of the state
officials expressed some doubt about the propriety of a
Southern gentleman taking an active part in the
education of the Negro. While I am not able to give his
exact words, Doctor Curry replied in substance that he
did not believe that he or any one else had ever lost
anything, socially or in any other way, on account of his
connection with Negro education.
"On the other hand," Doctor Curry continued, "I
believe that Negro education has done a great deal
more for me than I have ever been able to do for
Negro education."
Then he went on to say that he had never visited a
Negro school or performed a kindly act for a Negro
man, woman, or child, that he himself was not made
stronger and better for it.
Immediately after the Civil War, he said, he had
been bitterly opposed to every movement that had
been proposed to educate the Negro. After he came
to visit some of the coloured schools, however,
and saw for himself the struggles that the
coloured people were making to get an education,
his prejudice had changed into sympathy and
admiration.
As far as my own experience goes -- and I have heard
the same thing said by others -- there is no gentler,
kindlier, or more generous type of man anywhere than
those Southern white men who, born and bred to those
racial and sectional differences which, after the Civil
War, were mingled with and intensified by the bitterness
of poverty and defeat, have struggled up to the point
where they feel nothing but kindness to the people of all
races and both sections. It is much easier for those who
shared in the victory of the Civil War -- I mean the
Northern white man and the Negro -- to emancipate
themselves from racial and sectional narrowness.
There is another type of white man in the South who
has aided me in getting a broader and more practical
conception of my work. I refer to the man who has no
special sentiment for or against the Negro, but
appreciates the importance of the Negro race as a
commercial asset -- a man like Mr. John M. Parker, of
New Orleans. Mr. Parker is the president of the
Southern Industrial Congress, and is one of the largest
planters in the Gulf states.
His firm in New Orleans, I understand, buys and sells
more cotton than any other firm in the world. Mr.
Parker sees more clearly than any white man in the
South with whom I have talked, the fact that it is
important to the commercial progress of the country that
the Negro should be treated with justice in the courts, in
business, and in all the affairs of life. He realizes also
that, in order that the Negro may have an incentive to
work regularly, he must have his wants increased; and
this can be brought about only through education.
I have heard many addresses to coloured people in all
parts of the country, but I have never heard words more
sensible, practical, and to the point from the lips of any
man than those of an address which Mr. Parker
delivered before nearly a thousand Negro farmers at
one of the annual Negro Conferences at the Tuskegee
Institute. Mr. Parker has for years been a large
employer of Negro labour on his plantation. He was thus
able to speak to the farmers simply and frankly, and,
even though he told them some rather unpleasant truths,
the audience understood and appreciated not only what
was said, but the spirit in which it was uttered.
The hope of the South, so far as the interests of the
Negro are concerned, rests very largely upon men like
Mr. Parker, who see the close connection
between labour, industry, education, and political
institutions, and have learned to face the race problem in
a large and tolerant spirit, and are seeking to solve it in a
practical way.
A quite different type of man with whom I have been
thrown in frequent contact is Col. Henry Watterson, of
the Louisville Courier-Journal. Colonel Watterson
seems to me to represent the Southern gentleman of the
old school, a man of generous impulses, high ideals, and
gracious manner. I have had frequent and long
conversations with him about the Negro and about
conditions in the South. If there is anywhere a man who
has broader or more liberal ideas concerning the Negro,
or any undeveloped race, I have not met him.
A few years ago, when a meeting had been arranged
at Carnegie Hall, New York, in order to interest the
public in the work of our school at Tuskegee, we were
disappointed in securing a distinguished speaker from the
South who had promised to be present. At the last
moment the committee in charge telegraphed to Colonel
Watterson. Although (because of the death of one of his
children) he had made up his mind not to speak again in
public for some time, Colonel Watterson went to New
York from Louisville and made one of the most eloquent
speeches in behalf of the Negro that
I have ever heard. He told me at the time that nothing
but his interest in the work that we were trying to do at
Tuskegee would have induced him to leave home at
that time.
Whenever I have been tempted to grow embittered
or discouraged about conditions in the South, my
acquaintance with such men as Mr. Parker and
Colonel Watterson has given me new strength and
increased my faith.
I have been fortunate also in the coloured men with
whom I have been associated. There is a class of
Negroes in the South who are just as much interested
as the best white people in the welfare of the
communities in which they live. They are just as much
opposed as the best white people to anything that tends
to stir up strife between the races. But there are two
kinds of coloured people, just as there are two kinds of
white people.
There is a class of coloured people who are narrow
in their sympathies, short-sighted in their views, and
bitter in their prejudices against the white people.
When I first came to Alabama I had to decide whether
I could unite with this class in a general crusade of
denunciation against the white people of the South, in
order to create sympathy in the North for the work that
I was seeking to carry on, or whether I would consider the real
interests of the masses of my race, and seek to preserve
and promote the good relations that already existed
between the races.
I do not deny that I was frequently tempted, during the
early years of my work, to join in the general
denunciation of the evils and injustice that I saw about
me. But when I thought the matter over, I saw that such
a course would accomplish no good and that it would do
a great deal of harm. For one thing, it would serve only to
mislead the masses of my own race in regard to the
opportunities that existed right about them. Besides that, I
saw that the masses of the Negro people had no
disposition to carry on any general war against the white
people. What they wanted was the help and
encouragement of their white neighbours in their efforts
to get an education and to improve themselves.
Among the coloured men who saw all this quite as
clearly as myself was Rufus Herron, of Camp Hill, Ala.
He was born in slavery and had had almost no school
advantages, but he was not lacking in practical wisdom
and he was a leader in the community in which he lived.
Some years ago, after he had harvested his cotton crop
he called to see me at the Tuskegee Institute. He said
that he had sold all of his cotton, had got a good price
for it, had paid all his debts for the year, and had twenty
dollars remaining. He handed me ten dollars and asked
me to use it in the education of a student at Tuskegee.
He returned to his home and gave the other ten to the
teacher of the white school in his vicinity, and asked him
to use it in the education of a white student.
Since that day I have come to know Rufus Herron
well. He never misses a session of the annual Tuskegee
Negro conference. He is the kind of man that one likes
to listen to because he always says something that goes
straight to the point, and after he has covered the subject
he stops. I do not think that I have ever talked with him
that he did not have something to suggest in regard to the
material, educational, and moral improvement of the
people, or something that might promote better relations
between white people and black people. If there is a
white man, North or South, that has more love for his
community or his country than Rufus Herron, it has not
been my good fortune to meet him. In his feelings and
ambitions he also is what I have called an aristocrat.
I have no disposition to deny to any one, black or
white, the privilege of speaking out and protesting
against wrong and injustice, whenever and wherever
they choose to do so. I would do
injustice to the facts and to the masses of my people in
the South, however, if I did not point out how much more
useful a man like Rufus Herron has made his life than
the man who spends his time and makes a profession of
going about talking about his "rights" and stirring up
bitterness between the white people and coloured people.
The salvation of the Negro race in America is to be
worked out, for the most part, not by abstract argument
and not by mere denunciation of wrong, but by actual
achievement in constructive work.
In Nashville there is another coloured man -- a banker, a
man of education, wealth, and culture. James C. Napier
is about the same age as Rufus Herron. I have been
closely associated with him for twenty years. I have
been with him in the North and in the South; I have
worked with him in conventions, and I have talked with
him in private in my home and in his home. During all the
years that I have known him I have never heard Mr.
Napier express a narrow or bitter thought toward the
white race. On the contrary, he has shown himself
anxious to give publicity to the best deeds of the white
people rather than the worst. During the greater part of
my life I have done my work in association with such
men as he. There is no part of the United States in which
I have not met some
of this type of coloured men. I honour such men all the
more because, had they chosen to do so, they could
easily have made themselves and those about them
continually miserable by dwelling upon the mean things
which people say about the race or the injustices which
are so often a part of the life of the Negro.
Let me add that, so far as I have been able to see,
there is no real reason why a Negro in this country
should make himself miserable or unhappy. The average
white man in the United States has the idea that the
average Negro spends most of his time in bemoaning the
fact that he is not a white man, or in trying to devise
some way by which he will be permitted to mingle, in a
purely social way, with white people. This is far from the
truth. In my intercourse with all classes of the Negro,
North and South, it is a rare occurrence when the matter
of getting away from the race, or of social intermingling
with the white people, is so much as mentioned. It is
especially true that intelligent Negroes find a satisfaction
in social intercourse among themselves that is rarely
known or understood by any one outside of the Negro
race. In their family life, in the secret societies and
churches, as well as other organizations where coloured
people come together, the most absorbing
topic of conversation invariably relates to some
enterprise for the betterment of the race.
Among coloured farmers, as among white farmers, the
main topic of discussion is naturally the farm. The Negro
is, in my opinion, naturally a farmer, and he is at his very
best when he is in close contact with the soil. There is
something in the atmosphere of the farm that develops
and strengthens the Negro's natural common-sense. As a
rule the Negro farmer has a rare gift of getting at the
sense of things and of stating in picturesque language
what he has learned. The explanation of it is, it
seems to me, that the Negro farmer studies nature. In his
own way he studies the soil, the development of plants
and animals, the streams, the birds, and the changes of
the seasons. He has a chance of getting the kind of
knowledge that is valuable to him at first-hand.
In a visit some years ago to a Negro farmers' institute
in the country, I got a lesson from an unlettered coloured
farmer which I have never forgotten. I had been invited
by one of the Tuskegee graduates to go into the country
some miles from Tuskegee to be present at this institute.
When I entered the room the members of the institute
were holding what they called their farmers' experience
meeting. One coloured farmer was asked
to come up to the platform and give his experience. He
was an old man, about sixty-five years of age. He had
had no education in the book, but the teacher had
reached him, as he had others in the community, and
showed him how to improve his methods of farming.
When this old man came up to the front of the room
to tell his experience, he said: "I'se never had no chance
to study no science, but since dis teacher has been here
I'se been trying to make some science for myself."
Thereupon he laid upon the table by his side six stalks
of cotton and began to describe in detail how, during the
last ten years, he had gradually enriched his land so as
to increase the number of bolls of cotton grown upon
each individual stalk. He picked up one stalk and
showed it to the audience; before the teacher came to
the community, he said, and before he began to improve
his land, his cotton produced only two bolls to the stalk.
The second year he reached the point where, on the
same land, he succeeded in producing four bolls on a
stalk. Then he showed the second stalk to the audience.
After that he picked up the third and fourth stalks,
saying that during the last few years he had reached a
point where a stalk produced eight bolls.
Finally he picked up the last stalk and said:
"This year I made cotton like dis" -- and he showed a
stalk containing fourteen bolls. Then the old fellow took
his seat.
Some one in the audience from a distance arose and
said: "Uncle, will you tell us your name?"
The old fellow arose and said: "Now, as you ask me
for my name, I'll tell you. In de old days, before dis
teacher come here, I lived in a little log-cabin on rented
land, and had to mortgage my crop every year for food.
When I didn't have nothin', in dem days, in my
community dey used to call me 'Old Jim Hill.' But now
I'se out o' debt; I'se de deeds for fifty acres of land; and
I lives in a nice house wid four rooms that's painted
inside and outside; I'se got some money in de bank; I'se
a taxpayer in my community; I'se edicated my children.
And now, in my community, dey calls me 'Mr. James Hill.' "
The old fellow had not only learned to raise cotton
during these ten years, but, so far as he was concerned,
he had solved the race problem.
As one travels through the Southland, he is continually
meeting old Negro farmers like the one that I have
described. It has been one of the great satisfactions of
my life to be able from time to time to go out into the
heart of the country, on the plantations and on the farms
where the masses of
the coloured people live. I like to get into the fields and
into the woods where they are at work and talk with
them. I like to attend their churches and Sunday-schools
and camp-meetings and revival meetings. In this way I
have gotten more material which has been of service to
me in writing and speaking than I have ever gotten by
reading books. There are no frills about the ordinary
Negro farmer, no pretence. He, at least, is himself and
no one else. There is no type of man that I more enjoy
meeting and knowing.
A disadvantaged race has, too, the advantage of
coming in contact with the best in the North, and this
again has been my good fortune. There are two classes
of people in the North -- one that is just as narrow and
unreasonable toward the white man at the South as any
Southern white man can be toward the Negro or a
Northern white man. I have always chosen to deal with
the other white man at the North -- the man with large
and liberal views.
In saying this I make an exception of the
"professional" friend of the Negro. I have little patience
with the man who parades himself as the "professional"
friend of any race. The "professional" friend of the
Chinese or Japanese or Filipino is frequently a well-meaning
person, but he is always
tiresome. I like to meet the man who is interested in the
Negro because he is a human being. I like to talk with
the man who wants to help the Negro because he is a
member of the human family, and because he believes
that, in helping the Negro, he is helping to make this a
better world to live in.
During the twenty-five years and more that I have
been accustomed to go North every year to obtain funds
with which to build up and support the Tuskegee
Institute, I have made the acquaintance of a large
number of exceptional people in that part of the country.
Because I was seeking aid for Negro education, seeking
assistance in giving opportunities to a neglected portion
of our population, I had an opportunity to meet these
people in a different and, perhaps, more intimate way
than the average man. I had an opportunity to see a side
of their lives of which many of their business
acquaintances, perhaps, did not know the existence.
Few people, I dare say, who were acquainted with the
late Mr. H. H. Rogers, former head of the Standard Oil
Company, knew that he had any special interest or
sympathy for the Negro. I remember well, however, an
occasion when he showed this interest and sympathy. I
was showing him one day the copy of a little Negro
farmers' newspaper, published at Tuskegee, containing
an account
of the efforts the people in one of our country
communities were making to raise a sum of money
among themselves in order that they might receive the
aid he had promised them in building a schoolhouse. As
Mr. Rogers read the account of this school "rally," as it
was called, and looked down the long list of names of
the individuals who in order to make up the required
sum, had contributed out of their poverty, some a penny,
some five cents, some twenty-five, some a dollar and a
few as much as five dollars, his eyes filled with tears. I
do not think he ever before realized, as he did at that
moment, the great power -- and the great power for good --
which his money gave them.
During the last years of his life, Mr. Rogers was
greatly interested in the building of the Virginian
Railway, which was constructed upon his own plans and
almost wholly with his own capital, from Norfolk, Va., to
Deep Water, W. Va. One of the first things he did, after
this new railway was completed, was to make
arrangements for a special train in order that I might
travel over and speak at the different towns to the
coloured people along the line and, at the same time,
study their situation in order that something might be
done to improve their condition. From his point of view,
these people were part of the resources of the country
which he wanted to develop. He desired to see the whole
country through which this railway passed, which, up to
that time, had remained in a somewhat backward
condition, made prosperous and flourishing and filled with
thriving towns and with an industrious and happy people.
He died, however, just as he seemed on the eve of
realizing this dream.
For a number of years before his death, I knew Mr. H.
H. Rogers intimately. I used to see him frequently in his
office in New York; sometimes I made trips with him on
his yacht. At such times I had opportunity to talk over in
detail the work that I was trying to do. Mr. Rogers had
one of the most powerful and resourceful minds of any
man I ever met. His connection with large business
affairs had given him a broad vision and practical grasp
of public and social questions, and I learned much from
my contact with him.
In this connection I might name another individual who
represents another and entirely different type of man,
with whom I have frequently come in contact during my
travels through the Northern states. I refer to Mr.
Oswald Garrison Villard, editor of the New York
Evening Post. Mr. Villard is not primarily a business
man in the sense that Mr. Rogers was, and his interest in
the education
and progress of the Negro is of a very different kind
from that of Mr. Rogers; at least he approaches the
matter from a very different point of view.
Mr. Villard is the grandson of William Lloyd Garrison,
the abolitionist. He is a literary man and idealist, and he
cherishes all the intense zeal for the rights of the Negro
which his grandfather before him displayed. He is
anxious and determined that the Negro shall have every
right and every opportunity that any other race of people
has in this country. He is the outspoken opponent of
every institution and every individual who seeks to limit in
any way the freedom of any man or class of men
anywhere. He has not only continued in the same way
and by much the same methods that his grandfather
used, to fight the battles for human liberty, but he has
interested himself in the education of the Negro. It is due
to the suggestion and largely to the work of Mr. Villard
that Tuskegee, at the celebration of its twenty-fifth
anniversary received the $150,000 memorial fund to
commemorate the name and service of Mr. William H.
Baldwin to Tuskegee and Negro education in the South.
Mr. Villard has given much of his time and personal
service to the work of helping and building up some of
the smaller and struggling Negro schools in the South.
He is a trustee of at least
two of such institutions, being president of the board of
trustees in one case, and takes an active part in the
direction and control of their work. He has recently been
active and, in fact, is largely responsible for the
organization of the National Association for the
Advancement of the Coloured People, a sort of national
vigilance committee, which will watch over and guard
the rights and interests of the race, and seek through the
courts, through legislation, and through other public and
private means, to redress the wrongs from which the
race now suffers in different parts of the country.
Perhaps I ought to add in fairness that, while I
sympathize fully with Mr. Villard's purposes, I have
frequently differed with him as to the methods he has
used to accomplish them. Sometimes he has criticised
me publicly in his newspaper and privately in
conversation. Nevertheless, during all this time, I have
always felt that I retained his friendship and good-will. I
do not think there has ever been a time when I went to
him with a request of any kind either for myself
personally or to obtain his help in any way in the work in
which I was engaged that he has not shown himself
willing and anxious to do everything in his power to
assist me. While I have not always been able to follow
his suggestions, or agree with him as to the methods
I should pursue, I have, nevertheless, I think, profited by
his criticism and have always felt and appreciated the
bracing effect upon public sentiment of his vigorous and
uncompromising spirit.
I have learned also from Mr. Villard the lesson that
persons who have a common purpose may still maintain
helpful, friendly relations, even if they do differ as to
details and choose to travel to the common goal by
different roads.
Another man who has exercised a deep influence
upon me is Robert C. Ogden. Some months after I
became a student at Hampton Institute, Mr. Robert C.
Ogden, in company with a number of other gentlemen
from New York, came to Hampton on a visit. It was the
first time I ever saw him and the first sight of a man of
the physical, mental, and moral build of Mr. Ogden -
strong, fresh, clean, vigorous -- made an impression upon
me that it is hard for any one not in my situation to
appreciate. The thing that impressed me most was this:
Here was a man, intensely earnest and practical, a man
who was deeply engrossed in business affairs, who still
found time to turn aside from his business and
give a portion of his time and thought to the elevation of
an unfortunate race.
Mr. Ogden is a man of a very different type from
either Mr. Rogers or Mr. Villard. He does not
look at the question of uplifting the Negro as a question
of rights and liberty exclusively: he does not think of it
merely as a means of developing one of the neglected
resources of the South. He looks upon it, if I may
venture to say so, as a question of humanity. Mr. Ogden
is intensely interested in human beings; he cannot think
of an unfortunate individual or class of individuals without
feeling a strong impulse to help them. He has spent a
large portion of his time, energy, and fortune in inspiring
a large number of other people with that same sentiment.
I do not believe any man has done more than Mr. Odgen
to spread, among the masses of the people, a spirit of
unselfish service to the interests of humanity, irrespective
of geographical, sectarian or racial distinction.
Perhaps I can in no better way give an idea of what
Mr. Ogden has accomplished in this direction than by
giving a list of some of the activities in which he has
been engaged. Mr Ogden is:
From this it will be seen that Mr. Ogden is directly
connected with almost every important movement for
education in the South, whether for white people or for
black people. In addition to that he is president of the
Board of Directors of the Union Theological Seminary of
New York, member of the Sage Foundation Board, and
of the Presbyterian Board of Home Missions. In all
these different directions he has worked quietly, steadily,
without stinting himself, for the good of the whole
country. Many of the sentiments which he has expressed
in his annual addresses at the meetings of these different
organizations have in them the breadth of view of a real
statesman. His idea was that in giving an equal
opportunity for education to every class in the
community he was laying the foundation for a real
democracy. He spoke of the educational conference, for
instance, as "a congress called by the voice of
'democracy' "; and again he said of this same institution,
"Its foundation is the proposition that every American
child is entitled to an education."
In spite of what he has done in a multitude of ways to
advance education, I have heard Mr. Ogden say, both in
public and in private, that he was not an educated man.
Perhaps he has not gotten so much education in the
usual, formal, technical
matter out of books as some other people. But
through the study of books, or men, or things, Mr. Ogden
has secured the finest kind of education, and deserves to
be classed with the scholars of the world. So far as I
have studied Mr. Ogden's career, it is of interest and
value to the public in three directions:
I know of few men in America whose life can be
held up before young people as a model as can Mr.
Ogden's life.
It would be difficult for me to describe or define the
manner and extent to which I have been influenced and
educated by my contact with Mr. Ogden. It was
characteristic of him, that the only reason I came to
know him is because I needed him, needed him in the
work which I was trying to do. Had I not been a Negro I
would probably never have had the rare experience of
meeting and knowing intimately a man who stands so
high in every walk of life as Mr. Robert C. Ogden. Had Mr.
Ogden been a weak man, seeking his own peace of
mind and social position, he would not have been
brave enough and strong enough to ignore adverse
criticism in his efforts to serve the unfortunate of
both races in the South, and in that case I should
probably not have made his acquaintance.
The men that I have mentioned are but types of
many others, men intellectually and spiritually great,
who, directly and indirectly, have given comfort,
help, and counsel to the ten millions of my race in
America.
I HAVE learned much from reporters and
newspapers. Seldom do I go into any city, or even
step out on the platform between trains, but that it
seems to me some newspaper reporter finds me. I used
to be surprised at the unexpected places in which these
representatives of the press would turn up, and still more
surprised and sometimes embarrassed by the questions
they would ask me. It seemed to me that, if there was
any particular thing that I happened to know and did not
feel at liberty to talk about, that would be the precise
thing that the reporter who met me wanted to question
me about. In such cases, too, the reporter usually got the
information he wanted, or, if he didn't, I was sorry
afterward, because if the actual facts had been published
they would have done less damage than the half truths
which he did get hold of.
I confess that when I was less experienced I used to
dread reporters. For a long time I used to look upon a
reporter as a kind of professional pry, a sort of social
mischief-maker, who was constantly trying to find out
something that would make trouble. The consequence
was that when I met reporters I was likely to find myself
laying plans to circumvent them and keep them in the
dark in regard to my purposes and business.
A wide acquaintance with newspapers and
newspaper men has completely changed my attitude
toward them. In the first place I have discovered that
reporters usually ask just the questions that the average
man in the community in which the newspapers are
located would ask if he had the courage to do so. The
only difference is that the reporter comes out squarely
and plumply and asks you the question that another
person would ask indirectly of some one else.
For my part, I have found it both interesting and
important to know what sort of questions the average
man in the community was asking, for example about
the progress of the Negro, or about my work. The sort
of questions the reporters in the different parts of the
country ask indicate pretty clearly, not only what the
people in the community know about my work, but they
tell me a great
deal, also, about the feeling of the average man
toward the members of my race in that community
and toward the Negro generally. Not only do the
newspaper reporters keep me informed, in the way
I have described, in regard to a great many things
I want to know, but frequently, by the questions
that they ask, they enable me to correct false
impressions and to give information which it seems
important the public should have, in regard to the
condition and progress of the Negro.
One other consideration has changed my attitude
toward the reporters. As I have become better
acquainted with newspapers I have come to understand
the manner and extent to which they represent
the interests and habits of thought of the people
who read and support them. Any man who is engaged
in any sort of work that makes constant demands
upon the good-will and confidence of the
public knows that it is important that he should
have an opportunity to reach this public directly
and to answer just the sort of questions the newspapers
ask of him. As I have said, these inquiries
represent the natural inquiries of the average man.
If the newspaper did not ask and answer these questions,
they would remain unanswered, or the public
would get the information it wanted from some
more indirect and less reliable source.
Several times, during the years that I have been at
Tuskegee, a representative from some Southern paper
or magazine has come to me to inquire in regard to
some rumour or report that has got abroad in regard to
conditions inside our school. In such cases I have simply
told the reporter to take as much time as he chose and
make as thorough an examination of the school and
everything about it as he cared to. At the same time, I
have assured him that he was perfectly free to ask any
questions on any subject, of any person that he met on
the grounds. In other words, I have given him every
opportunity to go as far as he wanted, and to make his
investigation as thorough as he desired.
Of course, in every institution as large as ours, there
is abundant opportunity for a malicious or ill-disposed
person to make injurious criticism, or to interpret what
he learns in a way that would injure the institution. But
in every such case, instead of printing anything
derogatory to the school, the newspaper investigation
has proved the most valuable sort of advertisement, and
the rumours that had been floating about have been
silenced. There is no means so effectual in putting an
end to gossip as a newspaper investigation and report.
On the other hand, I have found that there is no way of
so quickly securing the good-will of a newspaper
reporter as by showing him that you have nothing to
conceal.
Frequently I have heard people criticise the newspapers
because they print and give currency to so much that is
merely trivial; in other words, what we commonly speak
of as gossip. What I know of the newspapers convinces
me that they do not print one tenth of the reports that are
sent in to them, and that a large part of the time of every
newspaper man is spent in running down and proving the
falsity of stories and rumours that have gained currency
in the community as a result of the natural disposition of
mankind to accept and believe any kind of statement that
is sufficiently circumstantial and interesting. My own
experience leads me to believe that if the newspaper
performed no other service for the community but that of
rooting out of the public mind the malice and prejudice that
rest upon misinformation and gossip, it would justify its
existence in this way alone.
In saying this, I do not overlook the fact that daily
papers are responsible for giving currency to many
statements that are false and misleading: that too
frequently the emphasis is placed upon the things that are
merely exciting, while important matters -- or, at least,
matters that seem important to some of us who are on the
outside -- are passed
over in silence. To a very large extent the daily
newspapers have merely taken up the work that was
formerly performed by the village gossip, or by the men
who sat around in the village store, talked politics, and
made public opinion. The newspaper, however, does that
work on a higher plane. It gives us a world-wide outlook,
and it makes a commendable effort to get the truth. Even
if, like the village gossip, it puts the emphasis sometimes
on the wrong things and spends a lot of time over
personal and unimportant matters, it at least brings all
classes of people together in doing so. People who read
the same newspaper are bound to feel neighbourly, even
though they may never meet one another, even though
they live thousands of miles apart.
I have learned much from newspapers and from
newspaper men. I think I have met all kinds of
newspaper reporters, not only those who work on the
conservative, but also those on the so-called "yellow"
journals, and what I have seen of them convinces me
that no class of men in the community work harder or
more faithfully to perform the difficult tasks to which
they are assigned or, considering all the circumstances,
perform their work better. I confess that I have grown to
the point where I always like to meet and talk with
newspaper men,
because they know the world, they know what is
going on, and they know men. I have frequently
been amazed, in talking with newspaper men, to
learn the amount of accurate, intimate, and inside
information that they had about public and even
private matters, and at the insight they showed in
weighing and judging public men and their actions.
One thing that has interested me in this connection
has been the discovery that practically every
large newspaper in the country has in its office a
vast array of facts which, out of charity for the
individuals concerned or because some public interest
would be injured by their publication, never get
into print. I am convinced that much more
frequently than is supposed newspaper men show
their interest in individuals and in the public welfare
by what they withhold from publication rather than
by what they actually do print. Considering
that, under the conditions in which modern
newspapers are conducted, any fact which
would interest and excite the community has
become a kind of commodity which it is the
business of the newspaper to gather up and sell,
it is surprising that these publications are as
discriminating and as considerate as they are.
It seems to me, also, that there has been a noticeable
improvement, in recent years, in the method
of getting and preparing newspaper reports. I am not
sure whether this is due more to the improvement in the
class of men who represent the papers or whether it is
due to a better understanding on the part of the public
as to the methods of dealing with reporters; to a more
definite recognition on the part of both the public and
the newspapers of the responsible position which the
modern newspaper occupies in the complex
organization of modern social life. Both private
individuals and public men seem to have recognized the
fact that, in a country where the life of every individual
touches so closely the life of every other, it is in the
interest of all that each should work, as it were, in the
open, where all the world may know and understand
what he is doing.
On the other hand, newspapers have discovered that
the only justification for putting any fact in a newspaper
is that publication will serve some sort of public interest,
and that, in the long run, the value of a piece of news
and the reputation of a newspaper that prints it depend
upon the absolute accuracy and trustworthiness of its
reports.
I have learned something about newspapers and
newspaper men from my own experience with them,
but I have learned much, also, from the manner in
which some of the best known men in this country have
been accustomed to deal with them.
On several occasions when I was at the White House,
during the time that Colonel Roosevelt was President, I
saw him surrounded by half a dozen reporters -
representing great daily papers. I was greatly surprised
on those occasions to observe that the President would
talk to these reporters just as frankly and freely about
matters pertaining to the government, and his plans and
policies, as one partner in business would talk to another
partner. While these men, as a result of the interview,
would telegraph long despatches to their papers, I am
sure I am safe in saying that the President's confidence
was rarely, if ever, betrayed.
It was largely through such frank interviews, taking
the whole country into his confidence, as it were, that
President Roosevelt was able, in so large a degree, to
carry the whole country along with him. Ever since I
have known Colonel Roosevelt, one of the things that I
have observed in his career has been his ability and
disposition to keep in close personal touch with the
brightest newspaper men and magazine writers of the
country. The newspaper men like him because he
understands the conditions under which they work and at
the same time recognizes the important part that they and
their reports play in the actual, if not in the official,
government in a democratic country like ours.
Another noted man whom it has been my privilege to
see a good deal of, in connection with newspapers, is Mr.
Andrew Carnegie. Not long ago I heard the question
asked why it was that, while so many rich men were
unpopular, Andrew Carnegie held the love and respect
of the common people. From what I have seen of Mr.
Carnegie I ascribe a good deal of his popularity to the
candour and good sense with which he deals with
reporters and newspapers. Mr. Carnegie has something
of Mr. Roosevelt's disposition to take reporters into his
confidence. Both Colonel Roosevelt and Mr. Carnegie
have known how to use newspapers as a means of letting
the world know what they are doing and, in both cases, I
believe that the popularity of these men is due, in very
large part, to their ability to get into a sort of personal
touch with the masses of the people through the
newspapers.
In saying this I do not mean that either Colonel
Roosevelt or Mr. Carnegie has made use of the
newspapers merely for the sake of increasing their
personal popularity. The man who is known, and has the
confidence of the public, can, if he does not allow himself
to be fooled by his own popularity, accomplish a great
deal more, perform a much
greater public service, than the man whose name is
unknown.
In the case of both Colonel Roosevelt and Mr.
Carnegie, the names of private individuals have, in each
case, become associated in the public mind with certain
large public interests. They have come to be, in a very
real sense, public men because they have embodied in
their persons and their lives certain important public
interests. Although, so far as I know, he has never held
public office of any kind, Mr. Carnegie is nevertheless a
public man. Mr. Roosevelt has not ceased to be identified
with certain important public interests; nor has he lost, to
any great extent, political power because he is no longer
President of the United States. The power which these
men exercise upon the minds and hearts of the masses of
their fellow countrymen is largely due to the fact that
they were able to make the acquaintance of the public
through the newspapers.
I have always counted it a great privilege that my
name became associated, comparatively early in my life,
with what has always seemed to me a great and
important public interest, namely, a form of education
which seems to me best suited to fit a recently
enfranchised race for the duties and responsibilities of
citizenship in a republic. The fact that I have been
compelled to raise the larger part of the
money for establishing this kind of education by
direct appeals to the public has made my name
pretty generally known. I am glad that this is
true, for through the medium of the newspapers I
have been able to get in touch with many hundreds
and thousands of persons that I would never have
been able to reach with my voice. All this has
multiplied my powers for service a hundredfold.
Of course it is just as true that a man who has
become well known and gained the confidence of
the public through the medium of the press can
use that power for purely selfish purposes, if he
chooses, as that he can use it for the public welfare.
I have no doubt that nearly every man who has in
any way gained the confidence of the public has
every year many opportunities for turning his popularity
to private account.
Several times in the course of a year, for example,
some one makes me a present of shares of stock in
some new concern, and, on several occasions, I have
had deeds of lots in some land scheme or new town
presented to me. I have made it a rule to promptly
return every gift of that kind, first of all for the good
business reason that it would not pay me to have
my name connected with any enterprise, no matter
how legitimate it might be, for which I could not be
personally responsible, and the use of my name,
under such circumstances, so far as it influenced any
one to invest in the scheme, would be a fraud.
A second reason is my desire to keep faith with
the public, if I may so express it. In order to do that,
I have never been able to see how I could afford
to give any of my time or attention to any enterprise
or any kind of work that did not have to do
specifically and directly with the work of Negro
education, in the broad spirit in which I have
interpreted it.
I have already said that, in my early experience
with newspaper reporters, I used to think it was
necessary to be very careful in letting them know
what my ambitions and aims in regard to my work
were. But I have learned that it is pretty hard to
keep anything from the newspapers that the newspapers
think the public wants to know. As a result
of what I have learned I try to be perfectly frank
with newspaper men. For some years I have made
it my custom to talk with them concerning all my
plans and everything of a public nature in which
I am interested. I talk with them just the same as
I would with one of my friends or business acquaintances.
When a reporter comes to interview me I
tell him what I wish he might publish, and what I
wish he would not publish. Frequently I have
discovered that the newspaper man understood
better than I how to state things in a way that
should give the right impression to the public.
This seems to be especially true of the Washington
correspondents of the great dailies, who, considering
the many important matters which they have to
handle, exercise, it seems to me, a remarkable discretion
as to what should, and should not, be printed.
Let me give an illustration: When Colonel
Roosevelt was President, he invited me to come to
the White House to read over an important part of
one of his annual messages to Congress. The
passage of his message in regard to which he consulted
me referred to a subject upon which there was
great interest at that time, and the newspaper reporters
in Washington, and especially those on duty
at the White House, had some inkling as to the subject
that the President wished to discuss with me.
I was with the President for a considerable time.
When I came out of the President's office I was at
once surrounded by half a dozen newspaper men
who wished me to tell them, in detail, just what I
had discussed with the President. After some hesitation
I made up my mind to try the experiment of
being perfectly frank with them. I gave them an
outline of what was in the message and went into
some detail in regard to our discussion of it. After
I had given them the facts, I said to them: "Now,
gentlemen, do you think that this is a subject that I ought
to give out to the public at this time through the
newspapers?"
Each one of them promptly replied that he did not think
it was a matter that I ought to give out to the public. The
result was that the next day not a single newspaper
represented in this conversation had a line concerning the
matter which had called me to the White House. This is
an example of an experience which I have frequently
had in dealing with reporters. If I had tried to hide
something from them, or to deceive them, I suspect that
some garbled report or misstatement of the facts would
have been given to the public in regard to the matter.
There is always a question with me, and I presume
there is with most public speakers, as to what is the best
form of preparing and delivering a public address, and of
getting the gist of it correctly and properly reported
through the newspapers. When I first began speaking in
public I used to follow the plan to a great extent of
committing speeches to memory. This plan, however, I
soon gave up. At present I do not commit speeches to
memory, except on very important occasions, or when I
am to speak on an entirely new subject.
The plan of writing out one's speech and reading
it has its advantages, but it also has its disadvantages. A
written speech is apt to sound stiff and formal; besides,
if one depends upon a manuscript, he will not be able to
adapt himself to the occasion. Writing out a speech,
however, has the advantage of enabling one to give out
something to the newspapers that will be absolutely
accurate.
After trying both the plan of committing to memory
and of writing out my addresses, I have struck upon a
compromise which I find, in my case, answers the
purpose pretty well. The plan which I now follow is this:
I think out what I want to say pretty carefully. After
having done that, I write head lines, or little suggestions
that will call my attention to the points that I wish to
make in covering my speech. After having thought out
the general line of my speech, and then having prepared
my head lines, I have for a number of years been
accustomed to dictate my speech to a stenographer. By
long practice, I have found that, after dictating my
speech, I can take my head lines or memorandum sheet
and follow the dictation almost exactly when I deliver my
address. I give out all or a portion of the dictated address
to the newspapers in advance. This the reporters
consider an accommodation to them. It insures accuracy
and at the same time leaves me free while speaking to
throw aside the
stiffness and formality that would naturally be necessary
in reading an address or in delivering an address that had
been committed to memory, and to take advantage of
any local interests that would give a more lively colour to
what I have to say.
Another disadvantage of a written address, or of one
committed to memory, is that it is difficult to adapt it to
the interests of the immediate audience. To me, talking to
an audience is like talking to an individual. Each audience
has a personality of its own, and one can no more find
two audiences that are exactly alike than he can find two
individuals that are exactly alike. The speaker who fails
to adapt himself to the conditions, surroundings, and
general atmosphere of his audience in a large degree
fails, I think, as a speaker. I have found that the best plan
is, as I have stated, to study one's subject through and
through, to saturate himself with it so that he is master of
every detail, and then use head lines as a memorandum.
One of the questions which I suppose, every man who
deals with the public has to meet sooner or later is how
to deal with a false newspaper report. I have made it a
rule never to deny a false report, except under very
exceptional circumstances. In nine cases out of ten the
denying of the report simply calls attention to the original
statement in a way to magnify it. Many people who did
not see the original false report will see the denial and
will then begin to search for the original report to find out
what it was. And then, unfortunately, there are always
some newspapers that will spread a report that is not
justified by facts, for the purpose of securing a denial or
of exciting a discussion. My experience is that it always
gives a certain dignity and standing to a slander or a
falsehood to deny it. Every one likes a fight, and a
controversy will frequently lend a fictitious interest and
importance to comparatively trivial circumstances.
During a long period of years in dealing with the public
I have been deceived only once in recent years by a
newspaper reporter. This was the case of a man on a
New York paper who got aboard a train with me, took a
seat by my side, and began the discussion of a question
which was much before the public at that time. He gave
me the impression that he was a man engaged in
business and was only incidentally interested in the
subject under discussion. I talked with him pretty freely
and frankly, as I would with any gentleman. My
suspicions were not aroused until I noticed that suddenly
and unceremoniously he left the train at a way station. I
at once made up my mind that I had been talking, not to
an individual, but to the public. The next
morning a long report of this interview appeared in
his paper. I at once informed the managing editor
of what had occurred.
I am not sure that anything definite came of my
letter, but I believe that one way to improve the
methods of the newspapers in dealing with individuals
is to protest when you think you have been
badly treated.
The important thing, it seems to me, about the
newspaper is that it represents the interest and
reflects the opinions and intelligence of the average
man in the community where the paper is published.
The local press reflects the local prejudice. Its
failings are the common human failings. Its faults
are the faults of the average man in the community,
and on the whole it seems to me best that it should
be so. If the newspapers were not a reflex of the
minds of their readers, they would not be as interesting
or as valuable as they are. We should not
know the people about us as well as we do. As long
as the newspaper exists we not only have a means
of understanding how the average man thinks and
feels, but we have a medium for reaching and influencing
him. People who profess to have no respect
for the newspapers as a rule, I fear, have very little
understanding or respect for the average man.
The real trouble with the newspapers is that while
they frequently exhibit the average man at his worst,
they rarely show him at his best. In order to read the
best about the average man we must still go to books or
to magazines. The newspaper has the advantage that it
touches real things and real persons, but it touches them
only on the surface. For that reason I have found it safe
never to give too much weight to what a newspaper says
about a man either good or bad.
Nevertheless I have learned more from newspapers
than I have from books. In fact, aside from what I have
learned from actual contact with men and with things, I
believe I have gained the greatest part of my education
from newspapers. I am sure this is so if I include among
the newspapers those magazines which deal with current
topics. Certainly I have been stimulated in all my thinking
more by news than I have by the general statements I
have met in books. In this, as in other matters, I like to
deal at first-hand with the raw material and this I find in
the newspapers more than in books.
Frequently I have heard persons speak of the
newspaper as if its only purpose in making its reports
was to tear down rather than build up. It is certainly true
that newspapers are rather ruthless in the way in which
they seem to bring every man, particularly every public
man, to the bar
of public opinion and make him explain and justify his
work.
Nevertheless it is important that every man who is in
any way engaged, directly or indirectly, in performing
any kind of public service should never be permitted to
forget that the only title to place or privilege that any
man enjoys in the community is ultimately based on the
service that he performs. I believe that any man, public
or private, who meets newspaper men and deals with the
newspaper in that spirit will find himself helped
immensely in his work by the press rather than injured.
For my own part I feel sure that I owe much of such
success as I have been able to achieve to the sympathy
and interest which the newspaper press, North and
South, has shown in the work that I have been trying to
do. Largely through the medium of the newspapers I
have been able to come into contact with the larger
public outside of my community and the circle of my
immediate friends and, by this means, to make the school
at Tuskegee, not merely a private philanthropy, but in the
truest sense of that word a public institution, supported
by the public and conducted not in the interest of any one
race or section, merely, but in the interest of the whole
country.
IT MAKES a great deal of difference in
the life of a race, as it does in the life of
an individual, whether the world expects
much or little of that individual or of that race. I
suppose that every boy and every girl born in
poverty have felt at some time in their lives the
weight of the world against them. What the people
in the communities did not expect them to do
it was hard for them to convince themselves that
they could do.
After I got so that I could read a little, I used to take a
great deal of satisfaction in the lives of men who had
risen by their own efforts from poverty to success. It is a
great thing for a boy to be able to read books of that
kind. It not only inspires him with the desire to do
something and make something of his life, but it teaches
him that success depends upon his ability to do
something useful, to perform some kind of service that
the world wants.
The trouble in my case, as in that of other coloured
boys of any age, was that the stories we read in school
were all concerned with the success and achievements
of white boys and men. Occasionally I spoke to some of
my schoolmates in regard to the characters of whom I
had read, but they invariably reminded me that the stories
I had been reading had to do with the members of
another race. Sometimes I tried to argue the matter with
them, saying that what others had done some of us might
also be able to do, and that the lack of a past in our race
was no reason why it should not have a future.
They replied that our case was entirely different. They
said, in effect, that because of our colour and because
we carried in our faces the brand of a race that had been
in slavery, white people did not want us to succeed.
In the end I usually wound up the discussion by
recalling the life of Frederick Douglass, reminding them
of the high position which he had reached and of the
great service which he had performed for his own race
and for the cause of human freedom in the long anti-slavery
struggle.
Even before I had learned to read books or
newspapers, I remember hearing my mother and other
coloured people in our part of the country speak
about Frederick Douglass's wonderful life and
achievements. I heard so much about Douglass when I
was a boy that one of the reasons why I wanted to go to
school and learn to read was that I might read for myself
what he had written and said. In fact, one of the first
books that I remember reading was his own story of his
life, which Mr. Douglass published under the title of "My
Life and Times." This book made a deep impression
upon me, and I read it many times.
After I became a student at Hampton, under Gen.
Samuel C. Armstrong, I heard a great deal more about
Frederick Douglass, and I followed all his movements
with intense interest. At the same time I began to learn
something about other prominent and successful coloured
men who were at that time the leaders of my race in the
United States. These were such men as Congressman
John M. Langston, of Virginia; United States Senator
Blanche K. Bruce, of Mississippi; Lieut.-Gov. P. B. S.
Pinchback, of Louisiana; Congressman John R. Lynch,
of Mississippi; and others whose names were household
words among the masses of the coloured people at that
time. I read with the greatest eagerness everything I
could get hold of regarding the prominent Negro
characters of that period, and was a faithful student of
their lives and deeds.
Later on I had the privilege of meeting and knowing all
of these men, but at that time I little thought that it would
ever be my fortune to meet and know any of them.
On one occasion, when I happened to be in
Washington, I heard that Frederick Douglass was going
to make a speech in a near-by town. I had never seen
him nor heard him speak, so I took advantage of the
opportunity. I was profoundly impressed both by the man
and by the address, but I did not dare approach even to
shake hands with him. Some three or four years after I
had organized the Tuskegee Institute I invited Mr.
Douglass to make a visit to the school and to speak at the
commencement exercises of the school. He came and
spoke to a great audience, many of whom had driven
thirty or forty miles to hear the great orator and leader of
the race. In the course of time I invited all of the
prominent coloured men whose names I have mentioned,
as well as others, to come to Tuskegee and speak to our
students and to the coloured people in our community.
As a matter of course, the speeches (as well as the
writings) of most of these men were concerned for the
most part with the past history, or with the present and
future political problems, of the Negro race. Mr.
Douglass's great life-work had been
in the political agitation that led to the destruction of
slavery. He had been the great defender of the race, and
in the struggle to win from Congress and from the
country at large the recognition of the Negro's rights as a
man and a citizen he had played an important part. But
the long and bitter political struggle in which he had
engaged against slavery had not prepared Mr. Douglass
to take up the equally difficult task of fitting the Negro
for the opportunities and responsibilities of freedom. The
same was true to a large extent of other Negro leaders.
At the time when I met these men and heard them speak
I was invariably impressed, though young and
inexperienced, that there was something lacking in their
public utterances. I felt that the millions of Negroes
needed something more than to be reminded of their
sufferings and of their political rights; that they needed to
do something more than merely to defend themselves.
Frederick Douglass died in February, 1895. In
September of the same year I delivered an address in
Atlanta at the Cotton States Exposition.
I spoke in Atlanta to an audience composed of leading
Southern white people, Northern white people, and
members of my own race. This seemed to me to be the
time and the place, without condemning
what had been done, to emphasize what ought to be
done. I felt that we needed a policy, not of destruction,
but of construction; not of defence, but of aggression; a
policy, not of hostility or surrender, but of friendship and
advance. I stated, as vigorously as I was able, that
usefulness in the community where we resided was our
surest and most potent protection.
One other point which I made plain in this speech
was that, in my opinion, the Negro should see
constantly in every manly, straightforward manner
to make friends of the white man by whose side
he lived, rather than to content himself with seeking
the good-will of some man a thousand miles away.
While I was fully convinced, in my own mind, that the
policy which I had outlined was the correct one, I was
not at all prepared for the widespread interest with
which my words were received.
I received telegrams and congratulations from all parts
of the country and from many persons whose names I
did not know or had heard of only indirectly through the
newspapers or otherwise. Very soon invitations began
to come to me in large numbers to speak before all kinds
of bodies and on all kinds of subjects. In many cases I
was offered for my
addresses what appeared to me almost fabulous sums.
Some of the lecture bureaus offered me as high as $300
and $400 a night for as long a period as I would speak
for them. Among other things which came to me was an
offer from a prominent Western newspaper of $1000
and all expenses for my services if I would describe for
it a famous prize-fight.
I was invited, here and there, to take part in political
campaigns, especially in states where the Negro vote
was important. Lecture bureaus not only urged upon me
the acceptance of their offers through letters, but even
sent agents to Tuskegee. Newspapers and magazines
made generous offers to me to write special articles for
them. I decided, however, to wait until I could get my
bearings. Apparently the words which I had spoken at
Atlanta, simple and almost commonplace as they were,
had touched a deep and responsive chord in the public
mind.* This gave me much to think about.
* The following is copied from the official history of the exposition: "Then came Booker T. Washington, who was destined to make
a national reputation
in the next fifteen minutes. He appeared on the programme by invitation of the
directors as the representative of the Negro race. This would appear to have
been a natural arrangement, if not a matter of course, and it seems strange now
that there should have been any doubt as to the wisdom or propriety of giving
the Negro a place in the opening exercises. Nevertheless, there was, and
the question was carefully, even anxiously, considered before it was decided.
There were apprehensions that the matter would encourage social equality and
prove offensive to the white people, and in the end unsatisfactory
to the coloured race. But the discussion satisfied the board that this course
was right, and they resolved to risk the expediency of doing right. The sequel
showed the wisdom of their decision. The orator himself touched upon the
subject
with great tact, and the recognition that was given has greatly tended to
promote good feeling between the races, while the wide and self-respecting
course of the Negroes on that occasion has raised them greatly in the
estimation
of their white
fellow-citizens."
In introducing the
speaker, Governor Bullock said: "We have with us to-day
the representative of Negro enterprise and Negro civilization. I have the
honour to introduce to you Prof. Booker T. Washington, principal of the
Tuskegee
Normal and Industrial College, who will formally present the Negro
exhibit."
Professor Washington
was greeted with applause, and his speech received
marked attention. In the meantime I determined to
stick close to my work
at Tuskegee.
One of the most surprising results of my Atlanta
speech was the number of letters, telegrams, and
newspaper editorials that came pouring in upon me from
all parts of the country, demanding that I take the place
of "leader of the Negro people," left vacant by Frederick
Douglass's death, or assuming that I had already taken
this place. Until these suggestions began to pour in upon
me, I never had the remotest idea that I should be
selected or looked upon, in any such sense as Frederick
Douglass had been, as a leader of the Negro people. I
was at that time merely a Negro school teacher in a
rather obscure industrial school. I had devoted all my
time and attention to the work of organizing and bringing
into existence the Tuskegee Institute, and I did not know
just what the functions and
duties of a leader were, or what was expected of him on
the part of the coloured people or of the rest of the
world. It was not long, however, before I began to find
out what was expected of me in the new position into
which a sudden newspaper notoriety seemed to have
thrust me.
I was not a little embarrassed, when I first began to
appear in public, to find myself continually referred to as
"the successor of Frederick Douglass." Wherever I
spoke -- whether in the North or in the South -- I found,
thanks to the advertising I had received, that large
audiences turned out to hear me.
It has been interesting, and sometimes amusing, to
note the amount and variety of disinterested advice
received by a man whose name is to any extent before
the public. During the time that my Atlanta address was,
so to speak, under discussion, and almost every day
since, I have received one or more letters advising me
and directing my course in regard to matters of public
interest.
One day I receive a letter, or my attention is called to
some newspaper editorial, in which I am advised to stick
to my work at Tuskegee and put aside every other
interest that I may have in the advancement of my race.
A day or two later I may receive a letter, or read an
editorial in a news
paper, saying that I am making a mistake in confining my
attention entirely to Tuskegee, to Negro education, or
even to the Negro in the United States. It has been
frequently urged upon me, for example, that I ought, in
some way or other, to extend the work that we are trying
to do at Tuskegee to Africa or to the West Indies, where
Negroes are a larger part of the population than in this
country.
There has been a small number of white people and an
equally small number of coloured people who felt, after
my Atlanta speech, that I ought to branch out and discuss
political questions, putting emphasis upon the importance
of political activity and success for the members of my
race. Others, who thought it quite natural that, while I
was in the South, I should not say anything that would be
offensive, expected that I would cut loose in the North
and denounce the Southern people in a way to keep alive
and intensify the sectional differences which had sprung
up as a result of slavery and the Civil War. Still others
thought that there was something lacking in my style of
defending the Negro. I went too much into the facts and
did not say enough about the Rights of Man and the
Declaration of Independence.
When these people found that I did not change my
policy as a result of my Atlanta speech, but
stuck to my old line of argument, urging the importance
of education of the hand, the head, and the heart, they
were thoroughly disappointed. So far as my addresses
made it appear that the race troubles in the South could
be solved by education rather than by political measures,
they felt that I was putting the emphasis in the wrong
place.
I confess that all these criticisms and suggestions
were not without effect upon my mind. But, after
thinking the matter all over, I decided that, pleasant as it
might be to follow the programme that was laid out for
me, I should be compelled to stick to my original job and
work out my salvation along the lines that I had originally
laid down for myself.
My determination to stand by the programme which I
had worked out during the years that I had been at
Tuskegee and which I had expressed in my Atlanta
speech, soon brought me into conflict with a small group
of coloured people who sometimes styled themselves
"The Intellectuals," at other times "The Talented Tenth."
As most of these men were graduates of Northern
colleges and made their homes for the most part in the
North, it was natural enough, I suppose, that they should
feel that leadership in all race matters should remain, as
heretofore, in the North. At any rate, they were opposed
to any change from the policy of uncompromising
and relentless antagonism to the South so long
as there seemed to them to be anything in Southern
conditions wrong or unjust to the Negro.
My life in the South and years of study and effort in
connection with actual and concrete problems of
Southern life had given me a different notion, and I
believed that I had gained some knowledge and some
insight which they were not able to obtain in the same
degree at a distance and from the study of books.
The first thing to which they objected was my plan for
the industrial education of the Negro. It seemed to them
that in teaching coloured people to work with the hands I
was making too great a concession to public opinion in
the South. Some of them thought, probably, that I did not
really believe in industrial education myself; but in any
case they were opposed to any "concession," no matter
whether industrial education was good or bad.
According to their way of looking at the matter, the
Southern white man was the natural enemy of the
Negro, and any attempt, no matter for what purpose, to
gain his sympathy or support must be regarded as a kind
of treason to the race.
All these matters furnished fruitful subjects for
controversy, in all of which the college graduates
that I have referred to were naturally the leaders. The
first thing that such a young man was tempted to do after
leaving college was, it seems, to start out on a lecturing
tour, travelling about from one town to another for the
purpose of discussing what are known as "race" subjects.
I remember one young man in particular who
graduated from Yale University and afterward took a
post-graduate course at Harvard, and who began his
career by delivering a series of lectures on "The
Mistakes of Booker T. Washington." It was not long,
however, before he found that he could not live
continuously on my mistakes. Then he discovered that in
all his long schooling he had not fitted himself to perform
any kind of useful and productive labour. After he had
failed in several other directions he appealed to me, and I
tried to find something for him to do. It is pretty hard,
however, to help a young man who has started wrong.
Once he gets the idea that -- because he has crammed his
head full with mere book knowledge -- the world owes
him a living, it is hard for him to change. The last I heard
of the young man in question, he was trying to eke out a
miserable existence as a book agent while he was
looking about for a position somewhere with the
Government as a janitor or for some other equally
humble occupation.
When I meet cases, as I frequently do, of such
unfortunate and misguided young men as I have
described, I cannot but feel the most profound sympathy
for them, because I know that they are not wholly to
blame for their condition. I know that, in nine cases out
of ten, they have gained the idea at some point in their
career that, because they are Negroes, they are entitled
to the special sympathy of the world, and they have thus
got into the habit of relying on this sympathy rather than
on their own efforts to make their way.
In college they gave little thought or attention to
preparing for any definite task in the world, but started
out with the idea of preparing themselves to solve the
race problem. They learned in college a great deal about
the history of New England freedom; their minds were
filled with the traditions of the anti-slavery struggle; and
they came out of college with the idea that the only thing
necessary to solve at once every problem in the South
was to apply the principles of the Declaration of
Independence and the Bill of Rights. They had learned in
their studies little of the actual present-day conditions in
the South and had not considered the profound
difference between the political problem and the
educational problem, between the work of destruction and of
construction, as it applies to the task of race building.
Among the most trying class of people with whom I
come in contact are the persons who have been
educated in books to the extent that they are able, upon
every occasion, to quote a phrase or a sentiment from
Shakespeare, Milton, Cicero, or some other great writer.
Every time any problem arises they are on the spot with
a phrase or a quotation. No problem is so difficult that
they are not able, with a definition or abstraction of some
kind, to solve it. I like phrases, and I frequently find them
useful and convenient in conversation, but I have not
found in them a solution for many of the actual problems
of life.
In college they studied problems and solved them on
paper. But these problems had already been solved by
some one else, and all that they had to do was to learn
the answers. They had never faced any unsolved
problems in college, and all that they had learned had not
taught them the patience and persistence which alone
solve real problems.
I remember hearing this fact illustrated in a very apt
way by a coloured minister some years ago. After great
sacrifice and effort he had constructed in the South a
building to be used for the purpose of sheltering orphans
and aged coloured women.
After this minister had succeeded in getting his building
constructed and paid for, a young coloured man came to
inspect it and at once began pointing out the defects in
the building. The minister listened patiently for some time
and then, turning to the young man, he said: "My friend,
you have an advantage over me." Then he paused and
looked at the young man, and the young man looked
inquiringly at the minister, who continued: "I am not able
to find fault with any building which you have constructed."
Perhaps I ought to add, in order that my statements
may not be misleading, that I do not mean to say that the
type of college man that I have described is confined to
the members of my own race. Every kind of life
produces its own peculiar kind of failures, and they are
not confined to one race. It would be quite as wrong for
me to give the impression that the description which I
have given applies to all coloured graduates of New
England or other colleges and to none others. As a
matter of fact, almost from the beginning we have had
men from these colleges at Tuskegee; I have come into
contact with others at work in various institutions of the
South; and I have found that some of the sanest and
most useful workers were those who had graduated at
Harvard and other New England
colleges. Those to whom I have referred are the
exception rather than the rule.
There is another class of coloured people who make a
business of keeping the troubles, the wrongs, and the
hardships of the Negro race before the public. Having
learned that they are able to make a living out of their
troubles, they have grown into the settled habit of
advertising their wrongs -- partly because they want
sympathy and partly because it pays. Some of these
people do not want the Negro to lose his grievances,
because they do do not want to lose their jobs.
A story told me by a coloured man in South Carolina
will illustrate how people sometimes get into situations
where they do not like to part with their grievances. In a
certain community there was a coloured doctor of the
old school, who knew little about modern ideas of
medicine, but who in some way had gained the
confidence of the people and had made considerable
money by his own peculiar methods of treatment. In this
community there was an old lady who happened to be
pretty well provided with this world's goods and who
thought that she had a cancer. For twenty years she had
enjoyed the luxury of having this old doctor treat her for
that cancer. As the old doctor became -- thanks to the
cancer and to other practice -- pretty
well-to-do, he decided to send one of his boys to a
medical college. After graduating from the medical
school, the young man returned home, and his father took
a vacation. During this time the old lady who was
afflicted with the "cancer" called in the young man, who
treated her; within a few weeks the cancer (or what was
supposed to be the cancer) disappeared, and the old lady
declared herself well.
When the father of the boy returned and found the
patient on her feet and perfectly well, he was outraged.
He called the young man before him and said: "My son, I
find that you have cured that cancer case of mine. Now,
son, let me tell you something. I educated you on that
cancer. I put you through high school, through college,
and finally through the medical school on that cancer.
And now you, with your new ideas of practising
medicine, have come here and cured that cancer. Let me
tell you, son, you have started all wrong. How do you
expect to make a living practising medicine in that way?"
I am afraid that there is a certain class of race-problem
solvers who don't want the patient to get well, because
as long as the disease holds out they have not only an
easy means of making a living, but also an easy medium through
which to make themselves prominent before the public.
My experience is that people who call themselves
"The Intellectuals" understand theories, but they do not
understand things. I have long been convinced that, if
these men could have gone into the South and taken up
and become interested in some practical work which
would have brought them in touch
with people and things, the whole world would have
looked very different to them. Bad as conditions might
have seemed at first, when they saw that actual progress
was being made, they would have taken a more hopeful
view of the situation.
But the environment in which they were raised had
cast them in another world. For them there was nothing
to do but insist on the application of the abstract
principles of protest. Indignation meetings in Faneuil Hall,
Boston, became at one time so frequent as to be a
nuisance. It would not have been so bad if the meetings
had been confined to the subjects for which they were
proposed; but when "The Intellectuals" found that the
Southern people rarely, if ever, heard of their protests
and, if they did hear of them, paid no attention to them,
they began to attack the persons nearer home. They
began to attack the people of Boston because
they said that the people of Boston had lost interest in the
cause of the Negro. After attacking the friends of the
Negro elsewhere, particularly all those who happened to
disagree with them as to the exact method of aiding the
Negro, they made me a frequent and favourite object of
attack -- not merely for the reasons which I have already
stated, but because they felt that if they attacked me in
some particularly violent way it would surprise people
and attract attention. There is no satisfaction in holding
meetings and formulating protests unless you can get
them into the newspapers. I do not really believe that
these people think as badly of the person whom they
have attacked at different times as their words would
indicate. They are merely using them as a sort of
sounding-board or megaphone to make their own voices
carry farther. The persistence and success with which
these men sought this kind of advertising has led the
general public to believe the number of my opponents
among the Negro masses to be much larger than it actually is.
A few years ago when I was in Boston and the subject
of those who were opposing me was under discussion, a
coloured friend of mine, who did not belong to the so-called
"Talented Tenth," used an illustration which has
stuck in my mind. He was
originally from the South, although he had lived in Boston
for a number of years. He said that he had once lived in
Virginia, near a fashionable hotel. One day a bright idea
struck him and he went to the proprietor of the hotel and
made a bargain to furnish him regularly with a large
number of frogs, which were in great demand as a table
delicacy. The proprietor asked him how many he could
furnish. My friend replied that he felt quite sure that he
could furnish him with a cart-load, if necessary, once a
week. The bargain was concluded. The man was to
deliver at the hotel the following day as large a number
of frogs as possible.
When he appeared, my friend had just six frogs. The
proprietor looked at the frogs, and then at my friend.
"Where are the others?" he said.
"Well, it is this way," my friend replied; "for months I
had heard those bull-frogs in a pond near my house, and
they made so much noise that I supposed there were at
least a million of them there. When I came to investigate,
however, I found that there were only six."
Inspired by their ambition to "make themselves heard,"
and, as they said, compel the public to pay attention to
their grievances, this little group kept up their agitation in
various forms and at different
places, until their plans culminated one night in Boston
in 1903. To convince the public how deep and sincere
they were in their peculiar views, and how profoundly
opposed they were to every one who had a different
opinion, they determined to do something desperate. The
coloured citizens of Boston had asked me to deliver an
address before them in one of their largest churches. The
meeting was widely advertised, and there was a large
audience present. Unknown to any of my coloured
friends in Boston, this group, who, as I have stated, were
mostly graduates of New England colleges, organized a
mob to disturb the meeting and to break it up if possible.
The presiding officer at the meeting was the Hon.
William H. Lewis, a graduate of Amherst College and of
the Harvard Law School. Various members of the group
were scattered in different parts of the church. In
addition to themselves there were present in the audience
-- and this, better than anything else, shows how far they
had been carried in their fanaticism -- some of the lowest
men and women from vile dens in Boston, whom they
had in some way or other induced to come in and help
them disturb the meeting.
As soon as I began speaking, the leaders, stationed in
various parts of the house, began asking questions.
In this and in a number of other ways they tried to make
it impossible for me to speak. Naturally the rest of the
audience resented this, and eventually it was necessary
to call in the police and arrest the disturbers.
Of course, as soon as the disturbance was over, most
of those who had participated in it were ashamed of
what they had done. Many of those who had classed
themselves with "The Intellectuals" before, hastened to
disavow any sympathy with the methods of the men who
had organized the disturbance. Many who had before
been lukewarm in their friendship became my closest
friends. Of course the two leaders, who were afterward
convicted and compelled to serve a sentence in the
Charles Street Jail, remained unrepentant. They tried to
convince themselves that they had been made martyrs in
a great cause, but they did not get much encouragement
in this notion from other coloured people, because it was
not possible for them to make clear just what the cause
was for which they had suffered.
The masses of coloured people in Boston and in the
United States indorsed me by resolution and condemned
the disturbers of the meeting. The Negro newspapers as
a whole were scathing in their criticism of them. For
weeks afterward my mail
was filled with letters from coloured people, asking me to
visit various sections and speak to the people.
I was intensely interested in observing the results of
this disturbance. For one thing I wanted to find out
whether a principle in human nature that I had frequently
observed elsewhere would prove true in this case.
I have found in my dealings with the Negro race -- and
I believe that the same is true of all races that the only
way to hold people together is by means of a
constructive, progressive programme. It is not argument,
nor criticism, nor hatred, but work in constructive effort,
that gets hold of men and binds them together in a way to
make them rally to the support of a common cause.
Before many weeks had passed, these leaders began
to disagree among themselves. Then they began to
quarrel, and one by one they began to drop away. The
result is that, at the present time, the group has been
almost completely dispersed and scattered. Many of
"The Intellectuals" today do not speak to one another.
The most surprising thing about this disturbance, I
confess, is the fact that it was organized by the very
people who have been loudest in condemning the
Southern white people because they had suppressed
the expression of opinion on public questions and
denied the Negro the right of free speech.
As a matter of fact, I have talked to audiences in
every part of this country; I have talked to coloured
audiences in the North and to white audiences in the
South; I have talked to audiences of both races in all
parts of the South; everywhere I have spoken frankly
and, I believe, sincerely on everything that I had in my
mind and heart to say. When I had something to say
about the white people I said it to the white people; when
I had something to say about coloured people I said it to
coloured people. In all these years -- that is the curious
thing about it -- no effort has been made, so far as I can
remember, to interrupt or to break up a meeting at which
I was present until it was attempted by "The
Intellectuals" of my own race in Boston.
I have gone to some length to describe this incident
because it seems to me to show clearly the defects of
that type of mind which the so-called "Intellectuals" of
the race represent.
I do not wish to give the impression by what I have
said that, behind all the intemperance and extravagance
of these men, there is not a vein of genuine feeling and
even at times of something like real heroism. The trouble
is that all this fervour
and intensity is wasted on side issues and trivial matters.
It does not connect itself with anything that is helpful and
constructive. These crusaders, as nearly as I can see,
are fighting windmills.
The truth is, I suspect, as I have already suggested,
that "The Intellectuals" live too much in the past. They
know books but they do not know men. They know a
great deal about the slavery controversy, for example, but
they know almost nothing about the Negro. Especially
are they ignorant in regard to the actual needs of the
masses of the coloured people in the South to-day.
There are some things that one individual can do for
another, and there are some things that one race can do
for another. But, on the whole, every individual and every
race must work out its own salvation. Let me add that if
one thing more than another has taught me to have
confidence in the masses of my own people it has been
their willingness (and even eagerness) to learn and their
disposition to help themselves and depend upon
themselves as soon as they have learned how to do so.
ONE of the advantages of a new people or a new race --
such as, to a very large extent, the American Negroes
are -- consists in the fact that they are not hampered, as
other peoples sometimes are, by tradition. In the matter
of education, for example, Negroes in the South are not
hampered by tradition, because they have never had any
worth speaking of. As a race we are free, if we so
choose, to adopt at once the very latest and most
approved methods of education, because we are not held
back by any wornout tradition; and we have few bad
educational habits to be got rid of before we can start in
to employ newer and better methods.
I have sometimes regarded it as a fortunate
circumstance that I never studied pedagogy. If I had
done so, every time I attempted to do anything in a new
way I should have felt compelled to reckon with all the
past, and in my case that would have
taken so much time that I should never have got
anywhere. As it was, I was perfectly free to go ahead
and do whatever seemed necessary at the time, without
reference to whether that same thing had ever been
done by any one else at any previous time or not.
As an illustration of the way in which too much
learning will hamper a man who finds himself in the
presence of a new problem -- one not in the books -- I
recall the fate of the young Harvard graduate who was a
teacher at Tuskegee for one or two sessions several
years ago. This young man had very little practical
experience as a teacher, but he had made a special study
of the subject of education while he was in college;
largely because of his high scholarship, he was given a
position as teacher of education at Tuskegee.
I am afraid that, until he arrived, we knew very little
about pedagogy at Tuskegee. He proceeded to enlighten
us, however. He lectured and preached to us about
Comenius, Rousseau, Pestalozzi, and all the others, and
what he said was very interesting. The trouble was that
he made a complete failure in his own classes. But that
was not all. We were trying to fit our students to go out
as teachers in the rural districts. I pointed out to him that
if he were going to help them to any great extent it would
be necessary for him to study the conditions of the
country people and to get acquainted with some of the
actual problems of a small, rural Negro community. He
did not seem to regard that as important, because, as he
said, the principles were the same in every case and all
that was necessary was to apply them.
I told him, then, that I thought we had worked out at
Tuskegee a number of definite methods of dealing with
the problems of these rural communities, and suggested
to him that if he wanted to teach the general principles he
ought to work out a theory for these methods, so that the
teachers and students might understand the principles
under which they were actually working. He did not
seem to take this suggestion seriously. It seemed absurd
to him that any one should come down to the Black Belt
of Alabama to look for anything new in the matter of
education. In short, his mind was so burdened with the
traditions and knowledge of other systems of education
that he could not see anything in any kind of education
that seemed to break with these traditions. In fact, he
seemed to feel, whenever he did discover anything new
or strange about the methods that we employed, that
there must be something either wrong or dangerous
about them.
My own early experience was, I suppose, like that of
most other teachers; I picked up quite naturally those
methods of teaching that were in vogue around me or
that seemed to be prescribed by the textbooks. My
method consisted in asking pupils to learn what was in
the book, and then requiring them to recite it.
I shall long remember the time when the folly and
uselessness of much of the old-time method of teaching
first fairly dawned upon me. I was teaching a country
school near my old home in West Virginia. This school
was located near a piece of land that was wet and
marshy, but nevertheless beautiful in appearance. It was
June and the day was hot and sultry; when the usual
recess or playtime came, I was as anxious as the
children were to get outside of the close and stuffy
school room into the open air. That day I prolonged the
playtime to more than twice the usual period.
The hour previous to recess had been employed by me
in trying to get a class of children interested in what
proved to be a rather stupid geography lesson. I had
been asking my pupils a lot of dull and tiresome
questions, getting them to define and name lakes, capes,
peninsulas, islands, and so forth. Naturally the answers
of the children were quite as dull and stupid as the
questions.
As soon as the children were out of doors at playtime,
however, they all, as if by common instinct, scampered
off into the marshes. In a few seconds they were wading
in the cool water, jumping about in the fragrant grass,
and enjoying themselves in a way that was in striking
contrast to the dull labour of the geography lesson. I soon
became infected with the general fever; and in a few
minutes I found myself following the children at a rapid
rate and entering into the full enjoyment of the contrast
between the dull, dead atmosphere of the school room
and the vivid tingling sense of the living out-doors.
We had not been out of the school house and away
from the old geography lesson long before one of the
boys who had been among the dullest in his recitation in
the school room became the leader of a sort of exploring
party. Under his leadership we began to discover, as we
waded along the stream, dozens of islands, capes, and
peninsulas, with here and there a little lake or bay, which,
as some of the pupils pointed out, would furnish a safe
harbour for ships if the stream were only large enough.
Soon every one of the children was busy pointing out and
naming the natural divisions of land and water. And then,
after a few days, we got pieces of wood and bark and let
them float down the
stream; we imagined them to be great ships carrying their
cargoes of merchandise from one part of the world to
another. We studied the way the stream wandered about
in the level land, and noticed how the little sand bars and
the corresponding harbours were formed by the particles
of sand and earth which were rolled down by the stream.
We located cities on these harbours, and tried to find
water-power where we might build up manufacturing
centres.
Before long I discovered that, quite unconsciously, we
had taken up again the lessons in the school room and
were studying geography after a new fashion. This time,
however, we found a real joy and zest in the work, and I
think both teacher and pupils learned more geography in
that short period than they ever learned in the same
space of time before or since.
For the first time the real difference between studying
about things through the medium of books, and studying
things themselves without the medium of books, was
revealed to me. The children in this recess period had
gained more ideas in regard to the natural divisions of the
earth than they would have gained in several days by
merely studying geography inside the school room. To be
sure, they had not learned the names, the locations, nor the
definitions of the capes, bays, and islands, but they had
learned what was more important -- to think capes,
islands, and peninsulas. From that time on they found no
difficulty and were really greatly interested in recognizing
the natural divisions of land and water wherever they
met them.
The lesson that I learned thus early in my experience
as a teacher I have never forgotten. In all my work at
Tuskegee Institute I have lost no opportunity to impress
upon our teachers the importance of training their
students to study, analyze, and compare actual things,
and to use what they have learned in the school room
and in the text-book, to enable them to observe, think
about, and deal with the objects and situations of actual
life.
Not long ago I visited the class room of a new teacher
at Tuskegee, who was conducting a class in
measurements. This teacher had insisted that each
member of the class should commit to memory the tables
of measurement, and when I came in they were engaged
in reciting, singsong, something that sounded like a sort of
litany composed of feet, yards, rods, acres, gills, pints,
quarts, ounces, pounds, and the rest. I looked on at this
proceeding for a few minutes; then a happy thought
occurred to me and I asked the teacher to let me take
the class in hand. I began by asking if any
one in the class had ever measured the class room in
which they were sitting. There was a dumb silence.
Then I asked if any one had ever marked off an acre of
actual land, had ever measured a gill of water, or had
ever weighed an ounce or a pound of sugar. Not a hand
was raised in reply.
Then I told the teacher that I would like to take charge
of the class for a few days. Before the week was over I
had seen to it that every member of the class had
supplied himself with a rule or a measure of some sort.
Under my direction the students measured the class
room and found what it would cost to paint the walls of
the room.
From the class room we went to a part of the farm
where the students were engaged in planting sweet
potatoes. Soon we had an acre of sweet potatoes
measured off. We computed the number of bushels
raised on that acre and calculated the cost and profit of
raising them.
Before the week was over the whole class had been
through the boarding department, where they had an
opportunity to weigh actual sugar. From the steward we
obtained some interesting figures as to how much sugar
was used a day; then we computed how much was used
by each student. We went to the farm again and weighed
a live pig, and I had the class find out the selling price of pork
on that particular day, not in Chicago, but in Alabama. I
had them calculate the amount that -- not an imaginary pig
or a pig in Chicago -- the pig that they had weighed would
bring that day in the local market. It took some time to
go through all these operations, but I think that it paid to
do so. Besides, it was fun. It was fun for me, and it was
a great deal more fun for the students. Incidentally the
teacher got an awakening and learned a lesson that I
dare say he has never forgotten.
At the present time all teachers in the academic
studies are expected to make a careful study of the work
carried on by the students in the industries. Nearly every
day, for example, some class in mathematics, goes
under the charge of a teacher, into the shops or the dairy
or out on the farm to get its problems in mathematics at
first hand. Students are sent from the English classes to
look up the history of some trade, or some single
operation performed by students in the shop, and to write
out an account of that trade or that operation for the
benefit of the other members of the class. In such cases
attention is paid not merely to the form in which the
report is written, but more especially to the accuracy and
clearness of the statement. The student who prepares
that kind of paper is
writing something in which other students have a
practical interest, and if students are not accurate there
are always one or more students in the class who know
enough about the subject to criticise and correct the
statements made. The student in this case finds himself
dealing with live matters, and he naturally feels
responsibility for the statements that he makes -- a
responsibility that he would not feel if he were merely
putting together facts that he had gathered from some
encyclopædia or other second-hand source of information.
In emphasizing the importance of studying things
rather than books, I do not mean to underrate the
importance of studying history, general literature, or any
of the other so-called cultural studies. I do think,
however, that it is important that young men and young
women should first of all get clear and definite ideas of
things right about them, because these are the ideas by
which they are going to measure and interpret things
farther removed from their practical interests. To young,
inexperienced minds there seems to be a kind of fatal
charm about the vague, the distant, and the mysterious.
In the early days of freedom, when education was a
new thing, the boy who went away to school had a very
natural human ambition to be able to
come back home in order to delight and astonish the old
folks with the new and strange things that he had
learned. If he could speak a few words in some strange
tongue that his parents had never heard before, or read a
few sentences out of a book with strange and mysterious
characters, he was able to make them very proud and
happy. There was a constant temptation therefore for
schools and teachers to keep everything connected with
education in a sort of twilight realm of the mysterious
and supernatural. Quite unconsciously they created in the
minds of their pupils the impression that a boy or a girl
who had passed through certain educational forms and
ceremonies had been initiated into some sort of secret
knowledge that was inaccessible to the rest of the world.
Connected with this was the notion that because a man
had passed through these educational forms and
ceremonies he had somehow become a sort of superior
being set apart from the rest of the world -- a member of
the "Talented Tenth" or some other ill-defined and exclusive caste.
Nothing, in my opinion, could be more fatal to the
success of a student or to the cause of education than
the general acceptance of any such ideas. In the long
run it will be found that neither black people nor white
people want such an education
for their children, and they will not support schools that
give it.
My experience has taught me that the surest way to
success in education, and in any other line for that
matter, is to stick close to the common and familiar
things -- things that concern the greater part of the people
the greater part of the time.
I want to see education as common as grass, and as
free for all as sunshine and rain.
The way to open opportunities of education for every
one, however, is to teach things that every one needs to
know. I venture to say that anything in any school, taught
with the object of fitting students to produce and serve
food, for example, will win approval and popularity for
the school. The reason is simple: every human being is
interested, several times a day, in the subject of food;
and a large part of the world is interested, either directly
or indirectly, in its production and sale.
Not long ago I attended the closing exercises of a high
school in a community composed mainly of people in the
humble walks of life. The general theme of the
graduating addresses was "An Imaginary Trip to
Europe." Of course the audience was bored, and I was
not surprised that a number of people went to sleep. As
a matter of fact, I do
not think that the parents of a single student who
delivered one of these addresses had ever been to
Europe or will have an opportunity to go at any time in
the near future. The thing did not touch a common chord.
It was too far removed from all the practical, human
interests of which they had any experience. The average
family in America is not ordinarily engaged in travelling
through Europe for any large part of the time. Besides
that, none of the members of this graduating class had
ever been to Europe; consequently they were not writing
about something of which they had any real knowledge.
Some years ago, in an effort to bring our rhetorical and
commencement exercises into a little closer touch with
real things, we tried the experiment at Tuskegee of
having students write papers on some subject of which
they had first-hand knowledge. As a matter of fact, I
believe that Tuskegee was the first institution that
attempted to reform its commencement exercises in this
particular direction.
Ordinarily, at the closing exercises of a high school,
graduates are expected to stand up on the platform and,
out of all their inexperience, instruct their elders how to
succeed in life. We were fortunate at Tuskegee, in the
thirty-seven industries carried on there and in the
thousand acres of land
that are cultivated, to be able to give our students, in
addition to their general education, a pretty good
knowledge of some one of the familiar trades or
vocations. They have, therefore, something to talk about
in their essays in which all of the audience are interested
and with which all are more or less familiar.
Instead of having a boy or girl read a paper on some
subject like "Beyond the Alps Lies Italy," we have them
explain and demonstrate to the audience how to build a
roof, or the proper way to make cheese, or how to hatch
chickens with an incubator. Perhaps one of the
graduates in the nurses' training school will show how to
lend "first aid to the injured." If a girl is taking the course
in dairying, she will not only describe what she has
learned but will go through, on the platform, the various
methods of operating a modern dairy.
Instead of letting a boy tell why one ought to do right,
we ask him to tell what he has learned about the feeding
of pigs, about their diseases, and the care of them when
they are sick. In such a case the student will have the
pig on the platform, in order to illustrate the methods of
caring for it, and demonstrate to the audience the points
that he is trying to make.
One of our students, in his commencement oration
last May, gave a description of how he planted and
raised an acre of cabbages. Piled high upon the platform
by his side were some of the largest and finest
cabbages that I have ever seen. He told how and
where he had obtained the seed; he described his method
of preparing and enriching the soil, of working the land, and
harvesting the crop; and he summed up by giving the cost of the whole
operation. In the course of his account of this
comparatively simple operation, this student had made use
of much that he had learned in composition, grammar, mathematics,
chemistry, and agriculture. He had not merely
woven into his narrative all these various elements that I
have referred to, but he had given the audience (which
was made up largely of coloured farmers from the
country) some useful and practical information in
regard to a subject which they understood and were
interested in. I wish that any one who does not
believe it possible to make a subject like cabbages
interesting in a commencement oration could have
heard the hearty cheers which greeted the speaker
when, at the close of his speech, he held up one of
the largest cabbages on the platform for the audience
to look at and admire. As a matter of fact, there
is just as much that is interesting, strange, mysterious,
and wonderful; just as much to be learned
that is edifying broadening, and refining in a
cabbage as there is in a page of Latin. There is,
however, this distinction: it will make very little
difference to the world whether one Negro boy, more
or less, learns to construe a page of Latin. On the
other hand, as soon as one Negro boy has been
taught to apply thought and study and ides to
the growing of cabbages, he has started a process
which, if it goes on and continues, will eventually
transform the whole face of things as they exist
in the South to-day.
I have spoken hitherto about industrial education as a
means of connecting education with life. The mere fact
that a boy has learned in school to handle a plane or that
he has learned something about the chemistry of the soil
does not of itself insure that he has gained any new and
vital grip upon the life about him. He must at the same
time learn to use the knowledge and the training that he has
received to change and improve the conditions about him.
In my travels I have come across some very interesting
and amusing examples of the failures of teachers to
connect their teaching with real things, even when they
had a chance right at hand to do so. I recall visiting, not
long since, a somewhat noted school which has a
department for industrial
or hand training, concerning which the officers
of the school had talked a great deal. Almost
directly in front of the building used for the so-called
industrial training -- I noticed a large brick building
in process of erection. In the construction of this
building every principle of mechanics taught in
the manual-training department of this institution
was being put into actual use. Notwithstanding
this fact, I learned upon inquiry that the teacher
had made no attempt to connect what was taught
in the manual-training department with the work
on the brick building across the way. The students
had no opportunity to work on this building; they
had not visited it with their teacher; they had made
no attempt to study the actual problems that had
arisen in the course of its construction. As far
as they were concerned, there was no relation
whatever between the subjects discussed in the
class room or the operations carried on in the school
shops and the work that was going on outside.
All that they were getting in the school was, as far
as I was able to learn, just as formal in its character,
just as much an educational ceremony, as if
they were engaged in diagraming a sentence in
English or reciting the parts of a Latin verb.
My experience in the little country school in West
Virginia first taught me that it was possible to take
teaching outside of the text-book and deal with real
things. I have learned from later experience that it is just
as important to carry education outside of the school
building and take it into the fields, into the homes, and
into the daily life of the people surrounding the school.
One of the most important activities of our school at
Tuskegee is what we call our Extension Work, in which
nearly all the departments of the Institute coöperate. In
fact, at the present time more attention, energy, and
effort are directed to this work outside the school
grounds than to any other branch of work in which the
school is engaged.
It would be impossible to describe here all the
ramifications or all the various forms which this
extension work has taken in recent years. The thing that
I wish to emphasize, however, is that we are seeking in
this work less to teach (according to the old-fashioned
notion of teaching) than to improve conditions. We are
trying to improve the methods of farming in the country
surrounding the school, to change and improve the home
life of the farming population, and to establish a model
school system -- not only for Macon but for several other
counties in the state.
Perhaps I can best illustrate what I mean when I say
that education should connect itself with life,
by describing a type of rural school which we have
worked out and are seeking to establish in Macon
County. There are several schools in our county which
might be called, in a certain sense, model country
schools. There are nearly fifty communities in which,
during the last four or five years, new school buildings
have been erected and the school terms lengthened to
eight and nine months, largely with funds collected from
the Negro farmers under the direction and inspiration of
the Tuskegee Institute.
The school that I have in mind is known as the "Rising
Star." That is the name that the coloured people gave to
their church, and that is now the name which has
become attached to the little farming community
surrounding it. The "Rising Star" community is composed
of some score or more of hard-working, thrifty,
successful Negro farmers, the larger number of whom
own their land. There is no wealth in this community;
neither is there much, if any, actual want. When I first
made the acquaintance of "Rising Star," soon after
beginning my work in Alabama, the church which gave
the neighbourhood its name was an old, dilapidated
building, located in a wornout field. It was about the
worst looking building that I had ever seen, up to that
time, in which to carry on the
work of saving men's souls. The condition of the
farmhouses, the farms, and the school was in keeping
with the condition of the church. This was true also of
the minister. He was run down and dilapidated. I used
frequently to go Sunday afternoons to hear him preach.
His sermons usually held on for about an hour and a half.
I remember that I used to study them carefully from
week to week in the hope that I might hear him utter, at
some time or other, a single sentence that seemed to me
to have any practical value to any man, woman, or child
in his congregation. I was always disappointed, however.
Almost without exception, his sermons related to
something that is supposed to have taken place two or
three thousand years ago, or else they were made up of
a vivid discription of the horrors of hell and of the glories
of heaven.
Nor far from the church, in another old field, there
was a little broken-down, unsightly building which had
never been touched by paint or whitewash. This was the
school. The teacher went with the minister. He had
about fifty or sixty children in his school, but the things
that he taught them had no more relation to the life of
that community than the preacher's sermons had. The
weakness and poverty of this little Negro settlement
gave me, however, the chance that I wanted. I
determined to try there the experiment of building up a
model school, one that should actually seek to articulate
school life into every-day life. I cannot give here a
detailed history of this experiment, but I will briefly
describe conditions as they exist to-day.
In place of the old building to which I have referred,
there is now a comfortable five-room house, resembling
in style and general appearance the cottages of the more
prosperous farmers of the neighbourhood. In this building,
surrounded by its garden, with its stable and outbuildings
adjoining, the teachers (a man and his wife) live and
teach school. All of the rooms, as well as the garden and
the stable, are used at different times in the day for
teaching pupils the ordinary household duties of a farmer
and his wife in that part of the country. Here the children
learn to make the beds and to clean, dust, and arrange
the sitting room. At noon they go into the kitchen, where
they are taught to cook, and into the dining room, where
they are taught to lay the table and serve a farmer's
meal. The flowers in the front yard are cared for by the
children of the school. The vegetables in the garden are
those which have been found best adapted to the soil
and the needs of the community, and all are planted and
cared for by the teachers
and students. There is a cow in the barn, and near by
are pigs and poultry. The children are taught how to
keep the cow house, the pig sty, and the poultry house
clean and attractive.
The usual academic studies of a public school are
taught in the sitting room. There is, however, this
difference: the lessons in arithmetic consist for the most
part of problems that have to do with the work that is
going on at the time in the house, the garden, or on the
farms in the surrounding community. As far as possible,
all the English composition work is based on matters
connected with the daily life of the community. In
addition to the ordinary reading book, pupils in this school
spend some time every week reading a little local
agricultural newspaper which is published at Tuskegee
Institute in the interest of the farmers and schools in the
surrounding country.
It is interesting to observe the effect of this teaching
on the fathers and mothers of the children who attend
this school. As soon as fathers discovered that their boys
were learning in school to tell how much their pigs,
cotton, and corn were worth, the fathers (who had been
more or less disappointed with the results of the previous
education) felt that the school was really worth
something after all. When the girls began to ask their
mothers to let
them take their dresses to school so that they might learn
to patch and mend them, these mothers began to get an
entirely new idea of what school meant. Later, when
these girls were taught to make simple garments in the
school room, their mothers became still more interested.
They began to attend the mothers' meetings, and before
long there was a genuine enthusiasm in that community --
not only for the school and its teachers, but for the
household improvement that they taught. The teachers
used their influence with the pupils first of all to start a
crusade of whitewashing and general cleaning-up.
Houses that had never known a coat of whitewash began
to assume a neat and attractive appearance. Better than
all else, under the inspiration of this school and of the
other schools like it, the whole spirit of this community
and the others throughout the county improved.
In a short time a little revolution has taken place in the
material, educational, moral, and religious life of "Rising
Star." The influence of the school has extended to the
minister and to the church. At the present time the
sermons that are preached in the church have a vital
connection with the moral life of the community. I shall
not soon forget one of my recent visits to the church. The
minister chose for his text: "The earth is full of Thy riches,"
and, to illustrate his sermon, he placed on the platform
beside the pulpit two bushels of prize corn
which he himself had grown on his farm. When
he came to expound his text he pointed with pride
to his little agricultural exhibit as an indication
of the real significance of this sentence from the
Bible, which had never before had any definite
meaning for him.
Education, such as I have attempted to describe,
touches the life of the white man as well
as that of the black man. By encouraging Negro
farmers to buy land and improve their methods
of agriculture, it has multiplied the number of small
landowners and increased the tax value of the land.
Recent investigations show that the number of
Negro landowners in Macon County has grown more
in the last five or six years than in the whole previous
period since the abolition of slavery. Land that
was selling for two and three dollars an acre five
years ago is now worth fifteen and twenty dollars
an acre. In many parts of the county large plantations
have been broken up and sold in small
tracts to Negro farmers. At the last annual meeting
of the Coloured State Teachers' Association,
at Birmingham, one teacher from Macon County
reported that during the previous year she had organized
a club among the farmers through which
six hundred acres of land had been purchased in her
community.
The struggles of the Negro farmer to lengthen the
school term, and the competition among different local
communities in the county in the work of building and
equipping school buildings, has had the effect of leading
the coloured people to think about all kinds of matters
that concern the welfare of their local communities. For
example, Law and Order Leagues have been organized
throughout Macon County to assist in enforcing the
prohibition law. I do not believe that there is a county in
the state where these laws are better enforced than they
are in our county at the present time. At the last sitting of
the grand jury, only seventeen indictments for all classes
of offences were returned. The next session of the
criminal court will have, I am told, the smallest docket in
its history. I am convinced that there is not a county in
that state with so large a Negro population that has so
small a number of criminals.
Silently and almost imperceptibly, the work of
education has gone on from year to year, slowly
changing conditions -- not only in Macon County, but, to a
greater or less extent, in other parts of Alabama and of
the South. Education of the kind that I have described
has helped to diminish the
cost of production on the farm and, at the same time, has
steadily increased the wants of the farmers. In other
words, it has enabled the Negro farmer to earn more
money, and at the same time has given him a reason for
doing so.
Farmers have learned to plant gardens, to keep hogs
and chickens, and, as far as possible, to raise their own
food and fodder. This has led them to increase and
sometimes double the annual amount of their labour.
Under former conditions, the Negro farmer did not work
more than one hundred and fifty days in the year. Merely
to plant and harvest the cotton crop -- he did not need to
do so.
In learning to raise his own provisions, the Negro
farmer is no longer dependent to the same extent that he
formerly was upon the landlord or the storekeeper. Under
the old system the Negro farmer obtained his provisions
(or "advances" as they are called) from the storekeeper
on credit. In order to carry him through the year until the
cotton crop was harvested, the storekeeper borrowed
from the local banker. The local banker borrowed, in turn,
from the bankers in the city, who, perhaps, obtained a
portion of their money from the large money centres of
the North. Every time this money passed from one hand
to the other, the man who loaned collected toll from the
man who borrowed.
At the bottom, where the system connected up
with the Negro farmer, the planter or storekeeper added
something to the costs which had already accumulated --
as a sort of insurance, and to pay the expenses of looking
after his tenant and seeing that he did his work properly.
All this sum, of course, was finally paid by the man on
the soil.
The farmer who has become independent enough to
raise his own provisions, or a large portion of them, does
not need the supervision of his landlord in his farming
operations. At the present time the majority of the Negro
farmers in Macon County get their money directly from
the bank and pay cash for their provisions. A number
have money on deposit in the local banks. The bankers'
capital and deposits have increased so that they are not
so dependent as they once were upon foreign capital to
aid them in carrying on the farming operations in the
county.
I do not mean to say that all this has been effected as
a direct result of education; I merely wish to point out
how intimately the kind of education that we are trying to
introduce does, in fact, touch all the fundamental interests
of the community.
Naturally the influences that I have referred to do not
end with the effects that I have already described. The
results obtained have had a reflex
influence upon the schools themselves. From the very
beginning of my work at Tuskegee I saw that our
problem was a double one. We had at first to work out a
kind of education which would meet the needs of the
masses of the coloured people. We had, in the second
place, to convince the white people that education could
be made of real value to the Negro.
There are many sincere and honest men in the South
to-day who do not believe that education has done or will
do the race any good. In my opinion, Negro education
will never be an entire success in the South until it gets
the sympathy and support of these men. Arguments will
not go far toward convincing men like these. It is
necessary to show them results.
The people in Macon County are not exceptional in
this respect. Until a few years ago I think that I should
have described the attitude of a majority of the white
people in that county as indifferent. To-day I believe that
I am safe in saying that nine tenths of the people of
Macon County believe in Negro education.
Let me speak of some of the ways in which this
attitude of the white people has manifested itself. In the
first place, when a school house is to be built or some
improvements to be made in the
community where the white man lives, he contributes
money toward it. One white man in Macon County
recently gave $100 toward the erection of such a school.
A number of white planters, who a few years ago were
indifferent on the subject of Negro education, give annual
prizes to the coloured people on their plantations. I know
one planter who gives an annual prize to the Negro
farmer who raises the largest number of bushels of corn
on an acre of land. He gives another prize to the coloured
family which keeps its children in the public school the
greatest number of days during the year. He gives
another prize to the woman who keeps her front yard in
the best condition.
One of the white bankers in Macon County has
established an annual prize to be given to the Negro
farmer who raises the best oats on a given plot of land.
The editor of the county paper gives an annual prize to
the school in the county that has the best spelling class,
the contest to take place at the annual Macon County
Coloured Farmers' Fair. At these fairs exhibitions are
made of vegetables and grain raised by the children on
the school farms. There are also exhibitions of cooking
and sewing done by the children in the public schools of
the county. Many of the white merchants and
white farmers offer prizes for the best exhibition of
agricultural products at this fair.
Gradually, as I have said, improved methods of
educating the Negro are extending the same influences
throughout the state of Alabama and the South. In fact,
wherever a school is actually teaching boys and girls to
do something that the community wants, it is seldom that
that school fails to enlist the interest and coöperation of
all the people in that community, whether they be black
or white. This is, as definitely as I can express it, my own
experience of the way in which educators can and do
solve the race problem.
SOME years ago -- and not so very many,
either -- I think that I should have been
perfectly safe in saying that the highest
ambition of the average Negro in America was to
hold some sort of office, or to have some sort of
job that connected him with the Government.
Just to be able to live in the capital city was a sort
of distinction, and the man who ran an elevator
or merely washed windows in Washington (particularly
if the windows or the elevator belonged to the
United States Government) felt that he was in
some way superior to a man who cleaned windows
or ran an elevator in any other part of the country.
He felt that he was an office-holder!
There has been a great change in this respect in recent
years. Many members of my race have learned that, in
the long run, they can earn more money and be of more
service to the community
in almost any other position than that of an employé or
office-holder under the Government. I know of a number
of recent cases in which Negro business men have
refused positions of honour and trust in the Government
service because they did not care to give up their
business interests. Notwithstanding, the city of
Washington still has a peculiar attraction and even
fascination for the average Negro.
I do not think that I ever shared that feeling of so
many others of my race. I never liked the atmosphere of
Washington. I early saw that it was impossible to build
up a race of which the leaders were spending most of
their time, thought, and energy in trying to get into office,
or in trying to stay there after they were in. So, for the
greater part of my life, I have avoided Washington; and
even now I rarely spend a day in that city which I do not
look upon as a day practically thrown away.
I do not like politics, and yet, in recent years, have had
some experience in political matters. However, no man
who is in the least interested in public questions can
escape some sort of connection with politics, I suppose,
even if he does not want a political position. As a matter
of fact, it was just because it was well known that I
sought no political
office of any kind and would accept no position with the
Government, unless it were an honorary one, that
brought my connection with politics about.
One thing that has taught me to dislike politics is the
observation that, as soon as any person or thing becomes
the subject of political discussion, he or it at once
assumes in the public mind an importance out of all
proportion to his or its real merits. Time and time again I
have seen a whole community (sometimes a whole
county or state) wrought up to the highest pitch of
excitement over the appointment of some person to a
political position paying perhaps not more than $25 or $50
a month. At the same time I have seen individuals secure
important positions at the head of a manufacturing house
or receive an appointment to some important educational
position that paid three or four times as much money (or
perhaps purchase a farm), where just as much executive
ability was required, without arousing public attention or
causing comment in the newspapers. I have also seen
white men and coloured men resign important positions in
private life where they were earning much more than
they could get under the Government, simply because of
the false and mistaken ideas of the importance which
they attached to a political position. All this has given me
a distaste for political life.
In Mississippi, for example, a coloured man and his
wife had charge, a few years ago, of a post-office. In
some way or other a great discussion was started in
regard to this case, and before long the whole community
was in a state of excitement because coloured people
held that position. A little later the post-office was given
up and the coloured man, Mr. W. W. Cox, started a bank
in the same town. At the present time he is the president
of the bank and his wife assists him. As bankers they
receive three or four times as much pay as they received
from the post-office. The bank is patronized by both
white and coloured people, and, when last I heard of it,
was in a flourishing condition. As president of a Negro
bank, Mr. Cox is performing a much greater service to
the community than he could possibly render as
postmaster. There are, no doubt, a great many people in
his town who would be able to fill the position of
postmaster, but there are very few who could start and
successfully carry on an institution that would so benefit
the community as a Negro bank. While he was
postmaster, merely because his office was a political one,
Mr. Cox occupied for some time the attention of the
whole state of Mississippi; in fact, he (or rather his wife)
was for a brief space almost a national figure. Now he is
occupying a much more
remunerative and important position in private life, but I
do not think that he has attracted attention to amount to
anything outside of the community in which he lives.
The effect of the excitement about this case has been
greatly to exaggerate the importance of holding a
Government position. The average Negro naturally feels
that there must be some special value to him as an
individual, as well as to his race, in holding a position
which white people don't want him to hold, simply
because he is a Negro. It leads him to believe that it is in
some way more honourable or respectable to work for
the Government as an official than for the community
and himself as a private citizen.
Because of these facts, as well as for other reasons, I
have never sought nor accepted a political position.
During President Roosevelt's administration I was asked
to go as a Commissioner of the United Sates to Liberia.
In considering whether I should accept this position, it
was urged that, because of the work that I had already
done in this country for my own people and because my
name was already known to some extent to the people of
Liberia, I was the person best fitted to undertake the
work that the Government wanted done. While I did not
like the job and could ill spare the time from the work which I
was trying to do for the people of my own race in
America, I finally decided to accept the position. I was
very happy, however, when President Taft kindly
decided to relieve me from the necessity of making the
trip and allowed my secretary, Mr. Emmett J. Scott, to
go to Africa in my stead. This was as near as I ever
came to holding a Government job. But there are other
ways of getting into politics than by holding office.
In the case of the average man, it has seemed to me
that as soon as he gets into office he becomes an entirely
different man. Some men change for the better under the
weight of responsibility; others change for the worse. I
never could understand what there is in American
politics that so fatally alters the character of a man. I
have known men, who, in their private life and in their
business, were scrupulously careful to keep their word --
men who would never, directly or indirectly, deceive any
one with whom they were associated. When they took
political office all this changed.
I once asked a coloured hack-driver in Washington
how a certain coloured man whom I had known in
private life (but who was holding a prominent office)
was getting on. The old driver had little education but he
was a judge of men, and he summed up the case in this way:
"Dere is one thing about Mr. --; you can always
depend on him." The old fellow shook his head and
laughed. Then he added: "If he tells you he's gwine to do
anything, you can always depend upon it that he's not
gwine to do it."
This sort of change that comes over people after they
get office is not confined, however, to the Negro race.
Other races seem to suffer in the same way. I have seen
men who, in the ordinary affairs of life, were cool and
level headed, grow suspicious and jealous, give up
interest in everything, neglect their business, sometimes
even neglect their families; in short, lose entirely their
mental and moral balance as soon as they started out in
quest of an office.
I have watched these men after the political microbe
attacked them, and I know all the symptoms of the
disease that follows. They usually begin by carefully
studying the daily newspapers. They attach great
importance to the slightest thing that is said (or not said)
by persons who they believe have political influence or
authority. These men (the men who dispense the offices)
soon come to assume an enormous importance in the
minds of office-seekers. They watch all the movements
of the political leaders with the greatest anxiety, and
study every chance word that they let drop, as if
it had some dark and awful significance. Then, when
they get a little farther along, the office-seekers will,
perhaps, be found tramping the streets, getting signatures
of Tom, Dick, and Harry as a guarantee that they are
best qualified to fill some office that they have in view.
I remember the case of a white man who lived in
Alabama when President McKinley was first elected.
This man gave up his business and went to Washington
with a full determination to secure a place in the
President's cabinet. He wrote me regularly concerning
his prospects. After President McKinley had filled all the
places in his cabinet, the same individual applied for a
foreign ambassadorship; failing in that, he applied for an
auditorship in one of the departments; failing in that, he
tried to get a clerkship in Washington; failing in that, he
finally wrote to me (and to a number of other
acquaintances in Alabama) and asked me to lend him
enough money to defray his travelling expenses back to
Alabama.
Of course, not all men who go into politics are affected
in the way that I have described. Let me add that I have
known many public men and have studied them carefully,
but the best and highest example of a man that was the
same in political office that he was in private life is Col.
Theodore Roosevelt. He is not the only example, but he
is the most conspicuous one in this respect that I have
ever known.
I was thrown, comparatively early in my career, in
contact with Colonel Roosevelt. He was just the sort of
man to whom any one who was trying to do work of any
kind for the improvement of any race or type of humanity
would naturally go to for advice and help. I have seen
him and been in close contact with him under many
varying circumstances and I confess that I have learned
much from studying his career, both while he was in
office and since he has been in private life. One thing
that impresses me about Mr. Roosevelt is that I have
never known him, having given a promise, to overlook or
forget it; in fact, he seems to forget nothing, not even the
most trivial incidents. I found him the same when he was
President that he was as a private citizen, or as Governor
of New York, or as Vice-President of the United States.
In fact, I have no hesitation in saying that I consider him
the highest type of all-round man that I have ever met.
One of the most striking things about Mr.
Roosevelt, both in private and public life, is his
frankness. I have been often amazed at the absolute
directness and candour of his speech. He does
not seem to know how to hide anything. In fact,
he seems to think aloud. Many people have referred
to him as being impulsive and as acting
without due consideration. From what I have
seen of Mr. Roosevelt in this regard, I have reached
the conclusion that what people describe as
impulsiveness in him is nothing else but quickness of
thought. While other people are thinking around
a question, he thinks through it. He reaches his
conclusions while other people are considering the
preliminaries. He cuts across the field, as it were,
in his methods of thinking. It is true that in doing
so he often takes great chances and risks much.
But Colonel Roosevelt is a man who never shrinks
from taking chances when it is necessary to take
them. I remember that, on one occasion, when
it seemed to me that he had risked a great deal in
pursuing a certain line of action, I suggested to
him that it seemed to me that he had taken a great
chance.
"One never wins a battle," he replied, "unless he takes
some risks."
Another characteristic of Colonel Roosevelt, as
compared with many other prominent men in public life,
is that he rarely forgets or forsakes a friend. If a man
once wins his confidence, he stands by that man. One
always knows where to
find him -- and that, in my opinion, accounts to a large
degree for his immense popularity. His friend,
particularly if he happens to be holding a public position,
may become very unpopular with the public, but unless
that friend has disgraced himself, Mr. Roosevelt will
always stand by him, and is not afraid or ashamed to do
so. In the long run the world respects a man who has the
courage to stand by his friends, whether in public or
private life, and Mr. Roosevelt has frequently gained
popularity by doing things that more discreet politicians
would have been afraid to do.
I first became acquainted with Mr. Roosevelt through
correspondence. Later, in one of my talks with him -- and
this was at a time when there seemed little chance of his
ever becoming President, for it was before he had even
been mentioned for that position -- he stated to me in the
frankest manner that some day he would like to be
President of the United States. The average man, under
such circumstances, would not have thought aloud. If he
believed that there was a remote opportunity of gaining
the Presidency, he would have said that he was not
seeking the office; that his friends were thrusting it on
him; that he did not have the ability to be President, and
so forth. Not so with Colonel Roosevelt. He spoke out, as
is his custom, that
which was in his mind. Even then, many years before he
attained his ambition, he began to outline to me how he
wanted to help not only the Negro, but the whole South,
should he ever become President. I question whether
any man ever went into the Presidency with a more
sincere desire to be of real service to the South than Mr.
Roosevelt did.
That incident will indicate one of the reasons why Mr.
Roosevelt succeeds. He not only thinks quickly, but he
plans and thinks a long distance ahead. If he had an
important state paper to write, or an important magazine
article or speech to prepare, I have known him to
prepare it six or eight months ahead. The result is that he
is at all times master of himself and of his surroundings.
He does not let his work push him; he pushes his work.
Practically everything that he tried to do for the South
while he was President was outlined in conversations to
me many years before it became known to most people
that he had the slightest chance of becoming President.
What he did was not a matter of impulse but the result of
carefully matured plans.
An incident which occurred immediately after he
became President will illustrate the way in which Mr.
Roosevelt's mind works upon a public problem.
After the death of President McKinley I received a letter
from him, written in his own hand, on the very day that he
took the oath of office at Buffalo as President -- or was it
the day following? -- in which he asked me to meet him in
Washington. He wanted to talk over with me the plans
for helping the South that we had discussed years before.
This plan had lain matured in his mind for months and
years and, as soon as the opportunity came, he acted upon it.
When I received this letter from Mr. Roosevelt, asking
me to meet him in Washington, I confess that it caused
me some grave misgivings. I felt that I must consider
seriously the question whether I should allow myself to be
drawn into a kind of activity that I had definitely
determined to keep away from. But here was a letter
which, it seemed to me, I could not lightly put aside, no
matter what my personal wishes or feelings might be.
Shortly after Mr. Roosevelt became established in the
White House I went there to see him and we spent the
greater part of an evening in talk concerning the South. In
this conversation he emphasized two points in particular:
First, he said that wherever he appointed a white man to
office in the South he wished him to be the very highest
type of native Southern white man -- one in whom
the whole country had faith. He repeated and
emphasized his determination to appoint such a type of
man regardless of political influences or political
consequences.
Then he stated to me, quite frankly, that he did not
propose to appoint a large number of coloured people to
office in any part of the South, but that he did propose to
do two things which had not been done before that time --
at least not to the extent and with the definite purpose
that he had in mind. Wherever he did appoint a coloured
man to office in the South, he said that he wanted him to
be not only a man of ability, but of character -- a man
who had the confidence of his white and coloured
neighbours. He did not propose to appoint a coloured
man to office simply for the purpose of temporary
political expediency. He added that, while he proposed to
appoint fewer coloured men to office in the South, he
proposed to put a certain number of coloured men of
high character and ability in office in the Northern states.
He said that he had never been able to see any good
reason why coloured men should be put in office in the
Southern states and not in the North as well.
As a matter of fact, before Mr. Roosevelt became
President, not a single coloured man had ever been
appointed, so far as I know, to a Federal office in
any Northern state. Mr. Roosevelt determined to set the
example by placing a coloured man in a high office in his
own home city, so that the country might see that he did
not want other parts of the country to accept that which
he himself was not willing to receive. Some months
afterward, as a result of this policy, the Hon. Charles W.
Anderson was made collector of internal revenues for
the second district of New York. This is the district in
which Wall Street is located and the district that receives,
perhaps, more revenue than any other in the United
States. Later on, Mr. Roosevelt appointed other coloured
men to high office in the North and West, but I think that
any one who examines into the individual qualifications of
the coloured men appointed to office by Mr. Roosevelt
will find, in each case, that they were what he insisted
that they should be -- men of superior ability and of
superior character.
President Taft happily has followed the same policy.
He has appointed Whitefield McKinlay, of Washington,
to the collectorship of the port of Georgetown, a position
which has never heretofore been held by a black man.
He had designated J. C. Napier, cashier of the One-Cent
Savings Bank of Nashville, Tenn., to serve as register of
the United States treasury; and he has recently
announced the
appointment of William H. Lewis, assistant United
States district attorney, Boston, Mass., to the
highest appointive position ever held by a black
man under the Federal Government, namely, to
a place as assistant attorney general of the United
States.
Back of their desire to improve the public service,
Mr. Roosevelt and Mr. Taft have had another purpose
in appointing to office the kind of coloured
people that I have named. They have said that
they desire the persons appointed by them to be men
of the highest character in order that the younger
generation of coloured people might see that men
of conspicuous ability and conspicuous purity of
character are recognized in politics as in other
walks of life. They have hoped that such recognition
might lead other coloured people to strive
to attain a high reputation.
Mr. Roosevelt did not apply this rule to the
appointments of coloured people alone. He believed
that he could not only greatly improve the
public service, but to some extent could change
the tone of politics in the South and improve the
relations of the races by the appointment of men
who stood high in their professions and who were
not only friendly to the coloured people but had
the confidence of the white people as well. These
men, he hoped, would be to the South a sort of model of
what the Federal Government desired and expected of
its officials in their relations with all parties.
During the first conference with Mr. Roosevelt in the
White House, after discussing many matters, he finally
agreed to appoint a certain white man, whose name had
been discussed, to an important judicial position. Within a
few days the appointment was made and accepted. I
question whether any appointment made in the South has
ever attracted more attention or created more favourable
comment from people of all classes than was true of this
one.
During the fall of 1901, while I was making a
tour of Mississippi, I received word to the effect
that the President would like to have a conference
with me, as soon as it was convenient, concerning
some important matters. With a friend, who was
travelling with me, I discussed very seriously the
question whether, with the responsibilities I already
had, I should take on others. After considering
the matter carefully, we decided that the only
policy to pursue was to face the new responsibilities
as they arose, because new responsibilities bring
new opportunities for usefulness of which I ought
to take advantage in the interest of my race. I
was the more disposed to feel that this was a duty
because Mr. Roosevelt was proposing to carry out the
very policies which I had advocated ever since I began
work in Alabama. Immediately after finishing my work
in Mississippi I went to Washington. I arrived there in
the afternoon and went to the house of a friend, Mr.
Whitefield McKinlay, with whom I was expected to stop
during my stay in Washington.
This trip to Washington brings me to a matter which I
have hitherto constantly refused to discuss in print or in
public, though I have had a great many requests to do
so. At the time, I did not care to add fuel to the
controversy which it aroused , and I speak of it now only
because it seems to me that an explanation will show the
incident in its true light and in its proper proportions.
When I reached Mr. McKinlay's house I found an
invitation from President Roosevelt asking me to dine
with him at the White House that evening at eight
o'clock. At the hour appointed I went to the White
House and dined with the President and members of his
family and a gentleman from Colorado. After dinner we
talked at considerable length concerning plans about the
South which the President had in mind. I left the White
House almost immediately and took a train the same night
for New York. When I reached New York the next
morning I noticed that the New York Tribune had about
two lines stating that I had dined with the President the
previous night. That was the only New York paper, so
far as I saw, that mentioned the matter. Within a few
hours the whole incident completely passed from my
mind. I mentioned the matter casually, during the day, to
a friend -- Mr. William H. Baldwin, Jr., then president of
the Long Island Railroad -- but spoke of it to no one else
and had no intention of doing so. There was, in fact, no
reason why I should discuss it or mention it to any one.
My surprise can be imagined when, two or three days
afterward, the whole press, North and South, was filled
with despatches and editorials relating to my dinner with
the President. For days and weeks I was pursued by
reporters in quest of interviews. I was deluged with
telegrams and letters asking for some expression of
opinion or an explanation; but during the whole of this
period of agitation and excitement I did not give out a
single interview and did not discuss the matter in any
way.
Some newspapers attempted to weave into this
incident a deliberate and well-planned scheme on the
part of President Roosevelt to lead the way in bringing
about the social intermingling of the two
races. I am sure that nothing was farther from the
President's mind than this; certainly it was not in my
mind. Mr. Roosevelt simply found that he could spare
the time best during and after the dinner hour for the
discussion of the matters which both of us were
interested in.
The public interest aroused by this dinner seemed all
the more extraordinary and uncalled for because, on
previous occasions, I had taken tea with Queen Victoria
at Windsor Castle; I had dined with the governors of
nearly every state in the North; I had dined in the same
room with President McKinley at Chicago at the Peace-jubilee
dinner; and I had dined with ex-President
Harrison in Paris, and with many other prominent public
men.
Some weeks after the incident I was making a trip
through Florida. In some way it became pretty generally
known along the railroad that I was on the train, and the
result was that at nearly every station a group of people
would get aboard and shake hands with me. At a little
station near Gainesville, Fla., a white man got aboard the
train whose dress and manner indicated that he was
from the class of small farmers in that part of the
country. He shook hands with me very cordially, and
said:
"I am mighty glad to see you. I have heard
about you and I have been wanting to meet you for a
long while."
I was naturally pleased at this cordial reception, but I
was surprised when, after looking me over, he remarked:
"Say, you are a great man. You are the greatest man in
this country!"
I protested mildly, but he insisted, shaking his head and
repeating, "Yes, sir, the greatest man in this country."
Finally I asked him what he had against President
Roosevelt, telling him at the same time that, in my
opinion, the President of the United States was the
greatest man in the country.
"Huh! Roosevelt?" he replied with considerable
emphasis in his voice. "I used to think that Roosevelt was
a great man until he ate dinner with you. That settled him
for me."
This remark of a Florida farmer is but one of the many
experiences which have taught me something of the
curious nature of this thing that we call prejudice -- social
prejudice, race prejudice, and all the rest. I have come to
the conclusion that these prejudices are something that it
does not pay to disturb. It is best to "let sleeping dogs
lie." All sections of the United States, like all other parts
of the world, have their own peculiar customs and
prejudices. For that reason it is the part of common-sense
to respect them. When one
goes to European countries or into the Far West, or into
India or China, he meets certain customs and certain
prejudices which he is bound to respect and, to a certain
extent, comply with. The same holds good regarding
conditions in the North and in the South. In the South it is
not the custom for coloured and white people to be
entertained at the same hotel; it is not the custom for
black and white children to attend the same school. In
most parts of the North a different custom prevails. I
have never stopped to question or quarrel with the
customs of the people in the part of the country in which
I found myself.
Thus, in dining with President Roosevelt, there was no
disposition on my part -- and I am sure there was no
disposition on Mr. Roosevelt's part -- to attack any custom
of the South. There is, therefore, absolutely no ground or
excuse for the assertion sometimes made that our dining
together was part of a preconcerted and well-thought-out
plan. It was merely an incident that had no thought
or motive behind it except the convenience of the
President.
I was born in the South and I understand thoroughly
the prejudices, the customs, the traditions of the South --
and, strange as it may seem to those who do not wholly
understand the situation,
I love the South. There is no Southern white man
who cherishes a deeper interest than I in everything
that promotes the progress and the glory of
the South. For that reason, if for no other, I will
never willingly and knowingly do anything that,
in my opinion, will provoke bitterness between the
races or misunderstanding between the North and
the South.
Now that the excitement in regard to it is all
over, it may not be out of place, perhaps, for me to
recall the famous order disbanding a certain portion
of the Twenty-fifth Infantry (a Negro regiment)
because of the outbreak at Brownsville, Texas,
particularly since this is an illustration of the trait
in Mr. Roosevelt to which I have referred. I
do not mind stating here that I did not agree with
Mr. Roosevelt's method of punishing the Negro
soldiers, even supposing that they were guilty.
In his usual frank way, he told me several days
prior to issuing that order what he was going to
do. I urged that he find some other method of
punishing the soldiers. While, in some matters,
I was perhaps instrumental in getting him to change
an opinion that he had formed, in this case he told
me that his mind was perfectly clear and that he
had reached a definite decision which he would not
change, because he was certain that he was right.
At the time this famous order was issued there was no
man in the world who was so beloved by the ten millions
of Negroes in America as Colonel Roosevelt. His
praises were sung by them on every possible occasion.
He was their idol. Within a few days -- I might almost
say hours -- as a consequence of this order, the songs of
praise of ten millions of people were turned into a chorus
of criticism and censure.
Mr. Roosevelt was over and over again urged and
besought by many of his best friends, both white and
coloured, to modify or change this order. Even President
Taft, who was at that time Secretary of War, urged him
to withdraw the order or modify it. I urged him to do the
same thing. He stood his ground and refused. He said
that he was convinced that he was right and that events
would justify his course.
Nothwithstanding the fact that I was deeply
concerned in the outcome of this order, I confess that I
could not but admire the patience with which Mr.
Roosevelt waited for the storm to blow over. I do not
think that the criticisms and denunciation which he
received had the effect of swerving him in the least from
the general course that he had determined to pursue with
regard to the coloured people of the country. He was just as
friendly in his attitude to them after the Brownsville
affair as before.
Months have passed since the issuing of the
order; the agitation has subsided and the bitterness
has disappeared. I think that I am safe in saying
that, while the majority of coloured people still
feel that Colonel Roosevelt made a mistake in issuing
the order, there is no individual who is more
popular and more loved by the ten millions of
Negroes in America than he.
SEVERAL years ago, in company with a few personal
friends, most of them Negro business men of
Little Rock, Ark., I made a week's journey
through Arkansas and Oklahoma, visiting most of
the principal cities, speaking, wherever I had time
and opportunity along the route, to audiences of
both races.
In order to cover as much ground as possible in the
eight days we had allotted to the trip, and in order to
make the journey as comfortable as possible, we
secured a special car in St. Louis and on the night of
November 17, 1905, I think it was, we started out on
what was one of the most interesting and memorable
journeys I have ever made.
For several years my friend, Mr. John E. Bush,
receiver of public moneys at Little Rock, and at that time
head of the local Negro Business League in that city,
had been urging me to come and see for
myself the progress which Negroes were making in
Little Rock and the neighbouring city of Pine Bluff. After
I had finally decided to accept his invitation, I made up
my mind that I would take advantage of the opportunity
to see something, also, of the progress Negroes were
making in the neighbouring state of Oklahoma and in
what was then the Indian Territory.
At that time thousands of Negroes were pouring into
this new country from the South. Some of my own
students were either in business or teaching school in
different parts of the present state of Oklahoma and
from them, and from other sources, I had heard much of
the progress that coloured people were making,
particularly at Muskogee and in the booming little Negro
town of Boley, where, within a few years, a flourishing
little city, controlled entirely by Negroes, and without a
single white inhabitant, had sprung into existence.
In the course of my journey I visited not only Little
Rock and Pine Bluff, Ark., but Oklahoma City, Guthrie,
Muskogee, South McAlester, and several other towns in
Oklahoma, and I confess that I was surprised to note the
enterprise which these coloured immigrants had shown
and the progress they were making, particularly in
material and business directions. I met successful
farmers, who,
having sold their farms in Texas or in Kansas at a
considerable advance, had come out into this new
country to re-invest their money. I made the
acquaintance in nearly every part of the state, of
successful merchants, bankers, and professional men. At
South McAlester I stayed at the home of E. E.
McDaniels, a successful railway contractor, the first
Negro I ever happened to meet who was engaged in that
business. At Oklahoma City I remember meeting Albert
Smith, who is known out there as the "Negro cotton king"
because he gained the prize at the Paris Exposition in
1900 for the best bale of cotton. It was a great
satisfaction to me to be able to talk with these men, to
hear from their own lips the stories of their struggles, of
their difficulties, mistakes, and successes. It seemed to
me that, after talking with them around the fireside and in
the close and intimate way I have suggested, I gained a
deeper insight into the forces that were making for the
upbuilding of my race than I could have possibly gained
in any other way.
One thing that particularly impressed me was the
difference between the condition of the coloured people
who were pouring into this new portion of the Southwest
and the condition of those who some thirty years before
had poured into Kansas at the time of the famous
"exodus." At that time some
forty thousand bewildered and helpless coloured
people, coming for the most part from the plantations
of Louisiana, Arkansas, and Mississippi, made
their way to Kansas in the hope of finding there
greater opportunity and more freedom. It was people
from these same regions who, with much the
same purpose, were at this time pouring into Oklahoma.
The difference was that these later immigrants
came with a definite notion of where they
were going; they brought a certain amount of capital
with them, and had a pretty clear idea of what
they would find and what they proposed to do when
they reached their destination. The difference
in these two movements of the population seemed
to me the most striking indication I had seen of the
progress which the masses of the Negro people had
made in a little more than thirty years.
During the next five years, in company with different
parties of Negro business and professional
men, I made similar journeys of observation through
Mississippi, Tennessee, South Carolina, North
Carolina, Delaware, and portions of Virginia and
West Virginia. In several instances we made use
of special trains to make these trips, and this enabled
us to cover longer distances and make the journey
practically on our own time. On each of these
journeys I took advantage of my opportunities,
not only to meet and talk with the people individually, but
also to speak to large audiences of white and coloured
people about many matters which concerned the
interests of both races and particularly about the
importance, to both races, of increasing the efficiency of
the Negro schools. In fact, I had not made more than
two or three of these trips before they came to be
regarded by both white and coloured people as the
beginning, in each of the states I visited, of a movement
or campaign in the interest of Negro education.
Perhaps I can best indicate the character of these
campaigns and the sort of information and insight that
they gave me in regard to the condition of the coloured
people in the states I visited by giving a more extended
account of my journey in Mississippi in 1908. As an
indication of the general interest in the purpose and the
success of my visit I ought to say that, while the journey
was made under the direction of the Negro Business
League of Mississippi, representatives of nearly every
important interest among Negroes in the state either
accompanied the party for a portion of the journey or
assisted in making the meetings successful at the
different places at which we stopped. For instance, as I
remember, there were not less than eight presidents of
Negro banks and
many other successful business men in the course of the
eight-day trip. Among them were Charles Banks,
president of the Negro Business League of Mississippi,
and one of the most influential coloured men of the state.
It was he who was more directly responsible than any
one else for organizing and making a success of our
journey. Not only the business men, but the
representatives of different religious denominations and
of the secret organizations, which are particularly strong
in Mississippi, united with the members of the business
league to make the meetings which we held in the
different parts of the state as successful and as
influential as it was possible to make them.
It is a matter of no small importance to the success of
the people of my race in Mississippi that business men,
teachers, and the members of the different religious
denominations are uniting disinterestedly in the effort to
give the coloured children of the state a proper and
adequate education, and that they are using their
influence to encourage the masses of the people to get
property and build homes.
Dr. E. C. Morris, for instance, who was a member of
the party, represents the largest Negro organization of
any kind in the world -- the National Baptist Convention,
which has a membership of
more than two millions; J. W. Straughter, as a member
of the finance committee of the Negro Pythians,
represented an organization of about seventy thousand
persons, owning about three hundred and twenty-two
thousand dollars' worth of property. The African
Methodist Episcopal Review, of which Dr. H. T.
Kealing, now president of the Negro college at Quindaro,
Kan., is editor, is probably the best-edited and one of the
most influential periodicals published by the Negro race.
It has been in existence now for more than twenty-five
years.
I have mentioned the names of these men and have
referred to their positions and influence among the
Negro people as showing how widespread at the
present time is the interest in the moral and material
upbuilding of the race.
I had heard a great deal, indirectly, before I reached
Mississippi, of the progress that the coloured people
were making there. I had also heard a great deal through
the newspapers of the difficulties under which they were
labouring. There are some portions of Mississippi, for
instance, where a large part of the coloured population
has been driven out as a result of white-capping
organizations. There are other portions of the state
where the white people and the coloured people seem to
be getting
along as well as, if not better than, in any other portion of
the Union.
After leaving Memphis, the first place at which we
stopped was Holly Springs, in Marshall County. Holly
Springs has long been an educational centre for the
coloured people of Mississippi. Shortly after the war the
Freedman's Aid and Southern Educational Society of the
Methodist Church established here Rust University. Until
a few years ago the State Normal School for Training
Negro Teachers was in existence in Holly Springs, when
it was finally abolished by former Governor Vardaman.
The loss of this school was a source of great
disappointment to the coloured people of the state, as
they felt that, in vetoing the appropriation, the governor
was making an attack upon the Negro education of the
state. Under the leadership of Bishop Cottrell, a new
industrial school and theological seminary has grown up
to take the place of the Normal Training School and do
its work. During the previous two years Bishop Cottrell
had succeeded in raising more than seventy-five
thousand dollars, largely from the coloured people of
Mississippi, in order to erect the two handsome modern
buildings which form the nucleus of the new school. In
this city there had also been recently established a
Baptist Normal School, which is the contribution of the
Negro Baptists of the state in response to the abolition
of the State Normal School.
The enthusiasm for education that I discovered at
Holly Springs is merely an indication of the similar
enthusiasm in every other part of the state that I visited.
At Utica, Miss., I spoke in the assembly room of the
Utica Institute, founded October 27, 1903, by William H.
Holtzclaw, a graduate of Tuskegee. After leaving
Tuskegee he determined to go to the part of the country
where it seemed to him that the coloured people were
most in need of a school that could be conducted along
the lines of Tuskegee Institute. He settled in Hinds
County, where there are forty thousand coloured people,
thirteen thousand of whom can neither read nor write. In
the community in which this school was started the
Negroes outnumber the whites seven to one. He began
teaching out in the forests. From the very first he
succeeded in gaining the sympathy of both races for the
work that he was trying to do. In the five years since the
school started he has succeeded in purchasing a farm of
fifteen hundred acres. He had at that time erected three
large and eleven small buildings of various kinds for
school rooms, shops, and homes. On the farm there
were one large plantation house and about thirty farm
houses. He told me that a conservative
estimate of the property which the school
owned would make the valuation something more than
seventy-five thousand dollars. In addition to this, he has
already started an endowment fund in order to make the
work that he is doing there permanent, and to give aid by
means of scholarships to worthy students who are not
fully able to pay their own way.
At Jackson, Miss., there are two colleges for Negro
students. Campbell College was founded by the African
Methodist Episcopal Church; Jackson College, which had
just opened a handsome new building for the use of its
students, was established and is supported by the Baptist
denomination. At Natchez I was invited to take part in
the dedication of the beautiful new building erected by
the Negro Baptists of Mississippi at a cost of about
twenty thousand dollars.
Perhaps I ought to say that, while there has been
considerable rivalry among the different Negro churches
along theological lines, it seems to me that I can see that,
as the leaders of the people begin to realize the
seriousness of the educational problem, this rivalry is
gradually dying out in a disinterested effort to educate
the masses of the Negro children irrespective of
denominations. The so-called denominational schools are
merely a contribution of the
members of the different sects to the education of the
race.
Nothing indicates the progress which the coloured
people have made along material lines so well as the
number of banks that have been started by coloured
people in all parts of the South. I have made a special
effort recently to learn something of the influence of
these institutions upon the mass of the coloured people.
At the present time there are no less than fifty-six
Negro banks in the United States. All but one or two of
them are in the Southern States. Of these fifty-six
banks, eleven are in the state of Mississippi. Not
infrequently I have found that Negro banks owe their
existence to the secret and fraternal organizations.
There are forty-two of these organizations, for example,
in the state of Mississippi, and they collected $708,670 in
1907, and paid losses to the amount of $522,757.
Frequently the banks have been established to serve as
depositories for the funds of these institutions. They
have then added a savings department, and have done
banking business for an increasing number of stores and
shops of various kinds that have been established within
the last ten years by Negro business men.
A special study of the city of Jackson, Miss., made
shortly before I visited the city, showed that
there were ninety-three businesses conducted by
Negroes in that city. Of this number, forty-four concerns
did a total annual business of about three hundred and
eighty-eight thousand dollars a year. But, of this amount
of business, one contractor alone did one hundred
thousand dollars' worth. As near as could be estimated,
about 73 per cent. of the coloured people owned or were
buying their own homes. It is said that the Negroes, who
make up one half of the population, own one third of the
area of the city of Jackson. The value of this property,
however, is only about one eleventh of the taxable value
of the city.
As nearly as could be estimated at that time, Negroes
had on deposit in the various banks of the city almost two
hundred thousand dollars. Of this amount, more than
seventy thousand was in the two Negro banks of the
city. I learned that most of these businesses had been
started in the previous ten years, but, as a matter of fact,
one of the oldest business men in Jackson is a coloured
man, with whom I stopped during my visit to that city. H.
T. Risher is the leading business man in his particular line
in Jackson. He has had a bakery and restaurant in that
city, as I understand, for more than twenty years. He has
one of the handsomest of the many beautiful residences
of coloured
people in Jackson, which I had an opportunity
to visit on my journey through the state.
Among the other business enterprises that especially
attracted my attention during my journey
was the drug store and offices of Dr. A. W. Dumas,
of Natchez. His store is located in a handsome
two-story brick block, and although there are a
large number of Negro druggists in the United
States, I know of no store which is better kept and
makes a more handsome appearance.
According to the plan of our journey, I was to
spend seven days in Mississippi, starting from Memphis,
Tenn., going thence to Holly Springs, Utica,
Jackson, Natchez, Vicksburg, Greenville, Mound
Bayou, and then, crossing the Mississippi, to spend
Sunday in the city of Helena, Ark. As a matter of
fact, we did stop at other places and I had an opportunity
to speak to audiences of coloured people and
white people at various places along the railroad,
the conductor kindly holding the train for me to
do this at several points, so that I think it is safe to
say that I spoke to forty or fifty thousand people
during the eight days of our journey. Everywhere,
I found the greatest interest and enthusiasm among
both the white people and coloured people for the
work that we were attempting to do. In Jackson,
which for a number of years had been the centre of
agitation upon the Negro question, there was some
opposition expressed to the white people of the town
attending the meeting, but I was told that among the
people in the audience were Governor Noel; Lieutenant-Governor
Manship; Major R. W. Milsaps, who is said to
be the wealthiest man in Mississippi; Bishop Charles B.
Galloway, of the Methodist Episcopal Church (South),
who has since died; United States Marshal Edgar S.
Wilson; the postmaster of Jackson, and a number of
other prominent persons.
At Natchez the white people were so interested in the
object of the meeting that they expressed a desire to pay
for the opera house in which I spoke, provided that the
seating capacity should be equally divided between the
two races. At Vicksburg I spoke in a large building that
had been used for some time for a roller-skating rink. I
was informed that hundreds of people who wished to
attend the meeting were unable to find places. At
Greenville I delivered an address in the court-house; and
there were so many people who were unable to attend
the address that, at the suggestion of the sheriff, I
delivered a second one from the steps of the courthouse.
The largest and most successful meeting of the trip
was held at Mound Bayou, a town founded and
controlled entirely by Negroes. This town, also,
is the centre of a Negro colony of about three thousand
people. Negroes own thirty thousand acres of land in
direct proximity to the town. Mound Bayou is in the
centre of the Delta district, where the coloured people
outnumber the whites frequently as much as ten to one;
and there are a number of Negro settlements besides
Mound Bayou in which no white man lives. My audience
extended out into the surrounding fields as far as my
voice could reach. I was greatly impressed with the
achievements and possibilities of this town, where
Negroes are giving a striking example of success in
self-government and in business.
From what I was able to see during my visit to
Mississippi, and from what I have been able to learn
from other sources, I have come to the conclusion that
more has been accomplished by the coloured people of
that state during the last ten years than was
accomplished by them during the whole previous period
since the Civil War. To a large extent this has been due
to the fact that the coloured people have learned that in
getting land, in building homes, and in saving their money
they can make themselves a force in the communities in
which they live. It is generally supposed that the
coloured man, in his efforts to rise, meets more
opposition in Mississippi than anywhere else in the
United States, but
it is quite as true that there, more than anywhere
else, the coloured people seem to have discovered
that, in gaining habits of thrift and industry, in
getting property, and in making themselves useful,
there is a door of hope open for them which the
South has no disposition to close.
As an illustration of what I mean, I may say that
while I was in Holly Springs I learned that, though
the whites outnumbered the blacks nearly three
to one in Marshall County, there had been but one
lynching there since the Civil War. When I inquired
of both white people and coloured people
why it was that the two races were able to live on
such friendly terms, both gave almost exactly the
same answer. They said that it was due to the fact
that in Marshall County so large a number of
coloured farmers owned their farms. Among other
things that have doubtless helped to bring about
this result is the fact that the treasurer of the
Odd Fellows of Mississippi, who lived in Holly
Springs, frequently had as much as two hundred
thousand dollars on deposit in the local banks.
My purpose in making the educational campaigns
to which I have referred was not merely to see the
condition of the masses of my own people, but to
ascertain, also, the actual relations existing between
the races and to say a word if possible that would
bring about more helpful relations between white men
and black men in the communities which I visited.
Again and again in the course of these journeys
I noticed that, almost invariably, as soon as I began
to inquire of some coloured school teacher, merchant,
banker, physician, how it was he had gotten his
start, each one began at once to tell me of some
prominent white man in their town who had befriended
them. This man had advised them in their
business transactions, had, perhaps, loaned them
money, or had pointed out to them where they
could invest their savings to advantage, and in this
way had managed to get ahead. In some cases the
very men who had privately befriended these individual
coloured men were persons who in their public
life had the reputation, outside of the community
in which they lived, of being the violent opponents
and enemies of the Negro race.
These experiences have been repeated so often
in my journeys through the South that I have
learned that public speeches and newspaper reports
are a very poor indication of the actual relations
of the races. Somehow when a Southern politician
gets upon a platform to make a public speech it
comes perfectly natural to him to denounce the
Negro. He has been doing it so long that it is
second nature.
Now one of the advantages of the educational
campaigns I have described is that they have given an
opportunity to Southern men to stand up in public and say
what was deep down in their hearts with regard to the
Negro, to express a feeling toward the Negro that
represents another and higher side of Southern character
and one which, as a result of sectional feelings and
political controversies, has been too long hidden from the
world.
After returning from my last educational trip through
North Carolina I received letters from prominent people
in all parts of the state expressing their approval of what
I had said and of the work that my visit was intended to
accomplish. These letters came from business men, from
men who were or had been in public life, as well as from
school superintendents. For example, Charles L. Coon,
superintendent of public schools at Wilson, N. C., whose
paper before the educational conference in Atlanta, in
1909, was the most convincing plea for the Negro
schools I have ever read, wrote as follows:
I write to express my personal appreciation of your visit and its
effects here in Wilson. You had a good audience representing all
classes of our white and coloured population. Numbers of the best
white people in town have told me that your address was the very
best ever made here. Many of them say you must come back. Some
want to get a warehouse so that everybody can hear you.
The Negro school here is stronger in the affections of the coloured
people, the white people are prouder of it, than before you came. I
was delighted that we had a school building in which you could
speak. The Negro school will get better each year. It is not doing
nearly all it ought to do, but we are moving forward. There will be
slight opposition from now on. I am more than ever convinced that
white people will believe in and stand for the education of the Negro
children, if the matter is put to them in the right shape. Our Negro
school has more coloured than white opposition. In fact, the last
white man in town who counts one was converted by you! I rejoice
over this sinner's making his peace with me.
I have quoted Superintendent Coon's letter because it
represents the attitude toward Negro education and
toward the Negro of an increasing number of thoughtful
and earnest men of the younger generation in the South.
Perhaps I can give no better idea of how many of the
older generation of the Southerners feel toward the
Negro than by quoting the words of Judge Bond, of
Brownsville, Tenn., in the course of a few remarks he
made at the close of my address in his city.
Judge Bond said, according to a short-hand report
taken at the time and afterward published in the Boston
Transcript:
I was born and reared here in the South and have been associated
all my life with Negroes. I feel that as a Southern white man I owe a
debt to the Negro that I can never pay, that no Southern white man
can ever pay. During the war the Southern white man left his home,
his wife, and his children to
be taken care of by the Negroes, and I have yet to hear of a single
instance where that trust was betrayed or where they proved
unfaithful; and ever since that time I have sworn by the Most Divine
that I shall ever be grateful to the coloured people as long as I shall
live, and that I shall never be unfair to that race. I have always since
thought that a white man is not a man who does not admit that he
owes a duty in the sight of God to the coloured people of this
country; he is not a man if he is not willing at all times and under all
circumstances to do all he can to acquit himself of that duty. If there
was ever a people in this country who owed a debt to any people, it
is the Southern white man to the Southern coloured man. The white
man who lives on the other side of the Ohio River owes him a debt,
too, but, by my honest conviction in the sight of God, his obligation
is nothing compared to that of the Southern white man to the
coloured people, and I have often wondered what will be the
judgment on the Southern white man and his children and his
grandchildren in failing to discharge his duty toward the old Negro, his
children, and his grandchildren for their many years' faithful and true
service. My mother died at my birth. Now I am growing old. An old black
mammy, who, thank God, is living to-day, took me in her arms and
nursed me and cared for me and loved me until I grew strong and to
manhood; and there has never been a day since that she has not been
willing to do the same for my wife and children, even in spite of her
years. I remember some time ago very well, when I was sitting in a
darkened room nursing my youngest child, who was confined with
the dreaded disease small-pox, my wife in a most distressing manner
appeared at the head of the stairs (we had been separated because of
our little girl's condition and we were kept from the rest of the family
upstairs). My wife called down to me and informed me that she
feared another of our children had fallen victim to the small-pox. We
were in a predicament, you
may easily see. It was necessary at once to remove the child from
the rest, but there still remained a doubt as to her being a victim, so
we could not bring her into the room in which we were and it was
also necessary that she be taken out of the room in which she was.
She must be kept in a separate room and neither was it safe for her
mother or myself to be in the room in which she would be taken. She
must remain in this room all night without care or attention from
either, but just about that time the old black mammy, this same black
mammy who nursed and cared for me, appeared. Black mammy was
heard from. "Small-pox or no small-pox, that child cannot stay in
that room by herself to-night or no other night, even if I takes the
small-pox and dies to-morrow"; and she did go into that room and
stayed in that room until morning, and was willing to stay there as
long as it was necessary. God bless her old soul! I am glad to see Mr. Washington here and to have him speak to
us. He is a credit to his race, and would be a credit to any race. I
wish we had many more men like him all over this country. Mr. Washington, I pray to God that the Spirit may ever guide
you in your purpose to lift up your people and that you may
inspire all Southern white men as well as Southern coloured men to
lift up and elevate your race.
These expressions of interest in the welfare of my
race and of hearty sympathy with work which others
and myself have been trying to do for the upbuilding of
the Negro have come to me in recent years from every
part of the South. Almost from the beginning of my
work in Alabama, however, I have had the support and
the encouragement, both public and private, not only of
my neighbours, but of
the best white people everywhere in the South who
were acquainted with what I was trying to do.
When I have been inclined to be discouraged, the
expressions of good-will have given me faith. They
have taught me -- in spite of wrongs and injustices
to which members of my race are frequently
subjected -- to look with confidence to the future and
to believe that the Negro has the power within
himself to become an indispensable part of the life
of the South, not feared and merely tolerated, but
trusted and respected by the members of the white
race by whom he is surrounded.
NO SINGLE question is more often asked me than this:
"Has the pure blooded black man the same ability or the
same worth as those of mixed blood?"
It has been my good fortune to have had a wide
acquaintance with black as well as brown and even
white Negroes. The race to which I belong permits me
to meet and know people of all colours and conditions.
There is no race or people who have within themselves
the choice of so large a variety of colours and conditions
as is true of the American Negro. The Japanese, as a
rule, can know intimately human nature in only one hue,
namely, yellow. The white man, as a rule, does not get
intimately acquainted with any other than white men.
The Negro, however, has a chance to know them all,
because within his own race and among his own
acquaintances he has friends, perhaps even relatives, of
every colour in which mankind has been painted.
Perhaps I can answer the question as to the relative
value of the pure Negro and the mixed blood in no better
way than by telling what I know concerning, and what I
have learned from, some four or five men of the purest
blood and the darkest skins of any human beings I
happen to know -- men to whom I am indebted for many
things, but most of all for what they have done for me in
teaching me to value all men at their real worth
regardless of race or colour.
Among those black men whom I have known, the one
who comes first to my mind is Charles Banks, of Mound
Bayou, Miss., banker, cotton broker, planter, real-estate
dealer, head of a hundred-thousand-dollar corporation
which is erecting a cottonseed oil mill, the first ever built
and controlled by Negro enterprise and Negro capital,
and, finally, leading citizen of the little Negro town of
Mound Bayou.
I first met Charles Banks in Boston. As I remember,
he came in company with Hon. Isaiah T. Montgomery,
the founder of Mound Bayou, to represent, at the first
meeting of the National Negro Business League in 1900,
the first and at that time the only town in the United
States founded, inhabited, and governed exclusively by
Negroes. He was then, as he is to-day, a tall,
big-bodied man, with a shiny round head, quick, snapping
eyes, and a surprisingly swift and quiet way of reaching
out and getting anything he happens to want. I never
appreciated what a big man Banks was until I began to
notice the swift and unerring way in which he reached
out his long arm to pick up, perhaps a pin, or to get hold of
the buttonhole and of the attention of an acquaintance.
He seemed to be able to reach without apparent effort
anything he wanted, and I soon found there was a
certain fascination in watching him move.
I have been watching Banks reach for things that he
wanted, and get them, ever since that time. I have been
watching him do things, watching him grow, and as I
have studied him more closely my admiration for this
big, quiet, graceful giant has steadily increased. One
thing that has always impressed itself upon me in regard
to Mr. Banks is the fact that he never claims credit for
doing anything that he can give credit to other people for
doing. He has never made any effort to make himself
prominent. He simply prefers to get a job done and, if he
can use other people and give them credit for doing the
work, he is happy to do so.
At the present time Charles Banks is not, by any
means, the wealthiest, but I think I am safe in saying
that he is the most influential, Negro business
man in the United States. He is the leading Negro banker
in Mississippi, where there are eleven Negro banks, and
he is secretary and treasurer of the largest benefit
association in that state, namely, that attached to the
Masonic order, which paid death claims in 1910 to the
amount of one hundred and ninty-five thousand dollars
and had a cash balance of eighty thousand dollars. He
organized and has been the moving spirit in the state
organization of the Business League in Mississippi and
has been for a number of years the vice-president of the
National Negro Business League.
Charles Banks is, however, more than a successful
business man. He is a leader of his race and a broad-minded
and public-spirited citizen. Although he holds no
public office, and, so far as I know, has no desire to do
so, there are, in my opinion, few men, either white or
black, in Mississippi to-day who are performing, directly
or indirectly, a more important service to their state than
Charles Banks.
Without referring to the influence that he has been able
to exercise in other directions, I want to say a word about
the work he is doing at Mound Bayou for the Negro
people of the Yazoo Delta, where, in seventeen counties,
the blacks represent from seventy-five to ninety-four per
cent. of the whole population.
As I look at it, Mound Bayou is not merely a town; it
is at the same time and in a very real sense of that word,
a school. It is not only a place where a Negro may get
inspiration, by seeing what other members of his race
have accomplished, but a place, also, where he has an
opportunity to learn some of the fundamental duties and
responsibilites of social and civic life.
Negroes have here, for example, an opportunity,
which they do not have to the same degree elsewhere,
either in the North or in the South, of entering simply and
naturally into all the phases and problems of community
life. They are the farmers, the business men, bankers,
teachers, preachers. The mayor, the constable, the
aldermen, the town marshal, even the station agent, are
Negroes.
Black men cleared the land, built the houses, and
founded the town. Year by year, as the colony has
grown in population, these pioneers have had to face,
one after another, all the fundamental problems of
civilization. The town is still growing, and as it grows,
new and more complicated problems arise. Perhaps the
most difficult problem the leaders of the community have
to face now is that of founding a school, or a system of
schools, in which the younger generation may be able to
get some of the kind of knowledge which these
pioneers gained in the work of building up and
establishing the community.
During the twenty years this town has been in
existence it has always had the sympathetic support of
people in neighbouring white communities. One reason
for this is that the men who have been back of it were
born and bred in the Delta, and they know both the land
and the people.
Charles Banks was born and raised in Clarksdale, a
few miles above Mound Bayou, where he and his
brother were for several years engaged in business. It
was his good fortune, as has been the case with many
other successful Negroes, to come under the influence,
when he was a child, of one of the best white families in
the city in which he was born. I have several times
heard Mr. Banks tell of his early life in Clarksdale and of
the warm friends he had made among the best white
people in that city.
It happened that his mother was cook for a prominent
white family in Clarksdale. In this way he became in a
sort of a way attached to the family. It was through the
influence of this family, if I remember rightly, that he
was sent to Rust University, at Holly Springs, to get his
education.
In 1900 Mr. Banks, because of his wide knowledge of
local conditions in that part of the country, was appointed
supervisor of the census for the Third
district of Mississippi. In speaking to me of this matter
Mr. Banks said that every white man in town endorsed
his application for appointment.
Since he has been in Mound Bayou, Mr. Banks has
greatly widened his business connections. The Bank of
Mound Bayou now counts among its correspondents
banks in Vicksburg, Memphis, and Louisville, together
with the National Bank of Commerce of St. Louis and
the National Reserve Bank of the City of New York.
One of the officers of the former institution, Mr. Eugene
Snowden, in a recent letter to me, referring to this and
another Negro bank, writes: "It has been my pleasure to
lend them $30,000 a year and their business has been
handled to my entire satisfaction."
Some years ago, in the course of one of my
educational campaigns, I visited Mound Bayou, among
other places in Mississippi. Among other persons I met
the sheriff of Bolivar County, in which Mound Bayou is
situated. Without any suggestion or prompting on my
part, he told me that Mound Bayou was one of the most
orderly -- in fact, I believe he said the most orderly -- town
in the Delta. A few years ago a newspaper man from
Memphis visited the town for the purpose of writing an
article about it. What he saw there set him to
speculating, and among other things he said:
Will the Negro as a race work out his own salvation along
Mound Bayou lines? Who knows? These have worked out
for themselves a better local government than any superior
people has ever done for them in freedom. But it is a generally
accepted principle in political economy that any homogeneous
people will in time do this. These people have their local
government, but it is in consonance with the county, state,
and national governments and international conventions, all in
the hands of another race. Could they conduct as successfully
a county government in addition to their local government and
still under the state and national governments of another race?
Enough Negroes of the Mound Bayou type, and guided as they
were in the beginning, will be able to do so.
The words I have quoted will, perhaps, illustrate
the sort of interest and sympathy which the Mound
Bayou experiment arouses in the minds of thoughtful
Southerners. Now it is characteristic of Charles
Banks that, in all his talks with me, he has never
once referred to the work he is doing as a solution
of the problem of the Negro race. He has often
referred to it, however, as one step in the solution
of the problem of the Delta. He recognizes that,
behind everything else, is the economic problem.
Aside from the personal and business interest
which he has in the growth and progress of Mound
Bayou, Mr. Banks sees in it a means of teaching
better methods of farming, of improving the home
life, of getting into the masses of the people greater
sense of the value of law and order.
I have learned much from studying the success of
Charles Banks. Before all else he has taught me the
value of common-sense in dealing with conditions as
they exist in the South. I have learned from him that, in
spite of what the Southern white man may say about the
Negro in moments of excitement, the sober sentiment of
the South is in sympathy with every effort that promises
solid and substantial progress to the Negro.
Maj. R. R. Moton, of Hampton Institute, is one of the
few black men I know who can trace his ancestry in an
unbroken line on both sides back to Africa. I have often
heard him tell the story, as he had it from his
grandmother, of the way in which his great-grandfather,
who was a young African chief, had come down to the
coast to sell some captives taken in war and how, after
the bargain was completed, he was enticed on board the
white man's ship and himself carried away and sold,
along with these unfortunate captives, into slavery in
America. Major Moton is, like Charles Banks, not only a
full-blooded black man, with a big body and broad Negro
features, but he is, in his own way, a remarkably
handsome man. I do not think any one could look in
Major Moton's face without liking him. In the first place,
he looks straight at you, out of big friendly eyes, and as
he speaks to you an expression
of alert and intelligent sympathy constantly flashes and
plays across his kindly features.
It has been my privilege to come into contact with
many different types of people, but I know few men who
are so lovable and, at the same time, so sensible in their
nature as Major Moton. He is chock-full of common-sense.
Further than that, he is a man who, without
obtruding himself and without your understanding how he
does it, makes you believe in him from the very first time
you see him and from your first contact with him, and, at
the same time, makes you love him. He is the kind of
man in whose company I always feel like being, never
tire of, always want to be around him, or always want to
be near him.
One of the continual sources of surprise to people who
come for the first time into the Southern States is to hear
of the affection with which white men and women speak
of the older generation of coloured people with whom
they grew up, particularly the old coloured nurses. The
lifelong friendships that exist between these old "aunties"
and "uncles" and the white children with whom they
were raised is something that is hard for strangers to
understand.
It is just these qualities of human sympathy and
affection that endeared so many of the older generation
of Negroes to their masters and mistresses and
which seems to have found expression, in a higher form,
in Major Moton. Although he has little schooling outside
of what he was able to get at Hampton Institute, Major
Moton is one of the best-read men and one of the most
interesting men to talk with I have ever met. Education
has not spoiled him, as it seems to have done in the case
of some other educated Negroes. It has not embittered
or narrowed him in his affections. He has not learned to
hate or distrust any class of people, and he is just as
ready to assist and show a kindness to a white man as
to a black man, to a Southerner as to a Northerner.
My acquaintance with Major Moton began, as I
remember, after he had graduated at Hampton Institute
and while he was employed there as a teacher. He had
at that time the position that I once occupied in charge
of the Indian students. Later he was given the very
responsible position he now occupies, at the head of the
institute battalion, as commandant of cadets, in which he
has charge of the discipline of all the students. In this
position he has an opportunity to exert a very direct and
personal influence upon the members of the student
body and, what is especially important, to prepare them
to meet the peculiar difficulties that await
them when they go out in the world to begin life for
themselves.
It has always seemed to me very fortunate that
Hampton Institute should have had in the position which
Major Moton occupies a man of such kindly good
humour, thorough self-control, and sympathetic
disposition.
Major Moton knows by intuition Northern white people
and Southern white people. I have often heard the
remark made that the Southern white man knows more
about the Negro in the South than anybody else. I will not
stop here to debate that question, but I will add that
coloured men like Major Moton know more about the
Southern white man than anybody else on earth.
At the Hampton Institute, for example, they have
white teachers and coloured teachers; they have
Southern white people and Northern white people;
besides, they have coloured students and Indian students.
Major Moton knows how to keep his hands on all of
these different elements, to see to it that friction is kept
down and that each works in harmony with the other. It
is a difficult job, but Major Moton knows how to
negotiate it.
This thorough understanding of both races which
Major Moton possesses has enabled him to give his
students just the sort of practical and helpful
advice and counsel that no white man who has not
himself faced the peculiar conditions of the Negro
could be able to give.
I think it would do any one good to attend one of
Major Moton's Sunday-school classes when he is
explaining to his students, in the very practical way
which he knows how to use, the mistake of students
allowing themselves to be embittered by injustice or
degraded by calumny and abuse with which every
coloured man must expect to meet at one time or
another. Very likely he will follow up what he has to say
on this subject by some very apt illustration from his own
experience or from that of some of his acquaintances
which will show how much easier and simpler it is to
meet prejudice with sympathy and understanding than
with hatred; to remember that the man who abuses you
because of your race probably hasn't the slightest
knowledge of you personally, and, nine times out of ten,
if you simply refuse to feel injured by what he says, will
feel ashamed of himself later.
I think one of the greatest difficulties which a Negro
has to meet is in travelling about the country on the
railway trains. For example, it is frequently difficult for a
coloured man to get anything to eat while he is travelling
in the South, because, on the train and at the lunch
counters along the route,
there is often no provision for coloured people. If a
coloured man goes to the lunch counter where the white
people are served he is very likely, no matter who he
may be, to find himself roughly ordered to go around to
the kitchen, and even there no provision has been made
for him.
Time and again I have seen Major Moton meet this
situation, and others like it, by going up directly to the
man in charge and telling him what he wanted. More
than likely the first thing he received was a volley of
abuse. That never discouraged Major Moton. He would
not allow himself to be disturbed nor dismissed, but
simply insisted, politely and good-naturedly, that he knew
the custom, but that he was hungry and wanted
something to eat. Somehow, without any loss of dignity,
he not only invariably got what he wanted, but after
making the man he was dealing with ashamed of himself,
he usually made him his friend and left him with a higher
opinion of the Negro race as a whole.
I have seen Major Moton in a good many trying
situations in which an ordinary man would have lost his
head, but I have never seen him when he seemed to feel
the least degraded or humiliated. I have learned from
Major Moton that one need not belong to a superior race
to be a gentleman.
It has been through
contact with men like Major
Moton -- clean, wholesome, high-souled gentlemen under
black skins -- that I have received a kind of education no
books could impart. Whatever disadvantages one may
suffer from being a part of what is called an "inferior
race," a member of such a race has the advantage of not
feeling compelled to go through the world, as some
members of other races do, proclaiming their superiority
from the house tops. There are some people in this world
who would feel lonesome, and they are not all of them
white people either, if they did not have some one to
whom they could claim superiority.
One of the most distinguised black men of my race is
George W. Clinton, of Charlotte, N. C., bishop of the
A. M. E. Zion Church. Bishop Clinton was born a slave fifty
years ago in South Carolina. He was one of the few
young coloured men who, during the Reconstruction
days, had an opportunity to attend the University of South
Carolina. He prides himself on the fact that he was a
member of that famous class of 1874 which furnished
one Negro congressman, two United States ministers to
Liberia -- the most recent of whom is Dr. W. D. Crum --
five doctors, seven preachers, and several business men
who have made good in after life. Among others was W.
McKinlay, the present collector of customs for the port
of Georgetown, D. C.
Bishop Clinton has done a great service to the
denomination to which he belongs and his years of
service have brought him many honours and distinctions.
He founded the African Methodist Episcopal
Zion Quarterly Review and edited, for a time,
another publication of the African Methodist Episcopal
Zion denomination. He has represented his
church in ecumenical conferences at home and
abroad, is a trustee of Livingstone College, chairman
of the publishing board, has served as a member of
the international convention of arbitration and is
vice-president of the international Sunday-school
union.
Bishop Clinton is a man of a very different type
from the other men of pure African blood I have
mentioned. Although he says he is fifty years of
age, he is in appearance and manner the youngest
man in the group. An erect, commanding figure,
with a high, broad forehead, rather refined features
and fresh, frank, almost boyish manner, he is the
kind of man who everywhere wins confidence and
respect.
Although Bishop Clinton is by profession a minister,
and has been all his life in the service of the
Church, he is of all the men I have named the
most aggressive in his manner and the most soldierly
in his bearing.
Knowing that his profession compelled him to
travel about a great deal in all parts of the country,
I asked him how a man of his temperament managed
to get about without getting into trouble.
"I have had some trouble but not much," he
said, "and I have learned that the easiest way to
get along everywhere is to be a gentleman. It is
simple, convenient, and practicable.
"The only time I ever came near having any
serious trouble," continued Bishop Clinton, "was
years ago when I was in politics." And then he
went on to relate the following incident: It seems
that at this time the Negroes at the bishop's home
in Lancaster, S. C., were still active in politics. There
was an attempt at one time to get some of the better
class of Negroes to unite with some of the Democrats
in order to elect a prohibition ticket. The fusion
ticket, with two Negroes and four white men as
candidates, was put in the field and elected. It
turned out, however, that a good many white people
cut the Negroes on the ticket and, at the same
time, a good many Negroes cut the whites, so that
there was some bad blood on both sides. A man
who was the editor of the local paper at that time
had accused young Clinton of having advised the
Negroes to cut the fusion ticket.
"As I knew him well," said the bishop, "I went
up to his office to explain. Some rather foolish
remark I made irritated the editor and he jumped
up and came toward me with a knife in his hands."
The bishop added that he didn't think the man
really meant anything "because my mother used
to cook in his family" and they had known each
other since they were boys, so he simply took hold
of his wrists and held them. The bishop is a big,
stalwart, athletic man with hands that grip like a
vise. He talked very quietly and they settled the
matter between them.
Bishop Clinton has told me that he has made
many lifelong friends among the white people of
South Carolina, but this was the only time that
he ever had anything like serious trouble with a
white man.
I first made the acquaintance of Bishop Clinton
when he came to Tuskegee in 1893 as representative
of the African Methodist Episcopal Zion Church,
at the dedication of the Phelps Hall Bible training
school. The next year he came to Tuskegee as one
of the lecturers in that school and he has spent some
time at Tuskegee every year since then, assisting in
the work of that institution.
Bishop Clinton has been of great assistance to us,
not only in our work at Tuskegee, but in the larger
work we have been trying to do in arousing interest
throughout the country in Negro public schools.
He organized and conducted through North Carolina
in 1910 what I think was the most successful educational
campaign I have yet been able to make in
any of the Southern States.
Although he is an aggressive churchman, Bishop
Clinton has found time to interest himself in everything
that concerns the welfare of the Negro race.
He is as interested in the business and economic as
he is in the intellectual advancement of the race.
One of the most gifted men of the Negro race
whom I ever happened to meet is George W. Carver,
Professor Carver, as he is called at Tuskegee, where
he has for many years been connected with the
scientific and experimental work in agriculture
carried on in connection with the Tuskegee Institute.
I first met Mr. Carver about 1895 or 1896
when he was a student at the State Agricultural
College at Ames, Ia. I had heard of him before
that time through Hon. James Wilson, now secretary
of agriculture, who was for some time one of Mr.
Carver's teachers. It was about this time that
an attempt was made to put our work in agriculture
on a scientific basis, and Mr. Carver was induced
to come to Tuskegee to take charge of that work
and of the state experiment station that had been
established in connection with it. He has been
doing valuable work in that department ever since
and, as a result of his work in breeding cotton and
of the bulletins he has prepared on experiments in
building up wornout soils, he has become widely
known to both coloured and white farmers throughout
the South.
When some years ago the state secretary of
agriculture called a meeting at Montgomery of
the leading teachers of the state, Professor Carver
was the only coloured man invited to that meeting.
He was at that time invited to deliver an address
to the convention and for an hour was questioned
on the interesting work he was doing at the experiment
station.
Professor Carver, like the other men I have mentioned,
is of unmixed African blood, and is one of the
most thoroughly scientific men of the Negro race
with whom I am acquainted. Whenever any one
who takes a scientific interest in cotton growing, or
in the natural history of this part of the world,
comes to visit Tuskegee, he invariably seeks out
and consults Professor Carver. A few years ago
the colonial secretary of the German empire, accompanied
by one of the cotton experts of his department,
travelling through the South in a private
car, paid a visit of several days to Tuskegee largely
to study, in connection with the other work of the
school, the cotton-growing experiments that Professor
Carver has been carrying on for some years.
In his book, "The Negro in the New World,"
Sir Harry Johnston, who has himself been much
interested in the study of plant life in different parts
of the world, says: "Professor Carver, who teaches
scientific agriculture, botany, agricultural chemistry,
etc., at Tuskegee, is, as regards complexion and
features, an absolute Negro; but in the cut of his
clothes, the accent of his speech, the soundness of
his science, he might be professor of botany, not
at Tuskegee, but at Oxford or Cambridge. Any
European botanist of distinction, after ten minutes'
conversation with this man, instinctively would
treat him as a man on a level with himself."
What makes all that Professor Carver has accomplished
the more remarkable is the fact that he
was born in slavery and has had relatively few
opportunities for study, compared with those which
a white man who makes himself a scholar in any
particular branch of science invariably has.
Professor Carver knows but little of his parentage.
He was born on the plantation of a Mr. Carver in
Missouri some time during the war.
It was a time when it was becoming very uncomfortable
to hold slaves in Missouri and so he and his
mother were sent south into Arkansas. After the
war Mr. Carver, the master, sent south to inquire
what had become of his former slaves. He learned
that they had all disappeared with the exception
of a child, two or three years old, by the name of
George, who was near dead with the whooping-cough
and of so little value that the people in Arkansas
said they would be very glad to get rid of him.
George was brought home, but he proved to be
such a weak and sickly little creature that no
attempt was made to put him to work and he was
allowed to grow up among chickens and other animals
around the servants' quarters, getting his living
as best he could.
The little black boy lived, however, and he used
his freedom to wander about in the woods, where
he soon got on very good terms with all the insects
and animals in the forest and gained an intimate
and, I might almost say personal, acquaintance with
all the plants and the flowers.
As he grew older he began to show unusual aptitude
in two directions: He attracted attention,
in the first place, by his peculiar knack and skill
in all sorts of household work. He learned to cook,
to knit and crochet, and he had a peculiar and delicate
sense for colour. He learned to draw and, at
the present time, he devotes a large part of his
leisure to making the most beautiful and accurate
drawings of different flowers and forms of plant life
in which he is interested.
In the second place, he showed a remarkable
natural aptitude and intelligence in dealing with
plants. He would spend hours, for example, gathering
all the most rare and curious flowers that were
to be found in the woods and fields. One day some
one discovered that he had established out in the
brush a little botanical garden, where he had gathered
all sorts of curious plants and where he soon
became so expert in making all sorts of things grow,
and showed such skill in caring for and protecting
plants from all sorts of insects and diseases that he
got the name of "the plant doctor."
Another direction in which he showed unusual
natural talent was in music. While he was still
a child he became famous among the coloured
people as a singer. After he was old enough to
take care of himself he spent some years wandering
about. When he got the opportunity he worked
in greenhouses. At one time he ran a laundry;
at another time he worked as a cook in a hotel. His
natural taste and talent for music and painting,
and, in fact, almost every form of art, finally attracted
the attention of friends, through whom he
secured a position as church organist.
During all this time young Carver was learning
wherever he was able. He learned from books when
he could get them; learned from experience always;
and made friends wherever he went. At last he found
an opportunity to take charge of the greenhouses of
the horticultural department of the Iowa Agricultural
College at Ames. He remained there until he was
graduated, when he was made assistant botanist. He
took advantage of his opportunities there to continue
his studies and finally took a diploma as a post-graduate
student, the first diploma of that sort that
had been given at Ames.
While he was at the agricultural college in Iowa
he took part with the rest of the students in all the
activities of college life. He was lieutenant, for
example, in the college battalion which escorted
Governor Boies to the World's Fair at Chicago.
He began to read papers and deliver lectures at the
horticultural conventions in all parts of the state.
But, in spite of his success in the North, among
the people of another race, Mr. Carver was anxious
to come South and do something for his own race.
So it was that he gladly accepted an invitation to
come to Tuskegee and take charge of the scientific
and experimental work connected with our department
of agriculture.
Although Professor Carver impresses every one
who meets him with the extent of his knowledge
in the matter of plant life, he is quite the most
modest man I have ever met. In fact, he is almost
timid. He dresses in the plainest and simplest
manner possible; the only thing that he allows in
the way of decoration is a flower in his button-hole.
It is a rare thing to see Professor Carver any time
during the year without some sort of flower on the
lapel of his coat and he is particularly proud when
he has found somewhere in the woods some especially
rare specimen of a flower to show to his friends.
I asked Professor Carver at one time how it was,
since he was so timid, that he managed to have
made the acquaintance of so many of the best white
as well as coloured people in our part of the country.
He said that as soon as people found out that he
knew something about plants that was valuable he
discovered they were very willing and eager to talk
with him.
"But you must have some way of advertising,"
I said jestingly; "how do all these people find out
that you know about plants?"
"Well, it is this way," he said. "Shortly after
I came here I was going along the woods one day
with my botany can under my arm. I was looking
for plant diseases and for insect enemies. A lady
saw what she probably thought was a harmless old
coloured man, with a strange looking box under his
arm, and she stopped me and asked if I was a peddler.
I told her what I was doing. She seemed delighted
and asked me to come and see her roses, which
were badly diseased. I showed her just what to
do for them -- in fact, sat down and wrote it out
for her.
"In this," he continued, "and several other ways
it became noised abroad that there was a man at
the school who knew about plants. People began
calling upon me for information and advice."
I myself recall that several years ago a dispute
arose down town about the name of a plant. No
one knew what it was. Finally one gentleman spoke
up and said that they had a man out at the normal
school by the name of Carver who could name any
plant, tree, bird, stone, etc., in the world, and if he
did not know there was no use to look farther. A
man was put on a horse and the plant brought to
Professor Carver at the Institute. He named it
and sent him back. Since then Professor Carver's
laboratory has never been free from specimens of
some kind.
I have always said that the best means which the
Negro has for destroying race prejudice is to make
himself a useful and, if possible, an indispensable
member of the community in which he lives. Every
man and every community is bound to respect the
man or woman who has some form of superior knowledge
or ability, no matter in what direction it is. I
do not know of a better illustration of this than
may be found in the case of Professor Carver.
Without any disposition to push himself forward
into any position in which he is not wanted, he has
been able, because of his special knowledge and
ability, to make friends with all classes of people,
white as well as black, throughout the South. He is
constantly receiving inquiries in regard to his
work from all parts of the world, and his experiments
in breeding new varieties of cotton have
aroused the greatest interest among those cotton
planters who are interested in the scientific
investigation of cotton growing.
There are few coloured men in the South to-day
who are better or more widely known than
Dr. Charles T. Walker, pastor of the Tabernacle
Baptist Church of Augusta, Ga. President William
H. Taft, referring to Doctor Walker, said that he
was the most eloquent man he had ever listened to.
For myself I do not know of any man, white or
black, who is a more fascinating speaker either in
private conversation or on the public platform.
Doctor Walker's speeches, like his conversation,
have the charm of a natural-born talker, a man who
loves men, and has the art of expressing himself
simply, easily, and fluently, in a way to interest
and touch them.
On the streets of Augusta, his home, it is no
uncommon thing to see Doctor Walker -- after the
familiar and easy manner of Southern people --
stand for hours on a street corner or in front of a
grocery store, surrounded by a crowd who have
gathered for no other purpose than to hear what
he will say. It is said that he knows more than
half of the fifteen thousand coloured people of
Augusta by name, and when he meets any of them
in the street he is disposed to stop, in his friendly
and familiar way, in order to inquire about the
other members of the family. He wants to know
how each is getting on and what has happened to
any one of them since he saw them last.
If one of these acquaintances succeeds in detaining
him, he will, very likely, find himself surrounded
by other friends and acquaintances and, when once
he is fairly launched on one of the quaintly humorous
accounts of his adventures in some of the
various parts of the world he has visited, or is
discussing, in his vivid and epigrammatic way, some
public question, business in that part of the town
stops for a time.
Doctor Walker is a great story teller. He has
a great fund of anecdotes and a wonderful art in
using them to emphasize a point in argument or to
enforce a remark. I recall that the last time he was at
Tuskegee, attending the Negro conference, he told us
what he was trying to do at the school established
by the Walker Baptist Association at Augusta for
the farmers in his neighbourhood. From that he
launched off into some remarks upon the coloured
farmer, his opportunities, and his progress. He
said Senator Tillman had once complained that
the coloured farmer wasn't as ignorant as he pretended
to be, and then he told this story: He said
that an old coloured farmer in his part of the country
had rented some land of a white man on what is
popularly known as "fourths." By the term of
the contract the white man was to get one fourth
of the crop for the use of the land.
When it came time to divide the crop, however, it
turned out that there were just three wagon loads of
cotton and this the old farmer hauled to his own barn.
Of course the landlord protested. He said:
"Look here, Uncle Joe, didn't you promise me a
fourth of that cotton for my share?"
"Yes, cap'n," was the reply, "Dat's so. I'se
mighty sorry, but dere wasn't no fort'."
"How is that?" inquired the landlord.
"There wasn't no fort' 'cause dere was just
three wagon loads, and dere wasn't no fort' dere."
Doctor Walker is not only a fascinating
conversationalist, a warm-hearted friend, but he is, also,
a wonderfully successful preacher. During the
time when he was in New York, as pastor of the
Mt. Olivet Baptist Church, his sermons and his
wonderful success as an evangelist were frequently
reported in the New York papers.
Doctor Walker is not only an extraordinary pulpit
orator, but he is a man of remarkably good sense.
I recall some instances in particular in which he
showed this quality in a very conspicuous way.
The first was at a meeting of the National
Convention of Negro Baptists at St. Louis in 1886.
At this meeting some one delivered an address on
the subject, "Southern Ostracism," in which he
abused the Southern white Baptists, referring to
them as mere figureheads, who believe "there were
separate heavens for white and coloured people."
Later in the session Doctor Walker found an
opportunity to reply to these remarks, pointing
out that a few months before the Southern Baptist
Convention had passed a resolution to expend
$10,000 in mission work among the coloured Baptists
of the South. He formulated his protest
against the remarks made by the speaker of the
previous day in a resolution which was passed by
the convention.
His speech and the resolution were published in
many of the Southern newspapers and denominational
organs and did much to change the currents
of popular feeling at that time and bring
about a better understanding between the races.
Dr. Charles T. Walker was born at the little
town of Hepzibah, Richmond County, Ga., about
sixteen miles south of his present home, Augusta.
His father, who was his master's coachman, was
also deacon in the little church organized by the
slaves in 1848, of which his uncle was pastor.
Doctor Walker comes of a race of preachers. The
Walker Baptist Association is named after one
of his uncles, Rev. Joseph T. Walker, whose freedom
was purchased by the members of his congregation
who were themselves slaves. In 1880, upon a
resolution of Doctor Walker, this same Walker
Association passed a resolution to establish a normal
school for coloured children, known as the Walker
Baptist Institute. This school has from the first
been supported by the constant and unremitting
efforts of Doctor Walker.
Meanwhile he has been interested in other good
works. He assisted in establishing the Augusta
Sentinel, and in 1891, while he was travelling in
the Holy Land, his accounts of his travels did much
to brighten its pages and increase its circulation.
In 1893 he was one of a number of other coloured
people to establish a Negro state fair at Augusta,
which has continued successfully ever since. Another
of his enterprises started and carried on in
connection with his church is the Tabernacle
Old Folks' Home. He has taken a prominent
part in all the religious and educational work of the
state and has even dipped, to some extent, into
politics, having been at one time a member of the
Republican state executive committee.
Aside from these manifold activities, and beyond
all he has done in other directions, Doctor Walker
has been a man who has constantly sought to take
life as he found it and make the most of the opportunities
that he saw about him for himself and his
people. He has not been an agitator and has done
more than any other man I know to bring about
peace and good-will between the two sections of the
country and the races. It is largly due to his
influence that in Augusta, Ga., the black man and
the white man live more happily and comfortably
than they do in almost any other city in the
United States.
The motto of Doctor Walker's life I can state in
his own words. "I am determined," he has said,
"never to be guilty of ingratitude; never to desert
a friend; and never to strike back at an enemy."
It is because of such men as Doctor Walker and
many others like him that I have learned not only
to respect but to take pride in the race to which I
belong.
In seeking to answer the question as to the relative
value of the man of pure African extraction
and the man of mixed blood I have referred to five
men who have gained some distinction in very
different walks of life. There are hundreds of
others I could name, who, though not so conspicuous
nor so well known, are performing in their
humble way valuable service for their race and
country. I might also mention here the fact that
at Tuskegee, during an experience of thirty years,
we have found that, although perhaps a majority of
our students are not of pure black blood, still the
highest honours in our graduating class, namely,
that of valedictorian, which is given to students who
have attained the highest scholarship during the
whole course of their studies, has been about equally
divided between students of mixed and pure
blood.
For my own part, however, it seems to me a rather
unprofitable discussion that seeks to determine in
advance the possibilities of any individual or any
race or class of individuals. In the first place,
races, like individuals, have different qualities and
different capacities for service and, that being the
case, it is the part of wisdom to give every individual
the opportunities for growth and development
which will fit him for the greatest usefulness.
When any individual and any race is allowed to
find that place, freely and without compulsion, they
will not only be happy and contented in themselves,
but will fall naturally into the happiest possible
relations with all other members of the community.
In the second place, it should be remembered that
human life and human society are so complicated
that no one can determine what latent possibilities
any individual or any race may possess. It is
only through education, and through struggle and
experiment in all the different activities and relations
of life, that it is possible for a race or an
individual to find the place in the common life in
which they can be of the greatest value to themselves
and the rest of the world.
To assume anything else is to deny the value
of the free institutions under which we live and
of all the centuries of struggle and effort it has cost
to bring them into existence.
I HAVE gotten an education by meeting all
classes of people in the United States. I
have been fortunate in getting much education
by coming into contact with different classes of
people in Europe.
In the course of my journey across Europe I
visited, in the fall of 1910, the ancient city of
Cracow, the former capital of Poland. It was
evening when we reached our destination, and,
as we had been travelling all day without sighting
an American or any one who spoke English, I began
to feel more at sea than I had ever felt before in
my life. I was a little surprised, therefore, as I
was getting out of the omnibus, to hear some one
say in an unmistakable American accent: "Excuse
me, but isn't this Booker T. Washington?"
I replied that it was, and added that I was very
glad to hear that kind of a voice in this remote corner
of Europe. In a few minutes I was exchanging
notes with a man who once lived, he said, in the same
part of the country I came from, in West Virginia. He
had come originally from Poland and was, I suspect, a
Polish Jew, one of that large number of returned
immigrants whom one meets in every part of Eastern
and Southern Europe.
The next day I met a very intelligent American lady,
though of Polish origin, who turned out to be the wife of
the Polish count who was the owner and proprietor of
the hotel. It was this lady who advised me to go and visit,
while I was in Cracow, the tomb of the Polish patriot,
Kosciuszko, whose name I had learned in school as one
of those revolutionary heroes who, when there was no
longer any hope of liberty for their own people in the old
world, had crossed the seas to help establish it in the
new.
I knew from my school history what Kosciuszko had
done for America in its early struggle for independence. I
did not know, however, until my attention was called to it
in Cracow, what Kosciuszko had done for the freedom
and education of my own people.
After his second visit to this country in 1797
Kosciuszko, I learned, made a will in which he
bequeathed part of his property in this country in trust to
Thomas Jefferson to be used for the purpose of
purchasing the freedom of Negro slaves
and giving them instruction in the trades and otherwise.
Seven years after his death a school of Negroes,
known as the Kosciuszko school, was established in
Newark, N. J. The sum left for the benefit of this school
amounted to thirteen thousand dollars.
The Polish patriot is buried in the cathedral at Cracow,
which is the Westminster Abbey of Poland, and is filled
with memorials of the honoured names of that country.
Kosciuszko lies in a vault beneath the marble floor of the
cathedral. As I looked upon his tomb I thought how small
the world is after all, and how curiously interwoven are
the interests that bind people together. Here I was in this
strange land, farther from my home than I had ever
expected to be in my life, and yet I was paying my
respects to a man to whom the members of my race
owed one of the first permanent schools for them in the
United States.
When I visited the tomb of Kosciuszko I placed a
rose on it in the name of my race.
A few days later I took a day's journey by train and
wagon into a remote part of the country districts of
Poland in order to see something of the more primitive
peasant life of that region. Away up in the mountains we
stopped at a little group of thatched-roof cottages. As I
wanted to see what
their homes looked like inside, I knocked at the
door of one of them and made some inquiry or other
in English, not expecting to get a reply that I could
understand. I was surprised to hear a man answer
me in fairly good English. He told me that he
had lived for a long time in Detroit, Mich. My
companion, Dr. Robert E. Park, who had also lived
in that city, was soon talking familiarly with him
about a famous rebel priest, Kolisinski, who had
been a leader of the Polish colony in that city.
A week before that I had visited, in the wildest
part of Sicily, the sulphur mines of Campo Franco.
In the deepest part of these mines I discovered a
man who had been a miner in West Virginia, in
the same region in which, years before, I had myself
learned to mine coal.
These incidents were characteristic of a kind of
experience I had everywhere in Europe. In the
most remote parts of the country, where I expected
to meet people who had, perhaps, never heard of
America, I found people who not only spoke my own
language, but welcomed me almost as a fellow countryman.
All this led me to realize, as I had not
been able to do before, the close and intimate way
in which the life, the problems, and the people of
Europe were touching and influencing America.
But it led me also to notice and study the curious
and to me surprising reflex influence of America
on Europe.
I have made in all three visits to Europe. On
my first visit, a number of years ago, I made the
journey with no very definite purpose in mind.
I kept in the main line of travel and saw what I
may call the polite and official side of life in England
and some portions of the continent. In London,
for example, I was entertained by the American
ambassador, Hon. Joseph H. Choate, had the
privilege of attending one of the queen's luncheons
at Windsor Castle, and made the acquaintance of
Hon. James Bryce, the present ambassador to the
United States, besides meeting a number of
distinguished men whose names were familiar to me
in connection with some important phase of the
world's work in which they were engaged.
On my last trip I made up my mind to leave, as
far as possible, the main highways of travel and
see something of the condition of the poorer people,
whose lives are neither polite nor picturesque nor
pleasant to look at. My purpose in making this
trip was to compare, as far as I was able, the condition
of the masses of my own people in this country
with the masses of the people in Europe, who are
in relatively the same situation in political and
economic opportunity. I believed that if the black
people in America knew something of the burdens
and difficulties under which the masses of the people
in Europe live and work they would see that their
own situation was by no means so hopeless as they
have been sometimes taught to believe.
I had another reason for desiring to get acquainted
with the situation of people at the bottom in Europe.
For a number of years I have been convinced that
there is a very intimate relation between the work
I have been trying to do at Tuskegee Institute
for the masses of the Negroes in the South and the
work that was being done for the poorer classes of
the people in the different parts of Europe. Different
as has been the history of the black man in the
South and the white man in Europe, there were, I
was convinced, many points in which the life of
the one would compare with the life of the other.
In the case of the Negro we have a black people
struggling up from slavery to freedom: in the other
case we have a white man making his way upward
through a milder form of subjection and servitude
to a position of political and economic independence;
and, in each case, the means by which the long
journey has been made, in the one instance by a
race, in the other by a class, has been, in many
respects, the same.
But aside from all that, I was interested in these
people for their own sake. An individual or a
race that has come up from slavery cannot but feel
a peculiar interest and sympathy with any other
individual or race that has travelled that same
journey or any part of it.
I arrived in London in the late summer. At that
time all the polite world, all the distinguished and
all the wealthy people, were away in some other
part of the world upon their vacations, and the
city, as far as these people were concerned, was
like a winter residence which had been closed for
the summer. But the other six million, whose
acquaintance I had determined to make upon this
trip, were there.
In one way or another I saw a good deal of the
life of the poorer classes, particularly in that vast
region inhabited almost wholly by people of the
poorer and working classes, which goes under the
name of East London. I tramped about at night,
visiting the darkest corners of the city I could find.
One night I interviewed, on the Thames Embankment,
those dreary outcasts of the great city who
wander up and down the bank of the river all day
and sleep upon the pavement at night. At another
time I visited the alehouses and the bar-rooms,
where men and women of the poorer classes congregate
at night to drink and gossip. I went several
times to the police courts in some of the poorer
parts of the city, where I had a chance to observe
the methods by which the police courts of London
deal with the failures and unfortunates of the city
who in one way or other fall into the hands of the
police.
It had been my plan to give as large a part of my
time as possible to getting acquainted with the
working classes in the farming regions of Austria,
Italy, and Denmark.
To a certain extent the condition of the urban
labourers in London connected itself in my mind
with the condition of the rural population in other
countries I have mentioned, since London represents
the largest city population in the world, and England
is the country in which the masses of the people
have been most completely detached from the
land, while Austria, Italy, and Denmark are distinctly
agricultural countries, and leaving out Russia,
represent the parts of Europe where the people,
to a greater extent than elsewhere, live close to
the soil.
It is impossible for me to describe in detail what
I learned in regard to the condition of the masses
of the people in the different parts of Europe I
visited. As a rule I suppose the man on the soil
has always represented the most backward and
neglected portion of the population. This class
has everywhere, until recent years, had fewer opportunities
for education than the similar classes in
the cities and, where the people who tilled the soil
have not succeeded in getting possession of the soil --
as is especially true in certain parts of Austria-Hungary
and lower Italy -- they have remained in a
condition of greater or less subjection to the land-owning
classes. In lower Italy, where the masses
of the farming population have neither land nor
schools, they have remained in a position not far
removed from slavery. In Denmark, on the contrary,
where the farming class is, for the most part,
made up of independent landowners, not only has
agriculture been more thoroughly developed and
organized than elsewhere, but farmers are a dominating
influence in the political life of the
country.
In England, which is the home of political liberty,
the working classes have all the political privileges
of other Englishmen, although the bulk of the land
is in the hands of a comparatively few landowners.
On the other hand, the majority of the labourers
in the cities have not increased their economic
independence. In fact, the English city labourer, from
all that I could observe, seemed to be in a position
of greater dependence upon his employer and upon
the capitalist than is true of any other country I
visited.
I recall one incident of my stay in London which
emphasized this fact in my mind: I noticed one
day a man who was standing, with his hands in
his pockets, looking vaguely into the street, one
of those types of the casual labourer of whom one
meets so many examples in London. I asked if
work was plentiful about this time of the year.
"No," he replied. "It is hard to get anything
to do, so many people are out of town."
This man looked to me like a dock labourer.
I met him somewhere, I think, on or near Mile End
Road, in the East End, which is in the centre of a district
of over a million inhabitants made up entirely
of working people. I told him I could not understand
how the absence of a few hundred or a few
thousand individuals from a great city like London
could make much difference to him. "It makes a
great difference, sir," he replied. "Everything seems
to stop when they go away."
This man was, to be sure, a casual labourer, one
who had, perhaps, been crowded out by competition
from the regular avenues of employment. But there
is an enormous number of these casual labourers in
England. They seem to be a product of the system.
A week or ten days later I met at Skibo Castle
in the Highlands of Scotland, Lord John Morley,
at that time secretary of state for India. During
the time that I was there the question of the condition
of the labouring classes was several times
touched upon in conversation and some reference
was made to the condition I have referred to. I
recall that Lord Morley listened to the discussion
for some time without making any comment. Then
he said very positively that, in spite of all that had
been said, the English labourer was, in his opinion,
in a greatly better position to-day than he had ever
been before in his history. I was the more impressed
with this statement because it came from a man
who has a world-wide reputation as a scholar and
a writer, and who is at the same time a member
of what is the most democratic government that
has ever ruled in England, a government, also,
that has sought to do more than any other to improve
the living conditions of the labouring
classes.
The experience I had among the poorer classes in
London helped me to realize, as I had not done before,
the opportunity that the Negro, in spite of the
discriminations and injustices from which he suffers,
has in America to-day, and particularly in the
Southern States, where there is still opportunity
to get land, to live in God's open country and in
contact with simple, natural things, compared with
that of the people in the crowded English cities,
where hundreds of thousands of them live practically
from hand to mouth and where one tenth of
the population, according to an investigation some
years ago, are living either in poverty or on the edge
of destitution.
At the present moment the national government,
in conjunction with the city of London, is
spending immense sums of money in laying out
parks, in building public baths, model tenements
and lodging houses in some of the poorer quarters
of the city. Better than all else, they are building
out in the suburbs, on some of the vacant land outside
the city, beautiful garden cities, rows and rows
of model houses, each with its little garden in front
of it, and each provided with every convenience that
modern invention and science can suggest to make
it healthful, convenient, and comfortable. As a
result of this improvement, thousands of working
people are being removed every year from the dark,
gloomy, and unhealthy regions of the overcrowded
city to these free, open spaces, where they have an
opportunity to get in contact with God's free air
and sunlight.
I confess that I marvelled at the time and interest
and money that have been expended not only
by the government, but by the philanthropic people
of London, in attempting to ameliorate and to raise
the level of life among the poorer working classes.
I am convinced that if one half or one tenth of the
money, interest, and sympathy that have been expended
for the education and uplifting of the poorer
classes in London were spent upon the Negro in
the South, the race problem in our country would
be practically solved.
After visiting London, I went, as I have said, to
Austria and spent some time in the city of Prague,
in Bohemia; in Vienna, Austria, and Budapest,
Hungary. While there I had opportunity several
times to go out into the country districts and see
something of the condition of the farm labourers.
From there I went to Sicily. I saw something of
the condition of the small farmers in the region of
Palermo. I visited the sulphur mines at Campo
Franco in the mountainous region of the interior.
I passed several days at Catania and saw the grape
harvest and the men bare-legged treading the wine
in the same way I have read in the Bible. From
there I returned and passed several days in Austrian
Poland and visited the salt mines. I went out into
the country districts and saw the condition of the
people in the small country towns in the region
around Cracow. I crossed the frontier into Russian
Poland and visited a Russian village. From there
I went to Copenhagen and gained new acquaintance
with the wonderful things that have been accomplished
in the way of organizing and developing
agricultural life in that little state.
In thinking over all that I saw and learned during
my trip abroad, it seemed to me that I could clearly
discern, in all those parts of Europe where the people
are most backward, the signs of a great, silent revolution.
Everywhere, with perhaps the exception of
lower Italy and Sicily, I thought I could see that
the man at the bottom was making his way upward
and, in doing so, was lifting the level of civilization.
Directly and indirectly this revolution has, to
a very considerable extent, been brought about
through the influence of the United States. For
example, one of the results of the opening up of
the great grain fields in the central part of the United
States was to break up the whole system of agriculture
in every part of Europe where the products
of American agriculture come in competition with
those of Europe. It was this same competition
with American agriculture that provoked the
immigration from Austria, Hungary, and southern
Italy. I found that wherever the condition of farm
labour was particularly bad in Southern Europe
the emigration from that part of Europe to America
was especially large and increasing. On the other
hand, in Denmark, where the agricultural crisis
had been overcome by more intensive and intelligent
methods of farming, emigration to the United
States had almost ceased.
A secondary effect has been to bring about a
reorganization of agriculture in such a way as to
improve the condition of the farmer. In several countries
efforts have been made to break up the large
estates and increase the number of small landowners.
There has been a very general improvement in the
character of the rural schools. The states of Europe,
having discovered that their rural population is
one of the most important of the natural resources,
have begun to take practical measures to educate
and improve the neglected masses.
To a large extent it seemed to me that the older
civilization had been built up on the ignorance and
the oppression of the masses of the people who were
at the bottom. The welfare of the few was obtained
at the expense of the many. On the other hand,
at the present time, wherever any of these countries
are successful and are making progress, they are
seeking to do so, not by oppressing and holding
down the masses of the people, but by building them
up, making them more intelligent, more independent,
better able to think and care for themselves.
It was, first of all, the competition with America
which brought this result about. It was, in the
second place, the contact of the masses of the people
with life in America which has made the change.
I met everywhere in Southern Europe, among the
labouring classes of the people, those who had been
to America and who had returned. Frequently
they had returned with money which they had
earned at common labour in America, and had
bought and improved property. The number of
small landowners has increased greatly in Hungary,
Poland, and in southern Italy as the result of the
emigration to America. These people came back,
sometimes with money, but always with new ideas
and new ambitions. They refused to work for the
same wages that they had previously worked for.
The result was that the price of farm labour has
greatly increased, both in Italy and in other parts of
Southern Europe.
On the other hand, this compelled the greater
use of farm machinery, compelled more intensive
and rational methods of agriculture. But nowhere
did I find, as some people had expected, that this
emigration had had a deterrent effect upon the
development of the country. For the labouring
masses, particularly in the rural parts of Southern
Europe, the journey to America has been a sort of
higher education; it has taught them not only to work
better and more efficiently, but to have confidence in
themselves and to hope and believe in a better future for
themselves and their children. In this way the silent
revolution to which I refer in Europe has come about.
Now if there is any lesson to be drawn from these
facts, it seems to me it is this: that more and more, at the
present day, education must take the place of force in
the affairs of men. The world is changing. The greatest
nation to-day is not the nation with the greatest army,
not the nation that can destroy the most, but the nation
with the most efficient labourers and the most
productive machinery; the nation that can produce the
most.
But if labour is to be efficient, it must be trained and it
must be free. The school t acher to-day is more
important to the state than the soldie , and the aim of the
highest statesmanship should be the improvement not so
much of the army as of the school.
Although I started out on my last visit to Europe with
the determination of getting acquainted with the people
at the bottom and made that my main business while I
was there, I did, incidentally, have opportunity to see
something, also, of the people at the top. In fact, some of
the pleasantest and most profitable moments I had
during my stay in Europe
were those spent in conversation with people who
were either interested or actively engaged in some
kind of public service which connected itself with
the work that I have been trying to do for my own
people in America.
For example, I made the acquaintance through
my friend, Mr. Jacob Riis, of Mr. V. Cavling,
the editor of one of the most important papers in
Denmark, the Politiken. It was largely through
him that I was able to see and learn as much as I
did, during the short time that I was there, of the
life of the country people and of the remarkable
schools that have been established for their benefit
in the country districts. While I was in Copenhagen
I was introduced by the American ambassador,
Mr. Maurice F. Egan, to the king and queen of
Denmark. I learned to my surprise that their
majesties were perfectly familiar with the work
that we are doing at Tuskegee and I found them anxious
to talk with me about the possibility of a similar
work for the Negroes in the Danish West India
Islands, where there are about thirty thousand
people of African descent. The queen told me that
she had read not only my earlier book "Up From
Slavery," but the volume I had just completed,
"The Story of the Negro." What surprised me
most was to find the king and queen of Denmark
so much better informed in regard to the actual
condition and progress of the Negro in America
than so many Americans I have met.
At another time I was the guest of Mr. Andrew
Carnegie at his summer home in Scotland. Three
of the most interesting and restful days I have ever
had were spent at Skibo Castle. Although Skibo
is situated in the wildest and most Northern part of
Scotland, farther removed from the world, it seemed
to me, than any other place I had ever visited, I
never felt nearer the centre of things than I did
while I was there.
All kinds of people find their way to Skibo Castle,
and apparently any one who has something really
valuable to contribute to the world's welfare or
progress finds a welcome there.
Naturally, among guests of that sort, conversation
and discussion took a wide range. For three
days I had an opportunity of hearing great world
questions discussed familiarly by men who knew
them at first hand. At the time that I met Lord
John Morley at Skibo Castle he was still secretary
of state for India. I had never been able to get
any definite conception, from what I had read in
the newspapers, of the actual situation as between
the two races in India, the English and the native
Indians, and I was very glad to hear Lord Morley
comment on that puzzling and perplexing problem.
What he said about the matter was the more interesting
because he was able to draw parallels between
racial conditions in the Eastern and the Western
world, between the Indians in India and the Negroes
in the United States.
After I returned from the south of Europe I made
two addresses in London, one under the auspices of
the Anti-slavery and Aborigines Protection Society,
and the other at the National Liberal Club. At these
meetings I had an opportunity to see face to face
people who, as missionaries, writers, or government
officials, had, both in Africa and at home, laboured
for the welfare and the salvation of the members
of my race in parts of the world I had never seen.
For example, at the luncheon given me under
the auspices of the Anti-slavery and Aborigines
Protection Society, Sir T. Folwell Buxton, grandson
of the noted abolitionist and statesman who
did so much for the abolition of slavery in the
British West Indies, was the presiding officer.
It happened that, at this time, the Society of
Friends, which has been from the beginning to the
present day, both in England and America, the
best friend the Negro has ever had, was holding its
annual meeting, and many of the members of this
sect were present the day I spoke. Among others
I remember who have distinguished themselves by
what they have done for the Negro in Africa were
Sir Harry H. Johnston, the noted African explorer;
Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Mr. E. D. Morel, and Rev.
J. H. Harris, secretary of the Anti-slavery and
Aborigines Protection Society, all of whom have
had so large a part in the struggle to bring about
reform in the Congo Free State.
Among the many pleasant surprises of this luncheon
were a large number of letters from distinguished
persons who were unable to be present.
Among them, I remember, was a very cordial note
from the Prime Minister of England, the Rt. Hon.
Herbert Henry Asquith, and among others were two
from distinguished personal friends which expressed
so generous an appreciation of the work I have attempted
to do that I am tempted to reproduce them
here. These letters were addressed to John H. Harris,
secretary of the Anti-Slavery and Aborigines Protection
Society, and were as follows:
SKIBO CASTLE, DEAR MR. HARRIS:
I regret exceedingly to miss any opportunity of doing
honor to one of the greatest men living, Booker Washington.
Taking into account his start in life, born a slave, and now the
acknowledged leader of his people, I do not know a parallel
to the ascent he has made. He has marched steadily upward
to undisputed leadership, carrying with this the confidence and
approval of the white race, and winning the warm friendship
of its foremost members -- a double triumph.
Booker Washington is to rank with the few immortals as
one who has not only shown his people the promised land, but
is teaching them to prove themselves worthy of it -- a Joshua
and Moses combined.
Very truly yours,
(Signed) ANDREW CARNEGIE. The other letter, from the Archbishop of Canterbury,
was as follows:
It is a great disappointment to me that paramount engagements
far away from London render it impossible for me to be
present at the gathering which is to give greeting and Godspeed
to Mr. Booker T. Washington's acquaintance, and I share
with all those who know the facts, the appreciation of the services
he has rendered and is rendering to the solution of one of
the gravest and most perplexing problems of our time. He is a
man who, in every sense, deserves well of his contemporaries,
and I believe that, when hereafter the story is written of Christian
people's endeavor in our day to atone for and to amend the
racial wrongdoing of the past, Mr. Booker T. Washington's
name will stand in the very forefront of those for whom the
world will give thanks.'
It was a great pleasure and satisfaction to me to
meet and speak to these distinguished people and
the many others whom I met while I was in London.
What impressed me through it all was the wide
outlook which they had upon the world and its
problems. Questions which we in America are
inclined to look upon as local and peculiar to our
own country assume in the eyes of Englishmen whose
interests are not confined to any single country or
continent the character of world problems. I
learned in England to see that the race problem in
the United States is, as Mr. Herbert Samuels, the
English postmaster-general said, "a problem which
faces all countries in which races of a widely divergent
type are living side by side."
The success of the Negro in America and the
progress which has been made here in the solution
of the racial problem gained wider and deeper
meaning for me as a result of my visit to Europe.
ON THE railway train between Copenhagen,
Denmark, and Hamburg, Germany, I fell
into conversation with an English traveller
who had been in many parts of the world and who,
like myself, was returning from a visit of observation
and study in Denmark. We exchanged
traveller's experiences with each other. I found
that he had had opportunity to study conditions
in that country a great deal more thoroughly than
was true in my case and he gave me much information
that I was glad to have about the condition
of agriculture and the life of the people.
In return I told him something of the places I
had visited before going to Denmark and of the way
I had attempted to dig down, here and there in
different parts of Europe, beneath the crust and see
what was going on in the lower strata of social life.
I said to him, finally, that, after all I had seen, I
had come to the conclusion that the happiest country
in Europe, perhaps the happiest country in the world,
is Denmark. Then I asked him if he knew any
part of the world where the people seemed to come
so near to solving all their problems as in Denmark.
He seemed a little startled and a little amused
at that way of putting the matter, but, after considering
the question, he confessed that he had never
visited any other part of the world that seemed to
be in a more generally healthy and wholesome condition
than this same little country which we were just
leaving behind us.
Denmark is not rich in the sense that England
and the United States are rich. I do not know what
the statisticians say about the matter, but I suppose
that in Denmark there are few if any such great
fortunes as one finds in England, in the United
States, and in many parts of Europe. In fact, there
is hardly room enough in this little land for a
multi-millionaire to move about in, as it is less than one
third the size of the state of Alabama, although it
has one third more population.
Denmark is an agricultural country. About
two fifths of the whole population are engaged in
some form or other of agriculture. The farms in
Denmark have been wonderfully prosperous in
recent years. I doubt, however, whether as much
money has been made or can be made in Denmark
as has been made on the farms in the best agricultural
districts in America. The soil is not particularly
rich. A large section of the country is, or has been
until recent years, made up of barren heath like
that in northern Scotland. Within the past few
years, as a result of one of the most remarkable
pieces of agricultural engineering that has ever
been attempted, large tracts of this waste have been
made over into fruitful farm land.
In spite of disadvantages, however, the country
has greatly prospered for a number of years past.
People have been coming from all over the world
to study Danish agriculture and they have gone
away marvelling at the results. I am not going
to try to tell in detail what these results were or
in what manner they have been obtained. I will
merely say that it seems to be generally conceded
that, both in the methods of culture and in the
marketing of the crops, Denmark has gone farther
and made greater progress than any other part of
the world. Furthermore, there is no country, I
am certain, not even the United States or Canada,
where the average farmer stands so high or exercises
so large an influence upon political and
social life as he does in Denmark at the present
time.
"What's back of the Danish farmer?" I said to
my English friend. "What is it that has made
agriculture in this country?"
"It's the Danish schools," he replied.
I had asked the same question before and received
various replies, but they all wound up with
a reference to the schools, particularly the country
high schools. I had heard much of them in America;
I heard of them again in England; for 90 per cent.
of Denmark's agricultural exports goes to England.
It was not, however, until I reached Denmark,
saw the schools themselves, and talked with some of
the teachers -- not, in fact, until after I had left
Denmark and had an opportunity to look into and
study their history and organization -- that I began
to comprehend the part that the rural high schools
were playing in the life of the masses of the Danish
people, and to understand the manner in which they
had influenced and helped to build up the agriculture
of the country.
There are two things about these rural high schools
that were of peculiar interest to me: First, they
have had their origin in a movement to help the
common people, and to lift the level of the masses,
particularly in the rural district; second, they have
succeeded. I venture to say that in no part of the
world is the general average intelligence of the
farming class higher than it is in Denmark. I was
impressed in my visits to the homes of some of the
small farmers by the number of papers and magazines
to be found in their homes.
In recent years there has sprung up in many
parts of Europe a movement to improve the condition
of the working masses through education.
Wherever any effort has been made on a large scale
to improve agriculture, it has almost invariably
taken the form of a school of some sort or other.
For example, in Hungary, the state has organized
technical education in agriculture on a grand scale.
Nowhere in Europe, I learned, has there been such
far-reaching effort to improve agriculture through
experimental and research stations, agricultural
colleges, high schools, and common schools. There
is this difference, however: Hungary has tried to
improve agriculture by starting at the top, creating
a body of teachers and experts who are expected
in turn to influence and direct the classes below them.
Denmark has begun at the bottom.
One of the principal aims of the Hungarian
Government, as appears from a report by the
Minister of Agriculture, was "to adapt the education
to the needs of the different classes and take
care, at the same time, that these different classes
did not learn too much, did not learn anything that
would unfit them for their station in life."
I notice, for example, that it was necessary to
close the agricultural school at Debreczen, which
was conducted in connection with an agricultural
college at the same place, because, as the report
of the Minister of Agriculture states, "the pupils
of this school, being in daily contact with the first-year
pupils of the college, attempted to imitate their
ways, wanted more than was necessary for their
social position, and at the same time aimed at a
position they were unable to maintain."
All this is in striking contrast to the spirit and
method of the Danish rural high school, which
started among the poorest farming class, and has
grown, year by year, until it has drawn within its
influence nearly all the classes in the rural community.
In this school it happens that the daughters
of the peasant and of the nobleman sometimes
sit together on the same bench, and that the sons
of the landlord and of the tenant frequently work
and study side by side, sharing the personal friendship
of their teacher and not infrequently the
hospitality of his home.
The most striking thing about the rural high
school in Denmark is that it is neither a technical
nor an industrial school and, although it was created
primarily for the peasant people, the subject of
agriculture is almost never mentioned, at least not
with the purpose of giving practical or technical
education in that subject.
It may seem strange that, in a school for farmers,
nothing should be said about agriculture, and I
confess that it took some time for me to see the
connection between this sort of school and Denmark's
agricultural prosperity. It seemed to me,
as I am sure it will seem to most other persons,
that the simplest and most direct way to apply
education to agriculture was to teach agriculture
in the schools.
The real difference between the Hungarian and
the Danish methods of dealing with this problem
is, however, in the spirit rather than in the form.
In Hungary the purpose of the schools seems to be
to give each individual such training as it is believed
will fit him for the particular occupation which
his station in life assigns him, and no more. The
government decides. In other words, education
is founded on a system of caste. If the man below
learns in school to look to the man in station above
him, if he begins to dream and hope for something
better than the life to which he has been accustomed --
then, a social and political principle is violated,
and, as the Commisioner of Agriculture says, "the
government is not deterred from issuing energetic
orders."
Of course, the natural result of such measures
is to increase the discontent. Just as soon as any
class of people feel that privileges granted to others
are denied to them, immediately these privileges --
whether they be the opportunities for education,
or anything else -- assume in the eyes of the people
to whom they are denied a new importance and
value.
The result of this policy is seen in emigration
statistics. I doubt, from what I have been able
to learn, whether all the efforts made by the Hungarian
Government in the way of agricultural
instruction have done very much to allay the discontent
among the masses of the farming population.
Thousands of these Hungarian peasants
every year still prefer to try their fortune in America,
and the steady exodus of the farming population
continues.
The rural high school in Denmark has pursued
just the opposite policy. It has steadily sought
to stimulate the ambitions and the intellectual
life of the peasant people. Instead, however, of
compelling the ambitious farmer's boy, who wants
to know something about the world, to go to America,
to the ordinary college, or to the city, the schools
have brought the learning of the colleges and the
advantages of the city to the country.
The most interesting and remarkable thing about
these high schools is the success that they have had
in presenting every subject that an educated man
should know about in such a form as will make it
intelligible and interesting to country boys and
girls who have only had, perhaps, the rudiments
of a common school education.
The teachers in these country high schools are
genuine scholars. They have to be, for the reason
that the greater part of their teaching is in the
form of lectures, without text-books of any kind,
and their success depends upon the skill with which
they can present their subjects. In order to awaken
interest and enthusiasm, they have to go to the
sources for their knowlege.
Most of the teachers whom I met could speak
two or three languages. I was surprised at the
knowledge which every one I met in Denmark, from
the King and Queen to the peasants, displayed in
American affairs, and the interest they showed in
the progress of the Negro and the work we have
been doing at Tuskegee. As an illustration of the
wide interests which occupy the teachers in these
rural schools, I found one of them engaged in translating
Prof. William James's book on "Pragmatism"
into the Danish language.
I have heard it said repeatedly since I was in
Denmark that the Danish people as a whole were
better educated and better informed than any other
people in Europe. Statistics seem to bear out this
statement; for, according to the immigration figures
of 1900, although 24.2 per cent. of all persons over
fourteen years of age coming into the United States
as immigrants could neither read nor write, only
.8 per cent. of the immigrants from Scandinavia
were illiterate. Of the Germans, among whom
I had always supposed education was more widely
diffused than elsewhere in Europe, 5.8 per cent.
were illiterate.
Before I go farther, perhaps, I ought to give
some idea of what these rural high schools look like.
One of the most famous of them is situated about
an hour's ride from Copenhagen, near the little
city of Roskilde. It stands on a piece of rolling
ground, overlooking a bay, where the little fisher
vessels and small seafaring craft are able to come
far inland, almost to the centre of the island. All
around are wide stretches of rich farm land, dotted
here and there with little country villages.
There is, as I remember, one large building with
a wing at either end. In one of these wings the
head master of the school lives, and in the other is
a gymnasium. In between are the school rooms
where the lectures are held. Everything about
the school is arranged in a neat and orderly manner --
simple, clean, and sweet -- and I was especially
impressed by the wholesome, homelike atmosphere
of the place. Teachers and pupils eat together
at the same table and meet together in a social
way in the evening. Teachers and students are
thus not merely friends; they are in a certain sense
comrades.
In the school at Roskilde there are usually about
one hundred and fifty students. During the winter
term of five months the young men are in school;
in the summer the young women take their turn.
Pupils pay for board and lodging twenty crowns, a
little more than five dollars a month, and for tuition,
twenty crowns the first month, fifteen the second,
ten the third, five the fourth, and nothing the fifth.
These figures are themselves an indication of the
thrift as well as the simplicity with which these
schools are conducted. Twenty years ago, when
they were first started, I was told the pupils used
to sleep together, in a great sleeping room on straw
mattresses, and eat with wooden spoons out of a
common dish, just as the peasant people did at
that time. This reminds me that just about this
same time, at Tuskegee, pupils were having similar
hardships. For one thing, I recall that, in those
days, the food for the whole school was cooked in
one large iron kettle and that sometimes we had to
skip a meal because there wasn't anything to put
in the kettle. Since that time conditions have
changed, not only in the rural high schools of Denmark,
but among the country people. At the present
day, if not every peasant cottage, at least every
coöperative dairy has its shower-bath. The small
farmer, who, a few years ago, looked upon every
innovation with mistrust, is likely now to have his
own telephone -- for Denmark has more telephones
to the number of the population than has any other
country in Europe -- and every country village has
its gymnasium and its assembly hall for public
lectures.
I have before me, on my desk, a school plan
showing the manner in which the day is disposed
of. School begins at eight o'clock in the morning
and ends at seven o'clock in the evening, with two
hours rest at noon. Two thirds of the time of the
school is devoted to instruction in the Danish
mother-tongue and in history. The rest is given
to arithmetic, geography, and the natural sciences.
It is peculiar to these schools that most of the
instruction is given in the form of lectures.
There are no examinations and few recitations.
Not only the natural sciences, but even the higher
mathematics, are taught historically, by lectures.
The purpose is not to give the student training in
the use of these sciences, but to give him a general
insight into the manner in which different problems
have arisen and of the way in which the solution
of them has widened and increased our knowledge
of the world.
In the Danish rural high school, emphasis is
put upon the folk-songs, upon Danish history and
the old Northern mythology. The purpose is to
emphasize, in opposition to the Latin and Greek
teaching of the colleges, the value of the history
and the culture of the Scandinavian people; and,
incidentally, to instil into the minds of the pupils
the patriotic conviction that they have a place and
mission of their own among the people of the world.
There are several striking things about this
system of rural high schools, of which there are now
120 in Denmark. The first thing about them that
impressed me was the circumstances in which they
had their origin. In the beginning the rural high
schools were a private undertaking, as indeed they
are still, although they get a certain amount of
support from the State. The whole scheme was
worked out by a few courageous individuals, who
were sometimes opposed, but frequently assisted
by the Government. The point which I wish to
emphasize is that they did not spring into existence
all at once, but that they grew up slowly and are
still growing. It took long years of struggles to
formulate and popularize the plans and methods
which are now in use in these schools. In this
work the leading figure was a Lutheran bishop,
Nicolai Frederick Severen Grundvig, who is often
referred to as the Luther of Denmark. The rural
school movement grew out of a non-sectarian religious
movement and was, in fact, an attempt to
revive the spiritual life of the masses of the people.
Rural high schools were established as early as
1844, but it was not until twenty years later, when
Denmark, as a result of her disastrous war with
Prussia, had lost one third of her richest territory,
that the rural high school movement began to gain
ground. It was at that time, when affairs were
at their lowest ebb in Denmark, that Grundvig
began preaching to the Danish people the gospel that
what had been lost without, must be regained within;
and that what had been lost in battle must be gained
in peaceful development of the national resources.
Bishop Grundvig saw that the greatest national
resource of Denmark, as it is of any country, was
its common people. The schools he started and
the methods of education he planned were adapted
to the needs of the masses. They were an attempt
to popularize learning, put it in simple language,
rob it of its mystery and make it the common
property of the common people.
Another thing peculiar about these schools is that
they were not for children, but for older students.
Eighty per cent. of the students in the rural high
schools are from eighteen to twenty-five years of
age; 12 per cent. are more than twenty-five years of
age and only 8 per cent. are under eighteen. These
schools, are, in fact, farmers' colleges. They
pre-suppose the education of the common school. The
farmer's son and the farmer's daughter, before
they enter the rural high school, have had the
training in the public schools and have had practical
schooling in the work of the farm and the home.
At just about the age when a boy or a girl begins
to think about leaving home and of striking out in
the world for himself; just at the age when there
comes, if ever, to a youth the desire to know something
about the larger world and about all the
mysteries and secrets that are buried away in books
or handed down as traditions in the schools -- just
at this time the boys and girls are sent away to
spend two seasons or more in a rural high school. As
a rule they go, not to the school in their neighbourhood
but to some other part of the country. There
they make the acquaintance of other young men and
women who, like themselves, have come directly
from the farms, and this intercourse and acquaintance
helps to give them a sense of common interest
and to build up what the socialists call a "class
consciousness." All of this experience becomes important
a little later in the building up of the cooperative
societies, coöperative dairies, coöperative
slaughter houses, societies for the production and
sale of eggs, for cattle raising and for other purposes.
The present organization of agriculture in Denmark
is indirectly but still very largely due to the
influence of the rural school.
The rural high school came into existence, as I
have said, as the result of a religious rather than of
a merely social or economic movement. Different
in methods and in outward form as these high
schools are from the industrial schools for the Negro
in America, they have this in common, that they
are non-sectarian, but in the broadest, deepest
sense of that word, religious. They seek, not merely
to broaden the minds, but to raise and strengthen
the moral life of masses of the people. This peculiar
character of the Danish rural high school was defined
to me in one word by a gentleman I met in
Denmark. He called them "inspirational."
It is said of Grundvig that he was one of those
who did not look for salvation merely in political
freedom. In spite of this fact, the rural high schools
have had a large influence upon politics in Denmark.
It is due to them, although they have carefully
abstained from any kind of political agitation, that
Denmark, under the influence of its "Peasant
Ministry," has become the most democratic country
in Europe. It is certainly a striking illustration of
the result of this education that what, a comparatively
few years ago, was the lowest and the most
oppressed class in Denmark, namely the small
farmer, has become the controlling power in the
State, as seems to be the case at the present time.
I have gone to some length to describe the plans
and general character of the rural high schools
because they are the earliest, the most peculiar
and unusual feature in Danish rural life and education,
and because, although conducted in the same
spirit, they are different in form and methods from
the industrial schools with which I have been mainly
interested during the greater part of my life.
The high schools, however, are only one part of
the Danish system of rural schools. In recent
years there has grown up side by side with the rural
high school another type of school for the technical
training in agriculture and in the household arts.
For example, not more than half a mile from the
rural high school which I visited at Roskilde, there
has recently been erected what we in America would
call an industrial school, where scientific agriculture,
as well as technical training in homekeeping
are given. In this school, young men and
women get much the same practical training that is
given our students at Tuskegee, with the exception
that this training is confined to agriculture and
housekeeping. Besides, there is, in these agricultural
schools, no attempt to give students a general
education as is the case with the industrial schools
in the South. In fact, schools like Hampton and
Tuskegee are trying to do for their students at one
and the same time, what is done in Denmark through
two distinct types of school.
I found this school, like its neighbour the high
school, admirably situated, surrounded by beautiful
gardens in which the students raised their own
vegetables. In the kitchen, the young women
learned to prepare the meals and to set the tables.
I was interested to see also that, in the whole organization
of the school there was an attempt to
preserve the simplicity of country life. In the furniture,
for example, there was an attempt to preserve
the solid simplicity and quaint artistic shapes
with which the wealthier peasants of fifty or a
hundred years ago furnished their homes. Dr.
Robert E. Park, my companion on my trip through
Europe, told me when I visited this school that he
found one of the professors at work in the garden
wearing the wooden shoes that used to be worn
everywhere in the country by the peasant people.
This man had travelled widely, had studied in Germany,
where he had taken a degree in his particular
specialty at one of the agricultural colleges.
Perhaps the most interesting and instructive part
of my visit was the time that I spent at what is
called a husmand's or cotter's school, located at
Ringsted and founded by N. J. Nielsen-Klodskov
in 1902. At this school I saw such an exhibition
of vegetables, grains, and especially of apples, as I
think I had never seen before, certainly not at
any agricultural school.
I wish I had opportunity to describe in detail
all that I saw and learned about education and the
possibilities of country life in the course of my visit
to this interesting school. What impressed me most
with regard to it and to the others that I visited,
was the way in which the different types of schools
in Denmark have succeeded in working into practical
harmony with one another; the way also, in
which each in its separate way had united with the
other to uplift, vivify, and inspire the life and work
of the country people.
For example, the school at Ringsted, in addition
to the winter course in farming for men and the
summer school in household arts for women, offers,
just as we do at Tuskegee, a short course to which
the older people are invited. The courses are
divided between the men and the women, the
men's course coming in the winter and the women's
course in the summer. During the period of instruction,
which lasts eleven days, these older people
live in the school, just as the younger students do
and gain thus the benefit of an intimate association
with each other and with their teachers. To
illustrate to what extent this school and the others
like it have reached and touched the people, I
will quote from a letter written to me by the founder.
He says: "The Keorehave Husmandskole (cotter's
school) is the first of its kind in Denmark. It is
a private undertaking and the buildings erected
since 1902 are worth about 400,000 crowns
($100,000). During the seven years in which it
has been in operation 631 men and 603 women have
had training for six months. In addition 3,205
men and women have attended the eleven-day
courses."
In addition to the short courses in agriculture
and housekeeping, offered by the school at Ringsted,
some of the rural high schools hold, every fall, great
public assembles like our Chautauquas, which last
from a few days to a week and are attended by men
and women of the rural districts. At these meetings
there are public lectures on historical, literary
and religious subjects. In the evening there are
music, singing, and dancing, and other forms of
amusement. These annual assemblies, held under
the direction of the rural high schools, have largely
taken the place of the former annual harvest-home
festivals in which there was much eating and drinking,
as I understand, but very little that was educational
or uplifting. In addition to these yearly
meetings, which draw together people from a distance,
there are monthly meetings which are held
either in the high school buildings, or in the village
assembly buildings, or in the halls connected with
the village gymnasiums. In the cities these meetings
are sometimes held in the "High School Homes"
as they are called, which serve the double purpose of
places for the meetings of young men's and young
women's societies and at the same time as cheap
and home-like hotels for the travelling country
people.
In this way the rural high schools have extended
their influence to every part of the country, making
the life on the farm attractive, and enabling Denmark
to set before the world an example of what a
simple, wholesome, and beautiful country life can
be.
No doubt there are in the country life of Denmark,
as of other countries, some things that cast
a shadow here and there on the bright picture I
have drawn. New problems always spring up out
of the solution of the old ones. No matter how
much has been accomplished those who know conditions
best will inevitably feel that their work has
just been begun. However that may be, I do not
believe there will be found anywhere a better illustration
of the possibilities of education than in the
results achieved by the rural schools of Denmark.
One of the things that one hears a great deal of
talk about in America is the relative value of cultural
and vocational education. I do not think that I
clearly understood until I went to Denmark what
a "cultural" education was. I had gotten the idea,
from what I had seen of the so-called "cultural"
education in America, that culture was always associated
with Greek and Latin, and that people who
advocated it believed there was some mysterious,
almost magical power which was to be gotten from
the study of books, or from the study of something
ancient and foreign, far from the common and
ordinary experiences of men. I found, in Denmark,
schools in which almost no text-books are used,
which were more exclusively cultural than any I
had ever seen or heard of.
I had gotten the impression that what we ordinarily
called culture was something for the few people
who are able to go to college, and that it was somehow
bottled up and sealed in abstract language
and in phrases which it took long years of study
to master. I found in Denmark real scholars
engaged in teaching ordinary country people, making
it their peculiar business to strip the learning
of the colleges of all that was technical and abstract
and giving it, through the medium of the common
speech, to the common people.
Cultural education has usually been associated
in my mind with the learning of some foreign language,
with learning the history and traditions of
some other people. I found in Denmark a kind of
education which, although as far as it went touched
every subject and every land that it was the business
of the educated man to know about, sought especially
to inspire an interest and enthusiasm in the
art, the traditions, the language, and the history
of Denmark and in the people by whom the students
were surrounded. I saw that a cultural education
could be and should be a kind of education that
helps to awaken, enlighten, and inspire interest,
enthusiasm, and faith in one's self, in one's race
and in mankind; that it need not be, as it sometimes
has been in Denmark and elsewhere, a kind of education
that robs its pupils of their natural independence,
makes them feel that something distant,
foreign, and mysterious is better and higher than
what is familiar and close at hand.
I have never been especially interested in discussing
the question of the particular label that should
be attached to any form of education; I have never
taken much interest, for example, in discussing
whether the form of education which we have been
giving our students at Tuskegee was cultural, vocational,
or both. I have been only interested in
seeing that it was the kind that was needed by the
masses of the people we were trying to reach, and
that the work was done as well as possible under
the circumstances. From what I have learned in
Denmark, I have discovered that what has been
done, for example, by Dr. R. H. Boyd in teaching
the Negro people to buy Negro instead of white
dolls for their children, "in order," as Dr. Boyd
says, "to teach the children to admire and respect
their own type"; that what has been done at Fisk
University to inspire in the Negro a love of folksongs;
that what has been done at Tuskegee in our
annual Negro Conferences, and in our National
Business League, to awaken an interest and enthusiasm
in the masses of the people for the common
life and progress of the race has done more good,
and, in the true sense of the word, been more cultural
than all the Greek and Latin that have ever been
studied by all Negroes in all the colleges in the
country.
For culture of this kind spreads over more ground;
it touches more people and touches them more
deeply. My study of the Danish rural schools has
not only taught me what may be done to inspire
and foster a national and racial spirit, but it has
shown how closely interwoven are the moral and
material conditions of the people, so that each man
responds to and reflects the progress of every other
man in a way to bring about a healthful, wholesome
condition of national and racial life.
DURING the thirty years I have been engaged
in Negro education in the South my work
has brought me into contact with many
different kinds of Negro schools. I have visited
these schools in every part of the South and have
had an opportunity to study their work and learn
something of their difficulties as well as of their
successes. During the last five years, for example,
I have taken time from my other work to make extended
trips of observation through eight different
states, looking into the condition of the schools and
saying a word, wherever I went, in their interest.
I have had opportunities, as I went about, to note
not merely the progress that has been made inside
the school houses, but to observe, also, the effects
which the different types of schools have had upon
the homes and in the communities by which they
are surrounded.
Considering all that I have seen and learned of
Negro education in the way I have described, it has
occurred to me that I could not do better in the
concluding reminiscences of my own larger education
than give some sort of summary statement, not
only of what has been accomplished, but what seems
to be the present needs and prospects of Negro education
in general for the Southern States. In view
also of the fact that I have gained the larger part of
my own larger education in what I have been able
to do for this cause, the statement may not seem
out of place here. Let me then, first of all,
say that never in the history of the world has a
people, coming so lately out of slavery, made such
efforts to catch up with and attain the highest and
best in the civilization about them; never has
such a people made the same amount of progress
in the same time as is the case of the Negro people
of America.
At the same time, I ought to add, also, that never
in the history of the world has there been a more generous
effort on the part of one race to help civilize
and build up another than has been true of the American
white man and the Negro. I say this because
it should be remembered that, if the white man in
America was responsible for bringing the Negro here
and holding him in slavery, the white man in America
was equally responsible for giving him his freedom
and the opportunities by which he has been able
to make the tremendous progress of the last forty-eight
years.
In spite of this fact, in looking over and considering
conditions of Negro education in the South to-day,
not so much with reference to the past as to the future,
I am impressed with the imperfect, incomplete,
and unsatisfactory condition in which that education
now is. I fear that there is much misconception,
both in the North and in the South, in regard
to the actual opportunities for education which the
Negro has.
In the first place, in spite of all that has been said
about it, the mass of the Negro people has never
had, either in the common schools or in the Negro
colleges in the South, an education in the same sense
as the white people in the Northern States have had
an education. Without going into details, let me
give a few facts in regard to the Negro schools of
so-called higher learning in the South. There are
twenty-five Negro schools which are ordinarily
classed as colleges in the South. They have, altogether,
proper y and endowments, according to the
report of the United States commissioner of education,
of $7,993,028. There are eleven single institutions
of higher learning in the Northern States, each
of which has property and endowment equal to or
greater than all the Negro colleges in the South.
There are, for instance, five colleges or universities
in the North every one of which has property and
endowments amounting to more than $20,000,000;
there are three universities which together have
property and endowments amounting to nearly
$100,000,000.
The combined annual income of twenty-four
principal Negro colleges is $1,048,317. There are
fifteen white schools that have a yearly income of
from one million to five million dollars each. In
fact, there is one single institution of learning in the
North which, in the year of 1909, had an income,
nearly twice as large as the combined income of the
one hundred and twenty-three Negro colleges, industrial
schools, and other private institutions of
learning of which the commissioner of education
has any report. These facts indicate, I think, that
however numerous the Negro institutions of higher
learning may be, the ten million Negroes in the
United States are not getting from them, either
in quality or in quantity, an education such as they
ought to have.
Let me speak, however, of conditions as I have
found them in some of the more backward Negro
communities. In my own state, for example,
there are communities in which Negro teachers are
now being paid not more than from fifteen dollars
to seventeen dollars a month for services covering
a period of three or four months in the year. As
I stated in a recent open letter to the Montgomery
Advertiser, more money is paid for Negro convicts
than for Negro teachers. About forty-six dollars
a month is now being paid for first-class, able-bodied
Negro convicts, thirty-six dollars for second-class,
and twenty-six dollars for third-class, and this is for
twelve months in the year. This will, perhaps,
at least suggest the conditions that exist in some of
the Negro rural schools.
I do not mean to say that conditions are as bad
everywhere as these that I refer to. Nevertheless,
when one speaks "of the results of Negro education"
it should be remembered that, so far as concerns
the masses of the Negro people, education has never
yet been really tried.
One of the troubles with Negro education at the
present time is that there are no definite standards
of education among the different Negro schools.
It is not possible to tell, for instance, from the name
of an institution, whether it is teaching the ordinary
common school branches, Greek and Latin, or carpentry,
blacksmithing, and sewing. More than that,
there is no accepted standard as to the methods
or efficiency of the teaching in these schools. A
student may be getting a mere smattering, not
even learning sufficient reading and writing to be
able to read with comfort a book or a newspaper.
He may be getting a very good training in one subject
and almost nothing in some other. A boy entering
such a school does not know what he is going
for, and, nine times out of ten, he will come away
without knowing what he got. In many cases, the
diploma that the student carries home with him
at the conclusion of his course is nothing less than a
gold brick. It has made him believe that he has
gotten an education, when he has actually never
had an opportunity to find out what an education is.
I have in mind a young man who came to us
from one of those little colleges to which I have
referred where he had studied Greek, Latin, German,
astronomy, and, among other things, stenography.
He found that he could not use his Greek and Latin
and that he had not learned enough German to be
able to use the language, so he came to us as a stenographer.
Unfortunately, he was not much better
in stenography and in English than he was in German.
After he had failed as a stenographer, he
tried several other things, but because he had gone
through a college and had a diploma, he could never
bring himself to the point of fitting himself to do
well any one thing. The consequence was that he
went wandering about the country, always dissatisfied
and unhappy, never giving satisfaction to himself
or to his employers.
Although this young man was not able to write
a letter in English without making grammatical
errors or errors of some kind or other, the last time
I heard of him he was employed as a teacher of
business, in fact, he was at the head of the business
department in one of the little colleges to
which I have referred. He was not able to use his
stenography in a well-equipped office, but he was
able to teach stenography sufficiently well to meet
the demands of the business course as given in the
kind of Negro college of which there are, unfortunately,
too many in the South.
Now, there was nothing the matter with this
young man -- excepting his education. He was
industrious, ambitious, absolutely trustworthy, and,
if he had been able to stick at any one position long
enough to learn to do the work required of him well,
he would have made, in my opinion, a very valuable
man. As it was, his higher education spoiled him.
In going through college he had been taught that he
was getting an education when, as a matter of fact,
he really had no education worth the mention.
One of the mistakes that Negro schools have frequently
made has been the effort to cover, in some
sort of way, the whole school curriculum from the
primary, through the college, taking their students,
as a friend of mine once said, "from the cradle to the
grave." The result is that many of the Negro colleges
have so burdened themselves with the work of
an elementary grade that they are actually doing
no college work at all, although they still keep up the
forms and their students still speak of themselves
as "college students."
In this way nearly every little school calling itself
a college has attempted to set up a complete school
system of its own, reaching from the primary grade
up through the university. These schools, having
set themselves an impossible task, particularly in
view of the small means that they have at their
command, it is no wonder that their work is often
badly done.
I remember visiting one of these institutions in
the backwoods district of one of the Southern States.
The school was carried on in an old ramshackle building,
which had been erected by the students and
the teachers, although it was evident that not one
of them had more than the most primitive notion
of how to handle a saw or a square.
The wind blew through the building from end to
end. Heaps of Bibles, which had been presented
to the school by some friends, were piled up on the
floor in one corner of the building. The dormitory
was in the most disorderly condition one could possibly
imagine. Half of the building had been burned
away and had never been rebuilt. Broken beds
and old mattresses were piled helter-skelter about
in the rooms. What showed as well as anything
the total incompetency of everybody connected with
the school were the futile efforts that had been made
to obtain a supply of drinking water. The yard
around the school, which they called the "campus,"
was full of deep and dangerous holes, where some one
had attempted at different times to dig a well but
failed, because, as was evident enough, he had not
the slightest idea of how the work should have been
done.
At the time I was there the school was supplied
with water from an old swamp in the neighbourhood,
but the president of the college explained to me an
elaborate plan which he had evolved for creating
an artificial lake and this enterprise, he said, had the
added advantage of furnishing work for the students.
When I asked this man in regard to his course of
study, he handed me a great sheet of paper, about
fifteen inches wide and two feet long, filled with
statements that he had copied from the curricula
of all sorts of different schools, including theological
seminaries, universities, and industrial schools.
From this sheet, it appeared that he proposed to
teach in his school everything from Hebrew to
telegraphy. In fact, it would have taken at least
two hundred teachers to do all the work that he had
laid out.
When I asked him why it was that he did not confine
himself within the limits of what the students
needed and of what he would be able to teach, he
explained to me that he had found that some people
wanted one kind of education and some people
wanted another. As far as he was concerned, he
took a liberal view and was willing to give anybody
anything that was wanted. If his students wanted
industrial education, theological education, or college
education, he proposed to give it to them.
I suggested to him that the plan was liberal
enough, but it would be impossible for him to carry
it out. "Yes," he replied, "it may be impossible
just now, but I believe in aiming high." The pathetic
thing about it all was that this man and the people
with whom he had surrounded himself were perfectly
sincere in what they were trying to do. They
simply did not know what an education was or what
it was for.
We have in the South, in general, five types of
Negro schools. There are (1) the common schools,
supported in large part by state funds supplemented
in many cases by contributions from the coloured
people; (2) academies and so-called colleges, or
universities, supported partly by different Negro
religious denominations and partly by the contributions
of philanthropic persons and organizations;
(3) the state normal, mechanical, and agricultural
colleges, supported in part by the state and in part
by funds provided by the Federal Government;
(4) medical schools, which are usually attached to
some one or other of the colleges, but really maintain
a more or less independent existence; (5)
industrial schools, on the model of Hampton and
Tuskegee.
Although these schools exist, in many cases, side
by side, most of them are attempting to do, more or
less, the work of all the others. Because every
school is attempting to do the work of every other,
the opportunities for coöperation and team work
are lost. Instead one finds them frequently quarrelling
and competing among themselves both for
financial support and for students. The colleges
and the academies frequently draw students away
from the public schools. The state agricultural
schools, supported in part by the National Government,
are hardly distinguishable from some of the
theological seminaries. Instead of working in
coöperation with one another and with the public
authorities in building up the public schools, thus
bringing the various institutions of learning into
some sort of working harmony and system, it not
infrequently happens that the different schools are
spending time and energy in trying to hamper and
injure one another.
We have had some experience at Tuskegee of this
lack of coöperation among the different types of
Negro schools. For some years we have employed
as teachers a large number of graduates, not only
from some of the better Negro colleges in the South,
but from some of the best colleges in the North as
well. In spite of the fact that Tuskegee offers a
larger market for the services of these college graduates
than they are able to find elsewhere, I
have yet to find a single graduate who has come to
us from any of these colleges in the South who has
made any study of the aims or purposes of industrial
education. And this is true, although some of
the colleges claim that a large part of their work
consists in preparing teachers for work in industrial
schools.
Not only has it been true that graduates of these
colleges have had no knowledge or preparation
which fitted them for teaching in an industrial
school, but in many cases, they have come to us
with the most distorted notions of what these
industrial schools were seeking to do.
Perhaps the larger proportion of the college graduates
go, when they leave college, as teachers into
the city or rural schools. Nevertheless, there is the
same lack of coöperation between the colleges and
the public schools that I have described as existing
between the colleges and the industrial schools.
It is a rare thing, so far as my experience goes, for
students in the Negro colleges to have had an opportunity
to make any systematic study of the actual
condition and needs of the schools or communities
in which they are employed after they graduate.
Instead of working out and teaching methods of
connecting the school with life, thus making it a centre
and a source of inspiration that might gradually
transform the communities about them, these colleges
have too frequently permitted their graduates
to go out with the idea that their diploma was a
sort of patent of nobility, and that the possessor of
it was a superior being who was making a sacrifice
in merely bestowing himself or herself as a teacher
upon the communities to which he or she was called.
One of the chief hindrances to the progress of
Negro education in the public schools in the South
is in my opinion due to the fact that the Negro
colleges in which so many of the teachers are prepared
have not realized the importance of convincing
the Southern white people that education makes
the same improvement in the Negro that it does in
the white man; makes him so much more useful in
his labour, so much better a citizen, and so much
more dependable in all the relations of life, that it
is worth while to spend the money to give him an
education. As long as the masses of the Southern
white people remain unconvinced by the results of
the education which they see about them that education
makes the Negro a better man or woman, so
long will the masses of the Negro people who are
dependent upon the public schools for their instruction
remain to a greater or less extent in
ignorance.
Some of the schools of the strictly academic type
have declared that their purpose in sticking to the
old-fashioned scholastic studies was to make of their
students Christian gentlemen. Of course, every
man and every woman should be a Christian and, if
possible, a gentleman or a lady; but it is not necessary
to study Greek or Latin to be a Christian.
More than that, a school that is content with merely
turning out ladies and gentlemen who are not at the
same time something else -- who are not lawyers,
doctors, business men, bankers, carpenters, farmers,
teachers, not even housewives, but merely ladies
and gentlemen -- such a school is bound, in my
estimation, to be more or less of a failure. There is
no room in this country, and never has been, for
the class of people who are merely gentlemen, and,
if I may judge from what I have lately seen abroad,
the time is coming when there will be no room in
any country for the class of people who are merely
gentlemen -- for people, in other words, who are
not fitted to perform some definite service for the
country or the community in which they live.
In the majority of cases I have found that the
smaller Negro colleges have been modelled on the
schools started in the South by the anti-slavery
people from the North directly after the war.
Perhaps there were too many institutions started
at that time for teaching Greek and Latin, considering
that the foundation had not yet been laid in a
good common-school system. It should be remembered,
however, that the people who started these
schools had a somewhat different purpose from that
for which schools ordinarily exist to-day. They
believed that it was necessary to complete the emancipation
of the Negro by demonstrating to the world
that the black man was just as able to learn from
books as the white man, a thing that had been frequently
denied during the long anti-slavery controversy.
I think it is safe to say that that has now been
demonstrated. What remains to be shown is that
the Negro can go as far as the white man in using his
education, of whatever kind it may be, to make
himself a more useful and valuable member of society.
Especially is it necessary to convince the
Southern white man that education, in the case of
the coloured man, is a necessary step in the progress
and upbuilding, not merely of the Negro, but of the
South.
It should be remembered in this connection that
there are thousands of white men in the South who
are perfectly friendly to the Negro and would like
to do something to help him, but who have not yet
been convinced that education has actually done the
Negro any good. Nothing will change their minds
but an opportunity to see results for themselves.
The reason more progress has not been made in
this direction is that the schools planted in the South
by the Northern white people have remained -- not
always through their own fault to be sure -- in
a certain sense, alien institutions. They have not
considered, in planning their courses of instruction,
the actual needs either of the Negro or of the South.
Not infrequently young men and women have gotten
so out of touch during the time that they were in
these schools with the actual conditions and needs
of the Negro and the South that it has taken years
before they were able to get back to earth and find
places where they would be useful and happy in
some form or other of necessary and useful labour.
Sometimes it has happened that Negro college
students, as a result of the conditions under which
they were taught, have yielded to the temptation
to become mere agitators, unwilling and unfit to do
any kind of useful or constructive work. Naturally
under such conditions as teachers, or in any other
capacity, they have not been able to be of much use
in winning support in the South for Negro education.
Nevertheless it is in the public schools of the South
that the masses of the Negro people must get their
education, if they are to get any education at all.
I have long been of the opinion that the persons
in charge of the Negro colleges do not realize the
extent to which it is possible to create in every part
of the South a friendly sentiment toward Negro
education, provided it can be shown that this education
has actually benefited and helped in some
practical way the masses of the Negro people with
whom the white man in the South comes most in
contact. We should not forget that as a rule in
the South it is not the educated Negro, but the masses
of the people, the farmers, labourers, and servants,
with whom the white people come in daily contact.
If the higher education which is given to the few
does not in some way directly or indirectly reach
and help the masses very little will be done toward
making Negro education popular in the South or
toward securing from the different states the means
to carry it on.
On the other hand, just so soon as the Southern
white man can see for himself the effects of Negro
education in the better service he receives from the
labourer on the farm or in the shop; just so soon as
the white merchant finds that education is giving
the Negro not only more wants, but more money
with which to satisfy these wants, thus making him
a better customer; when the white people generally
discover that Negro education lessens crime and
disease and makes the Negro in every way a better
citizen, then the white taxpayer will not look upon
the money spent for Negro education as a mere sop
to the Negro race, or perhaps as money entirely
thrown away.
I said something like this some years ago to the
late Mr. H. H. Rogers and together we devised a
plan for giving the matter a fair test. He proposed
that we take two or three counties for the purpose of
the experiment, give them good schools, and see
what would be the result.
We agreed that it would be of no use to build these
schools and give them outright to the people, but
determined rather to use a certain amount of money
to stimulate and encourage the coloured people in
these counties to help themselves. The experiment
was started first of all in Macon County, Ala., in
the fall of 1905. Before it was completed Mr. Rogers
died, but members of his family kindly consented
to carry on the work to the end of the term that
we had agreed upon -- that is to say, to October,
1910.
As a result of this work forty-six new school
buildings were erected at an average cost of seven
hundred dollars each; school terms were lengthened
from three and four to eight and nine months, at an
average cost to the people themselves of thirty-six
hundred dollars per year. Altogether about twenty
thousand dollars was raised by the people in the
course of this five-year period. Similar work on a
less extensive scale was done in four other counties.
As a result we now have in Macon County a model
public-school system, supported in part by the county
board of education, and in part by the contributions
of the people themselves.
As soon as we had begun with the help of the coloured
people in the different country communities
to erect these model schools throughout the county,
C. J. Calloway, who had charge of the experiment,
began advertising in coloured papers throughout the
South that in Macon County it was possible for a
Negro farmer to buy land in small or large tracts
near eight-months' schools. Before long the Negro
farmers not only from adjoining counties, but from
Georgia and the neighbouring states, began to make
inquiries. A good many farmers who were not able
to buy land but wanted to be near a good school
began to move into the county in order to go to
work on the farms. Others who already had property
in other parts of the South sold out and bought
land in Macon County. Mr. Calloway informs me
that, during the last five years, he alone has sold
land in this county to something like fifty families
at a cost of $49,740. He sold during the year 1910
1450 acres at a cost of $21,335.
I do not think that any of us realized the full
value of this immigration into Macon County until
the census of 1910 revealed the extent to which the
dislocation of the farming population has been going
on in other parts of the state. The census shows,
for example, that a majority of the Black Belt
counties in Alabama instead of increasing have lost
population during the last ten years. It is in the
Black Belt counties which have no large cities that
this decrease has taken place. Macon County, although
it has no large cities, is an exception, for
instead of losing population it shows an increase
of more than ten per cent.
I think that there are two reasons for this: In the
first place there is very little Negro crime and no
mob violence in Macon County. The liquor law
is enforced and there are few Negroes in Macon
County who do not coöperate with the officers of the
law in the effort to get rid of the criminal element.
In the second place, Macon County is provided not
only with the schools that I have described, but
with teachers who instruct their pupils in regard to
things that will help them and their parents to improve
their homes, their stock, and their land, and
in other ways to earn a better living.
When the facts brought out by the census were
published in Alabama they were the subject of considerable
discussion among the large planters and in
the public press generally. In the course of this
discussion I called attention, in a letter to the
Montgomery Advertiser, to the facts to which I have
referred.
In commenting upon this letter the editor of The
Advertiser said:
The State of Alabama makes liberal appropriations for education
and it is part of the system for the benefit to reach
both white and black children. It must be admitted that there
are many difficulties in properly spending the money and properly
utilizing it which will take time and the legislature to correct.
The matter complained of in the Washington letter could be
easily remedied by the various county superintendents and it is
their duty to see that the causes for such complaint are speedily
removed. Negro fathers and mothers have shown intense
interest in the education of their children and if they cannot
secure what they want at present residences they will as soon as
possible seek it elsewhere. We commend Booker Washington's
letter on this subject to the careful consideration of all the
school officials and to all citizens of Alabama.
The value of the experiment made in Macon
County is, in my opinion, less in the actual good that
has been done to the twenty-six thousand people,
white and black, who live there, than it is in the
showing by actual experiment what a proper system
of Negro education can do in a country district
toward solving the racial problem.
We have no race problem in Macon County;
there is no friction between the races; agriculture
is improving; the county is growing in wealth. In
talking with the sheriff recently he told me that there
is so little crime in this county that he scarcely finds
enough to keep him busy. Furthermore, I think I
am perfectly safe in saying that the white people in
this county are convinced that Negro education
pays.
What is true of Macon County may, in my opinion,
be true of every other county in the South.
Much will be accomplished in bringing this about
if those schools which are principally engaged in preparing
teachers shall turn about and face in the
direction of the South, where their work lies. My
own experience convinces me that the easiest way
to get money for any good work is to show that you
are willing and able to perform the work for which
the money is given. The best illustration of this is,
perhaps, the success, in spite of difficulties and with
almost no outside aid, of the best of the Negro medical
colleges. These colleges, although very largely
dependent upon the fees of their students for support,
have been successful because they have prepared
their students for a kind of service for which
there was a real need.
What convinces me that the same sort of effort
outside of Macon County will meet with the same
success is that it has in fact met with the same success
in the case of Hampton and some other schools
that are doing a somewhat similar work. On "the
educational campaigns" which I have made from
time to time through the different Southern States
I have been continually surprised and impressed at
the interest taken by the better class of white people
in the work that I was trying to do. Everywhere
in the course of these trips I have met with a cordial,
even an enthusiastic, reception not only from
the coloured people but from the white people
as well.
For example, during my trip through North Carolina
in November of 1910, not only were the suggestions
I tried to make for the betterment of the
schools and for the improvement of racial relations
frequently discussed and favourably commented
upon in the daily newspapers, but after my return
I received a number of letters and endorsements
from distingushed white men in different
parts of the state who had heard what I had had
to say.
I was asked the other day by a gentleman who
has long been interested in the welfare of the coloured
people what I thought the Negro needed most after
nearly fifty years of freedom. I promptly answered
him that the Negro needed now what he needed
fifty years ago, namely, education. If I had
attempted to be more specific I might have added
that what Negro education needed most was not so
much more schools or different kinds of schools as an
educational policy and a school system.
In the last analysis, the work of building up such
a school system as I have suggested must fall upon
the industrial normal schools and colleges which
prepare the teacher, because it is the success or
failure of the teacher which determines the success
of the school. In order to make a beginning in the
direction which I have indicated, the different
schools and colleges will have to spend much less
time in the future than they have in the past in
quarrelling over the kind of education the Negro
ought to have and devote more time and attention
to giving him some kind of education.
In order to accomplish this it will be necessary
for these schools to obtain very much larger sums
of money for education than they are now getting.
I believe, however, if the different schools will put
the matter to the people in the North and the
people in the South "in the right shape," it will be
possible to get much larger sums from every source.
I believe the state governments in the South are
going to see to it that the Negro public schools get
a much fairer share of the money raised for education
in the future than they have in the past. At
the same time I feel that very few people realize the
extent to which the coloured people are willing and
able to pay, and, in fact, are now paying, for their own
education. The higher and normal schools can
greatly aid the Negro people in raising among themselves
the money necessary to build up the educational
system of the South if they will prepare their
teachers to give the masses of the people the kind
of education which will help them to increase their
earnings instead of giving them the kind of education
that makes them discontented and unhappy
and does not give them the courage or disposition
to help themselves.
In spite of all the mistakes and misunderstandings,
I believe that the Negro people, in their
struggle to get on their feet intellectually and find
the kind of education that would fit their needs, have
done much to give the world a broader and more
generous conception of what education is and should
be than it had before.
Education, in order to do for the Negro the thing
he most needed, has had to do more and different
things than it was considered possible and fitting
for a school to undertake before the problem of educating
a newly enfranchised people arose. It has
done this by bringing education into contact with
men and women in their homes and in their daily
work.
The importance of the scheme of education which
has been worked out, particularly in industrial
schools, is not confined to America or to the Negro
race. Wherever in Europe, in Africa, in Asia, or
elsewhere great masses are coming for the first time
in contact with and under the influence of a higher
civilization, the methods of industrial education that
have been worked out in the South by, with, and
through the Negro schools are steadily gaining
recognition and importance.
It seems to me that this is a fact that should not
only make the Negro proud of his past, brief as it
has been, but, at the same time, hopeful of the future.
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Page 21CHAPTER II
BUILDING A SCHOOL AROUND A PROBLEM
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Page 51CHAPTER III
SOME EXCEPTIONAL MEN AND WHAT
I HAVE LEARNED FROM THEM
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Page 81CHAPTER IV
MY EXPERIENCE WITH REPORTERS AND NEWSPAPERS
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Page 102CHAPTER V
THE INTELLECTUALS AND THE BOSTON MOB
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Page 128CHAPTER VI
A COMMENCEMENT ORATION ON CABBAGES
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Page 158CHAPTER VII
COLONEL ROOSEVELT AND WHAT I HAVE LEARNED
FROM HIM
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Page 183CHAPTER VIII
MY EDUCATIONAL CAMPAIGNS THROUGH THE
SOUTH AND WHAT THEY TAUGHT ME
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Page 205CHAPTER IX
WHAT I HAVE LEARNED FROM BLACK MEN
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Page 239CHAPTER X
MEETING HIGH AND LOW IN EUROPE
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DORNECH
SUTHERLAND,
SEPT. 19th, 1910.
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Page 262CHAPTER XI
WHAT I LEARNED ABOUT EDUCATION IN DENMARK
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Page 287CHAPTER XII
THE MISTAKES AND THE FUTURE OF NEGRO
EDUCATION
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